Page 6 of How To Woo A Warrior Orc

Instead, I force myself to stare, wide-eyed and manic, at the woman who’s wandered into the shop.

She blinks, then glances around.

“Hope you’re hungry!” I make myself chirp at her. “We have the best charmed and enchantment-free baked goods in town.”

The Pixie’s Perch is the only enchanted edibles café in town too, but that’s beside the point.

Ga’Rek moves away from me, heading back towards the kitchen.

I very pointedly keep my manic smile in place as I stare at the newcomer.

“Uh, yes, I am hungry, actually,” she says slowly. Coppery brown hair falls around her face, which is gaunt, cheekbones standing out in stark contrast. Dark circles purple the delicate skin under her eyes.

“Sit, sit,” I tell her, worry for this too-thin stranger replacing all the embarrassing feelings of unacted upon desire. “I’ll bring you a sandwich and a pastry and some hot tea, alright?”

“I don’t know if I can—” She glances up at the board behind me, and suddenly, my satisfaction with the magicked prices dries up. “I’m not sure I have enough?—”

“On the house,” I tell her firmly. “Sit. We all need kindness now and then. I have a knack for knowing when people need it.”

The latter isn’t true, not in a witchy sense, really. But this woman looks bone-tired, and she’s clearly worried about paying me, and I’m not about to let her leave my café hungry. Next to me, Velvet nuzzles my hip and then wanders off to the where the woman sits, fidgeting, at my favorite pink polka-dotted corner table.

“A deer?” she asks in wonder.

“She’s my familiar,” I tell her. “Velvet. And I’m Piper. Do you like brie and ham?” I pause, pouring hot water into one of the sturdy mugs I prefer to use in the café.

Upstairs, in my little home, I like the thinnest, most feminine and absolutely unnecessary teacups possible. Unfortunately, my lovely teacups aren’t minotaur or centaur or troll friendly. Not that we get many trolls.

“That sounds so good,” the woman says on a sigh.

I glance over at her, concern making me narrow my eyes.

Velvet’s put her long brown face in her lap, her ears pricked up as the woman gingerly strokes my familiar’s face.

Happiness washes over me, and I hum to myself as I place a chamomile tea strainer in the mug, smudges of color staining the steaming water.

This is why I do this.

This is why I wake up when it’s dark and sunless and cold.

Because food, making a meal for others, making a pastry that helps soothe a soul… it makes me happy.

It fills that aching emptiness that yawns deep inside me, and shores it up with light and companionship.

It’s been enough, at least, I thought it has…

I wrap the sandwich in brown wax paper, slicing it in half for neater eating, and in case she wants to take half with her. A jar of pickles sits on the counter, and I fish one out with the silvered tongs my mother loved so dearly.

Funny how a thing like using pickle tongs can summon a memory so strong I nearly feel my mother’s gentle touch on the back of my neck.

I shiver, pausing, and when I turn back to the woman in the corner, she’s staring at me with wide eyes.

A sense of uncanniness tingles down my spine, all my hair standing up on my arms.

It’s not abnormal, per se, to feel touched by a spirit, especially as the veil thins the closer Samhain comes. But this is more than that.

It feels like my mother is here.

My throat tightens and I glance around, knowing she can’t be, but looking all the same.

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