Chapter 2
Chapter
Two
“Good evening, Mr Marin,” Trent said.
Mr Marin stepped out and rose to his full height, a half-head taller than Trent. He placed the tweezers down on a shelf and walked, long, lean limbs moving fluidly towards the counter and Trent.
His smooth blue skin shone in the light from the many lanterns that illuminated the room. Trent’s breath caught as he wondered what it would be like to touch his skin. Would it be cool? Damp? Soft?
Multiple thick tentacles grew from Mr Marin’s head like hair. They hung to different lengths down his back, ending between his waist and knees. But a couple almost reached his ankles.
Mr Marin placed his webbed hands on the counter. If Trent dared, he could reach out and touch him. He held his breath as he imagined sliding his fingers across the wood and entwining their fingers together.
He shook his head. But of course that would be completely inappropriate.
He raised his gaze to meet Mr Marin’s pale-blue eyes. Trent couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. As he stood in front of Mr Marin, he felt like the world beyond the man’s gaze no longer existed.
The siren wore glasses, but they did not obscure or hide his eyes in any way. If anything they seemed to enlarge them.
After months of seeing Mr Marin daily and being the focus of those eyes, he’d have thought he’d be used to it. But every time he was near Mr Marin, he felt like he’d drunk too much mulled wine.
I wonder what it would be like to have him look at me like a lover.
His gut tightened. A shiver slid down his spine, but he forced himself to remain still.
No one had ever had this effect on him before. No one had even come close.
Trent had heard the stories of sirens luring sailors with their song and causing them to wreck their ships on rocky shores. And when standing before this siren, he could believe the tales. He yearned to be close to Mr Marin in a way that defied comprehension.
But Mr Marin had never sung in his presence. So Trent couldn’t see how his strange infatuation could be caused by Mr Marin’s siren song. But maybe the power did not come from his song.
“I assume you are here for the elothea seeds for your brother,” Mr Marin said in an accented, melodious voice.
It was the most beautiful voice Trent had ever heard. Was his magic in his voice and not in his actual song? But if that was the case, why weren’t more people in Anorra infatuated with Mr Marin and filling the emporium every day?
Trent nodded. “I am. Thank you.”
Mr Marin reached beneath the counter. He pulled out a tall, cylindrical tank, hands and tentacles lifting it. He placed it on the counter. Trent’s gaze lingered on the tentacles as the suctions released the glass.
His breath sped up. What would those suckers feel like against his skin? His gut clenched, and he forced his gaze on the tank, not the tentacles.
A deep-burgundy aquatic grass grew within. It swayed in the water. Mr Marin reached in, plucking half a dozen seeds from the grass tips with quick movements. He placed them, one after the other, on a small glass plate beside him and then leaned forward to examine them.
Trent hesitated as Mr Marin went about his work.
Should he ask Mr Marin on a date now? Mr Marin wasn’t even looking at him. No. Now was not the right time.
But was that the truth? Or was that just his nerves getting the best of him once again?
Trent stood straighter. He took a deep breath and cleared his throat. “Merry Christmas, Mr Marin. I wish you joy and happiness this winter… I mean, this Christmas day.”
Conjuring cockups and clusterfucks! “I mean, I wish you joy and happiness this Christmas season!”
Mr Marin raised his gaze, pausing in his examination of the seeds. He blinked, or he blinked in that strange manner of his. From the side of each eye, two clear eyelids passed over his blue eyes before retreating.
Mr Marin turned towards the front windows. “Is it the Christmas season already?”
“It’s December first,” Trent said.
“Time does sneak up on us, doesn’t it? But that’s what it does. Time creeps along as we go about our routines. Suddenly seconds turn to minutes, turn to days, turn to weeks, turn to months, turn to years. Our lives slip away, and they are gone forever.”
Mr Marin paused. “How many years have passed only barely noticed?”
Trent assumed the question was hypothetical, so he didn’t answer. Mr Marin continued to stare at the windows.
