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Potions at the Possum

Idris

T he door to the Pretty Possum Inn he chose not to take offense at her suspicion, and instead forced a lopsided grin. When she took him in again—staring up through long lashes to meet his gaze—her cheeks flushed.

Was it unease that made her blush? With his magic, he picked up the pleasant scent of lemon and rose, along with the indescribable musk of her skin. Pheromones of fear and something heady— desire? —clouded the air around her, confusing him.

His heart kicked up nervously, and he glanced down at his bandage, frowning at the dark seepage that mottled the dressing. “I’m afraid it’s infected,” he went on.

Her shoulders relaxed an inch. “Clearly,” she quipped, and opened the door wider to allow him inside.

As he passed her, Idris breathed deeper, relishing the fresh natural fragrance of her skin, even as his magic sorted through the underlying pheromones. His nose wrinkled as he caught the distinct whiff of sex. The scent made more sense when Idris spotted a lanky man leaning against the bar counter, his green eyes a little too cunning for his pretty face.

The woman latched the door behind Idris. “Sit at the bar. I’ll go get Hattie.”

“You aren’t Hattie?” Idris asked.

“I’m Anya, the innkeeper.”

She was young for an innkeeper, but Idris kept that thought to himself.

“And you are…?” Anya prompted, pausing at the base of the stairs.

“Idris,” he grunted.

A nod. “Remy, get Idris a pint, would you?”

Forty minutes later, Idris was seated at the bar, wincing as Hattie—with wrinkled brow and pursed lips—finished tending to the back of his hand. He’d drunk his first ale while she painstakingly cleaned the wound, chased the pint with a bitter-tasting healing tincture, and was now onto his second ale as she lathered on a sweet-smelling salve.

Hattie had initially raised a brow at his request for both a tincture and a salve containing dried Hylder flowers, but— thank the Fates —she hadn’t bothered to question him. Hylder was a common botanical in medicine, hardly worth noting, but in matters such as this, Idris knew it was essential.

Not that he could’ve explained why he required Hylder, even if she’d asked.

Idris took another long pull of his ale, trying to ignore Anya’s persistent stare as Hattie prepared a fresh bandage. The innkeeper was perched at the bar with one stool separating them, watching Idris with excruciating attention. Remy had wandered back upstairs almost as soon as Hattie had appeared, but the innkeeper seemed intent on witnessing Idris’s every flinch and fortifying sip. She didn’t seem nervous—rather, she seemed protective of her friend and suspicious of his wound.

He respected that. Hers was an attitude that he, too, would’ve taken if their roles had been reversed.

Nonetheless, Idris had done his best to appear as unassuming as possible (disadvantaged as he was with Halgren still strapped menacingly at his hip). It was hard to make small talk through the pain, so he’d mostly kept his gaze on his ale and gritted his teeth to keep from grunting as Hattie poked, picked, and prodded.

“There,” Hattie said, knotting the bandage tightly against his palm. “All done.”

“Will I live?” Idris asked her.

In his periphery, he saw the left corner of Anya’s mouth quirk up—but her show of amusement was quickly smothered.

Hattie was more generous with her smile. “Probably,” she said, collecting her medical supplies and wiping the counter with a rag. “Unless you get into another tangle with whatever bit you.”

“A wolverine,” Idris said, immediately tasting the bitter warning of his Oath urging him not to elaborate. “Must’ve been diseased.”

“I’ll say,” Hattie remarked. “That was a nasty infection, not helped by your crude cauterization. I’m going to get you some extra salve and another tincture for the road.” She disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Idris with the innkeeper.

Anya’s bright brown eyes traced his bandaged hand, her attention almost tactile.

“Your friend is quite skilled for a novice apothecary,” he remarked, hoping to put her at ease with his reverence toward her friend’s work. The compliment was true: Hattie had been deft in her ministrations.

Those observant eyes flicked to his. “Where did you say you were from again?”

“I didn’t,” he said, and when she cocked her head, he elaborated, “Fenrir City.”

She jerked her chin, gesturing at his armor. “Explains the fancy getup. Are you a mercenary?”

