“Hey! What are you, a sheepdog? Should you even be in here?”
When it darted past her a second time, glancing over its shoulder and yowling authoritatively, she shrugged, deciding it must have been a ‘seat yourself’ establishment.There are bossy cats bullying you everywhere you go, apparently. Her mouth opened to address the cat as she stepped away from the host stand to cross over the dining room’s threshold, but her words dried up, leaving her gaping.
Tall, cathedral-like windows lined the far wall, and she could see at the very back of the space a glassed-in ceiling, like an old-fashioned conservatory. The dining room was barely lit, and the sun was already too high in the sky for the Eastern-facing windows to allow sunlight to pour into the space. It gave the dining room a dim, heavily shadowed aura, one that complemented the decor in the most macabre way she could have ever imagined.
Towers of precariously stacked books dotted the space in between small tables that were hardly large enough for two people to squeeze around. Everywhere she turned, books were stacked in twisting staircase-like spires — on the floor, on shelves, on the edges of mantles. In between the books were curiosities that would not have been out of place on the recipe shelf of a high crone’s potion station. Pinned moths and butterflies, taxidermized owls and tarantulas and bats, set in odd little tableaux — chicks wearing pinafore dresses, sitting at miniature tea tables with a giant spider, and just above, what appeared to be a wolpertinger sitting beside a dagger on a raised plinth, its blade wearing a film of what looked to be dried blood.
Harper stepped into the room slowly, realizing at once there were other patrons in attendance. A young woman with thick glasses and a tumble of long, seaweed-like green hair sat at a tiny table with her nose buried in a book, and on the opposite end of the dining room, a pair of nymphs were in quiet conversation. Neither paid her any mind.
She paused at the first table she passed, startled to realize it was a spirit board. Intricately painted, with a black lacquered planchette at its center. The next table was a black pedestal and waxed blonde wood, bearing the outlined template for a three-card tarot spread. She grinned, understanding why the beetle woman next door said this place would fit Harper’s aesthetic.This is a goth wonderland.
Needle-point chairs and chintz poufs were nestled in amongst grimoires and artful piles of animal skulls, half-burned candles, and voodoo dolls, a mason jar full of needles, and against the opposite wall, a dessert case featuring colorful macarons and glacéed fruit tarts, delicious and completely out of place.Or completely in place, because why does it have to be one thing or the other?There were cut flowers, both fresh and dried, and increasingly long shadows as she moved further into the room. The interior was a curious mix of English garden and a mad witch’s fever dream, and she had never before felt as enamored with a place purely based on the optics, but Harper found herself wondering if she might be able to rent space in one of the corners and never go home.
The little cat yowled again, rather insistently, drawing her attention to a small table in the corner. The bossy feline seemed impatient with her as she slowly pulled out a chair, deciding the cat had chosen well enough for her.
“Okay, okay. I’m going to sit here, all right? You know, this place seems cool, but the service is awfully pushy.” Her words were in jest, but as of yet, she had still not seen a single employee of the establishment other than this presumptuous little cat. She draped her bag over the back of the chair after removing her book, and the beast seemed mollified. Before Harper was able to deliver one final scratch behind the ears, it trotted back to its cushion at the host stand, curling up contentedly.
The table the cat had led her to possessed a quill and a small pot of ink, the tabletop itself covered in a scroll of parchment paper.How curious.A shelf just above eye level held a line of numbered books, and an inspection of their spines showed it was a series entitledDeadly Beauty: The Care and Keeping of Poisonous Flowers. Beside the books rested a small bowl of incense, a glowing red candle, and what appeared to be a monkey’s paw.
At the edge of the table was a small journal, and upon inspection, she realized it was the tea menu. She paged through the book slowly — spice-filled black teas, Ceylon gold, twenty-year-aged pu’erh, delicate floral-dotted whites, fruit-filled greens, classic breakfast blends alongside silver needle jasmine pearls, more teas than she could count. She would need to live one hundred years to sample every item on this menu, she considered.
The vast tea selection was a sign the proprietors obviously knew their business well, but she had always been someone who was overwhelmed by choices, and as she paged through the menu, the different teas began to blur together, indistinct and inseparable until she was unable to recount a single flavor profile the instant her eyes left the description, the words on the page a meaningless slurry. There was still no sign of any employee who might make a recommendation, and so Harper found herself seeking out something safe and familiar. A green wellness blend she’d had before, many times before. That would do.
She made a point of closing the menu and replacing it on the edge of the table, making it exceedingly obvious, she thought, that she’d made her choice and was ready to place her order. Still, no server appeared. As the minutes ticked by, she began to fidget in her seat, glancing around the dining room, waiting for a server to come bumbling out of the back room, perhaps covered in flour from a dessert mishap or dripping in water from a burst pipe,somethingthat would explain away their long absence from the front end of the restaurant, but no one was forthcoming.
Sighing heavily, she opened her book.You planned on going to the library. It’s not like afternoon tea was ever the plan. Just read your book in peace and quiet until they kick you out.Shewasa bit peckish, though. There was usually an energy bar or two floating around her bag, Harper reminded herself, and that would suffice if necessary.Maybe you order from that little kiosk at the front. Maybe this is a self-service place?
