Page 3 of Of Potions and Honey
Not a chance on this earth.
Two
Miralefttheledgerson the counter and went to sit outside on the porch steps, the recipe book clutched to her chest. She couldn’t remember Uncle Lochlin ever using it. Every potion, he’d made from memory. Mira vaguely remembered some of the times she’d helped when she’d been a little older, how he’d explained the steps to her until she’d gotten bored or someone had called her away for a walk or chores. Not once could she recall him looking something up in the book she was currently holding. Or any others, for that matter.
She rested it on her knees and opened it again. It had a table of contents, with the pencil lines still visible that Uncle Lochlin had used to make it look all neat and professional.
Cough remedy; Sap of Dreams; Sun in a Bottle; for stomach aches.
Mira couldn’t help but smile. Somewhat professional, anyway.
She flipped through the book, stopping here and there to read one of the recipes marked with a little yellow dot. The ‘easy’ ones. Easy seemed to be a flexible definition, though she begrudgingly had to admit that none of them looked overlycomplicated, not likeSun in a Bottlewhich appeared to have over twenty steps and multiple warnings underlined in red.
She ran a finger down the ingredient list for‘plant growth (vegetables)’. No. No matter how easy he claimed this was, she couldn’t. Not only had this been dropped in her lap with absolutely no notice, she had places to be! Find someone to handle the sale of the house, if Mr. Bowen wasn’t able to. Clear out what was left inside. Go back home and return to her actual job!
Mira worried the edge of the page. Her actual job that was… stable, for the most part. Boring, but at least a secure income. Very much unlike her stories, which paid for groceries in some months and a cup of tea at the tea house on Friday in others. The emporium wasn’t the most cheerful place to work, despite Golden River’s brightly coloured branding, but it wasn’t… this. Wasn’t a mad jump into a profession she knew nothing about, at the behest of a man who probably hadn’t even known what kind of job she had these days.
A man who had been willing to rile up his entire family to make sure that she, specifically, received the house, the shop, and his last request.
Consider it, will you?
Mira huffed. What was there to consider? She wasn’t a potioner. Didn’t you need a permit and training for that, anyway? What was she supposed to do with a shop she couldn’t run? Sell empty bottles until her stocks ran out, then up and leave anyway?
“You can’t be serious.”
The woman walking past on the cracked pavement gave her a sidelong glance down her hawkish nose and picked up her pace. Mira ducked her head. Served her right, sitting here and talking to herself. Groaning, she stood and went back into the shop to put everything back and lock the drawer. The key, she placedon the counter. Foolish. A foolish request, and a fool the person who would even consider it.
She returned to the kitchen, to her paperwork and single bag full of clothes and a notebook. Just in case inspiration struck. With daylight dwindling, Mira went to grab her purse and a jacket against the evening chill. It was getting late, she was getting hungry, and one thing, she could do as Uncle Lochlin had asked. She couldpoke around– see if the inn was still there and serving the kind of food travel writers liked to call ‘traditional’ and ‘hearty’. Take a little walk and see if there were indeed still any neighbours around whom she recognised, and who might recognise her. No harm in that. She could do that much.
If Uncle Lochlin had hoped that going exploring in town would sway her into staying, she wasn’t sure how that was supposed to work. The house and shop were on the outskirts, on one of the properties with houses near the street and a lot of space out back. The house opposite and to the right had a light on inside. Mira could see the outline of a greenhouse when she peered around it. A few houses further down the street also seemed somewhat lived in. The rest though… Not just the house had seen better days, but the town as a whole. Too many houses were empty, for sale, or simply abandoned. What looked like it had once been neatly maintained stone flower pots on the pavement were growing more weeds than flowers. A solid third of the gas lamps were flickering precariously, with several of them not even working anymore. Though there were also trees lining the streets, some in bloom and emitting a sweet smell as she passed underneath. There was a pleasant lack of shouting and tram noise, and the dearth of traffic made the walk down the streetmore relaxing than any walk Mira had taken along the inner-city canal in recent years.
Mira didn’t meet anyone until she entered into the town proper, where a few people were milling about outside on the town square. Some of them shot her curious glances, though most ignored her much like she was used to from Willow Harbour. Mira hurried past them to the one building that was brightly lit and had a buzz of voices coming from inside.
She didn’t remember the inn like this, though she knew they’d eaten here as often as they had been able to afford to, so as to avoid cooking for twelve people in Uncle Lochlin’s poorly stocked kitchen. The furniture looked newer, and someone had painted the walls a bright yellow instead of the previous rusty brown. There was a tiny pot of flowers on every table, and a fire going in the large stone fireplace in the corner. Not the same, but inviting regardless.
Mira picked one of the free tables and sat, looking around as discreetly as she could manage. Not a lot of business going on. A table of older folks near the fire, most of them with a mug of beer and very rosy cheeks. A young couple by a window, lost in their own world. A young man alone in a niche, a large yellow dog at his feet, which didn’t seem to bother the waitress, who walked past him as she approached Mira.
“Good evening, welcome to thePeckish Pelican!What can I get you?”
Mira peered around, but couldn’t find a menu, just a hand-written piece of card stock that advertised a ‘steak special’, which was a tiny bit outside of her price range. “Ah, dinner? If you serve that?”
“We do. Selection’s on the board outside. Pea stew with homemade bread, hash browns with apples and sour cream, and the grill platter,” she helpfully summarised. “We also have some pastries left from the afternoon, if none of that is for you.”
“Oh.” A far cry from the restaurants she sometimes splurged on with Gemma and Rue. “Hash browns sound good.”
“Drink?”
Weighing the odds that someone here knew what an apple spritzer was, Mira decided not to bother. “A beer, thank you.”
“Hash browns and a beer, coming right up.”
The food was good, and surprisingly cheap to boot. With how few people there were, Mira had expected the owner to milk those few guests as much as possible. Instead, she paid less than she had for a meal in Willow Harbour in a long time, and it had been better than most of them, with the hash browns perfectly crispy and the apples a decadently sweet contrast. When she paid and left, she felt the pleasant drowsiness induced by a perfect meal.
When she stepped outside into the cool evening, she almost bumped into the man with the large dog. He quickly sidestepped and pulled his dog aside with him, avoiding the collision.
“Sorry!” He straightened, looking out a little sheepishly from underneath a mess of blond curls. “Are you all right?”
“I am, no worries.”
