Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

PIPER

U sually, it's easy to lose myself in the daily minutiae of running The Pixie's Perch.

Making the baked goods as the sun rises, double checking the cleanliness of the small eat-in area, refreshing the enchantments on the very expensive glass counters to keep everything fresh, and writing the day's menu on the huge board enchanted to update pricing automatically based on the cost of supplies and business overhead.

A neat bit of work, that.

Normally, I'd grin every time the nifty board shifted the prices, but today, all I feel is dread.

I smile at my regulars, put on a pleasant face, and manage to make it through the morning rush without any major stumbles.

My business has always been my anchor, the one thing I've felt I'm good at, baking and kitchen witchery and customer service as natural as breathing.

A cold sweat breaks out between my shoulders, and I clench my jaw.

"Brie and ham sandwiches on pretzel dough coming through," Ga'Rek says quietly from behind me, and I paste a smile on my face as I step out of his way.

I lean against the prep counter. The butcher paper and colorful twine and embossing seals for packaging up orders lay in neat compartments, ready to be used, and I try to do the same to my wayward emotions.

"Piper," Ga'Rek intones, raising an eyebrow at me. "You are not yourself," he says.

And just like that, I want to hug him again.

He smells the way autumn itself should: like pumpkin squares and cinnamon, like ginger cookies with sugared tops, like apple cider and dark, hot chocolate all rolled into one.

I want to run into his wall of muscle and soak up the way he feels and smells until I'm stuffed with it, until it replaces the bleak, stressed out darkness inside me with all the ways I should be feeling right now.

I want to so very badly. My feet take a step towards him, and I grip the counter behind me with both hands to keep from touching him.

I shouldn't.

It's not fair for me to seek comfort from him, an orc who works for me.

Highly inappropriate.

I bite my lip, staring up at him, feeling sad and desperate and not at all like myself.

"Is this still about the festival?" he asks, his green forehead furrowed.

The concern clear on his face makes me melt, and some of that darkness inside me dissipates. I nod, not trusting the tight knot in my throat enough to speak.

"What do you need me to do?" he asks, and I recognize some of that desperation I feel in his words.

I shake my head, unwilling to put it on him. "I don't pay you enough to demand any more work from you."

His expression darkens, and his lips pull back, exposing the tusks I almost forget are there, because they're just part of him.

Now, though, with them on full display, I tilt my head, fascinated by them.

I take a step closer, just to get a better look–

And squeak as his arms wrap back around me, pulling me tight.

"Do you need a hug?" he asks, his voice a low, delicious rumble against where my cheek's pressed against him.

I breathe him in, inhaling that wonderful smell, and the tension that's left bean-sized knots across my back starts to dissolve.

I bury my face in his shirt, my hands automatically going to the small of his back, which is about as high as I come up on him.

By the moon, he makes me feel safe .

I snuggle closer, and a low moan comes out of him. I stiffen, worried I've hurt him somehow, maybe exacerbated an old battle injury. I've seen the scars that lace down his sides when his shirt exposes his muscled torso.

It would be hard not to notice his torso.

It would be even harder not to notice the fact that, ah, something between his legs is growing larger.

Larger, and much, much harder, until it's pressing against my thigh.

Distracted and flustered, every single anxious thought practically flies away.

It would be so easy to just rub myself against him like a cat, look up at him and bat my lashes, and see if he can make me forget for a bit longer.

When the bell over the door jangles, I practically leap off of him, dismayed by how quickly my resolve to keep things polite and professional has evaporated with two lovely hugs.

"I, uh, I, um. Sorry," I stammer, then whip around to the front door. "Welcome to The Pixie's Perch," I practically scream at the poor, unsuspecting customer.

My eyes close.

Very smooth. Nonchalant, even.

Ga'Rek makes a rumbling noise that might be a laugh, but I'm too embarrassed to even look at him.

Instead, I force myself to stare, wide-eyed and manic, at the woman who's wandered into the shop.

She blinks, then glances around.

"Hope you're hungry!" I make myself chirp at her. "We have the best charmed and enchantment-free baked goods in town."

The Pixie's Perch is the only enchanted edibles café in town too, but that's beside the point.

