2. Biscuits and Cheese
TWO
BISCUITS AND CHEESE
In matters of courtship and marriage, the preservation of witch bloodlines should always be top of mind.
While the heart may flutter at the sly charms of a fae, or the bestial beauty of a shifter, such unions are beneath the pure blood witch or wizard.
One must seek a match that honors the sanctity of one’s lineage, ensuring that future generations remain unstained by untoward influences.
–EXCERPT FROM THE ARCANE ELITE: PRESERVING THE SANCTITY OF WITCH BLOODLINES
Zephyr was gone when Minerva woke to the patter of raindrops against her window. But someone had snuck a warm patchwork quilt around her and placed a hot water bottle near her feet.
She was almost ashamed to acknowledge her delight when she found a note on her pillow.
That was a delicious surprise.
Zephyr’s loose, scrawling handwriting had always taken up too much space on the page, much the way he had always taken up too much space in her heart.
She blushed and flipped the note over, smiling at how his letters got smaller towards the end of the note.
He’d reached the halfway point before realizing that he’d have to downsize to fit it all in.
“Come down when you’re awake. There’s something I’d love to talk to you about.”
She could hear her own heart racing. He was still here. He wanted to talk. Why now? After all these years?
Minerva shut the thought down before she could even tentatively explore it.
As the mousy sister and spinster aunt, she knew the folly of dreaming impossible dreams. She was who she was, and that’s what made her the perfect caretaker for the Mudpuddle.
There had been no one in her life after Zephyr, and she couldn’t afford to get her hopes up again at her age. It was a ridiculous notion.
Besides, she hadn’t been unhappy all these years. Running the bookstore and tending to the Arcane Archives was her whole life. She loved it.
She thought Zephyr probably wanted her help with a rally or a fundraiser. He frequently sent over flyers for some cause or another to be posted in the Mudpuddle. She’d allowed it, even though she was loath to let anyone else advertise there.
Minerva considered the Mudpuddle Bookshop and Cafe hers even though she did not technically own it. Her great-grandniece, Maida Lathrop Westabrook, an Ordinary girl who had never once set foot in Primrose Court, was still the legal owner.
This was a very troubling situation indeed.
It was not troubling because Minerva feared being usurped by the girl. Even though Maida Westabrook was the legal heir, the Mudpuddle required a magical caretaker. No Ordinary girl would do.
She was acutely aware that all good things come to an end, eventually. This included her life and tenure as caretaker. She often worried about what would happen to the Mudpuddle when she passed.
Perhaps it was time for the family to consult with a solicitor again.
Minerva carefully set a steaming floral teapot down on an ornate silver trivet. She liked to drink her morning tea at a table tucked into the shop’s round reading nook. Not far from the cafe counter, the reading nook was snuggled into the turret beneath her bedroom.
It had the perfect street-view observation angle. She had a clear view of the passersby and their activities from her window seat. In the summer, when she cracked the windows, she enjoyed doing a bit of eavesdropping on their neighbors as well.
Two delicate bone china teacups were already on the table, set steadily in their saucers, patiently awaiting her pour.
She closed her eyes and inhaled the vaguely floral scent of the tea, mingling with the scent of old books, ink, baked goods, and a savory sandwich Zephyr had concocted for them to share.
Onions, and pickled herring? She sighed contentedly. It was so good to be back home. More than that. Everything felt extra homey with Zephyr here to share the morning with her.
Zephyr sat in a chair by the leaded glass window.
He was leaning forward with his elbows on the burnished oak table, reading a newspaper as if this were a regular morning ritual for the two of them.
He would have looked very dignified if not for the cookie crumbs strewn all down the front of his woolly blazer and scattered in his gray beard.
“Zephyr! You could have at least waited until I finished brewing the tea!” Minerva chastised, noting the empty plate where her freshly baked cookies had been sitting moments before.
“Minerva, how can you honestly expect any man to resist your lemon drizzle biscuits for that long?” Zephyr protested.
Despite his overgrown gray brows, the twinkle in his bright blue eyes was still visible.
It belied his actual age. One hundred and eleven years old.
