Trouble Brewing

by Jane Tara

  He turned and wandered back into the tavern. Calypso was behind the bar, using a mortar and pestle to grind something. Gisella was perched on a stool beside her, chatting. Franz was in the kitchen cooking. Birdland was closed tonight, while the three friends whipped up a magical feast to help Gisella conceive. Taran understood the importance of the evening and Gisella’s right to some privacy, so had offered to disappear.

  “I could go to the opera,” he suggested.

  But Gisella wouldn’t hear of it. “I don’t want to take this too seriously,” she assured him. “I just want an evening of fun. And it’s such fun to see Calypso happy again, so you must stay, Taran.”

  He was touched to be included in the plans, and felt it boded well for the future. He intended to be included in many more of Calypso’s future plans. He also couldn’t believe he was actually thinking this way. It was a first.

  Taran watched her now, her red mane pulled back into a ponytail, her green eyes flashing as they searched for ingredients. She seemed troubled, frustrated about something, yet trying to hide it.

  She sprinkled dried rosemary, salt and cayenne pepper over some walnuts and passed them into Franz to bake them briefly. She brewed a tea of vitex and red clover blossoms, nettle, red raspberry, and peppermint leaves and poured it into glass containers, leaving a small jug of it out for Gisella to sip.

  “Let the rest infuse overnight and then drink four cups a day for the next week.”

  Gisella looked a bit nervous. “Are there any negative side effects?”

  Calypso placed her hand on her friend. “You can buy similar teas off a supermarket shelf. The only difference is this is fresher … and made with love.” She handed Gisella a small bottle. “This is a tincture made from false unicorn root. Admittedly, you won’t find this one in a supermarket, but it’s safe. And very powerful. I’ve written instructions on the bottle.” Finally, Calypso grabbed a bottle of chilled Veuve Clicquot. “Now for the real magic.”

  She popped open the champagne and filled four flutes. Into each she dropped a vanilla bean, and passed the glasses to Gisella and Taran.

  Taran held his glass high. “Here’s to the French, for inventing this stuff.”

  “Actually, the English made sparkling wine at least thirty years before the French … but here’s to them for perfecting it.” Calypso gave him a wink and then disappeared into the kitchen.

  “Always has to have the last word. But you’d know that. You’ve been friends for a long time.”

  “Longer than a lady should admit.”

  “Did you know Scott?”

  Surprise registered on Gisella’s face. “Yes. Very well.”

  “He sounds like an interesting character.”

  “That’s one way to describe him.”

  “I want you to know, I won’t leave her like he did.”

  Gisella paled. “Taran, no one can predict the future. Not completely. Not even Callie.”

  “What happened? She won’t tell me.”

  Gisella opened her mouth to speak but then slammed it shut again. Now was not the time.

  *

  Calypso entered carrying the tray of walnuts and the conversation ended. “Hey handsome, try some of these.”

  She shoved the tray at Taran and he grabbed a handful.

  “Wow, they’re delicious.” He gave her a lopsided grin. “Are you trying to get me fat so you won’t fall for me?”

  Calypso gave his stomach a pat, ignoring the hard muscle she found there. “It’s working, so keep eating.”

  Taran took the tray and placed it on the table and sat with Gisella. Calypso watched as they fell into an easy conversation about Viennese history, one of Gisella’s favorite subjects. She left the other two chatting and drifted over to the bar to gaze at all her tools and concoctions. Only she knew they hadn’t worked. Only she knew that she’d performed with great ceremony, rousing Gisella out of her depression – reassuring her that a child would come – but in fact given her nothing more than regular herbal remedies. Not a spell in sight, and bound to fail.

  Not entirely true. Calypso comforted herself with that thought and a huge slug of champagne. Every ingredient she used contained healing energy, its own power, especially the false unicorn root. She’d combined all the elements to reap the maximum benefits. All were strong fertility herbs and foods in their own right. But Gisella and Franz were expecting more. They were expecting magic … and she had lost it.

