Chapter 11
Lucian was losing the battle against his own mind.
For all his conviction, Goldie was a persistent infection in his thoughts.
He was constantly replaying their last caustic exchange, the raw hurt in her eyes, and the treasonous idea that he might be wrong.
He hated how easily she occupied his head.
Then he switched to the childish spell she said at the creek when she wished upon a shooting star, ‘May Lucian find the peace he needs’.
He couldn’t make any of it make sense. The witch who created a love spell on him, the woman who always looked at him like she was going to cry, and the witch who whispered a spell of peace for him could all be the same person.
Maybe she knew I was there? The question swirled through his mind, before he shook it off. He knew he had been quiet and she had not heard a thing, plus she was there before him.
He was trying to focus on repairing a faulty kitchen appliance in his father’s workshop behind the house that Gertrude brought over yesterday. He had just pulled the cover off when his father’s sigh cut through his internal noise. Luke leaned heavily against the workbench, rubbing his temples.
“Pup, can you do me a favor,” he rasped, his voice sounding unusually thin. “I need you to run down to Enchantresso and grab me a Steady Tea to go. The same one Goldie made me the other day.”
Lucian froze, the request landing like a sucker punch to the ribs. He kept his eyes fixed on the wire he was stripping. “Can’t Mom grab it, Pop? Or I can drive you down and while I wait in the truck?”
Luke shook his head, pushing off the counter with visible effort. “Your mom is at work, Lucian. She just left. Besides, my hands are shaky today. This tea will help the meds along.”
Luke carefully grabbed a screwdriver and lifted his right hand dramatically. The tremor from his Claw Tremor rattled the screwdriver between his fingers like he was auditioning for a soap opera.
Lucian watched the dramatic shaking, his ear twitching in annoyance.
He had a sinking feeling his dad was over-exaggerating the need for him to go, likely hoping Lucian would finally put aside his decade-old grudge.
But he didn’t want to accuse his father of manipulation, no matter how transparent the ploy seemed.
“It’s the one thing that makes me feel better, son,” Luke insisted, his golden-brown eyes wide and pleading. He was weaponizing his illness, and Lucian felt the familiar squeeze of obligation.
Lucian narrowed his own. “You are weaponizing your illness.”
“Are you’re weaponizing stubbornness?”
Lucian snorted despite himself. “How do we know what dark magic is in that drink?”
“Well,” Luke sighed dramatically, placing a hand over his chest like a deeply wounded man, “when the tremors first started, I asked her for help. She made the drink for me. So if there’s dark magic in that cup…” He shrugged. “Guess I’m committed to the darkness now..”
“You are unbelievable.”
“And yet,” Luke said smugly, “you’re still putting your boots on.”
Lucian finished tying his boots, knowing this was a lost battle before he had even slid one on.
Damn it.
He sighed, the sound heavy with resignation. “Fine, sure.”
“Boy, if Goldie wanted me dead, she’d have done it years ago. Probably sprinkled cinnamon on top of me too.”
Lucian grabbed the truck keys and headed out.
The drive was short but filled with a familiar tension that made his shoulders tight.
He was still trying to figure out which Goldie was the true one: the beautiful, sweet witch he’d loved or the spell-casting witch he’d been shown proof of.
He pulled up to Enchantresso, the faded green of the old truck idling outside the charming facade.
Just get the tea and leave. Don’t look at her.
Maybe I’ll get lucky and she won’t be the one to take my order.
Lucian walked in, his gaze fixed on the floor, desperately trying not to look at her, but his jackal nose tracked her location easily. She was standing behind the mahogany counter, next to Ellie.
“It’s been way too long, Lucian,” Ellie chirped, her voice a bright, artificial contrast to the heavy silence between him and Goldie. His jackal ear twitched at the saccharine sound. He forced a tight, noncommittal smile.
