Page 10 of Bound and Tide

Red blinked. “You want me to reveal the location of my proprietary ingredients?”

“No, I want…” Xander’s jaw tightened, and he covered up a groan by plucking one of the bundles from the basket. He often mixed business and pleasure, but this felt more problematic than hoping to nick an artifact from the Grand Order of Dread while simultaneously exchanging flesh. Yet another sniff told him this was his only in. “I want you to help me find someone. Someone who smells like this.”

“Many people smell like iccali mushrooms. I smell like them when I return from gathering them.”

“Good enough. Take me to that place. We’ll make a day of it.” He waggled his brows, liking the idea regardless of if that day might devolve into a debaucherous night.

“Again, that’s proprietary, not to mention it sounds unpleasant. But you’re more than welcome to keep that seeing as you’ve paid for it. I’m happy to return the difference.”

Xander flipped the bundle of fungus over in his hand, more of that earthy tang hitting his nose. What were their names? Maia and Costa? He could ask directly, but Bendcrest was not nearly small enough for its inhabitants to all know one another, and from the looks of the children, they likely couldn’t afford Red’s wares anyway. Yet this was the smell from the vision the girl’s blood had given him, and knowing where they grew would lead him to her.

As he considered the dried mushrooms, a flicker of noxscura pricked at his palm beneath the bundle. Xander closed a fist around the ingredient and the magic, a jolt running through his chest. “Keep the gold, consider it a retainer. I’ll be back, Red.”

“And I won’t be looking forward to it,” she huffed as he again swept out of her shop.

Chapter 7

MEN, DEROGATORY

It was unfortunate for Evangeline that she found men to be both endlessly annoying yet achingly desirable. Worse, they were especially irresistible when they begged to be tamed, and somehow one of the least domesticated men she’d ever encountered had peacocked his way right into her shop.

She didn’t bother asking after his name because it wouldn’t matter in the end. This one had an ulterior motive, though, which meant he was marginally more dangerous than the average handsome traveler. If she gave in to the burgeoning craving to break him, she wouldn’t be able to cast him off so easily.

But he just kept. Stopping. By.

His presence would have maybe been bearable if he didn’t open his mouth so much, but it was as if he’d been cursed to fill every silence with incessant nonsense. The white-haired imbecile constantly chatted to her, at her, around her, it didn’t matter so long as he could hear his own voice. She fantasized about a tincture that would start with primrose oil to sedate him and a heaping dose of woodruffe for the same, and then a stamen of purrelery to ensure his jaw relaxed so much it couldn’t continue on. She couldn’t make that though—purrelery wasn’t in season.

His was at least a pleasant voice, but her frustration only mounted when she could think of so many other ways to shut him up but refused to let herself indulge in anything that would occupy his mouth as he didn’t deserve the satisfaction.

Worse, he only seemed to crave her abuse. When she’d dangled the coldest version of herself before him, he salivated as if she’d poured an entire bottle of Dry Mouth Cureall down his throat. But he’d earned her ire with the way he’d treated Percival, and until she knew his hidden agenda, she couldn’t take the risk of giving in. Even when he smelled exactly like the highest-quality cinnamon she’d ever gotten her hands on.

She tried giving him tasks, but they were consistently met with whining that he wasn’t made for doing chores, which, no shit. She had a few ideas for how to muddle up his essence and reformulate him so that he would be molded for such a thing, but they all ended with him getting a taste of what he wanted, and she couldn’t have that.

“If you refuse to help me, then I refuse to help you,” she’d said when he’d spent an entire day asking after the iccali mushrooms, making suggestive comments, and doing none of the things she requested around the shop. After she slammed the door in his face that evening, she thought that would put an end to his visits, but he returned the next day.

She went on to simply ignore him for a few days, brewing big batches of Joint Loosener for the coming harshness of winter, but then he’d called her work, “Silly human potions.”

“They’re silly half-human potions,” she’d snapped back, ruffled into giving him a too-personal answer.

He grinned with widening eyes so dark they were nearly black, looking like a cat that had spied a bird through a window and forgotten about the glass. “So, you do imbue them with elven magic then? And how do you manage that?”

“My mother taught me,” she admitted, tired of her own silence.

“No, no, I mean how do you manage to muster up the arcana when the barbaric half of your heritage is constantly pummeling the other?”

She would have slapped him if she didn’t have an inkling they’d both enjoy it. “Which do you think is doing the pummeling?”

“The human one, of course.”

So, if he had that to say, then he wasn’t entirely human either. She had been wondering, but grimaced to cover up her minor satisfaction.

“Carrow anise will keep that from turning such a putrid color,” he interjected unhelpfully.

She scrunched up her nose at the brewing batch of Joint Loosener, indeed an unpleasant hue, but it couldn’t be helped. “My recipes aren’t meant to look pretty, and you can’t just add herbs willy nilly when the end result is meant to medicate.”

“Yes, I know that, hence why I am suggesting the carrow strain which will complement the gerrili’s anti-inflammatory properties and bring out the flavor in that citrus-y base you’ve got it all in.”

Evangeline clicked her tongue. “And what about the essence of…oh.” She snapped her mouth back shut—carrow anise was actually the perfect addition.

---