Page 4 of Of Potions and Honey
He nodded, but didn’t say anything else. Instead, he studied her for a moment.
“Are you the one who looked at the potion shop?”
“Wh- Oh. Yes. Signing paperwork, actually.”
“Oh?” An odd tinge of excitement crept into his voice. “You bought it?”
“Not exactly,”Mira replied. “Inherited it. The owner was my great-uncle.”
“Your great uncle.” He narrowed his eyes. “Have you visited before?”
“I have.” A little confused, Mira looked at him a little more closely – and found him vaguely familiar all of a sudden. “Have we met?”
“Maybe? My grandfather used to fix things in the house. I remember the owner having children my age around sometimes. We used to play in the garden while they were hammering stuff and having coffee after.”
That did stir a memory, of hide and seek in the attic, and unauthorised expeditions into the Honeywood. “I think I remember. Kameron?”
He grinned. “Kayden. Walsh.” He held out his hand. “Jog my memory?”
She shook his hand. “Mira Gardener. My family used to visit a lot when I was little. I’m sure we played plenty, but… it’s been a long time.”
“It has.” He let go. “Sorry about the old man. He was one of my favourite clients. Always a coffee and a chat after I was done fixing things, just like with my grandfather.”
“Thank you.”
That sounded like Uncle Lochlin, who would’ve kept the milkman chatting for hours if the poor soul’s cargo hadn’t been in danger of curdling if he didn’t get a move on.
“Woof!”
A large, fuzzy head nudged against Mira’s leg, and she jumped a little. Kayden immediately grabbed the dog’s collar.
“Poppy, stop. Sorry. She’s bored and curious, terrible combination.”
“It’s fine. She just startled me a little, is all.”
Mira looked down at the dog, whose tongue was sticking out sideways as she looked up at Mira, from a pair of eyes that were much too green for a dog, though that faded into the background when Mira spotted the ears. All four of them.
“Uhm. Is your dog all right?”
She half expected him to take offence, but he grinned and scratched the dog behind one pair of ears. “Right as rain, just a bit of a menace. Tried to eat a wood sprite as a puppy andgot a face full of dust for her trouble, that’s why she looks the way she does. Hasn’t hurt her at all, but does make for a great conversation starter.”
Mira chuckled. “I bet it does.” She stuck her hands in her pockets, not sure how to continue. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be rude, it’s just… It’s late, and I’ve had a long day.”
“Ah, of course.” He stepped aside so she could pass. “Don’t want to keep you. And welcome back to Emberglen. I’m sure you’ll like it here.”
At that, Mira simply smiled and nodded. No need to discuss her plans right now. She waved her goodbyes, patted the dog on the head, and left the town square behind.
The walk back was a bit more of a drag, mostly because at this point, Mira couldn’t wait to finally get off her feet and get some sleep. Back at the house, she had to search for a lamp in the meagre light coming through the kitchen window from the flickering gas lamp. With just about enough oil inside to last her the night, she finally dragged herself upstairs.
Without a bed, the only place to sleep in the house was the couch. It folded out, but after hearing the ungodly noise the springs made, Mira decided not to. She had at least packed a blanket, mostly because she hadn’t known how cold it would be out here this early in spring. Now it was all she had. Curled up under it, the lamp extinguished and a sliver of light cast on the wall through the crooked shutter, Mira waited for her body to relax enough to fall asleep.
Her mind had other plans, it seemed. She watched the light flicker across the faded flower wallpaper, and imagined the summers back when she was a child. The fire banked behind the wrought-iron grate with the little wood sprite in the centre. The whispers of at least three different spooky stories told by older children to the younger ones. Bickering over who got to take the couch and who had to sleep on a stack of blankets on the floor.The creaky stairs when one of the adults had gone downstairs in the morning to start breakfast, and how Uncle Lochlin had always had a habit of skipping the worst of them to avoid waking anyone. Mira, already awake and listening, had waited for that pause in the sounds and quickly followed. Making breakfast with Uncle Lochlin had always meant a spoonful of home-made jam, first pick of whatever fruit was in season, and a cup of extra sweet tea while they waited for the house to wake up.
Stories, too, she remembered those now. The creakers and their close cousins, the groaners; those were made of rocks and lived in sheds, where curious little girls were not supposed to go because they were full of sharp gardening tools. The wood sprites that lived all over the Honeywood, and sometimes visited the woods witch who lived deep in the forest and granted wishes. They’d gone to search for her once, she and a few younger cousins, with a basket full of bread rolls and apples and a single flask of water between them. Their search hadn’t lasted long, just until it had been time to go back for lunch, and they had all decided that the witch probably wouldn’t feed them unless they used a wish on it, and that just hadn’t seemed a good use of wishes. They’d decided to go back some other time instead, but they never had. Maybe something else had drawn their attention, and the witch had become unimportant again.
Mira had used a woods witch like that in a story once. It had gotten a good review, too, though the woman had called it ‘rather quaint’. Now, it seemed fitting. A quaint little story from a quaint little town, neither of which was of much consequence.
With a heavy sigh, Mira turned the other way and squeezed her eyes shut. If she kept this up, she’d run the risk of remembering this place far too fondly. Mustn’t risk it. She might just begin to consider Uncle Lochlin’s request after all.
