Chapter 6 - Willow
Willow
The long trudge back into town gave me plenty of time to think about what the Demon Lord had said.
Some writers were naturals, and their stories were the ones who touched people’s hearts, sticking with them for years to come.
Other writers had good ideas but weren’t as skilled at bringing them to life.
I was apparently in that second category, which was fine.
I’d given writing a try, and now I knew it wasn’t for me.
I’d made the right decision, even if the Demon Lord wasn’t happy about it.
I pulled open the door to our shop, inhaling the calming scents of honey and ginger. Gran must have been cooking a new batch of cough syrup. This was where I wanted to be, getting lost in making medicines. I hurried inside and dropped my bag behind the counter.
“Welcome home.” Gran smiled at me as she stirred a pot of honey simmering on the stove. “How’d the meeting go?”
“Fine.” I headed over to the table covered in freshly harvested yarrow and twine as if she’d been in the middle of bundling them to dry. “He liked my book.”
“That’s great!” The corners of her eyes crinkled as her smile grew. “Now you’ll let me read it too, right?”
Not a chance, but I couldn’t tell her that. “Uh sure, maybe later.”
The yarrow smelled sweet and earthy, grounding me in my work as I hung each new bundle from hooks on the ceiling.
I used to lay on the floor as a child, gazing up at all the dried herbs like they were a mysterious upside-down garden.
Grandpa had caught me doing it once and joined me, telling me wonderful stories about the tiny fairies who dried the plants out for us.
I’d spent the next few years trying to spot one until I realized he was kidding.
If only he were still here. He never wrote any of his stories down, but he loved to brainstorm and think of all the possibilities.
They were my happiest memories of him, gardening or blending herbs while we talked about fantastical worlds and fictional people.
Work never felt like work when he was there and coming up with stories had actually been fun.
Doing it alone was completely different.
Every idea was a struggle and forming them into words was even worse.
“Are you okay?” Gran asked softly, joining me at the table. “You said he liked your story, so why do you seem sad?”
“It’s nothing.” I hung another bundle of yarrow up, its delicate leaves soft against my skin. “Can we just focus on work for a while, please?”
She quirked an eyebrow as she leaned down to snag something out of my bag. “Nothing, huh? Then what’s this crumpled up flyer all about?”
I glanced over, wincing when I saw the big illustration of the hero from the series I Just Wanted a Peaceful Life, but Now I Have to Stop the Demon Lord and His Entire Army! That damn demon must have snuck it in my bag on my way out. He apparently didn’t take no for an answer very well.
“It doesn’t mean anything, Gran.” I shook my head, wishing she hadn’t seen it. “I’m done writing, okay? I’m not going to enter the contest.”
“But you love this series!” She rested her hand over her heart, smiling.
“Do you remember when you snuck into your Grandpa’s workroom and accidentally grabbed the third book instead of the first and tried to pretend like you weren’t thoroughly confused?
He finally gave you the first two even though you were way too young for the series, but you were hooked after that.
The two of you read every book that came out, waiting in line for hours at midnight releases.
I thought you were both crazy, but you were happy, and that’s all that ever mattered to me. ”
“Of course I remember that, Gran.” I just tried not to. I rubbed my eyes and focused on the work in front of me instead, bundling up the rest of the yarrow far too quickly. “Being a fan is exactly why I don’t want to write the last book. Can you imagine how many people I’d disappoint if I tried?”
She frowned at the flyer, putting her glasses on to look closer. “But it says that the family of the author will be choosing the winner, not the fans. Nobody will even see your story unless they think it’s good enough to win. So what’s the harm in having a little fun?”
Fun was the last thing writing that book would be, but it was nice to know that the author’s family would be the ones deciding.
Hopefully the series would end in a way that fit the author’s original vision then.
Not that that was my problem. I glanced around the shop, noting all the empty jars and half-made medicines.
This was our busiest time of the year preparing for winter when colds and fevers ran rampant.
Writing a book just took too much time, time I didn’t have right now.
I took the flyer from Gran, noting the insane deadline. “Look at that. There’s no way I could write that book in a month!”
