Remedy Maker

by Sheri Fredricks

  As he neared, the rest of his sexy Centaur body came into view. And striding at his hip, with a filthy arm laid across his wide back, plodded a tired Serenity. She was dirtier than Patience had ever seen her.

  “Serenity!” The heaviness plaguing Patience’s chest ceased to squeeze and her bones suddenly went hollow. Feeling as light as dandelion puff, she grabbed hold of Samuel’s arm, afraid she’d float away. She barely noticed when he took the mug from her hand. “Double rebound me, you’re alive and amplified!”

  Tears sprang into her eyes and watered the lovely vision of her sister and Rhycious trudging toward them. Patience studied his face, filing away every crease and smear of dirt. Love for her Centaur bubbled up, poured out through her heart, and flooded her body.

  Whispered words pushed through the tightness of her throat. “You found her, Rhy.”

  “Hey, Sis. Miss me much?”

  Tears spilling over her cheeks, Patience rushed forward and helped her sister climb between the wooden rails. She grabbed her by the arms and scanned her from head to toe. “Thank the gods from their golden horns to black hooves, you’re safe.” She hugged Serenity tight, noting the thinness of her body. “Where’d you stash yourself? I’ve been psycho with worryitis.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll tell you all about it.”

  The ground beneath Patience’s bare feet shook from the aftershock of Rhycious jumping the fence. She planted a kiss on Serenity’s cheek then went to Rhy, throwing her arms around his neck. The force in which he hugged her back, picking her up off her feet and holding her to him, blew her mind as it took her breath. Dirt be damned, she needed to hold him.

  When her lips touched his, she focused on pressing her love into him. Tongues tangling, hands drifting, their reunion was cut short by a loud throat clearing.

  Rhycious eased his rib cracking hold and rested his forehead on hers. “It feels so good to touch you again, Polytima. To know you’re safe.” A shiver coursed through him and he tightened his grip.

  Patience jerked back to look into his face. The same face that she’d woken up to this morning, only it was full of worry for her. “I’m bangin’ perfect. Why would you be worrified?”

  Serenity frowned and took a step toward them. “Patience, do you even know—”

  Rhycious cut her off. “Let’s take this discussion elsewhere.” He released her hand, looking around the barn and darkened pastures. Strain of the past hours mirrored in his dark, sunken eyes and in the set of his handsome mouth.

  “You’re welcome to come inside.” Samuel motioned toward his house, but he eyed Rhy’s equine form. “Although I think you would be more comfortable in the barn where there’s more room.”

  “Thank you, Sam. I appreciate all you’ve done for me today.” Rhycious reached out, battle-scarred leather arm guards creaking, and shook hands with his Amish friend. “There’s still a chance of danger, so it’s best I take the women to my place. I can defend them better if need be, and it’ll keep you safe, too.”

  “I defer to your better judgment. You know what’s best for yourselves, my friend.” Samuel took a hesitant step toward Serenity and removed his hat. He fiddled with it nervously, the ceramic mugs clinking softly in one hand. “We weren’t properly introduced. My name is Samuel. I’m a friend to Rhycious.”

  “And me.” Patience piped up, linking arms with her sister.

  “Yes, and you too.” He smiled, blushing. “I’m very pleased you are well, Miss Serenity. Patience has been very worried about you. If . . . .” He moistened his dry lips. “If there’s anything I can help you with, I hope you’ll let me know.”

  Rhycious gripped his friend on the shoulder, and then gave him a slap on the back. “Thanks, Sam. I’ll let you know.”

  What a Minotaur. Patience couldn’t believe Rhy. She clamped her gaping mouth shut before she said something that would embarrass Samuel.

  Unaware of his faux pas, Rhycious turned toward the road leading home. “Let’s go home, ladies.”

  Patience let go of her sister’s hand, but turned back when she didn’t follow. Serenity tipped her head first one way, then the other, examining Samuel with curious eyes.

  “What manner of human are you?” she asked. “I’ve never met one so mild and soft spoken. You’re radiating a calmness that’s rare in humans.”

  “I’ll fill you in with the deets on the way home, Serenity. Come on.” Patience tugged her sister’s arm, urging her along. “Later, Sam. And thanks for everything.”