He was three years older than Minerva, which made both of them elderly, but hardly ancient, for witches.
Minerva huffed half-heartedly and sat down. At least he hadn’t started in on their sandwiches yet. She stared out the window as she waited for the tea to finish brewing and tried not to think about what he wanted to talk about.
Outside, the morning was gray and still—a sleepy Sunday. All was quiet now, but it wouldn’t be long before customers streamed into the shop. Steam from the teapot gathered on the inside of the pane. It tempted Minerva to write her name on it, just like a child.
Reading her mind, Zephyr licked a finger, scrawled Z+M, and winked at her.
“It’s been far too long since I woke up with a woman in my bed, Minnie. I wouldn’t mind making it a regular thing.” Zephyr got straight to the point.
“I’m not sure I could keep enough cookies in the shop, Zippy.” She couldn’t deny that his words gave her a thrill. She’d enjoyed sleeping next to him as well.
What was that feeling she was feeling? Vindication? Relief? Disbelief? There had to be a catch. It couldn’t be this simple.
“I’m afraid we’re too old to change our ways now,” Minerva said.
“Nonsense. It’s never too late to right a wrong,” Zephyr countered.
“Hush. Someone will walk in and hear you,” Minerva argued.
“I’m not sure I care if they do. I had an odd feeling last night, waiting for you to return, Minnie. I didn’t want to go home today.”
“Why would you when you had all the best books and magical baked goods at your disposal in my shop?” Minnie raised a brow.
“I didn’t want to go home because I wanted to stay here. With you,” Zephyr said. “I can’t help but think what might have happened if I hadn’t signed my life over to the Society. We could have run this place together.”
“Stop.” Minerva shook her head, hoping to clear her thoughts. “There’s no changing the past. Besides, I can’t even think before tea.”
“Can we talk about our future after the tea, then?” Zephyr asked.
“Maybe.” Minerva shrugged, playing it cool. Maybe? Of course she would! Didn’t she deserve a little happiness as well? She had quietly toiled for decades in this shop, accepting her fate, never even dreaming of anything more.
Her skin prickled with something. Hope? Excitement? Fear? She was glad there was nobody else in the shop. She needed a moment to process.
Zephyr shook out his paper and resumed reading. Minerva continued to look out the window at the empty sidewalk beyond the gate.
The residents of Primrose Court were all probably enjoying a good lie-in, but Minerva felt restless. She stole sidelong glances at Zephyr while waiting for the tea to brew. Impatiently, she tapped her spoon. She could have sped it up with magic, but that always affected the flavor.
There was no rushing a good brew.
Finally, after what felt like ages, Minerva lifted the lid of the pot to check. Honey brown and sweet smelling from the orange blossoms. She’d added in a pinch of lavender for her nerves.
“It’s done,” she announced. Zephyr folded his paper and squeezed her free hand as she poured.
“Thank you for letting me leave my flyers in the shop again,” he said, pointing to a stack of leaflets on the counter.
“It’s vitally important that we get the word out about Nocturnaturals.
I hate to think of the junior members of our community being harmed by that synthetic junk.
Such dangerous times we live in, Minerva. ”
She didn’t bother to argue with him about that.
All times were dangerous to someone, somewhere.
Ebb and flow. But things had been more tense than usual in Primrose Court lately, and the recent virality of Nocturnaturals “magical” products in the Ordinary world was only making the usual underlying tensions worse.
Zephyr sighed, his brow becoming ridged with imagined troubles. He was clearly thinking similar thoughts. But as she finished filling both cups, he met her eyes. “Not to worry, dear. We will weather this storm like all the others.”
He held the teacup below his nose, inhaling deeply, his entire expression changing. “Perfection, as always. You don’t have any more biscuits that I might dunk, do you?” His eyes sparkled, and when they met hers, she felt like she’d just been asked to dance.
“For you?” Minerva shook her head. “Fine. But only if you call them cookies. You were born and raised on this side of the pond. No need for such an affectation!” She pushed back her chair and stood to fetch a few more cookies.
But the tinkle of the bell on the door interrupted Minerva’s mission. The first customer of the day had arrived.