“One pumpkin spiced latte for you.” Fifi plonked the plastic cups with the sheep logo onto the counter with zero foreplay. “Thank you, now leave.”

  Maya gave Fifi a sheepish look. The crowd of customers stared at her. “T-thanks, but I haven't ordered anything yet—”

  Fifi sighed long and winded. “You come here almost daily to pick up your orders,” Fifi deadpanned. “I know what you want, so I can make it beforehand. Now, Leave.”

  “But—”

  “No butts! Leave!”

  Before Maya could even argue, she was practically kicked and shoved out of Baaaaabucks in record time. Holding the cartons of coffee, she noticed a small bag of chocolate chip goodies tucked between the cups along with a written note that read: ‘I’m so sorry for him.’

  Maya let out a breathy chuckle and made her way back to work.

  A few weeks had passed, and Maya was mostly content with her new job.

  Fey was a workaholic, pushing Maya like a workhorse to converse with customers, and Maya always complained audibly about it and the attire.

  The customers varied wildly from elves, dwarves and even a troll once. That had caught Maya off guard. Despite his appearance, the guy had been surprisingly polite.

  He’d even offered her chewing gum.

  Of course, there were also the less pleasant customers. But Fey was quick to shut them down or scam them out of their life savings while she made Maya play her charms.

  I'm not sure what kind of charm she means, but at least the pay is good!

  It wasn’t perfect, but nothing ever was. At least it paid well, and that was more than enough.

  She had been worried about working a low paying job which brought her nothing but stress, and triggered her eating disorder as well as disrupting her studies. But so far, things were stable.

  So far.

  Maya handed a jar of hand cream to the last customer of the day—a N?kk, a river-dwelling musician with a love for string instruments. His sea-green eyes blinked widely at her, and his cerulean-blue skin absorbed the light, making him shimmer. His long, curly black hair was damp, making him look similarly to Fey fresh out of the shower.

  Maya suppressed a chuckle at the comparison.

  “And you say this cream will help me with my calluses?” he asked, inspecting the jar like it was a glass of pickles from a street vendor.

  Maya nodded, keeping a straight face. “This is a special mixture by the mistress,” she said smoothly, knowing full well it was just a knock-off DIY recipe they found online. “It contains rare ingredients such as Moon Wax, Elven Leaf, and Tree’s Embrace.”

  Which in reality were just Fey’s made up terms for beeswax, lavender essential oil and shea butter, to make everything sound more mystical.

  Was it ethical? Probably not.

  Did money speak louder than words? Yes indeed.

  “Look at my hand,” Maya continued, presenting her palm like she had just used the miracle cure. “Completely free of calluses.”

  Not like she’d actually used that stuff.

  Still, the N?kk traced a dry finger over Maya’s smooth palm. “You’re right,” he said with fascination. “I’ll take a month’s supply.”

  “With pleasure.” Maya quickly bagged the creams and sealed the deal. “Hope to see you again.”

  “You will,” he chuckled. “Name’s Neil. Stop by the water sometime. I promise I won’t drown you.”

  He laughed loudly as he left.

  Maya stared after him, thinking, What?

  Deciding not to question it, she turned to finish cleaning up. The shop’s Draugr got to work as well, rearranging furniture and shifting the space back into Fey’s living quarters.

  One of them carried Missy’s bed to its rightful place. The ferret observed the bustle with a curious eye.

  With the front cleaned up, and the ferret petted, Maya made her way to Fey’s workshop—her bedroom, really.

  The cramped space of her Dutch apartment had a newly laid oak floor, shelves stuffed to the brim with potions, random stoners and crystals, herbs and other questionable essences.

  Maya passed drying lavender that hung overhead and gave the place a pleasant smell to be around.

  Her gaze then landed on a container with the DIY cream they’d just sold. Fey had labeled it Callus Witch Balm.

  Curious, she dipped her finger into the jar and rubbed some on her hands. “Oh, this is actually good. Love the smoothness.”

