As she led Mirra and Tess through the tunnel, Ayla thought about the sensations she just experienced. Tess was going on about her small cottage in the woods, that there’d be plenty of space for the two of them, that there was a bedroom here and a small bed there, but she also had another bed in this space, and on she went. Ayla glanced over her shoulder. Mirra was watching her. Her eyes were kind, but inquisitive. Ayla turned back to the path. Yeah, she thought. She has questions too.

  When they reached the tavern’s main floor, Tess went towards the kitchen to check up on Gabby. She was going to try and coax Gabby into letting her snack on one of the cinnamon rolls, maybe even get a couple for Mirra and Ayla.

  “Wait,” said Tess, “Do wraiths eat?”

  “The short answer?” asked Mirra. “Yes.”

  “Wonderful!” Tess stormed the kitchen.

  Mirra laughed quietly. “She’s a very energetic.” She looked at Ayla, who had taken a step back. “So? Do you want to go first? Or would you like me to?”

  Ayla didn’t know how to start. While the event in the boiler room stirred a bit of anxiety, she was calmer now. There was something about Mirra’s voice, a sort of maternal kindness that made her feel protected.

  “You go first,” said Ayla.

  Mirra clasped her hands behind her back and toured the main floor. She elegantly hovered just inches above the ground. She carefully observed the layout, the parlor, balcony and fireplace. She was intrigued by the trophies, getting a closer look at one or two of them. When she circled the main floor, she arrived back where she started, standing in front of Ayla.

  “First, I wish to offer my sincerest apologies.” Mirra looked down now, thinking about the other night when she was forced to attack Ayla on that dark path. “I almost killed you,” she said solemnly. “I don’t even remember how I was captured, just that I was. Maybe I was on my way here to help those lost souls? Maybe I’ve been slave to that necromancer for centuries? I honestly can’t recall, you got me out of that corpse. You saved me! I can’t thank you enough for that.”

  Ayla was flushed with embarrassment. “Honestly, it’s okay. I’m glad you’re safe. It’s just, can you explain what happened? Down there?”

  “The trembling?” asked Mirra.

  Instinctively, Ayla stepped back, “Yes.”

  Mirra folded her hands, massaging her palms, wondering where she ought to begin. “I suppose with what I know is best,” she said to herself. She looked at Ayla, “I’m a Guardian for the Wightshade. A songstress, as you can tell. I can’t sing words on this plain. Our words are sacred, you see. I can hum though.”

  “It was beautiful,” said Ayla. Even if it felt odd.

  “As I was guiding the others to the Wightshade, it felt as if my music drifted a little. Something, somewhere was tugging at it, almost. So, I reached out. I needed power to guide the others and couldn’t afford it being stolen.”

  “I wasn’t stealing anything,” said Ayla. “I promise.”

  “No, you weren’t,” she said assuredly, “However, when I reached out, it was obvious you were the draw. Which is strange to me. As fuzzy as my memory is, I can’t ever recall a human tapping into my power like that, even accidentally. It was like, I could feel you. Like I was being pulled towards you…” her words trailed off as she tried to explain, “You’re gravity.”

  Mirra paused, then said, “The next question is why?”

  Deep down, Ayla felt a connection to Mirra that she too could not explain, nor did she have time to explore. Was it residual from before? Did she even want to find out? She had ideas, most of which were rooted in reasons she was trying to bury. She felt uncomfortable. How long was she going to stand here thinking of what to say?

  “I recognize that expression,” said Mirra. Ayla met her eyes, waiting. She continued, “I feel like I’ve seen it countless times. Forgive my forwardness, but it seems to me that you are running away from something. From someone.”

  Ayla froze, completely stunned by her words. Was this it? Was she going to have to leave Witchwicks too? Where else could she go? This was her last idea, her Plan C, there was nothing after this. She started thinking about the north. She could go to the mountains. She could find a place off the coast. How was this even possible? She’d only been here a couple of days, sure, but it seemed to be going well.

  You were stupid to think this would work, thought Ayla. Just talk to people, make friends. Idiot.

  “Stop it,” said Mirra. “You have panic in your eyes and I can see your mind racing.”

  Ayla composed herself. “This place is all I have.”

  “I’m not here to take that from you,” Mirra reached out to touch Ayla’s arm, but she backed away, just out of reach. “I’m not here to take anything. It’s fine. Everything is okay.”

