Page 2 of Cruel Moon
A small bell tinkles as I push open the door, and I’m immediately enveloped by a cloud of fragrant steam. The shop is cozy, with mismatched armchairs and low tables scattered about. Dried herbs hang from the ceiling behind the counter, and shelves lined with jars of loose tea cover the walls.
I scan the labels, my heart quickening with each one I read: chamomile, lavender, damiana… My breath catches. Is that blue lotus? The rare Egyptian flower, known for its euphoric and aphrodisiac properties, has no place in a kitschy mountain town tea shop.
As I approach the counter, movement in the back of the shop catches my eye. A young woman emerges from what must be a storage room or office. She’s strikingly beautiful, with long, dark hair cascading over her shoulders. What catches my attention most, however, is her attire—she’s dressed in elaborate fantasy garb, like something straight out of a Renaissance faire. A corsetcinches her waist, and layers of rich, colorful fabric swirl around her legs.
Her eyes lock onto mine, and I feel a jolt of…something. Her gaze is penetrating, assessing, and I fight the urge to look away. Without a word, she turns and disappears through a back door.
Before I can process this strange encounter, another woman steps up to the counter, wiping her hands on an apron. She looks surprised to see me. “Oh! I’m sorry, I was just about to close up shop.”
I force a warm smile, though inside I’m seething at the blatant display of magickal items in this supposed coffee shop. “I only just arrived in town. I was hoping to grab a quick cup before heading back out.”
The woman hesitates, then smiles back. “I could whip up one last brew. What would you like?”
I approach the counter. “You have quite the…unique selection here. Is this your shop?”
The woman beams, clearly proud. “Yes, I opened it several years ago.” She extends her hand. “Rachel Mason. I specialize in herbal blends for every need. And our coffee selection is hand-picked from around the world.”
I shake her hand and then consider the menu again. “How about the Serenity Blend? It’s been a long day of travel.”
“Good choice.” Rachel busies herself with preparing the tea and I watch her every move. She reaches for chamomile, lavender, and lemon balm.
“I’m surprised you’re closing so early,” I say, keeping my tone light. “Seems like the kind of place that would have a lively evening crowd.”
Rachel laughs, stirring the brew. The scent of magick rises with the steam. “Usually, yes. But I’m headed out to White Fork tonight. The annual Renaissance Faire starts up there tomorrow. It’s a huge event for the area. Most of Ash Hollow will be there.”
That explains her friend’s costume.
My pulse quickens. White Fork—exactly where I need to go, especially if this young witch is going. It’s likely there will be more witches there—and maybe even Meredith Banfield—or at least someone who knows where she might be. The thing about witches is that they don’t usually operate alone.
“A Renaissance Faire? That sounds delightful.” I take the steaming cup of tea from Rachel and ask, “Was that your friend leaving? Her costume was quite elaborate.”
Rachel’s smile falters for just a moment before she waves her hand dismissively. “Oh, yes, she’s helping with the Renaissance Faire.”
“I don’t suppose you know of any lodgings out that way? I was thinking of exploring the area tomorrow.”
“Oh, sure,” Rachel says. “There’s a lovely little inn called Whispering Pines. It’s just on the outskirts of White Fork. Can’t miss it.”
I take a sip of the tea, and it takes all my self-control not to react to the potent blend of magical herbs. The aroma is intoxicating, and I can feel the subtly added magick humming just beneath the surface.
“This is wonderful,” I say, and I don’t have to fake my appreciation. She really is quite talented. “Thank you so much, Rachel.”
Rachel leans on the counter, her curiosity evident. “So, where are you from? I detect a bit of a New England accent. We don’t get many travelers this time of year that aren’t here specifically for the Faire.”
The question catches me off guard, but I don’t let it show. I’ve been trained for this. “Oh, I’m from Pennsylvania,” I lie smoothly, the false backstory I’ve prepared rolling off my tongue. “Just taking a bit of a road trip, exploring the mountains.”
Rachel’s eyes light up. “Pennsylvania? I have a cousin in Philadelphia. Whereabouts are you from?”
“A small town outside of Pittsburgh,” I say, the details of my fabricated life flowing effortlessly. “Nothing as charming as this place, though.”
Rachel flashes me a wide smile. “Well, I hope you enjoy your stay in our little corner of Colorado. Perhaps I’ll see you at the Faire tomorrow.” She starts to pack away a few more things from the back counter—jars of herbs, some commonplace, others decidedly not. “Safe travels!”
“Thank you,” I say, exiting the shop. Standing on the Main Street sidewalk, the warm cup of tea cradled in my hands, I allow myself a small, satisfied smile. White Fork. The Renaissance Faire. The Whispering Pines Inn. I have more than enough to go on now.
Meredith Banfield might think she’s hidden herself away in these mountains, but she can’t hide from the Salem Court forever. And with witches like Rachel carelessly flaunting their abilities, brewing potion teas with special rare ingredients for any human to stumble upon, it’s clear that this area needs the firm hand of theMathairsmore than ever.
I take another sip of the tea, appreciating its potency even as I reaffirm my mission. The Serenity Blend works its spell, calming my nerves but sharpening my resolve.
Tomorrow, I hunt in earnest.