  “Don’t touch anything with them,” Fey’s voice rang like a warning from the other side of the room.

  Startled, Maya was surprised she hadn’t noticed Fey lurking behind a pile of unpacked boxes.

  Fey grabbed her crutch and slung a rectangular box under her arm, limping toward the desk. “If I see a single smudge of fat on my stuff, we’re gonna have a serious talk, love.”

  She plopped down onto a cheap IKEA stool, and grunted undignifiedly at how she struggled to shift forward with her height and bad leg. She debated whether she should have paid more to get one with wheels.

  “Are you done with the customers?”

  If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

  Maya shook herself from Fey’s abrasive behaviour. As of late, Fey had been dealing with customers less and less, leaving Maya to handle the brunt of it. She spent most of her time shuffling around in her wide pyjama pants—sometimes even showing to the client meetings that way.

  Today, it was the watermelon imprint.

  Maya sighed. The sight made her miss Val, who had the same questionable sense of pyjama fashion.

  “Yeah, everything’s done.” She leaned against the desk. “Last guy even told me his name for some reason.”

  Fey raised a brow but didn’t look up. She opened her box, revealing an assortment of crystals, herbs, furs, and bones.

  “Did that N?kk tell you he won’t drown you?” she asked.

  Maya frowned. “Yeah. Why? Was that important?”

  “Don’t mind it.” Fey waved her hand dismissively. “Expect concert tickets in the coming weeks. But keep his name in mind. N?kks have shifty moods.”

  Like someone else I know. Maya rubbed her temple, knowing she had already forgotten the guy’s name.

  Fey rubbed her dry hands anxiously. “Workday is over. Now leave. Go to your lover.”

  Maya pouted. Someone is being cranky lately. Maya fumbled with her thumbs. “Fey, I have a favour to ask.”

  “Not today, love.” She dismissed Maya again, fiddling with a broken crystal. “I’m not in the mood.”

  I noticed.

  Maya took a breath and powered through. “I want to learn magic.”

  That got Fey’s attention. She stuffed the glue and other materials back into the box and closed it shut. “Do you have any idea what you just asked me?”

  Maya swallowed. “You can teach me, can’t you?”

  Fey scratched her chin. She adjusted her leg, switching one over the other. “Why do you even want to learn it?”

  Maya exhaled. “I want to protect myself,” she said. “I want to protect Val, and myself, against dangers like trolls, undead, and—”

  “Me.”

  The words hung heavy in the air. It implied what had been left unspoken between them for a while—the fact that Fey was one of the first people to ever hurt Maya.

  Something flickered in Fey’s eyes, animosity.

  If Maya had a knife, she could literally cut the tension.

  “You want to learn magic?” Fey murmured, standing to her full height.

  Green smoke curled from her lips.

  Maya tensed.

  Fey shuffled forward, keeping a hand on the shelf for balance. Her piercing gaze met Maya’s with an intensity like a sudden hailstorm on a sunny day.

  “Then let’s see,” she said with a voice both dark and smooth, “if you have what it takes.”

  Maya knew Fey was not just having mischief inside her that made her look evil and scheming—there was something else simmering too, something deep and scary.

  Unbridled Anger.

  It occasionally slipped through the cracks of her usual facade, like a house leaking gas, and waiting for the inevitable spark to ignite.

  “You want to protect yourself from our kind, isn’t that so?”

  Fey’s voice had an edge, sharp enough to startle Maya. Tonight, she wasn’t sugargcoating things.

  Maya steadied herself. She puffed out her chest in determination to measure up to Fey. “I want to protect us,” she said firmly. “I’m not as strong as either of you, but if I can be at least a little bit helpful, I want to be.”

  Fey stopped in her tracks. Her shoulders slumped and she released a breath she didn’t know she was holding in. Some of the tension that was bubbling underneath her skin left her system.

  Maya wasn’t sure why Fey was reacting this way or what she was projecting on her, but she seemed to regain some of her control.