  “Guten nacht. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Serenity.”

  Sam put his hat back on, his expression serious, mouth set firm. Patience glanced back after they hit the road to the cabin. Rolled sleeves revealed muscular arms crossing his chest, black pants, and wide stance.

  Patience wasn’t sure, but Samuel looked taller for some reason—stronger.

  Thirty-Two

  Rhycious fit his key into the lock and opened the door to the cabin. It’d been one hell of a day. First thinking he’d lost Patience human hunters, and then finding her, only to trust someone who didn’t believe in violence to protect her—what a sucking dark hell to climb out of.

  Thank the hoofed gods he hadn’t disintegrated with a PTSD episode.

  Patience trailed her fingers across his body armor as she walked past, drifting into his house as regally as any mythic queen.

  Serenity hesitated, rubbing her hands together and pulling back to stand in the dark.

  “Come in and be welcome.” He opened the door wider.

  “Thank you.”

  He gave her an encouraging smile, though he felt far from inspiring. Too many people invaded his peaceful, solitary life.

  Built with his own two hands, he had designed the cabin with single occupancy in mind, one room earmarked for patients. The second room was seldom needed, thank the gods.

  Two extra people in his house lowered the ceiling by five feet, and the walls seemed to close in. Bleak and overwhelming, an elephant-sized ball of stress crushed down, shortening his breath.

  Every rational reason crossed his mind why he felt this way, but he could think of no way to fix it.

  He went into his cabin and shut the door, slamming the iron bolt home. Familiar herbal scents greeted him. Glad to be back home, he inhaled deeply.

  Patience stroked her soft hand down his arm to draw his attention. “Is it cool if Serenity double clutched some bath water?”

  “Huh?”

  She laughed lightly. “Serenity stinks, you feel me? She needs serious kick back time in the tub.”

  “Of course, tell her to make herself at home.” He ground out the last of his sentence.

  The girls spoke nonstop as they walked down the hall, finishing each other’s sentences. Once the bathroom door closed, their voices were muffled.

  His four tired hooves dragged him into the stallroom. Stretching out on the bed would have been his first choice of action, had he been alone. But the voices through the wall kept his legs pointed in the downward position.

  Rhycious was a volcano on the verge of erupting. Chattering females in his normally quiet home made his nerves tick. It rubbed his tension until it bled, and their giggles threw salt on the wound. He choked, sensing the invasion of his private sanctuary and forced himself to take a deep cleansing breath, wiping sweat off his forehead.

  Rhycious jerked the gun out from the scabbard’s belt and placed it with a clatter on top the dresser, making sure the safety locked in place. Black metal with roughened handgrip, it looked menacing just laying there.

  Where in the hell did his peaceful life as a healer go?

  Across the room, the closet door hung open from his anxious search for Patience—yet another distasteful reminder of the recent violence. The damned armor he wore creaked in protest, increasing the tightness in his chest. The strangled feeling matched strength with the clench of his tightly closed fist.

  The bathroom door opened, and steam escaped in a whisper of fog. Through
the open stallroom door, he watched Patience guide Serenity into the living room. Guess I won’t be relaxing my hooves in there, either.

  In a matter of days, he’d gone from one occupant to three. His cabin was a certifiable bachelor pad, not a fucking spa. He clopped past the steamy bathroom, lilac soap sweetening the air. Out of spite, he held his breath.

  “Rhy? Serenity got hit by a sleep bomb. You mind if she chillaxes in the bedroom tonight?”

  The topic of their conversation sat wilting on his couch. Her damp curls made wet spots on the shirt she was wearing. Is that my fucking Penn State shirt? His fingers dug canals through his hair, blasting through the tangled ends. He looked away, glancing around the interior without seeing.

  I gotta get out of here. His heart was going to explode; it raced faster and faster, as if he’d jogged home from the palace. He needed to breathe, the air felt stifling and close in the living room. Experience dictated dizziness would shortly follow.

  “Sure, that’s fine. I, uh . . . .” He licked his dry lips and patted the tops of his thighs. His fingers were going numb. “I’m going to do a sweep outside and make sure all’s clear. Give Serenity something to eat if she’s hungry.”

