Chapter Twenty-four
I shifted the wooden crate in my arms, careful not to jostle the glass bottles inside.
They clinked softly with every step I took, a faint chiming sound beneath the murmur of the cars on the street.
The box smelled like my shop. A mix of herbs, honeyed alcohol, and the faint mineral tang of magic that clung to the corks.
Some bottles were neatly labeled, their liquid contents glowing faintly through green and brown glass.
Still others were wrapped in paper and twine.
Those were my experiments for the week, and they made me a little nervous.
But it was Roy’s order, not mine. If he stored them and they blew up, it was a risk he was willing to take.
Still, it made me queasy. I didn’t like making my friends guinea pigs.
“Stand up straight, girl. Skulking isn’t becoming of an alchemist or a lady.”
Klaus walked beside me, hands in his pockets, matching my stride. Every so often, he’d glance down at the box as if expecting one of the bottles to explode. Glad I wasn’t the only one worried about my progress... or lack thereof.
“I’m not a lady, Klaus. You’re not going to find many people who share your 17th-century sensibilities here.”
Klaus shrugged. “It’s a Hollow. I’m bound to meet all sorts here, including one or two creatures my age. Don’t you worry about my social circle, girly.”
It really hadn’t taken much time to heal him.
I could still remember the way his breathing rattled, thin and uneven, like each gasp was something he had to chase just to stay tethered to this world.
The poison had settled deep in him, deep and thorough.
When I’d laid my hand over his heart, I could feel it—cold and wrong, crawling beneath his skin.
So I did the only thing I could: I reached inward, past flesh and bone, past fear, to that quiet well where the goddess’s essence lived inside me.
And her energy had answered my call. It had risen like warm light beneath my ribs, filling my lungs, my fingertips, until I could barely tell where I ended and she began.
Then I pushed, gently and carefully, letting that divine warmth spill into the old man.
In response, I’d felt the poison within him recoil, felt it peel away from his blood and seep out through his skin in a sickly rush.
And when it was done, when the last thread of darkness was drawn out, his breathing steadied.
He slept for two days afterwards. I knew because I’d come to check on him throughout both days.
And then on the third day, he’d awakened like a new old man.
Well, a new but still crotchety old man.
It was then that he’d helped me to turn the ashes of Smith’s niece into the most beautiful amethyst I’d ever seen. Smith had been beyond grateful and that was enough for me.
From the outside, the Half-Moon Bar and Grill had a kind of folksy charm.
Its wooden siding had long since faded to a weathered gray, and the paint on the sign above the porch was peeling in curling flakes.
The crescent moon emblem caught the last traces of light while the smell of smoked meat and char drifted through the screen door, heavy enough to make my stomach twist with hunger.
A few pine benches sat along the wall near the entrance while the hostess—a girl from the local high school—stood waiting behind her podium. She brightened when she caught sight of us.
“Oh, hey, Poppy! Roy’s in the back. Want me to get him?”
“If you would,” I answered with a strained smile.
She led us through the hum of voices and the clatter of dishes to a booth tucked beneath a rounded window in the back.
It took me a moment to spot Roy, though once I did, I couldn’t imagine missing him.
Roy stood out. Not because he was flashy, but because he was enormous, the kind of man who took up space just by being there.
The red plaid shirt fit close across his chest, the sleeves rolled halfway up his strong forearms. His short brown hair and rough stubble gave him an easy, unpolished look.
When his gray eyes met mine, they were warm—like he was happy to see me.
We might have broken up a long time ago and each of us had found our soulmates in the interim, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t a fondness still there.
I felt an old echo of it when we looked at each other.
I was happy for him. Fifi was a lucky girl.
“Hey, Poppy,” he greeted me easily, slinging a towel over one broad shoulder. “Thanks for bringing them on such short notice.”
“No problem.”
“And you must be Klaus?” Roy asked, extending his hand.
Klaus didn’t take it. “I am. What manner of creature are you? A yeti?”
“Um, Klaus is still learning how to interact with people in public. I’m currently trying to socialize him,” I said in apology.
Roy chuckled and pulled his hand back. “I’m a sasquatch, actually.”
“Hmph,” Klaus replied.
“Want lunch?” Roy asked, leaning down to grab the box from my hands. I let out a satisfied groan when the weight of it eased from my shoulders.
“We are in a hurry,” Klaus started.
“Sure, we’d love lunch,” I answered, then gave him a look.
“Hmph.”
“It’s on the house,” Roy said, not seeming to notice Klaus’ ill mood. “You’re seriously saving my bacon by making extra for Fifi this month. Her pheromones are off the charts at the moment, owing to the baby. I don’t want to have to lock her in the house to keep the creeps away.”
I nodded, beyond happy that the two of them were now expecting. “It’s not a problem, seriously. You don’t have to—”
“I want to. Olga’s here doing a favor for me too, and I’m paying her off with steak. You two can join her at her table if you want? She’s sitting over there.”
Then he guided us over to a booth in the corner of the room and, sure enough, to Olga Fischer.
She watched us approach from across the room, still as a post. She had the look of someone impossibly old, though her body apparently hadn’t caught up yet.
Witches didn’t age the way humans did. Even if I reached her age, I wouldn’t look half as good. Well, that and I’d be dead.
Olga’s long white hair was coiled into a tight knot on top of her head, and her skirts, royal blue and trimmed with gold, trailed across the dusty floorboards. She might’ve been beautiful once. Maybe she still was, beneath the fatigue in her face and the dark hollows beneath her eyes.
“Good evening, Poppy,” Olga said quietly. Then her gaze shifted over my shoulder. A faint dusting of pink appeared on her cheeks when she glanced at Klaus, who was standing near my shoulder like a dark cloud.
I glanced back at him, trying to figure out what she was blushing about.
Even though he was healed and the poison was gone from him, he still looked like he’d stepped out of a Charles Dickens book.
His coat was long and black, well-made but worn at the edges, the kind of garment that might’ve belonged to a scholar a few generations back. And he was covered in dust.
But strangely, when he met Olga’s gaze, he looked similarly frozen.
“Olga, this is my teacher, Klaus. Klaus, this is Olga.”
He took her hand, expression dazed before he gave it a light shake and then seeming to remember himself, brought it to his lips like he’d just turned into Mr. Darcy.
“It is my pleasure, Miss...”
“Fischer,” Olga said, batting her lashes up at him.
Klaus’ face softened in ways I hadn’t yet witnessed. It was subtle, but there. Olga didn’t say or do anything at first, then, almost imperceptibly, her lips curved into a small, knowing smile.
“I’ve been following your mezods for quite some time, Herr...”
“Please, call me Klaus.”
“And likewise, please call me Olga.”
Klaus blinked, then smiled. “Is that so, Olga—you’ve, er, been following my methods, you say? And which parts, may I ask?”
Olga’s eyes sparkled. “All of it. I confess, I’d be zrilled to talk to you about your mezods, if you vould be interested?”
“There is nothing I’d prefer more.”
I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing. Klaus, usually so careful and measured, looked momentarily disarmed. It was like watching a man realize he’d been caught enjoying someone’s company for the first time in centuries. And that’s probably exactly what was happening.
“I am so very happy to make your acquaintance, Klaus,” Olga gushed.
And just like that, I realized I should probably take my lunch to go.
It looked like there was someone for everyone, after all.