  Without another word, Fey turned her back towards her. “I will explain what magic is first.”

  Fey stepped into her living room. With a snap of her fingers, she ordered her Draugr to stop cleaning and instead bring out the cauldron back.

  “Think of magic like nuclear energy,” Fey said.

  Maya’s face scrunched in confusion.

  With a wave of her hand, Fey summoned a swirl of green mist. “It’s fickle. Powerful, but ultimately destructive if abused incorrectly. There are many forms of magic. One of them is Seier.”

  The water in the cauldron began to bubble. Fey traced her fingers over the mist, shifting its form into green currents.

  “It’s a form of divination—used to manipulate fate itself and to shape it in our very hands.”

  Clasping her fingers into a fist, she pulled the mist into her palm, where it seeped through her fingers and returned to the depths of the cauldron.

  “With it, we craft blessings, curses, and hexes. Our will gives it shape—twists it into whatever form we desire”

  The room fell into darkness.

  The only sounds left to hear were the evaporation of the water, twisting into the shadowy form of a woman. The figure arched gracefully, her misty body stretching itself toward the ceiling. A brush of wispy vapor washed over Maya’s shoulder, caressing her.

  “This is Freyja’s will. Our patron goddess. The one who makes the impossible possible. We worship her, the goddess who bends fate to her will and places it within our grasp.”

  Maya could barely breathe as the awe-inspiring world of magic opened up to her. She lifted her hands, letting the mist flow between her fingers like water, gentle and warm.

  “It’s beautiful. And I can use it to protect myself and others?”

  Fey pulled with her hand.

  The mist dispersed.

  “No.”

  The word hit like a slap. Maya flinched, brushing the lingering vapors off her arms. The magic disappeared and light returned to the room.

  “B-but, I used magic before,” Maya stuttered. “When we fought your monster! Why can’t I learn it?”

  “You’re too old.”

  Maya gagged. “I’m not old.”

  “Not old old,” Fey groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. “You’re too old to learn it properly. Children are more receptive. Their minds are open—unshackled by logic, unburdened by mortal biases of good and bad. They learned to master the mist and not let it obscure the mortal world from the mythological. They see the truth, where adults filter it out.”

  She met Maya’s gaze. “I could teach you Seier. But it’d be like teaching an adult to master the piano. Possible? Yes, but excruciatingly difficult. It would take years of tremendous effort, and I don’t think you’re ready for that.”

  “But Fey, I used magic before!” Maya protested. “You taught me those rune things. And you used my heart to siphon magic and amplify yours. Plus—” her voice caught in realisation. “I can see through the mist, can’t I?”

  Fey’s expression darkened. Indeed, you can.

  “You might be one of those rare humans the mist can’t affect,” she admitted, pressing her lips into a thin line. “Your eyes are wide open to the unnatural. That makes living in our world even more dangerous for you.”

  She shut her eyes, hiding the concern before Maya could see it.

  “It doesn’t change the fact that you’ll never learn to use magic as well as I can. Or as well as other witches.”

  Fey winced as pain flared up in her bed leg. She grit her teeth, tightened her grip on her clutch.

  “Magic is like a muscle. It will atrophy if not used frequently.” Her voice hardened with the pain. “Which is why you won’t learn it.”

  Maya’s stomach twisted. Her hands held onto Fey’s arm. “Fey, please,” her voice begged. “I want to be useful. I want to learn.”

  Fey breathed in. Her chest rose, and her eyes stared back at Maya’s. She knew she owed her that much after all the pain she caused her.

  This was part of her repentance. She had given Maya a chance to earn money, and taught just enough magic to pass as an apprentice.

  But maybe, just maybe, if Maya learned to use magic, they could sell that illusion even better.

  “Go to my room, and find a wooden box with a knotted bind rune on its surface,” Fey told her, presenting Maya her usual smirk. “Let’s teach you some magic.”