“Something like that.” He dragged the neck of his cloak aside, revealing his tattoo.

Her surprise was evident only in the slight tremor in her lips, which Idris noticed were slightly wet with the moisture of her own pint. The pleasant scent of her was diminished by the potent atmosphere of her inn—worn wood, washed linen, malted barley, and hound. He found himself appreciating the homey aromas too much.

Idris cleared his throat and rested his elbow on the counter, facing her more fully. “I appreciate your hospitality, in spite of the late hour.”

“Are you…apologizing?”

“I’m sorry for the late-night intrusion,” Idris added.

Now she did smile—an unexpectedly full one, spreading those mauve lips and crinkling the corners of her eyes. Her chest quaked with a soft laugh; apparently, she was amused by his discomfort.

“What?” Idris asked.

“This is an inn.”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“I mean , you can’t intrude at an inn.”

“Then what’s with the cold reception?”

The words came of their own volition, not exactly flirtatious. Had he meant to sound flirtatious? If he was flirting, he was bad at it, but—no. Idris was just trying to lighten her mood, ease the awkwardness.

Her head tipped as she regarded him with those keen, fire-bright eyes. “First you compliment my hospitality, then you call it cold?”

Idris pressed his lips together, befuddled. He felt oddly squirmy under her attention. He might’ve spent most of his time in the woods, but he did not think himself unskilled at socializing. As a boy growing up on the streets of Fenrir City—with only his older brother Grinnick to look after him—all interactions had been a matter of life and death.

Was Idris out of practice, or was Anya just strangely hard to read? He couldn’t seem to put his finger on what she was feeling. Suspicion? Annoyance? Even his magic didn’t offer clarification. The scent of her fear had diminished, but the desire remained, lingering even after Remy had left. He didn’t know what to think about that.

He didn’t particularly want to think about it.

The moment stretched, and he waited.

Then she laughed , the sound melodic and fulsome. Her old wolfhound lifted his head from his blanket by the hearth, his tail thudding in response.

“What’s so funny?” Hattie asked, returning from the back room.

Idris lifted his big palms in a bemused shrug.

Anya beamed at her friend. “Just making the newcomer uncomfortable with some gentle teasing,” she said cheerily.

Idris huffed a reluctant chuckle.

“Your teasing is rarely gentle.” Hattie arched a brow at Anya, then gave Idris a sympathetic look.

“Perhaps I’m a little squirrelly after the long day—and the late night,” the innkeeper said, pinning him with those dazzling eyes again. “I’m assuming you need a room?”

He was tempted. It wasn’t technically against his Oath to take the occasional room, but the expectation was that he spent most of his days outside, monitoring the border between the fertile belt of civilization and the unknown threats within the Western Wood. He didn’t like how much he wanted to stay.

Seeing his hesitant expression, Anya added, “I promise no harm will befall you.”

Idris stared at her. “Can’t say I fully believe you.”

Anya laughed again, and he took too much joy in knowing he’d caused it.

“I think I’ll take my leave.” Idris rose from his stool. “What do I owe you?” he asked Hattie as she handed over the tincture and extra salve.

“Nothing,” she said. “I’m happy to help.”

He reached for his pack, tucking the medicinal gifts into a safe pocket before rifling around for his coin purse. “I insist on paying.”

“She’s unlicensed, remember? She can’t accept payment,” Anya said.

“Allowing me to experiment on you is plenty,” Hattie added cheerfully. “Just take that tincture twenty-four hours from now and remember to reapply the salve for the next five days. That should stave off the spread of infection.”

Idris nodded. “My sincerest thanks for the care, Hattie.”

Anya slid off her stool and stepped toward him. “You sure you don’t want a room?” she asked. “We’re about to fill up for Mirror Fest.”

All the more reason to go. “I prefer the outdoors.”

She rested her fists on her fulsome hips. “You might think my countenance is cold, but I assure you, it’s far chillier out there.”

Idris forced a smile. “Thank you, again, for your… warm hospitality, Anya.”

Before she could object, he walked out into the night, back to where he belonged.