Hazel - Date Day (Patreon)

The wisps were gathered at the gate when I got home that night.  They hovered around the knots of pine, chittering across the latch in excitement. I raised a brow towards them, the temptation to ask them what exactly they were up to quite strong.  They wove around the strips of wood, causing small sprigs of valley lilies to bloom along thick braids of grapevine.  Reaching out, I brushed them away, pushing the gate open.  The day had been fraught with several deliveries, all of which had taken me further into the market than I had been before. I was looking forward to a hot cup of tea and then sleep.

But as I stepped through, the smell of a bubbling stew greeted me. Something thick and earthy.  I looked up towards the bent iron chimney where lavender smoke usually puffed from the cracks within the broken vent.  It wasn’t rumbling with use today.  An unusual sight since it oftentimes felt like Hazel was always bent over that cauldron, mixing brews or at least, soups.

“Over here.”

I heard Hazel’s voice come from around the corner of the apothecary.  With a small frown, I dropped my bag at the door and followed it. She was on the opposite side of where the garden sat, near the big tree that was just outside my window.  Rounding the corner, I spotted her.  A thick woven blanket was set out on the ground while small flickering tea lights hovered in the air around her.  The tree was lit with the wisps and the ground was laid with fresh, plush moss.  Hazel beamed at me.

“Hungry?”

Slowly, I made my way over to her, looking at each thing she had laid out.  Mini cauldrons sat, the smell hovering around them sinful.  A bottle of something amber and bubbling chilled in a churning bucket of ice and a full tea service was laid out in her emerald green teapot with the bone carved handle.

“What is all this?”

Her cheeks were pink as she shifted from side to side. “I uh- I thought we could have a date,” she said, dipping her head down. “I mean, if you want. If you’re not too tired. I know it was a busy day so I would understand if–”

“Hazel,” I interrupted. She looked up at me with big round eyes. “It’s perfect.”

The smile that melted across her worries was enough to bring me to my knees. I curled up on the thick blanket, sitting close to her.  Reaching out, I took her hand squeezing it in thanks. When she leaned forward to kiss me, I felt my world stop.  Hazel had this way about her. The sweetest woman I had ever met, who could absolutely tear the world apart in a fury of black voidless eyes and roots from the earth.

“I made soup,” she murmured against my lips.  “I had a few different things in the cellar that needed to be used up so I just tossed it all together.” For Hazel, tossing something all together was an all day event.  I knew this was something she had probably planned, starting it the second I left the shop this morning.  “I also have fresh baked rosemary bread and custard for desert.”

“You’re spoiling me,” I told her.

“You deserve to be spoiled.”

So did she. I vowed to find something for her the next time I was out wandering the market. I had learned that Hazel loved gifts.  It didn’t even matter what kind. She just adored little bits of the world that made me think of her.  Each time I found something, a wood flower, a petrified piece of bone, she acted as if it were the first time I had gotten her something.  It was a reaction that brought me warmth each and every time and made me want to do it more and more.

“Eat,” she said. “You look absolutely famished.”

As always, the food was impeccable. Far better than anything I could have made myself.  It was clear that it brought her joy and the act of doing it was something in which she took great pride in.  Digging in, I realized I was halfway through my bowl before I had even said anything.  When I looked up at her, she had her brow raised, and was hiding her laughter behind her teeth.

“It’s really good,” I told her.

She laughed. “I can see that.”

When she handed me a piece of bread, I sighed at the warmth of it, the fresh smell of yeast filling the air. “I know you said once that the people in the market taught you how to cook. Anyone in particular?”

Grabbing her own bowl, she began eating.  “There was an elderly banshee that used to live in a small little grove in the spice district.  She had about six trees that she wove between, making soups and little hand pies with the wood she chopped every day.  I used to hide within those trees when the market became too busy. One day, she offered me a bowl of stew. Then the next she told me to go get her some turnips.  After that I think it was a head of cabbage. She had me running errands for her all over the market,” Hazel laughed. “Until one day she was teaching me how to cook.”

It was an odd thing to contemplate. The idea of Hazel running free throughout the market at one point. “A banshee taught you how to cook?”

Hazel nodded. “There’s a misconception about banshee’s.  They are not all about death. They can be quite full of life if they can simply focus.”

Pouring a glass of the amber liquid, I realized it was her store of honeyed mead. She made big batches of it each month, sending it out as herbal tonics to any of the districts that were struggling with disease. Not once had I seen her ask for anything in return.

“Where is she now?” I asked.

“I don’t know.  One day I went there to go and have a visit and her trees were dying. They slowly withered away within the spice district and I just never saw her again. The cauldron I keep over my fire in the main room is hers though. I made sure to bring it back.  I couldn’t stand the thought of someone not respecting what was obviously so important to her.”

I felt sad for some reason. Maybe because it was another loss for Hazel’s.  “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she said with a small wave of her hand. “Banshees are fickle.  They struggle to stay in one place for too long. It is honestly amazing that she did.  I have a theory that that little grove of trees was a gate. I don’t think she was just toiling away her time within that grove.  I think she came and went and continued to cook from time to time for whoever needed it.”

Which was what Hazel did, I realized. She never charged for her food and made big batches to give away. Because someone had done that for her once.

“What was her name?” I asked.

“Isolde.”

“You think you’ll ever see her again?”

Hazel laughed. “Most don’t wish to see a banshee at their door but… I don’t know. It would be nice. To know what adventures she has been on through the years. I would like to cook for her too. Show her how much I’ve learned.”

There was an eagerness to her face. One that said she wished desperately for this woman's approval. “I hope you get to as well. I think she’d be really proud of you.”

Again, that blush. It was going to do me in.

Shifting, Hazel reached forward, pushing aside the half-eaten cauldrons of soup, which were refilling the longer they sat.  She cleared the surrounding area before hiking up her skirt and slinging a leg across my hips.  I felt bare skin press against the cloth of my own clothes.

Biting her lip, she looked at me through her lashes. “Want to do something that she wouldn't be proud of?” she asked coyly.

I laughed, taking her by the hips.  “Out here?”

“It’s not like the wisps haven’t seen us.  Besides, I’ve kind of had a fantasy of seeing you lit only by the light of nature. I think you’d be beautiful.”  She rolled her hips against me, pushing me slowly back onto the bed of moss.

We spoke no more from that point.  As she slowly began to play my body, I could think of no words to say. Only that as I looked up at her, her bodice having come unlaced, I never wanted this moment to end.  Hazel claimed I was beautiful beneath the light of the wisps. She would murmur it to be for days to come. But there were no words to describe how she looked, hair loose around her shoulders as she hovered above me.  Her cheeks were dark with exertion, her lips parted in pleasure.  I didn’t think I would ever see anything as beautiful as her, for as long as I lived.