  Everything wasn’t okay. Fraz was kind enough to not ask questions, and despite the awkward tension with Tess, it quickly blew over. Somehow, Mirra had managed to get closer to the truth than the others.

  The kitchen door burst open and Tess pitifully trudged out. She threw herself on the bar counter. “Operation Cinnamon Rolls was a bust.”

  Ayla looked away, “Let’s talk about this later,” she said. “For now, we have a tavern to run.”

  Over the next couple of hours, Ayla and Tess performed their duties. Tables were wiped down, floors were swept, and the bedsheets were changed. Tess explained to Mirra what the average night looked like at Witchwicks. Ayla was grateful to be alone for a while. She grabbed a bucket of hot soapy water and rag and went outside to wash the grime off the parlor’s windows.

  Her skin was still warm from earlier, though now that she was outside, perhaps she’d cool off. She dropped the steaming bucket below the windows and dipped the rag in. She wrung out the water and slapped the rag against the glass, wiping away. She was aggressive, targeting every moldy smudge she could find.

  “She doesn’t understand,” Ayla said under her breath. “She doesn’t know what you’ve been through.” She scrubbed vigorously at one patch that wouldn’t give. She dipped the rag, squeezed the water, and scrubbed even harder. “This was supposed to be your new home.”

  Mirra’s words echoed in her mind, “You are running away from something. From someone.”

  “Dammit,” Ayla hissed, throwing the rag in the bucket. What are my options? Really? Her head started to ache. Her body, her scars began to itch. She felt like she was on fire. Don’t be a fool, she thought. Don’t blame her. It’s not her fault.

  She thought about fleeing her murderous husband and the following months gruelingly spent hunting for food and shelter, the slave traders, the abusive guard, the cannibals and the undead and whatever else happened in-between - some of it clear, some of it a blur.

  She reached for the rag and tried again. She took a breath, wiping down the rest of the windows. For now, she’d forget about all of it. Peeking through the washed pane, beyond the parlor’s open door, she saw Fraz climb out of the tunnel door. He looked like he’d put in a weeks worth of it work, greasy, dirty, hair frazzled and shirt stained. He set his tool box on a table and then cracked his back, appearing to feel rather accomplished. After closing the door, moving the table back over it and placing the chairs where the belonged, he retrieved his tool box and disappeared from her view.

  As they approached opening, Fraz suggested Mirra greeted the guests. If she was going to be an employee, she might as well start there.

  “It’d be a good way to get our fine patrons used to ya,” he said, freshly bathed and wearing clean clothes. His hair was a still a bit wild.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  “If you say so,” said Mirra.

  When the time came, she opened the door to Witchwicks. The customers outside hesitated to enter. She saw a sea of shocked expressions, overhearing someone ask, “Is Witchwicks haunted again? That last one was kind of crazy.”

  Mirra glanced over her shoulder, “Maybe I’m not the most ideal greeter,” she said.

  “They’ll get used to you!” said Fraz. “Get in here, fools!”

  After a few mutterings of, “Okay, sure, yeah, this is fine,” the customers started pouring in. As it passed by, a goblin looked at Mirra. “At least you pretty. Should’ve seen the last ghost that surprised us.”

  “Thanks?” Mirra wasn’t exactly sure how to read the goblin.

  The bard came in next, holding his lute. “You are gorgeous! Please, let me introduce myself.” The bard reached for her hand to kiss it but phased right through. “Oh.”

  Someone shoved him from behind, “Move it along, you wannabe lady killer. We all know Micah’s prettier than you anyway.”

  Offended, the bard moved towards the stage. “I’ll be sure to skip your exploits tonight.”

  The pirates laughed as they found their familiar tables. Ayla watched carefully, recognizing a few of faces. The two wizards wandered in, recognizing Ayla, tipping their large brimmed, pointy hats. A few half-giants entered. They were the usual bunch, but Ayla never got their names. There were dwarven engineers and a few knights. There were human rogues and a few adventurers.

  The bard reached raised his voice, “Anyone have a story they’d like to hear? Preferably something not pirate related.”

  A few ideas were shouted from the crowd. Someone wanted to hear about the Sea Serpent of Emerald Way, another suggested the exploits of Orik and the Eleralavi Tombs, and one story was suggested from a goblin who wanted to hear of the Stonebreaker Crushing. This invited more than a few jeers and the bard quickly assured everyone he would not be singing about the deaths of dwarves.