She was just about to push her chair back to investigate when the cat abruptly bounced onto the tabletop, yowling in her face. Harper jumped, gasping. The tiny beast hissed, swiping at the quill, giving her a disgusted look before leaping from the table, stalking off imperiously with its tail in the air. She didn’t know what kind of place this was, but she wasdonewith cats treating her so poorly.
It acted as though you’re meant to do something with the quill. As if itknewyou were meant to do something with the quill . . .Her mind felt sluggish, as if it had spent too long wrapped in a quagmire of blankets and sorrow, and it struggled to kick itself free, synapses misfiring before sparking to life at last. She sucked in a sharp breath.Holy shit. Does the fucking catworkhere? Isthatthe employee?
She gave the dining room another swift appraisal. The two nymphs were still deep in conversation, the green-haired girl now highlighting sections of her book. There was no server, no host, no one. Shadows, the odd bric-a-brac filling the place, and the little cat, and no one else.What the fuck kind of place is this?!She envisioned a kitchen full of apron-clad felines, brewing tea and rolling out pastries ineffectually with their small paws, bickering over tiny cakes.
She took up the quill, feeling a bit foolish, hesitating for a long moment before dipping it into the ink.
I’d like the green wellness tea.
She hesitated again, wondering if the place even had a regular menu.
I don’t know if you have food, but I wouldn’t say no to a chicken salad sandwich.
Please, she added hastily.
As she watched, the ink sunk into the rich parchment, spreading slightly before disappearing completely. Harper sat back in her chair, biting her lip.What the actual fuck. She had no idea what kind of establishment this was and didn’t know why she was taking orders from fucking cats.Oh well. If you get your tea, great. If not, at least it’s somewhere quiet to read your book. That’s all you wanted in the first place.
Harper didn’t know whether this would be classified as one more thing at which she had failed, but one thing was certain — she was already exhausted, and it was barely mid-day. She didn’t have to put her brain to work when she was cocooned in her bed, and it had been weeks since she’d had to do this much thinking.No, this isn’t your fault. What kind of place is run by a cat?!
Losing herself in the pages of her book, she almost didn’t notice the small tea cart rolling out of a previously unnoticed back room a short while later, pushed by invisible hands. Harper startled when it stopped beside her table, realizing the cart held a steaming pot of tea, a dainty teacup and saucer, a silver strainer and bowl, and a small plate of phyllo cups, each filled with a scoop of chicken salad. She wondered if the cart was on some sort of automatic timer, realizing if that were the case, it might abruptly reverse course and disappear back to the kitchen, taking her lunch along with it. Carefully maneuvering to avoid any embarrassing spills, she moved the items from the tea cart to her small table, and sure enough, a moment later, the cart rolled away.Okay, this place is fucking bananas. But so, so cool.
There was something about the shadow in this place — long and cool and dark, stretching from wall to wall — that put her at ease. It was just mid-afternoon, and the outside world would be bright and bustling, demanding too much. To be cheerful and sociable when all she wanted to do was hide away until the empty pit in her chest had filled itself in, instead of echoing with every breath she took, a reminder that she was not good enough. The dimly lit, shadowed interior of this bizarre little tea house was like a cozy cave, one filled with oddities like her. Harper wondered if the cat would even notice if she placed herself on one of the shelves, taking her spot amongst the headless dolls and taxidermied bats and other ephemera too imperfect for the outside world.
More than two hours had passed by the time she closed her book with a snap, realizing she still needed to catch the bus back home, which might mean navigating her way around downtown.Back home to the daily lecture. The tea cart had reappeared after the first hour, bearing a fresh pot of hot water for her tea and a small cream puff on a doily-covered saucer.A cat restaurant with excellent service. Who could have guessed?
There was a small number at the corner of the table, and sure enough, once she had packed up her bag and made her way to the checkout kiosk at the hostess stand, she was able to tap in her table number and bring up her bill. Harper felt vaguely ridiculous leaving a generous tip for a cat, but it had been the most enjoyable afternoon she’d spent in Cambric Creek since her move, and she couldn’t wait to return to the strange little tea house with the bossy feline hostess and invisible staff. Yelled at by a cat, again, but at least it wasn’t her mother’s cat.Fucking Ilea.
It was, she realized as she trudged up the sidewalk, wincing in the blistering sunlight, the first time she had gone out on her own since sobbing over the creamsicles. She had made a promise to her sister that she was going to try. She didn’t know how to break it to Morgan that she was a lost cause, had proven that time and time again in the past year and a half, but if nothing else, she was a failure of her word.You promised Morgan you were going to try.That you would get out of the house. Well, now you have someplace to go.
The thought of returning to the house that was not home didn’t fill her with joy, and now that she was awake, Harper realized the rest of the day and evening stretched before her, and she would need to find something to do to fill the hours.See, this is why it’s just easier to get up at three p.m.She didn’t know what she was going to do with herself, but she had made a promise to her sister, and she intended to keep it. She didn’t know what tomorrow held other than the fact that she would most definitely be coming back to this strange little tea shop and the bossy little cat.
