Chapter 6 Ginger
Ginger
“Are you excited for the ball?”
Linc idly gathered goblets into a bucket, clanking them together a little harder than I was comfortable with. I cringed at the sound.
The human wasn’t the best employee, but he occasionally drifted in begging for work, and I didn’t have the heart to tell him no. I wasn’t the only sucker in town that employed him, either. He seemed to have a multitude of small jobs throughout the years.
He was another body in the building, and he always wore an apron. That was about all I could say of his merit.
I liked him, though. With his goofy good nature. His spirit was light.
He spent more time staring slack-jawed at the baby dragon resting on a cushion by the fireplace than he did actually working. I couldn't blame him—I wanted to do the same.
“I don’t know if I’m going to the ball this year,” I said lamely. “With Brambleby, and everything. There’s a lot going on. I’m busy.”
Link gaped at me incredulously. “You can’t miss the ball. It’s the Miss and Mister Moonvale Ball! Nobody misses it!”
I shrugged. “I don’t know, Linc.”
The truth was that I was tired. Drained.
Every year, the folk of Moonvale gathered, and the unmated competed in three trials for the title of Mister or Miss Moonvale, the last trial coinciding with a massive ball that the entire town attended.
Those lucky two winners would then be granted something everyone in Moonvale treasured—bragging rights. The winners were occasionally gifted a few treats from local businesses, or other small blessings, but the self-satisfaction was the biggest prize.
The ball used to be more extravagant, with more rewards and responsibilities granted to the titled winners, but as the years passed, it became more of a ritual. A habit.
The bragging rights were considered legendary.
The trials were always so mundane. They were often tasks I was terrible at—sewing, swimming, weaving baskets, the like.
But it was history. It was tradition.
And, this year, I wanted no part in it. I wasn’t in the mood for potential disappointment.
I forced my cheeks to bend into a smile. “I’m sure it’ll be lovely! Maybe you’ll win Mister Moonvale this year.”
“You really think so? It’s about time. Unless Tommins needs help running the event—he’ll need me, in that case.”
I nodded. “I sure do. As long as the competition isn’t for wiping tables. You need some work in that regard.”
“What are you talking about? That’s easy. See—” He proceeded to demonstrate, whipping a dry towel from his apron and absentmindedly swatting crumbs from a table onto the floor before tucking the towel away again. He held his hand out proudly, waiting for praise.
I gulped. I knew this was the time when I should have told him how counterproductive that was. How I would now have to get on my hands and knees and scoop up the crumbs or grab a broom and sweep them out of the front door so mice wouldn't make their way inside. It was my time to be the boss.
But I didn’t want to extinguish the gleam in his eye. “Right,” I said tightly. “I don’t know about that, but maybe.”
“And I bet I could probably knit something, too. I saw Fiella knitting those gifts for Merry Day, and if she can do it, I certainly can too. Must be extremely easy. And fishing! Surely, I’m great at that, too.”
He continued about his tirade, detailing all the skills that he was such a master in that he would surely reign supreme.
I just smiled and nodded. He didn’t require my input, anyway.
I tuned him out. When he glanced at me with raised eyebrows, I hummed and agreed, tossing a simple, “Sure. Yes. That’s great,” when it felt necessary.
Time drifted by as I tended to my customers.
My pub always had a consistent customer base, but I liked it best when it was full. When it was stuffed to the point of bursting and folk had to take their ales on the cobblestones outside.
When I ran out of goblets and glasses and had to frantically wash dirty ones to keep up with the demand.
I thrived in the crowd. I relished it. It was a game of sorts, keeping my customers happy in even the most impossible of circumstances. I loved it.
The normal days were nice, too.
If there was a customer in the building, I was a happy faun.
Today, the sun was shining, offering a reprieve from the biting cold of the fading freeze season. The lunch crowd hadn’t drifted in yet, but there were still a handful of folk to be served.
A few shifters sat at the bar, while a family of humans and vampires sat at a table in the far corner. A mothman enjoyed a table by himself, and a couple of witches dined on an early meal of stew. Familiar faces, all of them.
Familiar faces were fine. Familiar faces were good. Not as exciting as new faces, but fulfilling, nonetheless.
There were bodies in the building, and that was all that mattered.
I left Linc to his goblet gathering. Somehow, he still hadn’t completed the task yet, though there were so few to collect.
“Hey there! What can I get you?” I asked brightly, slipping behind the bar to serve the shifters.
They smelled woodsy, like ash and tree bark and something distinctly wolf. It wasn’t necessarily unpleasant, but it wasn’t my favorite smell, either.
“Got any of those ciders?” one of the men asked, a broad-shouldered folk with white hair and a chipped front tooth. He didn’t meet my eyes, instead keeping his gaze on the bar counter.
“Sure do,” I responded. “How do you feel about spiced pumpkin?”
He grimaced. “Not that one. Had too much of it lately.”
“How does cherry blossom sound? I think we’ve got some of that barrel left.”