  Ayla and Tess had their work cut out for them. Dozens of orders flooded the kitchen, but Gabby kept up, delivering extravagant dishes almost as quickly as they came in. Fraz was running along the bar counter, serving drinks, making others and handing them off to be sent to their tables.

  Eventually, Fraz’s construction crew had arrived. Fraz had reserved the parlor for them. It was made up of a few dwarves and two humans. One of them caught Ayla’s attention, due to his outstanding height. He was incredibly muscular with deep brown hair. He wore a brown tunic and knee-high boots. His jaw was chiseled, but scruffy. When he had entered, his eyes locked on Mirra. Ayla followed his gaze, watching Mirra by the fireplace, fingers laced together, swaying with the music. Mirra glanced over her shoulder, catching Ayla watching her, and meekly waved. Ayla waved back, though she still wasn’t quite sure how to feel about her. Ayla turned back to the tall man, who was looking at her now. He nodded politely in her direction. She smiled and carried on with her work.

  Mirra watched Ayla and Tess zoom, meander and swirl around customers as they waited upon each table. Occasionally they would chat with the regulars. Tess and Captain Micah had seemed to be getting along. At one point, Mirra thought she caught Tess blushing.

  Ayla had befriended the two wizards. She conversed with them for a few minutes longer than with other customers. Mirra wondered what wisdom they may have been passing on. At one point, Ayla presented the side of her dress, highlighting the tears. One of the wizards pointed and nodded. He touched the bottom of her hemmed skirt and gestured to his own robe. Ayla nodded, shifting her weight and smiling. The wizard point up and she nodded again, seemingly thanking them for their time.

  Mirra turned to the bard and bobbed her head to the tune. He had a merry song filling the tavern, keeping the mood light and fun. Mirra drifted over to the stage and gave the bard a wink. He smiled back, but stayed on task, nailing each note perfectly on his lute.

  When he finished the song, he looked up at Mirra, “What did you think?”

  “You’re very talented!” she said.

  The bard shyly looked away, hiding his red cheeks. He plucked a new tune, something more exciting, begging to be danced to. Mirra started to sway her hips. Each beat in the song was a new step for her around the stage and she waved her hands in the air. Her dance was a lively show, perfectly matching the tone of the song. Her foggy dress rolled about, leaving a small ghostly trail as she spun. Some of the customers began clapping in rhythm with the song, drawing Ayla and Tess’s attention. Tess cheered her on, whooping and whistling.

  Fraz leaned against the bar counter, watching Mirra make herself home. He looked up at the chandelier and the ever-burning candle flames. Deep down, he felt something he hadn’t in a long while: joy.

  After the customers left, finding their way home, Ayla, Tess and Mirra cleaned up. The construction crew had exited the parlor and went upstairs. All seven rooms were occupied. As the ladies cleaned, Ayla caught the tall man watching them from the balcony. He waved at her. She waved back. He seemed kind, but a little broody. He turned for his room and shut the door behind him.

  Mirra pulled a small cloud from her dress and gave it a soft blow. The cloud dispersed across the tavern, spread a sweet scent of myrrh.

  “That is very handy,” said Ayla, wiping down a table.

  “I imagine it smells a lot better than spilt ale and sweaty pirates.”

  Tess pinched her thumb and forefinger together, winking, “Just a smidge.”

  From the balcony, a dwarf had exited one of the rooms. “Can ya, if ya be so kind, fetch us another blanket?”

  “Of course,” said Tess. She made sure her green gloves were good and tight around her fingers. “Right this way!” She motioned for the dwarf to follow her to the cabinet.

  Ayla watched her climb up the ladder, and then turned to Mirra, who was collecting dirty mugs with silverware in them. “You weren’t wrong earlier,” she said quietly. “I am running.”

  Mirra paused, watching Ayla carefully.

  “I’m not really interested in getting into it. Fraz had some sense to not ask questions,” she said calmly, “and I prefer that.” Ayla watched Tess opening the cupboard door. She reached in for a blanket while the dwarf waited at the bottom, arms extended to catch.

  “This is my new home,” said Ayla. She looked Mirra in the eyes, “I want it to stay that way.”

  Mirra waited a beat before speaking. “So, stay out of your way?”

  “I - I wouldn’t put it like that. But, maybe.”