  He dicked around in the kitchen, handing Patience an apple and a couple of Sam’s cookies, then strode with a move-out order for the front door. But not before he swiped the glass bottle with a cork stopper from a shadowed corner of the counter.

  Medicinal purposes, he told himself.

  “Lock up behind me,” he stated, before slipping out the door and pulling it closed.

  The slide of the bolt shot a shiver down his spine. It was a ridiculous reaction. Still, he looked over his shoulder at the solid wood entry, wondering if the world had turned its back on him.

  Only a few more days and the Festival would begin. It’d be one hell of a good time this year. Each evening, the moon grew fatter and would be at its fullest on celebration night. A nice gravitational pull should bring the horniest stallions out of the woodworks and have them braying to the stars.

  Chuckling, he blended with the dark forest colors, weaving in and out of the trees with ease. Pulling the cork stopper, he blew out a hard breath. By obligation and honor, he was responsible for Patience’s safety and health. Now that their relationship—temporary though it may be—had been broadcast, the rebels might look to use her as leverage to gain their outlandish demands.

  The bottle’s end tilted up, rushing cool liquid into his mouth. When the burn on his tongue flared to life, he swallowed in one gulp. Flames roared, tracing the drink’s path to the cloud of responsibility hovering over him. He choked and coughed, eyes watering on the homemade brew.

  Old-timers called it whistle. Rhycious used it as a disinfectant and sleeping draught. At one hundred ninety proof, it was highly flammable and you could fuel a bus on the stuff.

  He took another sip.

  Patience mentioned Serenity lived near her. Not that he would give her the bum’s rush, but he really wanted his own version of serenity back. His snort slipped out. When the younger lady decided it was time to go home, which he hoped would be tomorrow, he’d be more than happy to provide her with an escort.

  Rhycious’s gaze roamed the peaceful forest floor. Indistinct dark spots coalesced with ebony background where no moonlight broke through. Working like a drafting compass, he kept the cabin’s position to his left and continued to circle around, searching with his eyes and ears for trespassers.

  Stepping over rocks and roots, some of the whistle sloshed out of the bottle and onto his hand. He raised his wrist to inspect the spill, and then took another sip since the jug was near.

  This time, the alcohol didn’t burn. It slid warmly down his gullet.

  No trespassers, no scary beasts, no human hunters—and nobody bothering him. It was just Rhycious and his medicinal bottle. After the nasty day, quiescent tranquility was exactly what the Remedy Maker ordered.

  He almost laughed aloud at his own joke, but muffled the sound with the bottle before it escaped.

  Through the back window, a single lantern glowed on the apothecary table. He imagined Patience was sitting with her sister, since there wasn’t movement within the cabin.

  He loved her. Patience, that is. Rhycious accepted it now, along with another pull at the bottle. The dull ache in his chest where his healing heart beat beneath the body armor told him so. To make the pain go away, he thumped the spot with his free fist.

  Then he took another sip.

  After all, whistle was a medicinal . . . uh . . . has a medicinal purpose.

  Suddenly weary, his eyes burned. He leaned against a tree and wiped his liquor-slogged hand on the t-shirt under his Flac jacket.

  Today’s battle waged differently from all the others in his memory. He chuckled. Well maybe it’s because the fucking tree people rescued their sorry asses. If their fingered branches and rooted toes hadn’t burst in, Rhy would probably be—

  Dead.

  As dead as that bearded Centaur Aleksander had killed. The one whose eyes bugged out when the tip of the Kempor’s sword pierced his chest and continued out the back. Oh, gods, and I did nothing to help. Fuck.

  His head tilted back and drank, swallowing his guilt away.

  The tree’s rough bark ground into his palm when he pushed off to finish his patrol. Low twigs twisted together, tripping his front hooves.

  “Gamóto.” Stomping at the leaves, remorse immediately ensued. “Sorry, Misher Tree. Didden’ mean to hursh ya,” he hazarded, patting the trunk with a heavy hand.

