WHO Mona & Isaac WHEN Saturday (27th April), early afternoon WHERE Camellia Tea Room, then Isaac’s trailer WHAT Coming by to kill some time WARNINGS mentions of the attack but nothing detailed, tba
Mona believed that creating a tea blend was a sort of magic all of its own, a witchcraft that could be learned and perfected and then worked through even when Mona’s mind wanted to wander elsewhere. Instead she kept those restless thoughts steady today by laying out different jars across the counter in front of her, the front door of the shop locked.
A week ago a man had wished her great harm and only the presence of Isaac had saved her. Sometimes when she remembered the pain of her broken arm (and how much worse it could have been) her hands shook.
She squeezed them into fists to settle the movement and took a steadying breath.
Last night had been her first night working since the attack and even though Mona knew that Kit had killed those men, she kept thinking she spotted them in the other faces on the midway. She’d had to take a longer break than usual at one point, locking up the tea room and remaining inside, sitting cross-legged and silent on the floor. Not very professional, but Mona was sure the feelings would soon pass.
She wouldn’t do that again tonight. Tonight would go smoothly.
“The trick is to start with the correct base,” Mona said out loud in Lithuanian, lifting up a jar of dried leaves from in front of her and unscrewing the lid. “A weak base and whatever you blend will taste weak. A base too heavy for the chosen top notes and you’ve wasted the top notes.” She leaned on the counter and held the open jar out towards the other side of the room.
From the banister on the top floor a tiny nightmare creature of shadow came chittering down to rest on the counter beside Mona, taking the jar in both hands and shoving its face directly over the entire opening. Armand, one of Elia’s darklings that the witch had temporarily gifted to Mona to look after her.
“Assam, from India,” Mona explained. “Hey, be careful, don’t tip it over.” Armand released the jar and looked up at her, big eyes and even bigger teeth. The darkling seemed to understand Lithuanian just as well as he understood English, which made sense. He was a creature from another plain of existence, wasn’t he? Why wouldn’t he understand?
“You can always recognise a good Assam by the bold fragrance. Bold, but not overpowering. When brewed properly it’s tannic, but has a smooth, rich aftertaste like creamy chocolate and roasted malt. Would you like to try some?”
Armand held out his cupped hands for her to present the tea, and so Mona plucked out a few long twisted black-green leaves to pass to him. He jammed them into his mouth, swallowing instantly. Mona tilted her head at the creature. “Perhaps not the most effective method.”
She continued speaking to Armand as she worked, mixing the Assam base with a few other items to bring out the flavours. Many years ago she would have brewed each item up separately, stepping them to taste the individual notes and test the strength. But she had been making teas like this since she was sixteen years old. Mona knew what worked and what didn’t with ingredients that she was familiar with, and there was nothing out of the ordinary here today.
Orange peel, cocoa nibs, rose petals, rose hips. Orange to brighten, cocoa to deepen, rose to soften. A wonderfully perfect blend, so why did Mona still feel like she wanted to cry?
Mona understood what this was, at least in some way. This attack had been the first horrible thing to happen to her upon returning to the cirque. Yes, someone had already died, but that had been a few steps from Mona’s own life. This had been a blow directly against her.
She touched her cheek where the small scabs had now healed, leaving a few lines of smooth shiny new skin behind. In another week or so even that would be gone.
The process of healing made her think about Isaac again. He’d joined before Mona had returned, but she still had almost a year and a half living the circus life more than him. She’d been through some truly trying times, and she felt awful that Isaac was so guilty about not being able to protect her. She didn’t want to tell Isaac that there would be more times ahead when he couldn’t protect people, even though he was security. What an awful thing to hear, and Mona refused to be the bearer of that news.
Instead she would bear something much nicer.
From her large mixing mortar, Mona poured the Assam mix into a fresh jar and sealed it. Unlocking the door, she turned to look at Armand and said, “Alright, home with you. I need to go see someone and you’re not invited.” It paid to be firm but fair with the darklings, no way for them to misinterpret her words. “But I’m not leaving the grounds and I’ll see you later.”
(Some people passed by on the midway and Mona wondered what they thought, a messy haired woman speaking in a barely recognisable language to a tiny monster made of shadows. Unlikely to even be in the top 5 notable things about their day, probably.)
Mona made her way back to the staff area, stopping a few people to ask where Isaac’s trailer might be. It seemed strange that she’d never been there yet, but every time he’d checked on her it had been at the shop or her own home.
At the door of the one she was assured was his, Mona knocked and waited patiently, jar in one hand and antique stove top kettle in the other.