Cauldrons and Cat Tails (Moonvale Matches #2)

5. Tandor

CHAPTER 5

Tandor

T he cellar underneath Ginger’s Pub was a room I had become increasingly familiar with over the years. I couldn’t begin to count the hours I had spent in the damp, dark space, adding herbs to brews and monitoring their developing flavors.

Though the pub belonged to Ginger, I had been working for her for so many years that I had slowly acquired more and more tasks and responsibilities. We were more like partners than we were employee and boss.

My favorite task was brewing. I enjoyed interacting with customers, but nothing beat the joy of creating the perfect beverage.

It took five years for Ginny to even allow me within two paces of the cellar that housed her precious brewing barrels. She even bought an expensive enchanted lock for the door to keep nosey folk out.

These days, I understood her protective tendencies. The brews were my pride and joy.

While Ginger still handled most of the ales and the wines, ciders were my domain. Trying new flavors was one of my favorite pastimes. They weren’t all successes, and some of them were raging failures, but it was the experimentation that kept me intrigued and kept my mind whirling. The possibilities for improving kept me on my toes.

I poured a few drops from the barrel that I had been working on for weeks—my concoction for the annual potluck. The liquid was an orange, golden brown, gorgeously smooth and artfully rich. I examined the brew, holding it up to the glow of the lamplight. Not an impurity or imperfection in sight. The aroma was fruity and hoppy, with a cinnamon finish that rounded off the profile. I inhaled deeply, feeling very satisfied with my spice choices.

With only a moment’s hesitation, I poured the liquid into my mouth. The last time I sampled my concoction had been days ago, and the fermentation was nowhere near complete. Now, I was out of time, so I silently prayed to any of the Old Gods that were listening that the brew would be ready.

The cider caressed my tongue and slid down my throat. I groaned in delight.

Absolutely perfect .

My newest creation was my best one yet—spiced pumpkin cider. It had taken weeks to find a traveling salesman willing to find pumpkins and bring them to Moonvale. The massive orange fruits were rare, only growing naturally in the fields surrounding the mountains of Rockward.

The fruits then had to be chopped up, the skins and seeds removed, chilled, dried out, and then boiled down into a syrupy pulp. It had taken ages of painstaking labor.

The hassle was worth it.

I took the annual Moonvale potluck very seriously, and this cider would surely be a crowd pleaser.

I poured myself another sample, tossed it in my mouth, and savored the crisp, almost nutty flavor. I had used one of the largest barrels in the cellar, but now, I wished I had brewed multiple batches.

This stuff was going to disappear faster than a water sprite in a forest fire.

Kizzi and Fiella were going to love this one. The corner of my mouth curled as I thought about the two women and their deep, almost reverent love for ciders. Of all the folk in Moonvale, I could count on them to give me the most elaborately honest opinions.

I could also count on them to drink any cider I placed in front of them.

Those ladies could handle their alcohol with impressive gusto. Even more so than some of the older, larger folk that frequented the pub.

I poured another small dribble of cider into the goblet and tucked it under my arm, tidying up the space before making the climb back to the pub’s kitchen.

I shouldered open the cellar door with a flourish while calling out, “Ginny! You’ve got to try this one.”

When I last saw Ginger, she was in the dining room polishing tables to perfection. I assumed she would still be out there.

The unlucky faun was right behind the door.

My mindless entrance knocked the woman right off her hooves and she fell on her ass with a muffled oomph . The plate she had been drying clattered to the floor and cracked in half.

“Gods above, Tandor! Use your eyeballs for once and look around before you come storming in here!” she scolded.

“Sorry, boss. I got too excited.” Still clutching the goblet with my precious pumpkin brew in one hand, I reached out with my other and hooked my fingers under the bewildered woman’s arm and hoisted her to her feet. She landed gracefully. Everything she did looked graceful—even falling flat on her ass.

“I can stand, I can stand, you brute.” She pried her arm from my grasp and ran her hands over her pants to brush off any clinging dirt. “Thanks for the hand, I guess. Though it is your fault that I needed it. What do you have there?” she asked when she finally noticed what I was holding.

Wordlessly, I presented the goblet to her. She took it, examining it with a practiced skepticism. She swirled it around, held it up to the light, and then took a tentative sniff, exactly as I had done in the cellar.

Sparing just a moment to meet my eyes and arch a full eyebrow, she raised the glass and poured it into her mouth.

A moment passed. Two. Anticipation boiled under my skin, buzzed in my stomach. I clenched my hands together to stop myself from wringing them.

Then Ginger burst out laughing.

“What… what is it? That’s not exactly the reaction I expected,” I asked nervously.

Ginger slapped a hand on my shoulder and squeezed. “You’ve finally outdone me. This is the best cider I’ve ever tasted.”

“And that’s… funny?”

“No, not funny. Hilarious. I never thought I’d see the day, but I should have paid more attention to you. You’ll steal this business out from under me if I’m not careful.”

My breath whooshed out of me. I finally cracked a smile. “It’s pretty good, huh?”

“Pretty good? This stuff is borderline magical.” She paused for a second. “Or is it actually magical?” Her eyes narrowed slightly. “What did you do, Tandor? Am I poisoned?”

I snorted. “Nope. No magic here. Just talent.”

“Just talent? Well, I’ll be damned. Can I have some more of this?”

“Sure—at the potluck with the rest of Moonvale. You better be quick, or it’ll run out before you get any,” I said smugly.

