Hickory Tea
This is a story from the dark side of town, and references two previous characters. You can find their stories below!
Hemlock (The Dark Side of Town)
Hickory runs a teashop on the dark side of town, but there is nothing dark about it. From the outside, a well-constructed façade (some would call it a glamour) gives the place the homey appearance of a quaint cottage with whitewashed walls, exposed beams, and a thatched roof. Flowers spill from hanging baskets along the front.
Passers-by, out for a stroll along the river, would not see the building rising out of the roof, where a few flats are occupied by a family of goblins, the occasional transient werewolf, and Hickory herself. Nor would they suspect that without its glamour, the teashop would not look like a cottage at all, but the same redbrick structure as most of the town.
Hickory likes it that way. Tea is more of an experience than a beverage, in her opinion, and if she can take customers away from the bustle of town into the idyllic countryside with a small bit of illusionary magic and a well-brewed tea, all the better.
Inside, the teashop has all the quirks, nooks, and crannies one would expect to find in a cottage. None of the tables match. Paisely cloths and cheerfully pastel doilies cover their worn surfaces. The crockery is all from the 40s or near enough. The bare floorboards slope up and down at random intervals. There is an air of nostalgia about the place, but what that nostalgia might be for is anyone’s guess. Sheafs of fresh lavender hang from the eaves and fill the air with their calming fragrance.
Hickory bakes every morning to fill her patrons’ bellies, though most of the time the cabinet of treats is stocked by the bakery a few streets over. It is commonly agreed that their dream-filled pastries taste all the more vivid when paired with a cup of Hickory’s tea.
There is but one teapot on the premises. Never has it been seen on one of the tables, and no customer may serve themselves from it. Your order will come with cups and saucers, a jug of cool milk, and a tart if you ask, but never a pot. Hickory always pours the tea. Hickory has always poured the tea and will always pour the tea – even after she has passed on to another realm.
She follows swiftly after the cups bearing a large yellow teapot decorated with lilacs that bloom and wilt beneath the glazed surface over the course of the day. The tea within is always perfectly brewed – not so bitter as brackish water or weak as the dishwater the mortals like to serve on the other side of the river. Customers wait patiently while their host pours. They may not touch the pot, but they may add their own milk. That is important. It doesn’t work otherwise.
She watches them tilt the jug – a few drops or a light stream, it does not matter. Hickory keeps her gaze on the pale clouds that bloom within the steaming cup, watching the eddies and swirls. Just like that, she sees your fate. Not the whole of it – not always – and sometimes only a glimpse of the tiniest detail, but it is a wonderful thing.
In the teacups of strangers, she has seen the world. A full moon smeared with blood and honey in the cup of a man who has not yet felt the wolf’s bite but soon will. A new cluster of wild daisies on the grass roof of a pixie house soon to be blessed with children. The silhouette of a man on a horse. A death avoided by a trip to the faery wood. A golden rose in the palm of the crone who lives next to the bakery. A red envelope that turns into a mortal child and steals a witch’s familiar.
Hickory has seen it all. There was a time many years ago when fate tellers and spinners had to hide their intuition and their skills for fear of retribution undeserved, and Hickory believes this is why her power manifests itself in the form of an enchanted teapot rather than the traditional (and now terribly commercialised) crystal ball.
But there is one creature whose fate she cannot see. Someone Else’s Child, who sometimes accompanies the witch, Hemlock – whom everyone knows is not really called Hemlock – to tea in the illusion of a cottage. Someone Else’s Child takes no milk in their tea, and that simple habit scares Hickory more than anything.