Cauldrons and Cat Tails (Moonvale Matches #2)

7. Tandor

CHAPTER 7

Tandor

T own square park was a cacophony of noise and movement. This early in the morning, the dual suns had yet to reach their peak, but the folk of Moonvale were awake and moving.

Tables had been set out—pulled from the diner and the pub and spread through the entire park. Some folk even brought their own tables and chairs from their cottages to guarantee they would have somewhere to sit and enjoy the festivities.

I lost count of how many tables I hauled. The wooden things were easy to hoist over my shoulder, but after at least twenty of them, my muscles were warm and loose, thick with blood flow. Every single one of the pub’s tables was now sitting in the park. It felt strange, seeing the worn wood out in the broad sunlight of morning. The color was lighter, the brown pulling more toward orange than toward red as it did in the glow of the dim pub lanterns.

Amid the table arranging chaos, I had dragged myself to the pub’s cellar to haul the barrels to the event before all the good tables were taken. I even brought Ginger’s—there was no way the small faun woman would have been able to hoist it herself. She was strong, but she wasn’t that strong. She had prepared both wine and stew for the potluck because she couldn’t pick a favorite. Typical Ginny.

I preferred the space on the far end of the park, toward Fiella’s Finds and Lu’s Blooms. Most of the cottages were situated that way, which meant that most folk would pass by the table to enter the event and would visit me first.

It was all very strategic. I wanted to be the first smiling face they saw when they entered the park, and I wanted their mugs to be filled with my cider before they had the chance to be filled with anything else.

There wasn’t much competition for the far table, so my ridiculously early rise had been pointless. My spiced pumpkin cider and Ginger’s mulberry wine were set up, ready to be enjoyed, and the event didn’t start until the suns reached their peak. Ginger situated herself in the center of the park, in the middle of the action, where she would be in the core of the crowd. The thought made me cringe a little.

I held back a yawn for what felt like the hundredth time.

I tried to force my groggy thoughts to wake up. Dumping a bucket of cold water over my head in my washroom had not been enough—my eyes ached to be closed. I decided I would close them for just a second. Five seconds, max. Taking a seat on a rickety stool, I leaned my elbows on my table and propped my head up, leaning against the barrel for balance.

Just… going to… rest… my eyes…

Thwack!

My head smacked onto the table with a resounding thud, snapping me awake. My eyes scanned the area for a threat. Ginger stood above me, chuckling darkly. Her hair was slicked back in a style that made her antlers especially prominent. “You’re an asshole,” I grumbled.

“And you’re going to miss all the good stuff if you don’t get yourself up . Come on, it’s about to start!”

I glanced around, surprised to find that so much time had passed. Most of the tables were full.

I scrubbed my eyes. “You’re right. Thanks, I was just resting my eyes for a moment.”

“Tandor, I can see you from my table. You’ve been asleep for over an hour.”

I rolled my eyes, waving a hand at her dismissively. “Lies.”

Above the noise of the crowd, a strained, grunting voice caught my attention. My ears perked. “Old Gods damn it, damn everything, damn it all. Fates!”

I clapped a palm over my mouth to smother my laughter.

The source of the cursing was Kizzi, straining beneath the weight of a cauldron that was half her size. It wobbled precariously with every step she took, threatening to upend and drench the witch. Her hands were covered with ridiculous fluffy mitts, which were clearly impacting her grip.

A large white cat brushed against her ankle, nearly tripping her, but she hardly seemed to notice.

I bolted in her direction without thinking.

“Hey there, Kizzi! Let me help you with that. Princesses shouldn’t carry heavy things.” I snatched the cauldron from her grasp despite her protests, lifting it with mild strain. It certainly was a burden—it was a wonder the woman had carried it this far.

And then the heat registered. I yelped, forcing my fingers to maintain their grip on the cast iron though my flesh was screaming at me to drop it .

“Damn it, Tandor! If you would have waited one second, I would have warned you that it was as hot as Hell’s Realm. It’s been boiling for two whole days.” Her mitted hands fluttered anxiously in my direction as I turned and carried the cauldron to the nearest table as fast as physically possible. It was only a few long strides away, thankfully. I could practically feel my skin broiling, burning, blistering. I set the cauldron down on its stumpy legs, released a deep, shuddering breath, and then tucked my hands behind my back in embarrassment.