  Mirra set the mugs down, leaning forward on the table, keeping her voice hushed, “It was never my intention to make you feel threatened, Ayla. I’m not here to pry, but ultimately I felt my power leave me and want to know why.”

  “I understand that,” said Ayla.

  “More than anything, I’m just curious.” Mirra picked up the mugs. “Maybe, and it’s up to you of course, I can help? After all,” she popped up her shoulder and smiled, “I am a three-thousand year old Guardian of the Wightshade.”

  Ayla relaxed a little. “Maybe you can.”

  “Oof!”

  Mirra and Ayla turned to see a collapsed dwarf, buried under a stack of quilts. They heard a muffled, “That’s more than plenty, lass, more than plenty!”

  “Sorry!” sang Tess.

  Mirra carried the dirty dishes over to the pass-through. She got to witness Gabby’s mesmerizing display of magic, lightening her mood even more.

  Ayla finished wiping down the tables, she grabbed the broom and started sweeping, pausing for a moment to let the dwarf carry a large stack of quilts across the tavern. They reached high above his head, looking like they’d fall over at any moment! The dwarf was dexterous enough to make it up the stairs without an accident. He kicked open the door to his room, backed in, and kicked it shut behind him. As Ayla swept, Tess and Mirra followed her around moving the chairs so that she could sweep under the tables.

  “How do you do that?” asked Tess. “I saw the bard’s hand go right through you, but yet you can move furniture and pick up dishes?”

  “Ah,” said Mirra, leaning against the table, “It’s just a matter of manipulating the energy around me, others or objects.” She looked at a chair and waved her hand through the back slats, phasing through from right to left. Like a pendulum, she ran her fingers across the slats, from left to right, creating a soft wooden rhythm. “I simply choose how much I manipulate that energy. Stronger vibrations means more solid, more forceful I can become.”

  “Like when you were guiding me in the woods,” Ayla recalled. “I felt the orb pulse.”

  “I was practically throwing myself against the wall!” said Mirra.

  “I never asked about that,” said Tess. “Was it scary? Fighting an undead?”

  “It was a little shocking,” said Ayla. Mirra appeared uncomfortable about the topic. “We can chat about it later,” she said. Tess agreed.

  They worked in silence for the rest of the evening, appreciating the warm environment and scent of myrrh. Ayla raised her eyebrows, gesturing to the other tables, and they continued their work. They circled the whole tavern, sweeping a massive pile towards the bar. Ayla scooped up the pile with the dustpan and carefully lowered it in the trash barrel. She tapped the dustpan against the barrel’s interior, dropping any remaining bits, then stationed it next to the broom in its usual spot.

  When it was time, Fraz exited the kitchen and asked if Tess was ready to walk back home. She was thrilled to be walking back with Mirra. “This is so exciting! I’ve always wanted a roommate!”

  Fraz and Mirra waited by the door as Tess gathered her belongings. They heard her shout “Good night, Gabby,” before bursting out of the kitchen.

  “Will you settle down,” mumbled Fraz. He opened the front door for the ladies as Ayla made for her room. She leaned on the on bar counter, watching form a line out the door.

  As Tess went first, she waved at Ayla. “See you tomorrow!” She disappeared into the clearing. Mirra gave a small wave. Ayla waved back, smiling a little wider than earlier.

  I think we’re on the same page, she thought. I hope we are.

  “I’ll lock up,” Fraz said to Ayla, pulling up his hood. “See you in the morning.” As Fraz led Mirra out the front, Ayla could hear him say, “Now, Mirra, I have to warn ya…”

  The front door closed. Ayla stood in the warm and quiet tavern, save for the snoring dwarves upstairs. The aroma of myrrh lingered in the air. It brought a sense of peace, though a mystery lay with it’s source. Why did Mirra feel her power leave her? Ayla had one possible answer, though she’d prefer it stayed buried with her past.

  These are tomorrows worries, so let them be for now. She turned to the pass-through and told Gabby, “Good night!” Gabby was just finished up her closing duties. She wished Ayla a good rest and then Ayla pulled down the rolling door, latching the pass-through shut.

  She went to her room and locked the door behind her. She started a fire to keep the room warm for the night. Satisfied with the size of the flames, she stood up and picked up the pansy from the mantle piece. It was bruised, but still just as colorful. In a few days, though, the violet would fade.