A Spell for Friends and Fraternization #2
“That’s so kind.” I take the cake right away.
Even though we did have lunch, we didn’t have dessert, so I eat the treat in two bites.
So delicious, light and fluffy like a cloud, delicate sweetness with a hint of fruit and flowers—and it dissolves on my tongue in a burst of honeyed goodness.
“This is wonderful,” I add, fighting the urge to hug him.
I wonder what he would do if I did. The idea makes me chuckle, and he gives me a narrow-eyed look, as if he might be the butt of a joke. I suspect he’s used to that.
I don’t think he’ll ask, but…he does, taking a careful bite of the cake. “Will you share what you find so amusing?”
“It’s more that I’m happy,” I reply, which isn’t a lie. It’s not the entire truth, and I decide to share the rest. “I’m happy, and I want to hug you. But I thought you’d be appalled—”
“You may,” he cuts in.
“What?”
“Hug me.”
I stare at him, stunned, but I don’t hesitate for more than a moment.
I rush at him and wrap my arms about his middle, as he’s rather tall, and I mean for it to be a joyous, playful moment, but from the instant his arms come around me in turn, there’s a rush of heat, a conflagration of sparks, all over my nerve endings.
He has no right to smell this delicious after days on the road, like woodsmoke and dried herbs.
His hand moves idly on my back, dragging up and down, and I squeeze my eyes shut in response to the stunning tingles that follow each sweeping caress.
I feel a little dizzy when he lets go of me. “Wow,” I mumble.
“I should buy you cakes more often.” Kerboros is smiling slightly, a feline expression of contentment visible right around his eyes.
I never would have guessed him capable of such a look. “No objections on my end.”
“That was an enjoyable break,” he observes. “But we should focus.”
“You have a point.”
As I spin in a slow circle, I try to recall everything Tara told me. Her family runs a tavern nearby, but I can’t remember the name. When we were kids, we didn’t talk about work. Instead, we caused as much chaos as we could—pretty much what I’m known for.
I decide to start the research at a nearby booth where they sell handmade silken shawls, gorgeous artisanal work with fringe and lace.
The hobgoblin sings out a poetic patter about his work: “All the colors of the rainbow! Coquelicot, carmine, cobalt, celadon, citrine! Come and see, purchase and preen!”
“I’ve got this,” I say to Kerboros.
He releases my hand with apparent reluctance. “I await your success.”
My hand is warm from his touch, and it takes genuine effort to walk away. “I was wondering if I could ask a question,” I say to the shawl seller.
“Of course!” he replies. “What do you like? I made everything you see on display with these two hands.” He wiggles his short fingers for emphasis.
“Your work is beautiful, but the question is unrelated.”
He sighs, losing some of his enthusiasm. “Fine. I’m listening.”
“Do you know a hobgoblin named Tara? Her full name is Taragon.”
The merchant frowns, heavy brows pulling together. “Do you think all hobgoblins know each other or something?”
Yikes. I don’t think I can come back from this.
“Sorry,” I mumble.
Then I skedaddle, deciding I need a new vector of approach as I return to Kerboros. He smirks as I close the distance between us.
“That seemed to go well,” he observes.
“Not my best effort,” I admit. “I was abrupt. Do you have a better idea?”
“I suspect we shouldn’t ask any other hobgoblins,” he tells me.
“I deserve that.” I laugh because I don’t mind him teasing me about my lack of finesse. At least, I think he’s teasing.
We move deeper into the market, and this time, Kerboros chooses our contact. He approaches a boggart selling carved stones. Kerboros takes a moment to examine all the wares, and I’m close enough to catch the conversation.
Kerboros says, “Your work is exceptionally skilled.”
“I’m delighted to hear it!” The artisan seems thrilled with the compliment.
They discuss patterns, methods, acid washing, and a bunch of stuff that I don’t follow about working with stone. It’s clear Kerboros knows a lot about stone carving, and I’m fascinated by this revelation about him. As I’m about to tune out, Kerboros makes a purchase from the stall.
He tucks the stone in his pack, and then he says, “By the way, do you happen to know a hobgoblin named Tara?”
“Do you mean Taragon?”
“Yes, that’s her name.”
“I’ve seen her around the market, buying supplies now and then.”
I step closer, unable to resist chiming in. “I think she works at a tavern, but I can’t remember the name.”
“There’s loads of taverns around,” the boggart says, not unkindly. “You know who you should talk to?”
I shake my head.
“The herbalist, just around the corner. Tempest knows everyone. And come to think of it, I believe I’ve seen them together before. At any rate, if anyone can point you in the right direction, it’ll be them.”
“Understood,” Kerboros says.
We step away from the stall as the vendor greets a potential customer.
It feels like we’re on the verge of a breakthrough.
Once we find Tara, our group will be complete.
Tara can talk anyone into anything. That’s another reason why I want to find her, not simply because we’re close, both emotionally (in the past) and geographically (right now).
I hope she can help me talk my spouse into giving this relationship a try.
Or maybe… This idea taps at the edges of my brain, as if looking for a weakness.
Maybe she can think of a way out of this mess.
Two heads are better than one, and she’s clever as well as kind.
Either way, with the deadline galloping at us like a wild pooka, it’s do-or-die time.
I don’t want to be with Devan J. Fenelon; my heart has other inclinations entirely.
I steal a look at Kerboros and wish I was still holding his hand.
That peek catches him in the midst of returning a fallen rag doll to a young brownie, who scampers off with a delighted giggle, dragging the doll in the dust behind her.
This is the enforcer others call Winter’s hound.
To me, he’s someone else. Someone who’s kind to children, who buys me cake and lets me hug him. My cheeks heat, and I poke at them.
“Have you been stung?” Kerboros is very close, his face near to mine.
My breath hitches. “No.”
As I debate whether to confide how adorable he’s acting, a hobgoblin shouts, “Out of the way, coming through, hot bread for sale, hot bread! Get your hot bread!”
He’s pushing a trolley laden with loaves, and Kerboros reacts so quickly, it makes my head spin. In one motion, I’m in his arms, twirling with him out of the main flow of traffic. My pulse was stuttering before, and now it’s racing. I gaze up at him, staring at his lips.
And the look on his face—nobody has ever hungered for me like that. He dips his head. I lift my chin.
We’re jostled by a passerby, and my forehead smacks into his shoulder. At least they didn’t ruin a kiss.
My voice is husky when I say, “Let’s go find Tempest.”