“But isn’t’ that how long your last one took?” Gran frowned as she took the simmering cough syrup off the fire to cool. The honeyed ginger smelled sweet and slightly spicy. “That’s half the point of the Tales and Tomes Festival.”
“Technically, yes, but I spent months planning for that before I actually wrote anything.” I took the pot from her shaky hands, putting it safely on the table. “And you know I haven’t even read the latest book yet...”
It had released the same month Grandpa passed away and I hadn’t been able to bring myself to buy it. I hadn’t thought about the series once since then, choosing to pack up all our books and merchandise for it rather than feel the pain of missing him every time I walked by it.
Gran didn’t answer as she dipped a spoon into the cough syrup, ladling it carefully into jars. The golden syrup filled the glass, sparkling warmly in the light. Every medicine we made was like a gem, vibrant and beautiful.
“I know it’s been hard,” Gran whispered so softly I almost didn’t hear her, “but you can’t just stop living, Willow.
It’s not healthy to shut yourself off from the world like this.
” The bell above the door chimed, saving me from responding as Gran pinned me with a stern look.
“This isn’t over, so don’t even think about going anywhere. ”
“Fine, fine.” I held my hands up in surrender. “I’ll just wait here and keep bottling cough syrup.”
Gran turned to greet two of our regular customers. “Welcome, Professor Ashford and Professor Min. It’s good to see you. Thanks again for helping us with those mossmews.”
They smiled back at her, the three of them chatting for a bit to catch up.
Gran had a personal touch with all our customers like that, which was why I preferred to stay in the back.
I was perfectly polite to everyone, but I had no interest in crossing that business casual line like Gran did.
They weren’t part of our family no matter how many times she said they were. They were just our customers.
Professor Ashford had been nice enough to help us with the mossmews who moved into our garden a few weeks ago though.
He was the leading expert on caring for magical creatures, but somehow, he always managed to injure himself when he was around them.
One time he’d come in with burns from a fire spirit living in his fireplace, another time he’d been limping from falling off an over-excitable pegasus.
I looked him over, trying to guess what was wrong this time.
The dark circles under his eyes, extra pale skin, and the way his wife was fretting over him more than usual made me think sleep deprivation again, but we’d given him more sleeping drafts the last time he was here.
Gran smiled warmly at them. “Hmmm, it looks like you both could use a nap. Are your sleeping drafts not working anymore?”
“No, well, yes?” Professor Ashford winced, glancing between me and Gran. “One of the slimes I’m caring for might have drank some of them.”
Professor Min scoffed. “Some of them? Try all of them. The man didn’t get a single potion for himself, and he kept waking me up with all his tossing and turning.” Her eyes softened as she looped her arm through his. “You know I don’t sleep well unless you do too.”
The way he smiled at her made me smile too. They always seemed so happy together. People like them were willing to risk the pain of heartache to be happy. I admired that. I couldn’t do it myself, but I could respect those who tried.
Professor Ashford smiled sheepishly at Gran. “I’m sorry I wasted your tonics. The slime just loves the valerian root inside of them and proceeded to sleep all cozy by the fire. It was adorable, so I couldn’t be that upset at him.”
I raised an eyebrow. “And what about you? How have you been sleeping then?”
“I’m fine, Min’s just a worrier.” He rubbed the back of his head, smiling bashfully as he handed us the usual payment for his order.
He always seemed to care more about the health of the creatures he was caring for than himself and those dark circles proved it.
He’d probably stayed up late watching the slimes instead of even trying to rest. I sighed, adding as many sleeping drafts as we had to a box along with some valerian root as a treat for the slime.
Maybe he’d let the professor have his sleeping draft if he had his own snack too.
Gran crossed her arms, staring him down. “I expect you to take one of these every night. Lock the box to keep the slimes out if you must, but you need your rest. If you don’t sleep, you’ll start hallucinating. Or worse.”
“Or worse?” His eyes widened. “Okay. I’ll be more careful.”
I pressed my lips together to keep my laughter to myself.
Gran was so tough sometimes, resorting to scare tactics on difficult customers.
The professor needed a bit of that, otherwise he’d keep putting his beloved animals before himself.
He had to realize that the only way to care for others was to take care of yourself first, right?