“Hey, Ellie. Just here for my dad. He claimed he needed a steady tea to help his meds settle his tremors, and he wouldn’t hear of anyone but me coming to get it.
” He kept his body rigid, avoiding the magnetic pull of Goldie’s vibrant green gaze.
Despite the years and the damning proof he carried, that treacherous chemistry sparked again, making him question if it was genuine heat or merely a residual, manufactured effect of her spell.
He looked over at Goldie, whose face was a mask of cool professionalism. “Steady Tea, to go. For Luke,” he stated, his voice low.
Goldie nodded curtly. “Do you want anything else?"
Lucian glanced around the shop, his eyes lingering on the shelves of enchanted sugars and spiced teas.
He leaned closer to the counter, whispering so only she could hear.
“Nope. Never again from you, Goldie.” The small, petty dig felt necessary, a defense mechanism against the unwanted warmth her presence kindled.
His eyes darting immediately to the counter edge where Nibbles was perched, a chaotic, feathered sentry who obviously still distrusted him.
Those piercing amber eyes gleamed in the light streaming in from the window, tracking his every movement.
Lucian waited, half-expecting the little demon to throw a spoon or a cup at his head, ready to catch it this time.
Goldie gave a small, weary smile, acknowledging the tension but refusing to engage in the fight. “Alright.” She turned and started to make the drink, pulling ingredients from the shelves behind her.
As she worked, Lucian’s gaze stayed locked on Nibbles.
Ellie bantered away, but he was so focused he didn’t hear a word.
The Grifflet was just as focused, meticulously starting to push a clean porcelain cup toward the edge of the counter with a determined paw.
Lucian watched, a bitter sense of vindication rising—See?
Chaos demon. But without even looking, Goldie reached out a hand and nudged the cup further back onto the counter, continuing to make the tea.
Nibbles, unperturbed, started tapping the cup again, trying to inch it closer to the drop.
This time, Goldie picked up the cup entirely and moved it away, placing it on a high shelf out of reach.
A reluctant chuckle escaped Lucian. He tried not to let the smile show on his face, but he felt a slight relief. He wasn’t the only person the mini menace liked to terrorize; Goldie had to deal with the little brat’s antics every day.
Ellie, oblivious, squeezed his arm. “Well, I’m glad you’re the one who showed up, Lucian,” she said, her eyes searching his face.
Lucian’s skin burned where Ellie’s fingers lingered, a cloying, unwelcome heat that made his jackal snarl.
He shifted his weight, a subtle but deliberate movement to dislodge her hand, his eyes never leaving Goldie.
As he pulled away, his gaze finally crashed into hers.
For a heartbeat, the mask of professionalism she wore slipped, and he saw the mossy depths of her eyes—cold, detached, and utterly unreachable.
The impact was worse than any physical blow.
It felt like a gut-punch that stole the air from his lungs, leaving him reeling in the middle of the spice-scented cafe.
Her cool indifference was a wall he hadn’t expected, a silent testament to the decade of silence he’d enforced.
Every other time they clashed, her eyes had filled with hurt, but never anything as chilly as this.
He needed to get out, the walls of Enchantresso suddenly pressing in on him, threatening to crack the iron-clad resolve he’d spent ten years forging.
If he stayed another second, if he let himself look at the way her hair caught the light, he wasn’t sure he could maintain the distance.
This is what I wanted. The thought swirled around in his mind before a question followed, right?
She set the cup in front of him without a word.
“I’ve got what I came for,” he gritted out.
Without waiting for Goldie to speak or for Ellie to offer another saccharine smile, he moved.
He snatched the Steady Tea from the counter, the heat of the cup seeping into his palm, and turned on his heel.
As he reached the door, the thought hit him: he had never paid for it.
He looked over his shoulder and realized he didn’t have the will to walk back to the counter.
He stalked out of the shop, the door chime sounding like a final, mocking note as he escaped back into the crisp, honest air of Pumpkin Hollow.