Ga'Rek moves away from me, heading back towards the kitchen.

I very pointedly keep my manic smile in place as I stare at the newcomer.

"Uh, yes, I am hungry, actually," she says slowly. Coppery brown hair falls around her face, which is gaunt, cheekbones standing out in stark contrast. Dark circles purple the delicate skin under her eyes.

"Sit, sit," I tell her, worry for this too-thin stranger replacing all the embarrassing feelings of unacted upon desire. "I'll bring you a sandwich and a pastry and some hot tea, alright?"

"I don't know if I can—" She glances up at the board behind me, and suddenly, my satisfaction with the magicked prices dries up. "I'm not sure I have enough?—"

"On the house," I tell her firmly. "Sit. We all need kindness now and then. I have a knack for knowing when people need it."

The latter isn't true, not in a witchy sense, really. But this woman looks bone-tired, and she's clearly worried about paying me, and I'm not about to let her leave my café hungry. Next to me, Velvet nuzzles my hip and then wanders off to the where the woman sits, fidgeting, at my favorite pink polka-dotted corner table.

"A deer?" she asks in wonder.

"She's my familiar," I tell her. "Velvet. And I'm Piper. Do you like brie and ham?" I pause, pouring hot water into one of the sturdy mugs I prefer to use in the café.

Upstairs, in my little home, I like the thinnest, most feminine and absolutely unnecessary teacups possible. Unfortunately, my lovely teacups aren't minotaur or centaur or troll friendly. Not that we get many trolls.

"That sounds so good," the woman says on a sigh.

I glance over at her, concern making me narrow my eyes.

Velvet's put her long brown face in her lap, her ears pricked up as the woman gingerly strokes my familiar's face.

Happiness washes over me, and I hum to myself as I place a chamomile tea strainer in the mug, smudges of color staining the steaming water.

This is why I do this.

This is why I wake up when it's dark and sunless and cold.

Because food, making a meal for others, making a pastry that helps soothe a soul… it makes me happy.

It fills that aching emptiness that yawns deep inside me, and shores it up with light and companionship.

It's been enough, at least, I thought it has…

I wrap the sandwich in brown wax paper, slicing it in half for neater eating, and in case she wants to take half with her. A jar of pickles sits on the counter, and I fish one out with the silvered tongs my mother loved so dearly.

Funny how a thing like using pickle tongs can summon a memory so strong I nearly feel my mother's gentle touch on the back of my neck.

I shiver, pausing, and when I turn back to the woman in the corner, she's staring at me with wide eyes.

A sense of uncanniness tingles down my spine, all my hair standing up on my arms.

It's not abnormal, per se, to feel touched by a spirit, especially as the veil thins the closer Samhain comes. But this is more than that.

It feels like my mother is here.

My throat tightens and I glance around, knowing she can't be, but looking all the same.

"Do you see her?" the woman asks in a hushed tone. "Tell me you can see her."

Ahhhh. I nod to myself, the woman's appearance suddenly making perfect sense. She's frightened, and Violet nudges her with her nose, the woman automatically petting the deer again.

"What do you see?" I ask her in an even, calm tone.

Outside, thunder rumbles, close enough to shake the glass, and the woman in the corner jumps at the noise.

"Nothing," she says quickly, dropping her gaze to the pink polka dots on the table. "I should go."

"Nonsense," I tell her sternly. "It's about to pour."

No sooner have I said the words than the comforting pitter patter of rain begins to ping on the glass.

I sigh, the woman staring up at me with huge, terrified eyes.

No wonder the store is still near-empty—anyone with any sense has stayed home as the storm brewed above Wild Oak Woods.

"The storm has nothing to do with what you're seeing, and neither do I," I tell her gently, bringing her a heavy plate laden with a sandwich and pickle, as well as some deep-fried potato slices that Ga'Rek loves to make, and my customers love to eat.

"How… how do you know what I'm seeing?" Her face turns so pale that the remnants of summer freckles stand out. "I'm not seeing anything."

She says the last part so fast and looks down at Velvet in a way that tells me very clearly that she is lying, and that she is not a good liar.

I set the plate down in front of her.

