I convinced myself I had until evening to come up with something. I glanced at my newest lodger.
"Are you hungry?" I asked the fluffball. "Let's get acquainted over food—two birds, one scone."
I headed for the kitchen without looking back. Lil was an independent sort. I'd already watched him rev up on those short legs and hop from chair to bed like a plump, ginger acrobat.
I set the kettle on, coaxed the fire to life, and started kneading dough. Tea with fresh flatbreads and a spoon of sweet jam—exactly what today required. The day had actually started well; since morning my chest had been tickling, like the fizz before something good.
After a month, I'd grown a little used to magic, so I figured it was predicting pleasant things for once. Before the bell dragged us all to the central square, Lil—my familiar—had slipped into the house.
"By the way, are you… real?" I asked. "I've never seen anyone—mm—quite as pretty as you. What are you, and where did you come from?"
"Of course I'm real!" The little creature fluffed himself up and stood tall. "I'm the shape your magic chose—and I came from another world. Woke up at dawn on the edge of the forest and followed the call until I climbed into your house. And for the record, I can eat carrots, parsley, and, in dire emergencies, cabbage—but I'd really rather not."
I had my back to him, but I couldn't shake the image of the little beastie ticking off his culinary preferences on invisible fingers. I smiled.
What a confident puffball fate handed me.
"And what exactly are you going to do for me?" I set a plate before him with tiny carrot pieces.
He purred in satisfaction and pounced on the treat. Hungry, clearly.
And I, once again, started thinking what I should do. Strictly speaking, Theo has no use for me anymore. His papa already got the estate and the papers to five ships, and the fact that I ran from the groom—well, it happens.
He'll pay the penalty from the gold he scraped off my parents' manor sale. He can't accuse me of witchcraft either; he's got no proof. I make remedies to order and always say it's just an herbal brew. What people drink it for is another matter. I only lace it with light.
"Well now," the fluffball twinkled at me with bead-bright eyes, pinching another carrot between his forepaws, "barely landed in a new world and I already learn my witch has an Inquisitor."
"Why would you think that?" I nearly fell off the chair at the accusation.
"Witch, have you ever seen your magic?"
"I have," I nodded. "It's… red."
"Red," he mimicked primly. "You've got love magic, witch!"
"How does that work?" I was ready to sit through my familiar's magical lecture—but the door creaked again.
When is that blacksmith going to bring my lock? "Come one, come all, Ria welcomes the entire town!" I fumed, and hurried into the tiny entry hall with a wooden bench along the wall and two windows on either side. Flowering pots lined the sills, and the kitchen door faced the front entrance.
A curly cloud of black hair crashed into me. Silvia's sister was wound tighter than a crossbow. Flushed, breathless, she yanked her dress back up where it had slipped off her shoulder. I did wonder why a maiden was swanning about at noon in a red gown with a slit to the thigh—but I kept that to myself.
Whoever angered this harpy, I had a feeling the fun would include me.
"Girl!" she barked at me like I was a lazy scullery maid.
Their family was one of the well-off in town. Lately the matron had been determined to marry the daughter off and had even come to me begging for a potion. Naturally, instead of a love philter I brewed a tea for… intestinal winds. Here's hoping the rude one's sister never notices.
"Miranda?" I grimaced, but leashed my temper at the disrespect.
If the plump sister loved gossip and sweets, Miranda was her opposite. A scorching brunette with a wasp waist and generous hips—she drove every local lad (and not only lads) to distraction.
They lived not far from my cottage, and for some reason she couldn't stand me. Every time she saw me, she'd toss a barb at my back. And now she barged into my house, shrieking like a wronged duchess.
"Girl, what did you give that fatty? Huh?"—that's how she spoke of her own sister, by the way.
I blew a copper curl off my brow like my familiar and planted my hands on my hips.
"First, good day. Second, this is not your house to strut around in," I said, brows knitting, and pushed back.
Whether it was something in my voice or the flare she saw in my eyes, Miranda deflated at once.
"It's—what's your name—Ria. My sister was here recently. What did you give her?" she asked, voice dulled.
My stomach clenched. Had I botched the brew? My ears roared. Saints—if people find out I can't make real love potions… I dug my fingers into my hair and swayed. What's going to happen to me?
"What's wrong with her?" I rasped.
"Who? Oh, the fatty? That's what I'm telling you. Give me what you gave her!" Envy sharpened her tone. "She drank the potion, knocked on the new mayor's gate, and she hasn't come out for an hour."
Well… if you think about it, diarrhea is survivable. Why was I panicking?
I mumbled something about running short on ingredients, nodded at her suggestion to come back tomorrow, and finally shut the door in her painted face.
"You're in high demand," Lil whistled, peeking from the kitchen.
I snorted. What did they all see in Theo anyway? He's a traitor and—ugh—who even likes men that tall and broad-shouldered? With that straight nose and full mouth, ew.
Until moonrise I scrubbed cauldrons with such zeal I almost admired myself. Then, under cover of night, I slipped out the back door. I tugged up the wide hood of my black cloak, settled the little beast more comfortably in the herb basket, and headed for the forest.