Love Letters and Thirst Tonics (Moonvale Matches Book 1)

10. Redd

“Looks like we’re in this together. At least for now.” I don’t know why that thought made my stomach flip. It wasn’t necessarily unpleasant, but it was interesting. Unsettling.

I didn’t know what to expect from this woman. One moment she was screeching in my face, the next moment she was a blubbering mess, then she was a determined business owner, willing to do the hard work to save her shop. It was giving me whiplash.

I would have to keep my guard up–a woman like Fiella was bound to rip a man to shreds.

Fiella’s hand was firmly grasped in mine, and a breeze flowed past her and jostled a few stray hairs on her head. Her scent barreled into me full force, making my body tense up involuntarily and my mouth water. Warmth and berries.

My throat flared red hot like a wildfire. I had never wished so strongly for a jar of thirst tonic in my life. I couldn’t force my mouth to form any words in response.

I had a job to do, and I was determined to see it through. If disasters were going to follow me wherever I went, I needed to resolve them quickly so I wouldn’t drown in them.

The tense silence was interrupted by the loud grumbling of my stomach, which was echoed by a fierce, stabbing pain in my fangs. Gods, I was starving in more ways than one.

Fiella must’ve seen the discomfort on my face. She slowly pulled her hand from mine, and my palm felt cold. Empty.

“You know, you really should’ve taken one of the thirst tonics from Kizzi. I know how much of a pain in the ass it is to be thirsty. Vampire to vampire, the side effects are totally worth it, no matter how wacky they are. Kizzi’s tonics are the best in the realm,” she rambled. She must’ve been sensing the tension as much as I was.

I rolled my eyes. “Hells no. I’ve had my fair share of strangeness in the past few months. I can’t afford any more surprises.” That was an understatement.

If she was offended by my directness, she didn’t let it show. She shrugged, stepping back. “Well, alrighty then, Mister Stranger. Suit yourself. But your growling stomach is starting to get on my nerves so go ahead and get yourself something to eat, I’ll be fine here for the rest of the day.”

“It’s Redd,” I grumbled. “We’ve been over this.”

“I like stranger better. It’s mysterious,” she chirped, humor creeping into her voice.

For some reason, heat began creeping up my neck and into my cheeks. Am I feverish? I must be.

“If my growling stomach is such an inconvenience to you, then I’ll get out of your blue hair.” I grumbled. I was secretly relieved–I had forgotten to bring myself anything to eat today.

She merely hummed in response and turned to start sorting piles.

As I gathered my things, Fiella called over her shoulder. “See you tomorrow, I guess! Or whenever!”

I left the shop and headed towards the diner. I passed the same stone mailbox as before, and I idly glanced in its direction, my hands shoved deep in my cloak pockets as I walked along the cobblestone path.

I couldn’t help but notice that the mailbox had a different sign on it this time, the paper a crisp white instead of a faded beige. My curiosity getting the best of me, I decided to take a closer look.

Sure enough, the sign was different.

This is for you. Yes, you.

I picked the sign up and flipped it over, only to notice a message on the back as well.

I mean it. You!

I glanced over my shoulder, looking for whatever prankster had left this sign. I didn’t see any folk looking suspicious. There was a werewolf couple strolling hand in hand, a few humans meandering while laughing, and even a few orcs having a picnic with some faerie littles.

Grumbling under my breath about how ridiculous this was, I stuck my hand into the crumbling stone box. I had already earned enough bad luck; I couldn’t afford to earn any more by ignoring the fates–even if this whole situation seemed fake and ridiculous.

To my utter surprise, my searching fingers found a folded piece of paper. This had to be a trick.

I pocketed the paper, deciding I’d rather read it in the comfort of my own cottage than be spied on by tricksters, and continued my way to the diner.

The food at the diner was never disappointing. I’d even say, it might have been some of the best food I had ever eaten. The special tonight was a delicious beef and rice stew with freshly baked rolls on the side–everything steaming hot.

If I had to be in a room full of other people, I always preferred for food to be present. The scents of meats and spices helped drown out the smell of warm skin, of pumping hearts, of blood churning through veins. Instead, the nutmeg, chili, and sourdough were a soothing balm to my senses.