  Calypso watched Gisella now, telling Taran all about Elisabeth of Bavaria, better known in Austria as their beloved Sisi. She would tell her friends the truth, but not tonight. It had been a long time since she’d seen Gisella looking so relaxed, and that in itself was important. Perhaps it would be enough. There was always the hope that the experience itself would have a placebo effect.

  “Dinner is served,” Franz announced from the kitchen.

  Taran, Franz and Gisella sat down to a feast of poached salmon with steamed asparagus spears, and baby chat potatoes, covered in a remoulade sauce. Calypso had stuffed zucchini flowers with fresh ricotta and salsa verde. Their main was followed by a chocolate fondue with strawberries, raspberries, orange segments and fresh figs.

  Throughout the meal, the champagne, conversation and laughter flowed. Taran especially had the others in stitches with his stories and tales. He’d even managed to lift Calypso’s spirits. She’d been watching him carefully all day and was yet to find even a small fault. Damn him! He was relaxed, and enjoyed going with the flow. He was interested in everything and everyone. She’d walked him around in circles all day, but he’d never once complained. He was, quite simply, wonderful company.

  “Where did you three meet?” Taran asked.

  “Corfu,” said Calypso. “Gisella and I met first. We were working in a small hostel there when this new cook turned up.”

  “They both fell madly in love with me. It was extremely embarrassing,” said Franz seriously.

  “Actually we both thought him incredibly arrogant and annoying,” Gisella added. “But we liked his food.”

  “I actually asked Calypso to marry me first,” Franz joked.

  “She was smart and said no.” Gisella sniffed.

  Calypso patted Gisella’s arm in mock sympathy. “At least you’ll never have to cook dinner again.”

  After dinner, as they nibbled on an array of cheeses, Gisella sighed and patted her tummy. “I’m full. What a lovely evening.” She looked beautiful and relaxed as she snuggled close to Franz and whispered in his ear.

  “Is your magic working?” Taran asked quietly.

  “They don’t need magic,” she replied.

  Taran reached across and took her hand and kissed the tips of her slender fingers. Calypso shivered and leant toward him.

  “Speaking of magic,” she said, “if you want to spend more time with me—”

  “Oh God no, three days is my limit.”

  “We only had two.”

  “True … fine then. I’m available.”

  “I’d like to take you somewhere.”

  “Here in Vienna?”

  Calypso gave him a mysterious smile. “No …”

  “Do I at least get a country?”

  “England.”

  Taran poured them both another drink. “Excellent. Love the place.” He relaxed back in his chair and gave her a wicked grin. “The women are a nightmare, but sexy as all hell.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Fennel tea increases the flow of milk in nursing mothers

  Calypso and Taran flew into Bristol and rented a car.

  “Do you get carsick?” asked Calypso.

  “No.”

  “That means I can drive.”

  Taran didn’t flinch, which impressed her no end. “Excellent idea, seeing as I have no idea where we’re going.”

  They threw their gear into the back of the car and headed off. Calypso kept glancing at Taran waiting for the questions to begin. They didn’t.

  “It’ll take us a
bout two and a half hours to get where we’re going.”

  Taran nodded and popped open a bottle of water. “Okay.”

  “Need anything before we head off?”

  “Nope. Got everything I need right here.”

  Calypso maneuvered her way through the traffic. “Don’t you have any questions?”

  Taran thought for a moment. “Actually … just wondering if …”

  I knew it, thought Calypso, as she watched him grab his backpack. No one could be this laid-back when traveling.

  Taran rifled through a side pocket and pulled out his iPod and another gadget. “We need some music.” He plugged it in, found a channel on the radio, and Michael Franti began to play.

  Calypso couldn’t help herself. “Aren’t you even slightly interested in where we’re going?”

  “Where we’re going is irrelevant. Where we’re at is what’s important.”

  “Well, thanks for that, Confucius, but I’m not buying it.”

  Taran relaxed back into the passenger seat. “I’ll be interested when I get there. Until that moment, I’m just enjoying being here with you. Wherever we are.”

