As I came a little more to myself, I began to notice that his tea preparatuons were rather unusual, for he seemed to coax his small fire to change temperature with an occasional careless wave of his hand. I recognized the gesture as belonging to the type I had much employed in hiding from my mother the books I frequently sneaked off the library shelves and into my bedroom for nighttme reading.
He saw that I had caught him, and grinned. When I grinned back, curious but unafraid, he snapped his fingers; and the teapot floated away from the fire and over to his small table, where it poured hot steaming tea into two cups as if that were the most normal thing in the world.
I looked up at the janitor. He was watching me with a quizzical expression on his face-- but still that twinkle in the corner of his eye. I smiled. "How do you DO that?"
He grinned then, plucked the teapot out of midair, and placed it back on its shelf. "Magic," he said.
"Obviously," I returned. "But what kind? Is it teachable?"
He chuckled in mild surprise. "You aren't scared?"
"No. Should I be?"
He laughed out loud at this. "I hope not. But why aren't you?"
I eyed his face closely, and decided I could speak my mind. "You would never hurt anyone. I can see it in your eyes."
He smiled at this and bowed. "Thank you, miss. That is a high compliment." He straightened up and carefully scrutinized a row of bottles on a high shelf. "... Ah. Yes," he said softly, "this one will do. Bleeding souls can be a tricky business." He pulled a bittle of a lovely blue-green hue from the shelf. He paused, looked me carefully in the eyes, gave the bottle an experimental sort of shake, and nodded. I waited for him to speak, but he did not. He uncorked the bottle, and a pleasant aroma filled the room. With it came the sensation of drifting over the sea on a mild breeze. He carefully poured exactly three drops into my teacup, corked the bottle, and replaced it on the shelf with great care.
"What is it?" I asked finally.
He smiled a bit mysteriously. "It will help a little," he said. "Your soul is raw and sore just now. That will take the sting away." He held his hand out, palm down, over my steaming cup. "It's cool enough to drink now," he said. And he picked up his own cup and took a sip.
I sniffed my tea curiously. It had smelled pleasant before he added his bit of magic potion, but it smelled heavenly now. I sipped it carefully. It was not as hot as the steam had made it look; in fact, it was just right. The tightness in my chest began to release, and without thinking about it I sat up straighter in my chair. A few trears of relief at the sudden pleasantness leaked unbidden from my eyes. "I'm sorry," I said, putting down my cup and dabbing at my eyes again. "It's just ... so nice."
"Never apologize for your tears," he said softly. "You cannot heal properly without them."
"Really?" I glanced up at him. He was looking deep into his still-steaming cup, as if he saw worlds untold at the bottom.
He nodded.
We finished our tea in silence.
As I took my last sip, he looked up once more and smiled. "Well, miss ..." He paused, waiting.
"Oh," I said. "I'm (name)."
He smiled. "It was a pleasure to meet you, miss (name). Don't worry; you're going to be fine. But why don't you stop back in for another cup of tea in a few days?"
I nodded. "Thank you very much, Mr. ..."
He grinned. "(name)." He bowed, and I bowed back, feeling much more at peace with the world than perhaps I ever had.
That queer, peaceful feeling lasted long enough for me to find my way home and into bed. That was the first night I ever fell asleep without having to read for several hours first.
{Note: yes, it's rough and redundant in places. Yes, it's unfinished. It's a first draft. And please pardon any typos. This was typed by thumb on a smartphone.}
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