Trent swallowed, unsure if he should continue. When he had rehearsed asking Mr Marin on a date, he’d not considered that Mr Marin would stare out the window and muse about the perpetual passage of time.
Trent pressed his lips together. Now just didn’t seem the right time to ask him on a date. The mood felt wrong.
Trent dropped his gaze to the brass buttons on the simple black coat Mr Marin wore. Although the sleeves were long, they were rolled back so he could reach his arms into the water tanks as needed. This meant his toned blue arms remained on display. Water glistened on his skin.
After a few more moments of silent contemplation, Mr Marin returned his gaze to the dark seeds on the glass plate. Without any more comments to Trent, he took a small pair of tweezers, picked up each seed, and placed it on a small white cloth.
“It’s lucky you have the fresh elothea seeds every day,” Trent said.
“The elothea grass is a prolific producer of seeds.” Mr Marin continued placing the seeds on the cloth. “As long as she remains healthy, she will continue to produce more than enough seeds for your brother’s daily medicinal needs.”
“Oh. Well, it’s good that you take such good care of all your plants.” Trent smiled.
“I do my best to ensure all my plants are tended to properly.” Mr Marin straightened and placed the tweezers onto the counter, his gaze meeting Trent’s.
“You must have a green thumb.” Trent laughed. “Or perhaps you’d say a blue thumb, since you work with aquatic plants.” He laughed again.
Did that make any sense?
Or was that offensive, since Mr Marin did indeed have blue thumbs? His laughter died.
Mr Marin tilted his head, brows furrowing in what Trent guessed was confusion. Or offence!
Pissing potions! Should I apologise?
Then the corners of his dark-blue lips lifted in a smile, more polite than from genuine amusement. Still, Trent could breathe easier.
“And how is your brother today?” Mr Marin asked.
Trent gave a half shrug. “Much the same.”
Mr Marin’s brows drew lower. “Does the healer believe that to be normal?”
Trent hesitated. “No. But the healer says everything about my brother’s case doesn’t make much sense.”
“I am sorry to hear that.”
Mr Marin folded the small white fabric, containing the seeds. Then he slid it into a small envelope and handed it over to Trent. “I hope these bring your brother some relief from his ailments, Mr Berry. That will be 110 bells.”
Trent counted out the coins and placed them onto the counter.
“Prepare the fresh elothea seeds in a tea by—” Mr Marin broke off. “Of course, you have done it so many times now that I’m sure you know the instructions by heart. And you are a witch, so brewing teas must come naturally to you.”
“It does.” Trent nodded and took the small envelope. Brewing tea was at least something a weak hearth and kitchen witch like himself could manage. “Thank you.”
He stared at the envelope in his hands. It had been months ago when Trent offered to go to the Aquatic Horticultural Emporium for his brother Jasper for the first time.
The healer had said tea made with fresh elothea seeds would help Jasper recover from the accident in no time. But even though Jasper said it brought relief to his symptoms, Jasper did not improve as he should. The healer said Jasper should have completely recovered ages ago.
“You are welcome, Mr Berry.” Mr Marin inclined his head slightly.
With a brief smile to Mr Marin, Trent walked towards the door.
Then he halted as realisation slammed into him. He’d failed to ask Mr Marin on a date. But since he’d been trying to do so for several weeks now, he was not really surprised that he had been unsuccessful once again.
I’ll try again tomorrow.
But a niggling thought told him he’d probably fail. The problem was he always got so distracted by Mr Marin. He got lost in his gaze. He imagined those webbed hands touching him.
And those tentacles! Trent had so many thoughts about those tentacles. Improper thoughts.
For a moment he imagined all those tentacles, slithering along Trent’s skin, creeping into places on Trent’s body that had never been touched by another.
Trent swallowed as blood surged towards his groin.
With an unnecessarily hard shove, he pushed the door open. A snowy breeze blew into the humid store, brushing against Trent’s flushed cheeks.
“And, Mr Berry,” Mr Marin called out.
Trent turned back. “Yes?”
Mr Marin smiled, sharp teeth visible. “Merry Christmas.”