She glared at me for a second before bolting for the cellar door. She almost made it.

I stepped smoothly in front of her, barricading the path and grinning broadly, my tusks on full display. I crossed my arms over my chest and planted my feet.

Giving up, she strode away with a huff, her hooves clanking rhythmically on the stone floor. “Ugh. You’re the worst, you know!”

“Love you too, Ginny,” I laughed.

She flapped her hand dismissively before flipping me her middle finger.

I smiled for the rest of the day, pride blossoming in my chest at what I had accomplished. The folk of Moonvale were going to love my pumpkin cider.

T he air had cooled to a comfortable briskness by the time I decided to head back to my cottage for the night. Ginny and I took turns closing when we weren’t swarmed with customers, and tonight had been on her.

I really needed to talk with her about hiring someone else to help us during busy days. We had briefly discussed and dismissed the notion in the past, but having an extra set of hands to wash dishes and run bowls back and forth certainly wouldn’t be unwelcomed.

The two moons slowly climbed a path across the sky, rising timidly from the horizon as the two suns slipped from view. The first moon would reach its peak within the hour, and the second shortly after.

Unseen insects chirped from every direction—fireflies fluttered lazily on the cooling breeze. Darkness was creeping into the realm’s edges, but the enchanted torch lights of town square kept things from feeling eerie. Instead, the town was cushioned in a gentle, warm glow.

My boots thumped heavily along the cobblestones.

I waved at the few folk I passed, but I didn’t linger to start any conversations like I normally would. I was craving a good night’s sleep more than a casual discussion.

A crisp breeze tossed my black hair over my eyes, and I absentmindedly batted it away. The ending of the mild season meant that Hallow’s Eve was rapidly approaching. It was only a few weeks away, now. The green leaves in the Greenwood Forest were already beginning to deepen in pigment, settling into their emerald coloring that would soon fade into shades of orange and red.

Hallow’s Eve was a holiday celebrated throughout the entire realm of Aldova—from the Dragonspeak Mountains, across the Barren Lands, all the way to the sea. Every town and every species celebrated in their own way, but we all celebrated. It was a chance to embrace our natural darkness. To cling to our baser instincts.

And for some of us, to act out our more beastly, wild tendencies.

For orcs, Hallow’s Eve was an even bigger deal than Merry Day or Year’s End. As a species, orcs prized strength above all else, both physical and mental. We liked to participate in competitions to prove our strength to each other. Moonvale’s Hallow’s Eve celebration would involve more prowling than proving strength.

The holiday season made me miss my family. There were other orcs in Moonvale, sure, but none that I was especially close to.

The resounding thunk of my boots on the solid wood of my newly repaired front porch was music to my ears. The wood had begun to rot, and Redd, the new vampire woodworker in town, had transformed it into something fresh and sturdy. I would call myself handy, but I was nowhere as talented as that man. My quick patchwork fixes had held, sure, but they had been hideous.

Now, I didn’t have to worry about my heavy feet busting through the wood—I could stomp as hard as I pleased.

Two wooden rocking chairs wobbled in the breeze, as though ghosts were sitting upon them. They creaked quietly—a whisper in the night.

With a groan, I bent to unlace my boots. My back muscles protested as I righted myself again. I left the boots on the threshold before I stepped inside my cottage.

The familiar scent of clean linens and comfort greeted me like an old friend. I didn’t bother to light a candle, instead feeling my way through the space by memory. My eyesight was sharp, but with my curtains drawn and the faint light of the moons blocked out, I could see almost nothing. That didn’t matter, though. The space was clean, as always, and the high roof built for the tallest of folk guaranteed that I wouldn’t hit my head on anything.

I preferred to spend my time in town among other folk rather than in my cottage by myself. My cottage was my place to relax, unwind, and rest, and not much else. It housed my belongings, though there weren’t many of those. I wasn’t the collecting sort.

I didn’t have much in the way of furniture, either. A hook on the back of the door held my cloaks that I wore during the freeze season. The front of my cottage consisted of a sitting area with a couch, a low table, and an oversized chair. A small, spindly fern lived in a blue pot that sat in the corner beside the window. I didn’t have a dining table—that would be a waste of space when I took all my meals at the pub anyway. Storage trunks remained tucked off to the side until I needed to use them, and my kitchen and washroom were small and unobtrusive.

My bed took up most of the back half of the cottage. It was the largest bed that silvers could buy, and I still wished it was bigger. It fit my frame with little room to spare.

I yanked my tunic over my head and tossed it into the wash basket in the corner, mindful not to pull too hard and tear any threads.

I pulled my window open to let the night breeze in. I wouldn’t get to enjoy the nighttime winds much longer, soon the air would be too cold and unpleasant.

My thoughts skittered to a certain green witch, as they too often did. No matter how many times I chastised myself for being foolish, I couldn’t shake the seed of affection that the tiny, stubborn witch had planted within me.

Kizzi had actually smiled at me yesterday at the pub. My cheeks lifted on their own accord as I remembered it. I could picture exactly what she had looked like. She had been wearing a pretty brown tunic, pulled in at the waist with a corset, tucked into a green skirt that hid the shape of her curvy legs. Her usual leather boots laced over her ankles. Her throat was adorned with a thin chain.

She looked as beautiful as ever, and when she smiled, she knocked the breath out of my lungs.

Even if she never returned my affections, at least I had these small, precious moments.

I hope she’ll like my spiced pumpkin cider at the potluck…