Chapter 1 #2
“Where’s the fun in that?” Syndra’s voice floated closer, still unseen. “I like watching mortals try to figure out whether you’ve lost your mind.”
Lisa blew a strand of hair out of her face. “It’s not polite to make people question my sanity before noon.”
A shimmer filled the air beside her, and Syndra materialized with the faintest sparkle, like the sun catching dew.
Dressed in a soft green tunic that somehow looked both regal and effortless, she leaned an elbow on the counter, eyes bright with amusement.
She lifted a slender hand and made a motion towards the customer, who somehow hadn’t fallen over in shock, and muttered some words in the Elfin language.
The woman shook her head as if waking up and looked at Lisa. “So, what do I owe you?”
Lisa finished the sale and watched the woman leave before turning to look at her long time friend.
“You handled that call well,” Syndra said. “Though I admit, I was hoping Cush would start throwing things. He’s got that lovely temper.”
Lisa turned to give her a look. “You heard the whole thing?”
“Of course. You really should ward this place better if you expect privacy.”
Lisa scoffed. “I like my privacy respected, not enforced.”
Syndra’s smile curved knowingly. “You sound tense. Has Tony been in lately?”
Lisa groaned. “No, and that’s not why I’m tense.”
“Oh, so there is tension?” Syndra teased, her tone musical. “Do tell. Are we finally going to admit that you enjoy his attention? Or are we going to talk about the notes you think I don’t know about?”
Lisa shot her a dry look. “If by enjoy, you mean tolerate while praying he finds someone else, then yes, I’m having a wonderful time. And how many times do I have to tell you if it’s not yours then don’t touch it?”
Syndra laughed, light and unbothered. “You could do worse. He’s handsome, human, and not at all terrifying. Which, for you, might be a nice change. As for the latter, keep telling me and maybe we will find out.”
“I’m not interested in nice,” Lisa said before she could stop herself. The words came out sharper than intended. She busied her hands, sealing a paper pouch of tea. “I’m interested in peace.”
Syndra’s teasing softened, her voice dropping low. “Peace doesn’t always mean solitude, you know.”
Lisa looked at her, lips quirking faintly. “You should embroider that on a pillow.”
Syndra suddenly turned and waved over her shoulder. “Going to sew it now. Don’t worry, I’ll be back soon to get the scoop on that—and I don’t mean ice cream.”
Lisa frowned. “The scoop on wha—”
The bell chimed again.
She turned, and froze.
Rezer stood just inside the doorway, one shoulder leaning against the frame, his dark hair catching the morning light. His expression was calm, unreadable, but his eyes, those strange, deep eyes, were fixed entirely on her.
Lisa’s breath caught. The paper pouch of tea crinkled in her hands.
“Morning,” Rezer said, voice low and smooth. “Told you I’d see you soon.”
Rezer couldn’t take his eyes off of her. The way her skin flushed as she stared at him, and he could hear her heart beat picking up its pace.
“I didn’t think you meant soon, soon,” Lisa said, voice steady, though her hands betrayed her. The tea pouch in her grasp crinkled softly.
Rezer’s mouth curved. “When I said soon, I meant it in the normal meaning of the word. So, the opposite of later.” He stepped fully inside, letting the door close behind him. The small bell above it chimed again, too cheerful for the kind of energy that had just entered the room.
Enigma smelled of herbs and warmth and something faintly sweet—like honey steeped in sunlight. Shelves lined the walls, cluttered with glass jars, candles, and stones that caught the light. It should’ve felt ordinary, mortal. But nothing about the woman in front of him did.
Lisa set the tea bag down carefully, as if one wrong move might startle whatever this moment was becoming.
Her hair was pulled up in a loose knot, a few silver-blonde curls framing her face.
The strands caught the morning light, shining like strands of silk.
There was no glamour about her, no effort to impress, and yet Rezer found himself unable to look anywhere else.
“You’re a hard woman to get a meeting with,” he said.
She crossed her arms, the motion subtle but defensive. “That’s because I’m booked up for the next few decades.”
He smiled again, faintly. “But, you read the cards.” It wasn’t a question. He’d watched her read them.
With a small lift of one shoulder she said, “You took the time to write them, I thought it rude not to.”
His lips curved up even higher as he added, “But you read them more than once.”
She didn’t respond.
A beat passed, quiet but weighted. Her brown eyes held his steadily, but there was something behind them—a flicker of awareness she probably couldn’t name. Something in him answered it, a tug low in his chest that had no business existing.
