The Witch of Northester

In the Dawn

I couldn't let Bren's words haunt me, but they did so. Even Fresca could tell something was off when I tried wrapping head tonic with twine instead of paper. "Are you sure you're okay?" She had asked me three times so far.

I simply nodded, a lie I couldn't manage on my lips.

Old man Gregory took the tonic, ambling toward the door with a headache we all know very well is a hangover.

"I heard he was brawling again last night," Fresca murmured.

"None of our business," I murmured back as another customer walked in, this one looking like he was from out of town.

"It could be," she replied, eyeing the newcomer while keeping her voice low. "Slip something in that tonic, and I'm sure he'll never go out drinking again."

My eyes widened. "You didn't-"

"I wouldn't!" She snorted, frustrated as she packed her delivery of scented soaps to take to the innskeeper down the road. "I'm just saying, Zelda. If you know something about a person, isn't it somewhat of a responsibility to act?"

I shook my head, appalled. "What's gotten into you? Why would you EVER think that?"

"Maybe I'm just tired of feeling helpless." She almost sneered at me before going toward the door, "Maybe I wish my friend would do something about it."

I stared after her, my mouth agape as I watched the door slap against the bell.

The newcomer, having noticed the exchange, offered a light smile, joking, "Someone wake up on the wrong side of the hay loft?"

I smiled back, but decided not to refer Fresca. It wouldn't be very professional. "Can I help you find something?"

"I'll have whatever she's having." He leaned against the countertop, elbows supporting broad shoulders, a pair of arms that bulged through the loose white shirt, strings dangling down the front to let me peek at his chest. Tanned. A farmer? No...he smelled of salt.

I smirked. "A sailor?"

"Nah. Unless you count stowaways." He winked, blue eyes sparkling with the mirth that tipped his smile up at the left. Dimples.

My weakness.

I blushed. "Hm. Not sure I have anything for 'sneaking onboard a vessel'..." I pretended to peruse the contents of a shelf next to him, turning suddenly with a tip of my head.

"How do you feel about kissing a frog?"

He reared back with a shaky laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. A nervous blush rose up to his cheeks. "You know about the rumors, then."

"Know about them?" I leaned into him, breathing, "I started them."

"Ah huh." He relaxed a bit. "The witch of Northester."

I resisted flinching, relaxing back on my heels with both arms crossed over front. "I'm boiling a newt as we speak."

"As long as its fresh."

"A few days on ice," I licked my teeth, eyes narrowed. "You look it, though."

He laughed again, stepping closer. He couldn't be more than a few inches taller then me, but his head tilted down to gaze into my eyes. His smile softened, holding more charm than my legs could uphold. "I'm all yours."

My breath caught. My turn to blush. I gave a passing giggle, sneaking under the arm he had braced against the shelves behind me, finally putting on my best business smile. "Alright, what do you want?"