Cauldrons and Cat Tails (Moonvale Matches #2)

4. Kizzi

CHAPTER 4

Kizzi

M orning light filtered beautifully through my shop’s arching windows, begging me to crack them open and let the fresh air in.

I resisted the urge, though. There was a heavy, charged quality to the air that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and I was determined to figure out what it was.

It was probably the damned sprites messing around again… but I needed to be sure.

“You little fuckers can leave whenever you want, you know,” I called out into the seemingly empty shop. I couldn’t see the sprites, but I knew they were lurking. “You don’t have to keep harassing me. I’ve been punished enough for whatever moral crime I must have committed. I’m cured of my wrongdoings. I’m not above bribes, either, if you’re receptive to that.” I waited for a few seconds, but nothing changed, so I let out a frustrated huff and got back to work.

Of course I had tried speaking to the sprites. I spoke to them so often that a fly on the wall would probably think I lost my mind. But they never spoke back. They never communicated with me in any way that I could understand, besides endlessly messing with me and my shop.

Little shits.

I worked methodically through the apothecary to determine the source of my unease, starting at the front door and making my way to the back—shelf by shelf, basket by basket. I trailed my fingers over everything, keeping my senses open and letting any lingering traces of magic register in my mind.

Everything was normal… until I got closer to the cauldron I had shoved into the corner and tried to forget about.

The giant cast iron bowl reached all the way to my hip. As I neared, my eyes began to water, and a vaguely sick sensation settled in my stomach. My ears flattened back to my head.

Gods, this feels weird. This feels wrong .

I could have sworn I left the cauldron covered with a sheet, but that sheet was now neatly folded on the floor a few paces away. Had I folded it up and just forgotten about it? I bent down to pick up the fabric. The remnants of magic that leached into my fingertips were stronger than I expected.

A shiver crawled down my spine—a seed of fear taking root in my chest and threatening to bloom.

“Come on, Kiz, don’t be a baby. Just look in the cauldron,” I murmured to myself in an attempt to steel my nerves.

I took a few deep breaths, feeling like an absolute idiot, while I mentally hyped myself up. Surely, there was nothing abnormal in the cauldron. Surely, the sludge would look the same as the last time I saw it.

Surely, I was overreacting.

With one last deep breath that pulled in as much air as my lungs could hold, I leaned over the rim of the cauldron and peered inside. My heart galloped in my chest.

What I saw was… exactly what I expected. Just thick, viscous liquid filling about two thirds of the pot, slowly gurgling. It had a purple sheen that I hadn’t noticed before but nothing about it was remarkable in any way.

I had freaked myself out for nothing. “Old Gods spare me,” I sighed as I gripped the edge of the cauldron and fought to still my racing heart.

Waves of magic traveled through my fingers and up my arm in shuddering, unsettling pulses. I snatched my hand back and clutched it to my chest. I examined my palm to make sure I hadn’t been burned, but my skin was the same shade of olive green it always was.

A fleck of sludge clung to my thumb, which I hastily wiped onto the sheet I was still clutching.

Well, that answered that question. I knew I put a little extra oomph into my last brew, but I didn’t think I’d put that much extra magic into it. The thing was practically radiating magical energy, setting the air abuzz.

I covered the cauldron with the sheet again, paying extra attention to weigh the corners down with selenite crystals so it wouldn’t slip off. I didn’t know how strong the sprites were, or if they were the ones who removed the sheet in the first place, but I hoped the crystals would be too heavy for them to dislodge.

Only the fates knew what would happen if anything else was added to the cauldron. I really needed to clean that out sooner rather than later.

I tossed the windows open as wide as they would go, hoping some of the trapped magical energy would dissipate and relieve the uneasy feeling lodged in my stomach. A mild breeze flowed in, fluttering a basket of dried butterfly wings and rustling hanging herbs.

I didn’t remember until much later that the cauldron had only been half full when I initially pushed it aside.

W ith the annual Moonvale potluck rapidly approaching, I agonized over what I would prepare. My best bet would be something simple—something that required as little hands-on work as possible so I would have fewer opportunities to screw it up.

I tapped my chin with my fingernail.

Baked goods were out of the question. As were coffees, teas, any hot beverages, as those would certainly be covered. There wasn’t a sign-up list or anything, but it was expected that every folk would bring something different.

I thought about foods I had eaten in other towns during my travels. Vegetable soup would be too difficult to get right, sandwiches were too complicated, dried meats were delicious but were a nightmare to make.

Then the perfect solution came to me.

Chili.

Fucking chili!

Of course! It was perfect . Chili was similar to stew or soup—one of those toss-the-ingredients-in-and-leave-it types of recipes. All I would have to do was throw the ingredients in a cauldron and let it sit. Almost like a potion.

Potions I could handle, so surely something potion-like would be easy as well.

It was exactly the solution I needed.

I had first tried chili in the breezy, hilly town of Oakhollow. I could remember the moment vividly. I was on a trip to collect some potion ingredients, and Fiella had come with me, of course, on one of her trinket shopping expeditions. She was off bartering for a better price on woven blankets while I sat down at a diner for something to eat. I was so famished that I could have eaten an entire cow. Instead, a tiny, smiley waitress had plopped a steaming bowl in front of me. The chili had been the perfect temperature—hot enough to waft steam over my face but not hot enough to blister my mouth. It was rich, tomato flavored, and full of wonderful textures.

Eating that chili had been a damn near religious experience.

I had been so enraptured by the delicacy that I begged the chef to give me the recipe. I had convinced myself that I would be able to make it at home. I ended up needing to use a truth spell on the chef. I only felt a little bit guilty about it.

He refused to offer up his secret ingredient, but I extracted most of the recipe from him, and I kept the scribbled note tucked away in my personal room’s locked cabinet for safe keeping.

Reciting the unlocking spell and using my fae-iron key, I quickly retrieved the recipe from its hiding space and nudged the door shut with my elbow. I unfurled the crinkled note and laid it flat on my worktable.

Excitement thrummed through my veins.

The recipe read:

Ingredients: tomato (both fresh and jarred), green pepper, red pepper, onion, ground beef, beans, broth, herbs of choice, salt and pepper, garlic (omit if folk of the blood sucking variety will be ingesting). Secret ingredient still a mystery.

Combine ingredients and simmer for at least two hours. The longer the better. Serve hot, with bread on the side, or poured over a grilled cheese sandwich.

T he potluck was in two days, so surely two days of simmering would make the chili extra delicious. Delighted with myself for my brilliant idea, I skittered to the grocery store to secure my ingredients.