“If it’s not pumpkin, I’ll take it. I’ve had enough pumpkin to last me ages.”
“Well, you could have stopped ordering it any time,” I reminded. “I’ve got other options.”
His face warmed. “I didn’t want to stop ordering it.”
I snorted out a laugh. “That’s exactly what I thought. And you gentlefolk?” I asked, looking at the others.
“Cherry blossom sounds great, Ginger. Thanks.”
“Make that three.”
“Yep. Me, too!”
“Four cherry blossom ciders it is, then. I’ll grab those.” I drifted to the other end of the bar where the cider barrels rested. Luckily, the cherry blossom barrel was still half full—there was plenty to go around.
Kizzi liked the spiced pumpkin cider more than the other folk in town, but I wouldn’t dare say that to Tandor’s face. He thought it was his best creation, and his lady loved it, so I had no business ruining their happiness.
It was especially delicious.
I thought all of Tandor’s ciders were scrumptious. I wouldn’t say that to his face too often, though. His ego didn’t need any more boosting.
I turned the nozzle, letting the pink liquid stream into the goblets in a steady flow. One after the other. I filled them to the very brim, leaving no room for error.
It was another game I liked to play with myself, especially recently: how full could I fill a goblet before it threatened to spill?
I was very good at it.
As I turned to place the first two goblets in front of the shifter men, a shiver shot down my spine. The goblets slipped from my grasp, clattering to the table and sloshing precious liquid over the edges.
I grumbled under my breath. “Old Gods! You’ve got to be kidding me.”
I glanced up to apologize, but instead of wolves, my gaze snagged onto something else entirely.
Shining gold eyes peered at me from the far corner.
“Did you slip?” the wolf shifter asked, scooting his stool back to dodge any drips that might fall onto his lap.
I tore my gaze away. I pulled a dry towel from my apron, dabbing at the mess. “Yes. Something like that. I’m so sorry.”
“This round is on you?” one of the shifters asked, mirth heavy in his tone.
I snored. “Sure. Fair enough. As long as you stay and buy another.”
“We can make that happen, ma’am.”
“This one’s on the house, then.” I finished wiping up the mess, chasing it with a wet towel to remove any sticky residue. “Let me top these up again.”
His eyes clung to me like a second skin.
Everywhere I went, every table I served, every patron I spoke to, he tracked me with his gaze.
It was nauseating.
I was suddenly hyper aware of my every action, my every movement, every breath that scraped in and out of my lungs.
I desperately wanted him to leave, if only for the fact that I hated being so in tune with my own actions. He made me pay more attention to myself, and I hated it.
I usually got lost in my work. Disappeared into it. Allowed it to sweep me away. But today, that wasn’t happening.
Because of him.
And he wouldn’t leave.
Hours passed, and still he sat. Tandor was off today, but I wished for his presence. If he were here, I might finally take him up on that offer to kick the stranger out.
He wasn’t necessarily bothering anyone—except for me. His presence bothered me immensely.
He prickled at my senses, snagged the edges of my awareness. No matter how hard I tried to ignore him, I could practically taste the flavor of his eyes on my skin. Could smell the smokey fragrance of his attention.
He oozed a strange sort of power that I couldn’t pinpoint. His presence demanded acknowledgement so insistently that I couldn’t even take a step without a part of me registering where that would put me in proximity to him.
Am I closer to him now? Farther? Can he see me from here?
Does he like what he sees?
I wasn’t sure why I cared.
I considered closing the pub early, if only to get him out. I wished for the space to take a deep breath again.
The corner he sat in was dark and deserted. The other folk kept a wide berth between themselves and him. I couldn’t blame them—I was doing the same thing.
When I passed his table, glancing at the glass of wine in front of him, it was still full. Only a sip or two had been taken. “Something wrong with the wine?” I asked.
His nose scrunched for a moment before smoothing out again. “No. It’s fine.”
“You didn’t pay for your wine last time. Should I add that to your tab for today?”
He tilted his head, confusion in his eyes. “Tab?”
“Your tab. When you pay for your drinks at the end of your visit. Your tab.” I didn’t know what part he wasn’t understanding.
“Tab,” he repeated. “To pay for my drinks? But they are for me, yes?”
“Yes. The drinks are for you. And you pay for them.”
“Pay with… gold?” he asked, his expression brightening.
I snorted. “Silvers will do fine. If you were ordering a hundred drinks, maybe then we’d bring out the gold.”
His brows furrowed, casting his golden eyes into shadow. “Ah. Right. Yes. Silvers.”
“You do have silvers on you, right?”
I took a moment to examine him. His cloak was tattered and out of fashion, and he didn’t appear to be carrying a bag or satchel of any sort. He still wasn’t wearing any shoes. I couldn’t tell if his pockets were empty or full.
Surely, he had silvers. Everyone had silvers.
“My tab will be paid,” he said evenly.
He didn’t answer the question. Irritated, I shrugged. “Wonderful. Enjoy.”
I fled the dark corner as fast as my hooves would carry me.