Page 47 of The Hocus Pocus Handbook

Kerboros

That moment with Thea leaves me giddy.

We almost kissed. It wasn’t just me; she felt it too. I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve this, but I could shout from the joy of it. Somehow I contain myself and consult a random brownie for directions. She tells me to head for the outer edge of the market, toward the archway that leads into the palace. Thea follows, close enough that I feel her warmth at my back.

The stall is large compared to the others, twice as wide, with a table displaying tinctures and salves in front and shelves behind arranged with potions. Purple silk banners drift in the breeze, matching the cloth that covers the tabletop.

Thea seems interested in their wares, and I wish I could indulge her further. Left to my own devices, I’d give her the world. Through my incompetence, we’ve wasted so much time. Guilt chews at me.

Tempest greets us with a smile. They have long white hair caught back in a braid and twinkling lavender eyes. As with many fae, their face is smooth, no lines to determine their age. Not high fae, I think, but I don’t recognize their features. Something about the angle of their cheekbones and the width of their shoulders whispers of a different lineage, not one I’ve encountered before either.

I glance at Thea to see if she wants to do the talking. She is known for being social, popular among the wild fae. She shakes her head silently, and I suspect it’s because the misstep with the shawl vendor has rumbled her confidence. Based on my observations, she can’t be accustomed to failure.

I step closer to the stall, willing to try for her. “We’re told that you might know Taragon.” The statement sounds abrupt, even to my own ears.

Tempest cocks their head. “Told by whom?”

“I didn’t catch his name—the stone carver on the other side of the market.”

“Ah yes, you’re referring to Fenstig. I understand that you need information, but I also have a business to run. So let’s talk about potions before, shall we?”

“I’m in the market for a potion,” Thea says immediately. “What do you have?”

She’s bright-eyed and eager, peering at the jewel-hued bottles. I can see that the conversation won’t progress unless I let her peruse Tempest’s wares. Not that I’ve got the right to let her do anything. Thea can do whatever she wants; she’s proven that time and again.

Thea bounces a bit as Tempest points to a particular set of potions. “I have one for buoyancy, one to turn you green—”

“Why would I want to be green?” Thea asks.

“You might be surprised by how many people are interested in that one,” Tempest replies. “But be warned, it’s not easy being green.”

Before she can get drawn into a lengthy discussion, I indicate a potion at random. “We’ll take that one.” Tempest wraps it up, and I pay for the purchase and then tuck it away in my pack.

“Don’t you even want to know what it does?” they ask.

I shake my head. “Not really. The situation is urgent, and I need an answer.”

“Right, yes, the referral. What was the question again?”

I do wonder if Tempest is fully in command of their faculties; they seem so easily distracted. But rudeness means starting over at a new stall, and I cannot use my cousin’s name to enforce compliance, something I have become too adroit with over long years.

As I restrain my impatience with the scatterbrained potion seller, Thea chimes in with congenial charm. “We’re looking for my friend Taragon. I always called her Tara. Her family owns a tavern in the area, but—”

“Tara. Oh.” For a second, a shadow clouds their sharp features, but then they force a smile. “You’re in luck. I know her well. Her father too, what a good soul. A good, kind soul.” They repeat the words with a strange note, not quite sorrow, but…bitterness, perhaps?

I might be wrong. The details I notice about others tend not to be emotional in nature. When I glance at Thea, I see a flicker, and she tilts her head, raising a brow, which I take to mean she noticed something odd about Tempest’s tone too. But we’re not here to investigate the potion maker’s failed relationships.

“Could you provide some directions?” I prompt.

“Certainly.” Tempest turns and gestures toward the other side of the market. “Keep walking that way, straight along, then turn left when you see the statue of the rearing pooka. Go past it and duck between two tilted buildings. A green ivy bower connects the two, quite a picturesque archway. Pass through that courtyard—and don’t worry if someone yells at you. That’s Ragh, and he’s kind of a curmudgeon.”

“How come?” Thea asks.

“There’s a sad story, a lost love or a heartbreak of some sort. I’ve forgotten the particulars. He used to be the jolliest of sorts, but now he just shouts at passersby.” Tempest makes a tsk-ing sound.

“I suspect our journey doesn’t end in a courtyard,” I say, hoping I don’t sound as annoyed as I feel. It’s my fault we’re behind schedule in the first place, and everything feels like it takes twice as long when I have to be polite.

“Indeed not. Keep walking until you come to the other side. That’s the back end of Toad in the Hole. That’s the place for you to start. If Tara isn’t in, they’ll know where she is.”