Page 8 of Kissing Potions and Elves (Oakvale Ever After #1)

LYRION

N ow that we’ve discovered the proximity side effect, I believe we need to change our plans. I look at Isobel. “I think you should move in with me.”

Her head jerks back. “What?”

“It’s imperative that we find a way to break this spell. And if we cannot find the solution in one afternoon, we will need to stay together to avoid becoming ill.”

“I suppose you’re right,” she agrees. “But I still need to get a few things from my apartment.”

“I’ll go with you.”

She nods and then leads the way. As we pass through the bustling town square, the usually quiet area hums with activity. People are hoisting brightly colored banners and arranging festive carts and tables, and the scent of baked goods and roasted meats fills the air.

“What is all of this?” I ask.

“The Spring Festival is coming soon, remember?” She gestures to a nearby cart serving food. “But people like to start early. Many vendors set up their carts a week or two in advance to celebrate the season.”

“Ah, yes,” I reply faintly, eyeing the preparations with mild trepidation. Festivals mean noise and crowds. Two of my least favorite things.

Her gaze catches on a nearby cart piled high with golden honey cakes, and her expression turns wistful. “Have you ever had honey cakes? They’re heavenly.”

“I can’t say that I have,” I admit, eyeing the pastries dubiously. They’re essentially human peasant fare, but I keep the thought to myself.

“They’re amazing,” she says, but she doesn’t move toward the cart.

Curiosity gets the better of me. “Are you going to get one?”

“Not today.”

Her response surprises me. I’d thought for sure she would wish to purchase one. We walk in silence for a moment before I offer, “We have time if you’d like to go back and buy a cake.”

She looks down at her hands. “They’re rather expensive. It’s a luxury I can’t really afford right now.”

I blink in surprise. Honey cakes are inexpensive enough even for commoners, yet she considers them a luxury?

I glance at her again, noticing for the first time how worn and patched her cloak is, the thinness of her shoes, the threadbare fabric of her dress.

A pang of unexpected discomfort twists in my chest.

As we venture further, the streets deteriorate noticeably. The cobblestones are cracked and uneven, the buildings appearing in various states of disrepair. I’ve never been to this part of Oakvale.

When we finally stop before a crumbling boarding house, my apprehension grows. “This is it,” she says, gesturing to the building.

Inside, the narrow staircase is dimly lit, creaking alarmingly beneath our feet. At the very top, Isobel pushes open a small, warped door, revealing a room barely larger than a closet.

My breath catches at the starkness of it. It has a tiny bed with a thin straw mattress and a ragged quilt, a small chest of drawers, and a single shelf holding various knickknacks and a tattered notebook with a charcoal pencil.

I cannot even begin to fathom how she survives the winter here, exposed to the cold through thin walls and drafty gaps in the floorboards.

Given the state of her living conditions, I wonder how she always manages to appear so cheerful. Even when the café is busy and customers grow impatient, she still finds time to offer everyone a smile and at least a few kind words.

“Could you turn around, please?” Her soft voice pulls me from my thoughts. “I’d like to change.”

Flushing slightly, I spin around, facing the door. The rustling of fabric behind me sends my pulse racing. My traitorous imagination vividly recalls our kiss, the softness of her lips, and the heat of her skin.

My thoughts are highly inappropriate. I barely know Isobel; I shouldn’t be thinking of her this way. I clench my jaw, frustration simmering as I silently curse the potion once more.

“Alright,” she announces. “I’m done.”

When I turn around, I watch as she retrieves a small box from beneath a loose floorboard by her bed.

Inside is a delicate locket with a broken chain.

“I need to stop by the jeweler’s on the way.

” She lifts her gaze to me. “It’s Tressa’s brother—Cyran.

She said he might be able to repair my necklace. ”

I nod, and she pockets it and finishes packing a few threadbare dresses and stockings into her small satchel.

She moves to the one tiny window in her apartment and opens it, calling out into the alley below. “Errol!”

“Who’s Errol?” I ask a bit more sharply than I’d intended as a strange and unexpected jealousy arises within, wondering if she’s calling out to a potential suitor to inform him that she’ll be gone.

“My cat,” she replies matter-of-factly, and my shoulders relax a bit.

I’m aware that humans tend to keep pets. They seem to have a particular fondness for cats, but usually their felines have names like Fluffy, Snowball, Shadow, and the like. “Interesting choice of a name,” I muse.