  Calypso pointed to a sign and laughed. “We’ll be on the M5 soon.”

  “Great. Always wanted to see it.”

  “How’s Finn?” asked Calypso. “You haven’t mentioned him at all. I thought you two were inseparable.”

  “He’s good – busy.” Taran turned and stared out the window.

  “Have you two had a falling out?”

  “Finn lives north of Boston now. He’s in a band and they’ve just released a CD and are planning a tour. And he’s in love.”

  Calypso noted the slight edge to Taran’s voice when he mentioned that last bit. “In love? Same girlfriend he bought the unicorn crystals for?”

  “Oh God, no. They broke up ages ago.” Right after I slept with her. “This woman is a friend of my sister’s. Rhi opened a theatre in a small town called Hamlet and Tye runs a café there.”

  “You don’t sound happy for your brother.”

  “I am. Tye is great. She’s gorgeous, smart, a talented musician. And she’s a witch.”

  Calypso laughed. “One of ours.”

  “Yep, our people.” Taran was quiet for a moment. “I miss him. I’m not used to being apart from him.”

  “They say twins share an extra special bond.”

  “In my experience that’s true.” Taran decided now was a good time to change the subject – before he howled like a baby. “What about you and Nell? You’re very different.”

  “We’re chalk and cheese, and it works because of that. We’ve always been close.”

  “And how’s Rowie doing?”

  “Great. She married Drew Henderson—”

  “The weatherman. Yeah, I read that. Big news in New York.”

  “They’re expecting their first baby in a couple of months.”

  “We’ll have to go visit them.”

  Calypso raised an eyebrow and shot him a look. “Will we now?”

  “I’ll go … and you can come if you want.”

  A couple of enjoyable hours later they pulled off the road and into a gravel driveway, just past the don’t-blink-or-you’ll-miss-it village of Trethevy.

  “Okay,” Taran said, “where are we?”

  “Ha! Got you! I knew you’d eventually cave.”

  Taran almost looked offended. “I didn’t realize I was expected to remain oblivious to my location even once I’d arrived.”

  “We’re not far from Tintagel,” said Calypso.

  “Really? That’s cool. I grew up on tales of King Arthur.”

  Before them stood a quirky looking cottage, wrapped in vines and hidden in trees.

  “Not quite Camelot,” Taran said. “More like the Addams’s house.”

  “No. Ash Cottage,” said Calypso. “My home.”

  Ash Cottage, a pretty little stone structure tucked away at the edge of a forest near Tintagel in Cornwall, had been in the Shakespeare family for four hundred years. It had been passed, in most cases, from grandmother to granddaughter. When Batty Shakespeare had done the unthinkable and had two daughters instead of the traditional one, her mother, Emma Shakespeare, had been faced with the problem of who to leave the cottage to. She chose Calypso, for reasons still baffling to the family, especially Nell, who was left with nothing but a cryptic letter and a rusty key. Everyone told her to contest the will, but she didn’t. To be fair, Calypso had been especially close to Emma, while Nell had taken the role of nurturer with her paternal grandmother, Eleanor. And Calypso had a spiritual connection to the area. But still, as much as Nell assured Calypso that it was okay, it had hurt her deeply at the time, and reinforced her preference for Eleanor.

  Emma had been the opposite of Eleanor. Emma was affectionate and playful and wise. She drank too much, her stories were saucy and peppered with mild obscenities and she told inappropriate jokes. She had a string of lovers, including her one true love, Duncan Althorp, earl of a now extinct peerage in Cornwall. Despite his regular proposals, Emma refused to marry Duncan. Even after Batty was born, she remained steadfast in her refusals. Marriage would not change her daughter’s illegitimacy, or restore her rights to peerage, so she, quite rightly, remained independent of the man she loved. Or more to the point, independent of the stuffy, rigid world he inhabited.

  Shakespeare women had always flitted between the pub and Ash Cottage, but Emma was particularly attached to her countryside home. Despite that, when Batty was still a baby, Emma returned with her to London to help her own parents run the pub. But she was never really happy there and handed the King and Mistress over to her Batty as soon as she was of age, and Emma went back home to Cornwall. For good.