  Rhycious took a few steps. The ground pitched and rolled beneath him. He was a boat on a dirt sea. He’d been in a watercraft once or twice and vowed to never repeat the experience. If he couldn’t get there traveling over land, he didn’t want to go.

  Common sense spiked through the comforting haze and brought the reality of his surroundings to the forefront. It was dangerous to walk around Boronda stone cold sober in his true form. Intoxicated, he’d more likely be dead meat.

  Not yet ready to depart his cozy abyss, he raised the bottle to his lips again. This time, a thin switch, no larger than his finger, got in the way of his arm. He slapped the piece of wood, batting it down and to the side. It bounced back, slapped him in the face, and placed itself between the bottle and his mouth.

  Slow realization dawned on his liquor-soaked brain. He had friends all around, watching out for him—new friends that had once been enemies. Knowledge that the Wood Nymphs were witnessing his fallen disgrace both shamed and strengthened him at once.

  His hand lowered, the bottle tilted down—medicinal purpose poured out.

  “Dank you,” he said aloud to the trees, the bushes, and the bunnies.

  From where he stood, the corner of the front porch came into view. He blinked several times to bring it into focus, not recalling how he’d made the sweeping circumference, or if he’d seen anything threatening.

  The only thing dangerous is this bottle in my hand. He drew back his arm to throw the bottle away, wanting to bash it against a hard object and shatter the disappointment in himself.

  Ten pink toes with pink nail polish drifted into his mind—her forever-bare feet. Rhycious kept hold of the empty bottle. It’d be like Patience to forget her shoes and go traipsing around. His heart sunk at the thought of her getting so much as a cut on her perfect skin.

  The night was still, yet pushed aside as if a stiff wind bent its limbs, the small branch lifted to let him pass. Time to go home.

  He crossed the yard and hauled his tailed ass up the stairs. Fitting that itty-bitty key into the tick-tock lock challenged the hell out of his coordination. And he was beginning to lose his patience.

  “Rhy? Is that you?” Patience’s muffled voice filtered through the closed door.

  Voila! Thinketh thy sweet name and she of beauty is summoned forth. He idly wondered if it’d work every time.

  “Yeah, issme. Could you please lemme in? The lock keeps dancing and won’t hol’ st
ill.”

  “Say what?” The door cracked open and a turquoise eye peered out. Her one eyeball tracked from side to side, following a swinging pendulum. Probably because he swayed on his hooves as if he were dancing by himself. “Are you copasetic?” She opened the door wider and stood back.

  “I’m better ‘n that.” He thumped his chest with a closed fist. “I’m the fucken Remedy Maker.” And didn’t that just crack him up? He clopped into the house laughing, hugging her slender body to him. His hand drifted down and squeezed her fine ass. Lifting a hind leg, he kicked the door shut. “Bolt that for me, will you, babe?”

  Because the room slanted a slow revolution to the left, he closed one eye and scissor-stepped to the kitchen. With a hefty clunk, he set the empty whistle bottle on the counter. A whirlwind raced past him faster than his blurred vision could follow, and caught the bottle before it crashed to the floor.

  Guess he hadn’t quite made it to the countertop. Amused laughter gurgled deep within and spilled out.

  Patience set the bottle on the counter and pushed it toward the wall. “Holy elbow-bender, are you hammered?” She leaned backed on the granite surface, eyebrow raised.

  “Maybe justa smidge. But don’t you worry your pretty little buds, I poured the rest out.” That had been stupid, come to think of it. He needed the antiseptic for his practice.

  “Can you make it to bed, or do you need help?”

  Oh, I need help, m’dear. Lots and lots of help. “If you help me, I think I can get there. I think I can, I think I can.” The thought of his choo-choo chugging down the hall brought on another fit of laughter.

  He tapped her under the chin, and that’s when he noticed the dark circles under her tired eyes. Worry furrowed lines between her brows. Lantern flame caused haunting shadows to play over her face. Her breathing seemed labored, but he was still too drunk to be sure.

  He began to sober up when he realized that something was wrong.

  At Samuel’s, she had seemed fine and well rested. “When did you start feeling bad?” He cupped her soft cheek in his palm. Patience felt warmer than usual, her lidded eyes drooped making her appear small and vulnerable.