He broke eye contact first, scanning the shop instead. “Nice place. Smells like the forest in early afternoon, when the sun is warming the plants, causing their scents to be the strongest.”
Lisa tilted her head. “That’s oddly poetic and specific for someone who writes obscure sounding threats on stationery.”
His grin came unbidden. “It wasn’t a threat. More of a promise.”
“I see.” She turned to move behind the counter, busying herself with the kettle. “And this visit is that promise fulfilled?”
“I suppose.” His gaze followed the line of her shoulders, the easy grace in her movements. “I got tired of waiting for an invitation.”
She didn’t look at him. “Patience isn’t your strong suit.”
“Neither is being ignored.”
Her breath caught, a tiny, involuntary sound, but she masked it quickly, setting the kettle down with a soft click. “You’ve been . . . watching me.” It wasn’t a question.
Rezer didn’t deny it. “Observation is a habit I’ve picked up.”
“I’d call it stalking.”
He let out a quiet laugh. “You make it sound unflattering.”
Lisa finally looked up, meeting his eyes again. “Is there a flattering version?”
Something in him shifted, subtle but sharp. He wasn’t used to being challenged, especially not by someone who radiated gentleness instead of aggression. “Maybe not. But I’m not here to scare you.”
Her expression softened, just barely. “Then why are you here, Rezer?”
He hesitated. The truth rose instinctively, unformed and strange: Because something in me is missing, and I think you’re part of it. But he couldn’t say that, not when he didn’t understand it himself.
Instead, he said simply, “Because I told you I would be.”
For a moment, neither spoke. The shop felt smaller, the air thicker. The kettle clicked off behind her, but neither moved.
Lisa was the first to break the silence. “You want tea?”
He smiled, slow and deliberate. “Only if you’re making it.”
“Good,” she said, forcing a lightness she didn’t feel. “I’m told it’s my one redeeming skill.”
He said nothing, just watched her as she moved about the shop. It wasn’t the kind of stare meant to intimidate or flirt, it was heavier, thoughtful, as though he was cataloging every motion she made. Lisa tried to ignore it. Tried, and failed.
She poured the hot water over a blend she’d made earlier– chamomile, lemon balm, a hint of mint–and focused on the simple rhythm of it.
The familiar ritual helped. When life had shattered around her years ago, this shop and its small routines had been what held her together, that and her kids.
Now, they were both grown and out doing their things and she was left to face all the things she’d been able to ignore over the years.
“So,” she said, without turning. “You’ve kept your threat, I mean promise. What now?”
“Maybe I’m still curious.” His tone sounded a bit amused.
Lisa glanced over her shoulder. “About what?”
“You,” he said simply. His look was challenging, like he wanted to see how much he could poke the bear before the claws came out.
The answer landed with unsettling ease, and she almost burned her fingers setting the teapot down. “That’s not an answer,” she said, keeping her tone even. “That’s an evasion.”
He smiled faintly. “Curiosity doesn’t always come with an explanation.”
She huffed a small laugh. “You sound like Syndra. And trust me, that’s not a compliment.”
That earned her a quiet, amused look. “The former queen still hovering?”
“Like a glittery guardian fairy who refuses to stay in her own realm,” Lisa muttered.
His smile deepened. “She must care about you.”
“She meddles,” Lisa corrected. “That’s not caring, it’s boredom.”
For a moment, the air between them felt almost normal, easy, if not exactly comfortable. Then Rezer’s expression changed. The warmth in his gaze cooled slightly, replaced by something else—curiosity sharpening into scrutiny.
“You’ve lived a long time for a human,” he said.
Lisa froze mid-pour. “Excuse me?”
He tilted his head, as if the words were simple observation, not intrusion. “You look . . . young for someone with children as old as yours. That’s unusual. Your mate died a long time ago, which means you haven’t been living in the elfin realm. You should have aged.”
Lisa forced a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Good genes.”
An eyebrow rose. “Good magic, maybe.”
The words hung there, quiet but unmistakable.
It wasn’t a secret among light elves that Syndra was close with Lisa, and that closeness meant certain things, like protection, and help.
The former light queen had allowed Lisa to live a healthy life to ensure she could take care of her children.
And Lisa would be forever grateful to her for it.
Lisa met his gaze, every sense in her going still. “You really shouldn’t throw that word around in public. Someone might hear.”
“There’s no one left to hear,” he said, voice low. “Not that it would matter.”