  Emma was, for her time, or for any time really, quite a woman. She often announced how grateful she was to be born in an era when witches were ignored rather than burned, because there surely would’ve been a pyre with her name on it. Instead, the locals pretended not to see her on the street, but in the dead of night they’d come to her for help. Calypso could clearly remember the quiet knocks after dark. The desperate whispers from the front room. The soothing clucks and chuckles her grandmother made.

  Calypso had countless happy memories of wandering the fields near Ash Cottage, her grandmother by her side, teaching her about herbs and plants. Then, on the first full moon after her thirteenth birthday, Emma took her to the forest and handed her over to the Fey folk. It was quite a celebration. The Fey folk had been waiting since Calypso’s birth. Calypso’s connection to them had been prophesized generations earlier.

  Calypso spent the next few days – or was it a few months? – being initiated into the ancient healing and herbal arts. She entered the world of Fey through a portal, and became immersed in a reality very different from her own. She was passed a knowledge few humans possess and given glimpses into a world protected by sturdy veils. She’d always been told that the faerie realms were drifting into the mists, but she discovered that that wasn’t the case. The faerie realm was clear and vibrant and her senses burst to life while she was there. She realized that the human condition was draining her own world of life and it was that world that was drifting further into the mists as its vibrations became denser.

  When Calypso emerged from her time with the Fey folk, she possessed the gift of healing more powerful than if she’d studied a lifetime alone. Her life was about fulfilling her destiny as a healer. Her connection to the Fey folk in the area remained strong, and she used her gift to help anyone who asked.

  Or at least she used to. Perhaps some of the Fey folk could provide answers as to where her gift had gone recently. She felt she knew, but refused to dwell on it right now. She was simply too happy to be back. To say Ash Cottage and the area around it was special to Calypso was a massive understatement. It was, quite simply, the only place she would ever consider as home. It was where she brewed her mead, stored her wines, grew certain herbs and disappeared to reconnect with herself. It’s a
lso where she lived for eight months after Scott left, the longest period of time in her adult life ever spent in one place. She needed to visit now, to check her brews and harvest some herbs. But she also wanted to share it with Taran.

  Calypso led Taran toward the house “The forest nearby is filled with magic. It’s one of the only places in Europe you can still find moly … and only under a full moon.” She glanced up at the sky now. The sun hadn’t yet set but already the waxing moon had appeared. “She should be full later tonight. I need to replenish my stock.”

  “Sounds like fun. I haven’t seen moly since I was a child.” Taran paused and looked around at the garden. “Is that Silphion under that bush?”

  “I can tell you were raised by a witch.”

  “But it’s extinct.”

  “I know lots of people who grow it. I’ve also got goldthread. I work by the threefold herbal law. If I find a plant that’s endangered, I take some for my potions, and then replant the rest in three different spots. You wouldn’t believe some of the stuff I’ve got growing here.” Calypso flung open the front door. “Coming in?”

  The cottage was a cozy little warren with stone walls and wood floors. While not much had changed in the house since Calypso’s grandmother lived there, or her grandmother before her, there was a lightness to the rooms that sprang from centuries of laughter bouncing off the walls.

  Calypso immediately yanked back the curtains, opened the windows, and let the cool afternoon air in. Downstairs was a lounge room, dining room, a kitchen and, at the very back, a rather antiquated bathroom. Up the higgledy-piggeldy stairs were two bedrooms and up a further set of stairs, an attic crammed full of family junk.

  Below it all was an insulated cellar. It was filled with bottles of homemade wine, herbs and magical brews. One corner had been set up to brew mead, another beer. Barrels of the latest batch of both were fermenting side by side. She also had racks of homemade wines: elderberry, plum, apple and so on.

  “This is my brewery.”

  Taran was impressed. “You should show this to Simon some time. Apsley Beer might be interested.” Then, with a wink, “We’ll get Megan to do a taste test first.”