She smiles. “My father named him. He wanted him to have a proper, dignified name, like a fine Lord.”

My lips twitch. Errol is my father’s name. And yes, he’s indeed a fine Lord. I wonder briefly how he’d feel knowing he shares his dignified name with an alley cat.

Before I can comment further, a sudden rustling from the open window draws our attention. An orange blur leaps gracefully onto the sill, landing silently on padded paws. The cat’s fur sticks out in all directions, utterly scruffy, yet he surveys the room with regal confidence.

Isobel squeals with delight, rushing forward to scoop the feline into her arms. She hugs him close, beaming as if she’s found a long-lost treasure rather than a bedraggled cat.

“This is Errol.” She holds him out proudly toward me. “Errol, this is the nice gentleman we’ll be staying with.”

I blink at her, momentarily speechless. We’ll be staying with ?

Errol twists lazily in her grip to fix me with a skeptical glare. A distinctly protective voice slips telepathically into my head. “Listen, Elf. You’d best not try anything with my Isobel. She’s got a pure heart, and you’d better not break it.”

“Excuse me?” I reply back in his mind.

“You heard me.” Errol narrows his eyes. “She’s trusting. If you hurt her, you’ll answer to me.”

“What?” I reply aloud, utterly bewildered that her cat is actually threatening me.

“I said, ‘this is Errol,’” Isobel replies cheerfully, completely oblivious to the silent exchange. “Say hello, Errol.”

“I already did,” the cat drawls dryly into my mind. “Consider it a friendly warning.”

I shoot him a pointed look, speaking silently back. “It’s not like that. This is merely a temporary arrangement.”

“Uh-huh,” Errol replies, clearly skeptical. “And I’m secretly a unicorn.”

Irritated by this rather rude feline, I turn to Isobel. “He’s a cat. Surely he can fend for himself for a little while.”

Isobel gasps, clearly aghast at my suggestion. “He’s not just a cat. My father found him when he was a kitten. He’s family.”

The cat lifts his head, giving me another pointed look, protectiveness gleaming in his eyes. “See? I’m family. We’re a package deal. Where she goes, so do I.”

I purse my lips. “Can’t your father look after him, then?”

“No.” Her expression dims. “My father passed away a few years ago.”

My chest tightens. It seems both of her parents are gone, and I wonder if she has any family left.

“She doesn’t,” the cat replies, having picked up my thoughts. “It’s just us now.”

Well, now I definitely can’t turn Errol away. “Fine,” I relent, though I need to set down a few ground rules. “But a cat in my home—”

“Oh, thank you, Lyrion!” She throws her arms around me in an excited hug. “I promise you’ll hardly know he’s there.”

“Oh, he’ll know,” Errol remarks smugly in my mind. “I’m hard to miss. And remember, Elf, I’ve got my eyes on you.”

Isobel places Errol into her satchel, his head poking out, looking absurdly dignified for a creature in such a position. Catching my doubtful look, she offers a reassuring grin. “He’s used to traveling this way, aren’t you, Errol?”

The cat meows lazily and gives me a pointed look. “A gentleman would offer to carry a lady’s things.”

Sighing heavily, I must admit that he’s right. “Please,” I tell Isobel as I reach for the satchel. “Allow me to relieve you of your burden.”

She gives me a smile as bright as the sun. “Why, thank you, Lyrion.”

I loop the strap across my shoulders and look down at Errol. “Comfortable?”

He yawns again. “Quite,” he replies. “But mind the steps on the way down; I don’t want to be jostled too much.”

“Of course,” I reply a bit sarcastically.

“Of course, what?” Isobel asks, her small brow furrowed in question.

“I was speaking with Errol.”

Her lips part. “You can understand him?”

“And I prefer chicken and tuna instead of sardines,” Errol adds. “I just thought I’d mention it so you can plan for my meals accordingly.”

I stop short of rolling my eyes at the cat as I reply to Isobel. “My kind—High Elves—are able to commune telepathically with animals.”

“That’s amazing,” she says, smiling brightly.

Is it? I glance again at the tiny furry dictator. Isobel’s eyes are wide, filled with awe. I’m a bit taken aback by her astonishment. “It’s a rather common Elven trait.”

I gesture to the door. “Shall we?”

I follow her down the stairs, already dreading how complicated this day is rapidly becoming, and how this small, scruffy feline has already begun to challenge my patience.