"Ga'Rek," I call out. "No need to make more sandwiches. Come have lunch with us."

"I was working on something else," he yells from the kitchen. "I made it for you."

My heart squeezes, and I stare at the arched opening to the kitchen. "You made me something? What?"

"You'll see," he grumbles. "Might be an abomination."

He emerges holding a plate piled high with the deep-fried potatoes—except they're smothered in melted cheese, and…

"Is that… bacon pieces? And green onions?" I ask, confused. It smells amazing. It's a far cry from the usual hunk of bread and jam I scarf down, and my stomach grumbles.

I think I forgot to eat today.

"You need food," he tells me, setting it down on the pink polka-dotted table. "I'll bring the drinks."

The woman's staring up at Ga'Rek, her mouth wide open.

"This is Ga'Rek," I tell her. "He's an orc, and he's my friend, and I'm a witch, and you are too. I assume that's why you're here, hmm? Your abilities just began manifesting?" I make the questions as gentle as possible, because she's as skittish as can be.

Rain pelts the windows, and Ga'Rek ambles back over as she stares at us, and then the plate of food in front of her.

He sets a plate piled high with ham sandwiches at the neighboring table, giving us space and the illusion of privacy while also being an arm's length away.

It's incredible how he does that, makes himself seem harmless and comfortable, despite his intimidating size and bulk. A little sigh comes out of me, and I tear my eyes away from him to focus back on the newcomer.

"Let's start with the easy part," I say, taking one of the fried potatoes laden in cheddar and popping it in my mouth. My eyes widen, and when I glance over at Ga'Rek, he's grinning widely at me.

It's delicious. Salty with the sharp bite of green onion and the rich, sweet flavor of bacon.

It's nothing like what I normally serve here, but I can't deny the fact this would be an instant winner.

"I knew you'd like it," he says in a low voice.

I squeeze my thighs together surreptitiously under the table.

"The easy part?" the trembling baby witch in front of me asks, her food still untouched.

"What's your name?" I ask her, wanting to put her at ease. "That's the easiest question I know." She swallows, her throat bobbing, and I nudge the plate closer to her. "Eat. That will help."

"Will it make them go away?" she whispers, her eyes huge.

I shake my head, so impossibly sad for her. I'm not one-hundred percent sure of the powers she's manifested so late, but I have a sneaking suspicion she's a seer, and not in the traditional sense.

A shadow seer, one who can converse with those who have departed this mortal plane.

"It won't make them go away," I tell her, and I suppress a shiver as I feel my mother's hand against the nape of my neck again.

Ga'Rek's watching me curiously, steadily eating sandwich after sandwich.

"It won't make them go away," I repeat, reaching out my hand and covering the other witch's with mine. "But it will help you control your gift. What's your name?" I ask again.

"Violet. Violet Islish." She blinks, looking just over my shoulder, where I'm fairly certain my mother's shade is hovering.

"Don't be afraid," I tell her, squeezing her hand before letting go. "The shades are nothing to be scared of. They're here to guide you. You don't come from… a family of witches, do you?"

She shakes her head no. The paper around the sandwich crinkles as she grabs half, barely audible over the sound of the rain on the glass windows.

It blows now in nearly horizontal sheets against the front of the store, the storm winds howling around the second story.

Ga'Rek glances at me and we both eat quietly, listening to the sounds of the violent autumn storm from our snug corner of The Pixie's Perch.

And waiting for our new friend Violet to feel safe enough to share her story with us.

Impulsively, I reach across to where Ga'Rek's hand rests on his table, and I cover it with mine.

I can't help but grin at the thought, because my hand doesn't even come close to covering his. It's a dab of pale skin against a sea of green, and I'm smiling at the contrast in sizes as I glance up at his face, heartened by the simple touch.

His mouth hangs open, his green throat bobbing as he swallows.

Air whooshes out of my lungs in embarrassment.

Trying to hold Ga'Rek's hand was not my brightest move, and shame dapples my chest and neck with flames of red.

Until he turns his hand over, grasping at mine the moment I begin to pull away.

We're staring at each other, that heat of shame climbing into my cheeks and turning into a different kind of heat entirely, when Violet begins to speak.