Page 19 of Witches and Wine (The Mythical Mates of Arcane Cove #1)
“I do love serendipity,” Sylvie replied, her shoulders and wings bristling. “Here. This won’t give you courage exactly, but it’ll loosen you up a bit. Think of it as a mild psychedelic or tinge of alcohol.”
Alcohol. Wine. Was there anything that wouldn’t make me think of him?
“Like ambrosia wine?” I grinned, my face heating as I lifted the plate to my nose, inhaling scents of butter, apple, and sugar.
Sylvie tilted her head almost inhumanly to one side, a charming smile curving her lips. “Not quite as potent.”
After only one bite, I could feel my shoulders relax, followed by my mind. It was as if a giant, smooth hand coasted over my skin, soothing as it passed.
“You’re very good with your magic,” I mumbled through half a fritter shoved in my mouth.
Sylvie shyly found her ear covered by her thick hair, rubbing the pointed tip of it. “You’ll find yours in time. I’m over a hundred years old. I’ve had a lot of practice.”
I choked on flaky bits, pressing the back of my hand over my mouth to cough it out of my throat.
Sylvie jumped, her wings going taut, and she rushed to the backroom, returning with a glass of water. “Here, here. I’m so sorry, I keep forgetting.”
Taking the cup with both hands, I took small sips until only faint tickles remained. “Don’t worry about it,” I croaked, clearing my throat. “I’m sure the High Priestess is going to be a hell of a lot blunter than you and give far less of a shit about it.”
“You catch on quick.” The front door chimed, and Sylvie instantly made her wings disappear in a flurry of snowflakes and light blue sparkles. “Did you need anything else for right now, Chelsea?”
Sliding the plate, now only covered in fritter crumbs, I shook my head. “No, but thank you for the magical treat. Time to face the music.”
“Good luck,” Sylvie replied, winking.
The new patron was a tall, muscular man with fiery long hair and a matching beard. A golden hammer symbol with a Nordic knot design on a thick chain hung around his neck, and he grinned at me as he passed.
“Thor,” Sylvie greeted, her posture straightening. “What brings you to the Cove?”
I paused with my hand on the door handle at that, risking a glance over my shoulder at him. He was already looking at me and waved charmingly.
Dion had told me other gods beyond the Greeks existed, but I’d never met one. Arcane Cove only became that much more surreal with each passing day.
“Everything,” Thor replied, turning back to Sylvie and leaning on the counter. “But right now, I’ve come to cure a bit of a sweet tooth.”
I took the moment he looked away to exit to the sidewalk. There wasn’t an official label for what was happening between Dion and me, but considering recent events, it was enough that I didn’t need meddling with a hunky Norse god in the mix.
Considering how quaint the town was, it didn’t take long to wander into the outskirts and find Cressida’s hut nestled near a thick oak tree, as the instructions stated.
I stood in front of the rounded, wooden door that looked like something out of The Shire in The Hobbit , clutching my purse’s strap for dear life and willing the magical fritter to work harder.
The relaxation I’d felt disappeared once a pane of wood stood between me and an ancient witch.
“You’ll get no questions answered out there, Chelsea Stewart,” an older woman’s voice said from inside.
My heart skipped a beat, and I gulped before finding the gumption to turn the knob and stick my head in.
The space was smaller than it had appeared from outside.
There was a small stone hearth with a crackling fire at the back wall, dozens of herbs hanging from hooks on the ceiling above it.
On the right side, there was a narrow bed with a purple and black patch quilt, the bed post made entirely of thin tree trunks and branches.
Several shelves lined the opposite wall, filled with books, jars, bowls, and stones.
At the center was a round, gnarled table littered with scrolls, more bowls, fruits, and a glass decanter filled with amber liquid.
“Hello?” I hesitantly called out.
I could have sworn I heard a woman but saw no one here. Given the very few places to disappear in the tiny space, she couldn’t have hidden easily.
“There you are,” the woman said, appearing from a darkened corner like a traveling shadow.
I jolted, my purse swinging, nearly smacking me in the face, and I pressed a hand to my chest. “You startled me.”
“Spook that easily, do you?” The High Priestess came into full view, standing a foot shorter than me in billowing brown and olive-green robes, parts of the fabric twinkling with firefly light.
Her hair was long and silver, falling in waves past her hips, feathers, and bone tied into several thin braids.
The Crone’s face was older but still strikingly beautiful despite the patterned liver spots and wrinkles overtaking her features.
“Hm,” she finished, hobbling past me to the hearth.
Ignoring that insult, I removed the purse from my shoulder and started to rest it on the table.
“Ah,” Cressida shouted, smacking a wooden spoon on the table. “You’ll not be mixing my effects with your own. You either hold it or set it on the floor at your feet.”
Considering the purse was the only Louis Vuitton anything that I owned, I opted to keep it on my shoulder. “If you know my name, then you know why I’ve come to see you?”
“Yes. You’re just a fledgling with no knowledge of how to use her magic because of your muddied head.” She crumbled an herb in her palm, sprinkling whatever it was into a small pot resting on an iron grate in the fire.
Sylvie wasn’t kidding.
“In a manner of speaking, yes. Can you help me?”
The Crone nodded, dusting her hands and resting them on her hips. “I can. But there’s a more important detail we should discuss first.”
More critical than manifesting my new power?
Fighting the urge to chew on my thumbnail, I flicked it against my purse strap instead. “Oh?”
The Priestess pressed her thin hands onto the table, pulling her face closer to me, the fire that dimly lit the room, casting ominous shadows over her face. “Be wary of the wine god with whom you share your bed.”