Chapter 2

Katie

The chatter of voices rose from within the infirmary, along with the smell of cleansing herbs and whatever else they used to clean the medical building. Amongst it all was the scent of freshly steeped tea, one that I knew would hold the key to making sure Oliver's scratches healed right.

Banjo stuck close to me without needing a verbal command as we walked into the waiting area, unlike Oliver who was mindlessly touching everything he passed.

Someone cleared their throat behind us. "I just disinfected everything."

I turned around although I knew exactly who that voice belonged to. Slightly coarse, loud, and with a permanent hint of amusement, I'd recognise Brew's annoyingly charming voice anywhere.

As expected, he was standing in the doorframe, filling it with his broad shoulders. His auburn curls weren't long, but they were unruly, which made it hard to take him seriously. "Hello, Fields."

Banjo darted towards Brew and jumped up, his paws urgently trying to get to the man he knew would fuss him. Brew laughed and conjured a small treat from his pocket. Without missing a beat, Banjo sat down obediently and fixed his big begging eyes on the tea witch. He whined and his tail wagged so fast that it was a blur.

I rolled my eyes. No wonder Banjo always loved seeing him.

"Good boy. Give me five." Brew high-fived my familiar and surrendered the treat. "You're my favourite dog, did you know that?"

"I bet you say that to all the familiars," I responded.

He looked up and grinned. "Don't you know it, Katheryn Fields."

"Your charm is going to get you into trouble one day, Rooibos Brewster," I responded, throwing his own full name back at him.

"So long as it can get me out of it again," he said. "So, what brings you here? Girl trouble? Boy trouble? Or are you just here to see my handsome face?"

"Owl trouble," I said, pointing at my brother.

"It's nothing, just a couple of scratches. Katie is making a mountain out of a molehill," Oliver said.

I tried not to sigh. He could be such a baby when it was just the two of us, but in front of his best friend, he had to put on a tough act.

Brew clicked his tongue, his face suddenly getting a lot more serious. "Show me."

With a reluctant sigh, Oliver pushed his sleeves up. "Just throw some disinfectant on me and I'll stop taking up your time."

"It's fine, it's quiet at the moment." Brew examined the cuts. "I think a little bit of magic should fix you right up."

"Don't waste your magic on me," Oliver protested.

Laughing, Brew grabbed Oliver's shoulders and gave him a good shake. "Waste it on you? Never. You're my top priority."

With a sigh, Oliver shrugged him away. "What do you want?"

No wonder people always mistook us all as siblings. He was exactly the same with Brew as he was with me.

Brew grinned. "I met a cute new girl who said she's never seen a real owl. I promised her she could meet Howie."

I sighed. Of course, it had to do with a cute girl.

Oliver sighed too. "You and cute girls. You can't look at a cute girl without chatting her up."

"That's right. Speaking of cute girls..." Brew flashed me a smile. "What's up, Kitty-Kat?"

Oliver didn't waste a moment to jab Brew's shoulder. "Not my sister, Brew."

"Don't worry, your sister is not interested," I remarked, throwing Brew an unimpressed look. Maybe it would've been charming if I hadn't known him my whole life or just heard how he was using Oliver's familiar to pick up other girls. Unfortunately, I couldn't unknow that.

Brew shrugged, never all that discouraged by the rejection. "Shall I take care of the scratches?"

I followed the two of them into an adjoining treatment room.

A low pallet with a thin mattress laid against the wall, and Brew gestured over to it while he went to wash his hands. I wasn't sure what the nymphs had done to ensure the infirmary had running water, but I had to admit that it was useful.

Brew scrubbed his hands and up his arms, paying more attention to that than I'd ever seen him do to anything outside the infirmary. He could be laidback and full of jokes outside work, but when he was here, there was a hint of the serious Rooibos who laid beneath the surface of Brew.

He shook off his hands and dried them before carefully pouring himself a measure of tea. It looked weaker than what he drank at home, probably because the infirmary was paying for it, not the Brewsters.

"I would offer you some but you know I can't," Brew said, sounding apologetic.

"Nah, don't worry. I never developed a taste for it anyway," Oliver replied with a shrug.

Once Brew's cup was empty, he got to work. He placed a hand on each of Oliver's scratched arms and hummed a soft soothing tune, a classic tea witch healing song. I'd heard it so many times over the years and I found myself humming along without meaning to. Not that it would do anything if I did. Not being a tea witch, I lacked the required magic to get any of the healing powers from it.

A faint green glow enveloped Brew's hands as he sang, but there was no visible change to the wounds on Oliver's arms. It was nothing ground-breaking but it would reduce the risk of infection and make it all heal quicker.

"There, that should take care of that." Brew stood up and went to wash his hands. "I'm working with the dregs here." He gestured to the pot.

"Or maybe you're just not as good at healing magic as you like to think," I suggested.

He gave me an amused look. "Oh, Katie, Katie. I have the most talented hands in my family. If you gave me a chance, I could prove it to you."

"I believe I’m going to throw up," I said, fake-gagging.

His laugh sounded through the room “Throwing up? Sounds like someone is desperate for my medical attention."

"You know what, I'm suddenly cured."

Oliver gagged too, but it sounded real. "That was awful. Brew, leave my sister alone."

With a little shrug, Brew took a step back. "I know, I know. Anyway, that's you all sorted. Keep the scratches clean and if there's any sign of infection, pus, or festering, come see me right away."

"Wow, you sound like an actual health professional now," I remarked.

"I am an actual health professional," Brew said, leaning over with a goofy grin to kiss the top of Oliver's head. "Take care of yourself."

I burst into laughter, mostly from my brother's exhausted but amused expression. After two decades of friendship, we were both used to Brew's over-the-top personality.

Banjo barked, as always happy to contribute to the conversation. I fussed him between the ears and took his reaction as my cue to leave. If we stayed any longer, we'd only be subjected to more of Brew's ridiculousness and as amusing as that could be, I had work to do, and I couldn't let myself be distracted by my brother, or his best friend, any longer.