As I enjoyed my meal, I couldn’t stop thinking about the letter that was burning a hole in my pocket. Or about the strange morning I had. Or about my family back home.

I slowly chewed on a bite of tender beef, thankful that the stew was gentle on my sore fangs. I reminded myself once again to search for some thirst tonic around town, to see if anyone but Kizzi could help me ease my miserable thirst.

When I finally made it back to my rental cottage on the edge of town, I let myself inside and immediately yanked out the letter, determined to unravel the mystery once and for all.

What I found was… peculiar. It was some sort of letter. The paper was more crumpled than folded, soaked in spilled ink, and covered in scrawling script that I had to squint to make out.

I took a deep breath, smoothed my hair back from my face, plopped onto the overstuffed couch, and read.

Dear Mysterious Entity in the Mailbox,

Hello, I answered! I’m half convinced that this letter will just rot away in the mailbox, but just in case someone finds it, I sincerely hope you enjoy this glimpse at my thoughts, because I am not in a position to mess with the fates.

It’s your lucky day I guess!!! But not mine.

Are you a ghost? Are you a spirit? Are you a folk? I simply must know. I am just a regular ‘ol folk, but I would make a great ghost. I would love to haunt people. I bet nothing bad happens to ghosts, except for the dying part that makes you a ghost… I wonder if ghosts can just be born as ghosts. I need to ask someone about that.

Anyways. Hey ghost/spirit/folk, have you ever felt like screaming into the void until your voice gives out? That’s how I’m feeling right now. I have had an absolutely TERRIBLE day. The worst day I have ever had. Or at least the second worst day. It’s hard to rank shitty days, you know.

I’m worried that my life might be ruined. I know what you’re thinking, “This person is so whiny and dramatic!” well, whoever you are, you might be right, but you must understand. My entire life has been destroyed today, and I don’t know what I’m going to do.

Thank you for reading, mysterious mailbox spirit. (if you are actually reading and this letter isn’t just going into the abyss…)

P.S. Zero alcohol went into the writing of this letter, by the way. None. Not a drop. Not even a few sips.

P.P.S. I wonder if anyone is actually going to read this.

I couldn’t read the signature at the bottom–the sender was a complete mystery.

Gods be damned. Well, now I had to respond. This was too intriguing to pass up.

I pulled out my stack of parchment and my favorite ink and quill and set the letter aside so I could send a response of my own.

What was there to lose? Everything was already a mess anyways.

Isat and stared at the paper for what felt like hours before I could come up with any sort of response.

I wasn’t the poetic type.

This is so stupid. I’m a grown man, grown men don’t write letters to emotional strangers.

Ultimately, I decided that it didn’t matter, since I was still somewhat convinced that this was all some elaborate prank.

But what if it wasn’t a prank?

Eh, it was probably a prank.

Hello, Stranger.

I received your letter. Though I’m not sure when you wrote it, or who it was intended for, it has made its way into my hands.

I have many questions, but I’ll save my ink for now.

I am not a ghost, nor am I a spirit. I am a regular folk, as you have said. I have never died, nor have I been to the afterlife. And I do not reside within any mailbox.

I am sorry about your day. If it helps, you are not alone. I have had days like that. And I assure you, it will pass. The lows don’t last forever. You will rise again. Just get up tomorrow and keep going.

And do the same thing the next day.

Best,

Another Stranger

P.S. Alcohol, you say? Was it ale? Golden ale is my favorite.

I felt like an absolute idiot as I stared at the two letters in my hands. I was torn. Part of me wanted to crumple them both up, chuck them in the trash, and then act like this whole thing never happened. I was strangely embarrassed at having been roped into this odd predicament.

Another part of me was curious.

I sat for long minutes, my mind battling with itself.

Ultimately, the curiosity won out.

What do I have to lose?

Not allowing myself to dwell on the strangeness of the situation, I folded the parchment and left it on the corner of the table, promising myself that I would drop it in the mailbox on my next journey into town.