I would examine the damage later, when Kizzi wasn’t around to witness it. My ears flamed in humiliation, drooping slightly.

“There you go, all set.” I chuckled tightly. I prayed to whichever Old Gods were listening that she couldn’t hear the slight quiver in my voice.

I avoided Kizzi’s sharp green gaze—my eyes settled instead on her cauldron.

The contents looked… interesting. Brown, thick, vaguely soupy. Slightly congealed.

I caught a glimpse of what looked like a goose feather drenched in the brown, muddy liquid before Kizzi yanked the fluffy mitts off her hands and plopped her ladle into the cauldron. She gave everything a great, hefting stir. The feather disappeared beneath the surface.

I plastered a strained smile to my face, fighting the urge to gag.

I coughed to clear my throat. “What… what is it? It looks good!” I breathed through my mouth to avoid any errant fumes.

Kizzi glanced at me, then returned her attention to the cauldron, stirring with gusto. Her forearms strained. “It’s called chili. It’s a recipe from Oakhollow.”

“Oh, how nice. I can’t wait to try it. Later, though. Later. Not right now.” I shifted my weight on my feet, trying to hold my palms perfectly flat behind my back so my blisters wouldn’t chafe.

“Thank you for the help, but I had it under control. How are your hands? Not feeling great, are they?”

I gulped. “It’s no problem, I’m here to help. They’re fine.”

“Really? Why are you hiding them, then? Let me see.” She released the ladle, and it remained suspended in the thick, chunky substance. She turned to me, held her hands out, and arched an eyebrow.

“That’s really not necessary. Like I said, they’re fine.” My forehead broke out in a clammy sweat.

She just lifted her eyebrow even higher, brokering no argument.

I sighed and slowly pulled my hands from behind my back, holding them awkwardly in front of me. Kizzi grasped my wrists. Her hands were warm and soft, but her grip was surprisingly sturdy.

My skin tingled at the contact and my ears perked up. My cheeks threatened to lift in a bashful smile. She was touching me. Actually touching me.

Then Kizzi released one of my wrists and ran her fingers gently over my palm. The pleasant tingles vanished, replaced with sharp, burning pain. “Ouch! Gods be damned!” I tugged at my hand, but she held firm.

“I knew it,” she tsked. “You burnt yourself pretty good. This’ll take a few days to heal. Next time, let’s ask permission before we snatch a cauldron out of a perfectly capable lady’s hands, shall we?” With a gentle, chastising pat to my damaged palm, she finally released me.

“Of course, I was just trying to help.” My shoulders drooped in shame. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize to me when you’re the one burnt to a crisp! I feel bad that you’re hurt.”

“It’s nothing, really. I’ve had much worse.” I was lying, of course. It stung ferociously. But I would rather choke on chili than admit that.

She stared at me knowingly. “Whatever you say, tough guy.”

Kizzi pulled a few more ingredients out of her satchel and began tossing them into the cauldron, and I quietly took my leave. I heard Fiella's bright voice behind me, alongside Redd’s deeper tone. They must’ve noticed Kizzi’s arrival.

I huffed a deep breath out through clenched teeth, glancing down at my useless hands as I wandered back to my table on the far end of the park. Pouring drinks from the barrel all day was going to be a nightmare. If only someone could help me. Ginger had her own barrel to worry about, though, and I didn’t trust anyone else to do it.

I would have to suffer through it.

Ginger flitted by my table only long enough to drop off a steaming mug filled with coffee. “I saw that, by the way. You’re an idiot!” she called over her shoulder as she pranced away.

“You have no idea…” I mumbled under my breath. I lifted the mug, careful to make as little contact with the hot ceramic as possible. The coffee was dark and rich with flecks of ground cinnamon dotting the surface. A faint nutmeg scent slipped through the coffee’s strong aroma. I inhaled gratefully before taking a sip. Hot, but not painful—the perfect temperature. I took another longer swallow, relishing the warmth that slipped down my throat, settled into my stomach, and spread all the way to my fingers and toes.

At least, now that I had some coffee in my system, I was more likely to survive the hectic day.

I glanced at my blistered palms skeptically. Let the potluck begin .