If I opened that door and witnessed the destruction inside, I feared that the fragile tether I had on my emotions would snap.
I stuck the key into the lock, sweat trickling down my back, between my shoulder blades.
I gritted my teeth and pulled the door open just a crack. An inch. Two. A beetle scurried out through the gap and over my boot. I squealed, slamming the door shut and leaning against it. The walls creaked ominously, and I immediately straightened up, my whole body shaking.
That was tomorrow Fiella’s problem.
Tomorrow, I will be strong enough to handle this.
Tomorrow, I will face it.
Tomorrow.
For today, I am allowed to feel weak.
I locked the door back up.
Alcohol. Alcohol was what I needed right now. I needed to numb myself, to dull the sharp blade of pain that was gouging into my heart.
My keys clattered to the ground as I tried to tuck them back into my satchel. I tossed my head back, shoving my fists into my eye sockets and using any willpower that I had left to hold myself together.
My voice trembled as I muttered to myself, “I’m not going to cry. I’m not going to cry. I’m not going to cry.”
I snatched my keys off the ground and headed over to Ginger’s Pub with my heart in tatters and my spirits in the gutter. It was time for a drink. Or five.
CHAPTER 4
Fiella
Ginger’s Pub was one of the liveliest places in Moonvale. The pub was in the town square, right in the middle of the action, and there wasalwayssomething entertaining happening there. Folk could celebrate with a bubbly ale, wallow in misery with a jug of wine, or simply sip on a cider and enjoy a bowl of stew, if Ginger prepared any that day.
I was determined to drown my sorrows and do some intense wallowing. A pity party, if you will. I craved the numbness, the wool pulled over my senses, the brain fogging that alcohol would bring.
I was pretty sure I was in some sort of shock. I had stepped outside of my body and was just going through the motions, my head stuffed full of cotton and half-formed thoughts.
I made my way to the bartop, plopped down onto my favorite stool in the corner, and waited for the barkeep to head my way. Ginger wasn’t working the bar today, which was a massive bummer. The faun woman always managed to lift my spirits with her easy-going manner and upbeat attitude. Instead, I was being served by one of her employees–a massive, moss-brown-skinned orc with a rather impressive beard.
When the orc, Tandor, finally made his way over to me, I was barely holding it together. It took every ounce of my mental strength to keep my eyes from welling up and spilling over. I gritted my teeth, my fangs digging into my lips with the pressure.
As a very emotional vampire, I was no stranger to managing my feelings, but I wasn’t always the best at it. If a few tears managed to slip free, I hoped nobody would judge me too harshly.
It happened to the best of us.
It happened to me pretty frequently, if I was being honest.
“Hi Tandor. A large goblet of today’s cider, please,” I requested with a slight wobble in my voice. My throat was tightening up and I was trying to breathe through it. Inhale, hold. Exhale, hold.
“Sure, Fiella. One moment,” Tandor responded, eyeing me with a slight furrow between his eyebrows.
Tandor placed the goblet in front of me with a tentative smile and a request to let him know if I needed anything else. Lavender blueberry was the cider flavor today. The goblet was so heavy while full of liquid that I had to use both hands to lift it to my mouth.
Ginger’s Pub catered to all sorts of folk, with many strange offerings on the menu. Bugs for the fauns, raw meats for the shifters, flowers for the druids. Blood for the vampires. The considerate orc barkeep had added a shot of elk blood to my goblet. I took a huge gulp. Delicious.
Ciders were my absolute favorite, and lavender blueberry was the best flavor of all. The sweet, fruity drink was the superior alcoholic beverage, and nobody could convince me otherwise. Ale tasted like piss water. I wasn’t necessarily saying that ale drinkers liked the taste of piss but… if the boot fits.
Wine was great, but it just couldn’t top the light, refreshing deliciousness of cider.
As I sipped my cider and stared off into the distance, I tried to stop myself from sinking down into my thoughts. I packed my emotions down with as much force as I could and focused on the mystery of it all. What in the realms was happening to my shop? The more I thought about it, the more I became convinced that this was a targeted attack. No other alternatives made sense.
