“Apothecary!”
           

“We’re closed!” Aster yelled. He thought the sign was obvious enough. He closed early today thinking no one would come.

            The woman banged on the door relentlessly like she wanted to bring the entire building down. “Apothecary!”

            Aster raised his head slightly to take a look at the woman through the glass door. She wore a thick white coat that gleamed in the fading evening light. On her head sat a ridiculously large beret, looking more like a round futon than a hat. Cakey makeup a whole five shades lighter than her neck covered her face.

            Aster rolled his eyes. He rose, dull pain throbbing through his lower back. He put the papers in front of him in neat stacks and made a note about where he left off. He walked to the door slowly while attempting to maintain a polite expression. When he opened the door, he made sure there was only a small crack open.

            “We’re closed,” Aster said curtly.

            “Well, if you hear what I have to say, you would reconsider.” The woman pushed with a surprising force which threw Aster off his balance. She strutted in like she owned the place. Orange sunlight filtered through the tinted windows, drawing her rotund shadow out behind her. Her eyes searched the room and narrowed when they landed on Aster. “A tad young to be an apothecary, aren’t you?”

            “I said, we’re closed.” Aster gestured towards the exit. “Now, please, before I have to report to the knights that you’re unlawfully stepping foot onto private property, please-”

            “I am a customer, boy,” she interrupted. She fluffed her coat and took a seat on the stool in front of the counter. “I am looking to purchase an enamoration potion.”

            Aster froze, pulse speeding up. He thought his words over carefully. “I don’t know what you’re referring to. We only sell medicinal potions.”
            “Oh no, you definitely know what I’m talking about. I heard from some friends of mine that this store has it.” She ran her hand over the vials on a display near her.

            He silently cursed his grandpa for being so generous in the past back when enamoration potions weren’t outlawed. Years ago, a spy tried to put it in the king’s wine, and the king would have drunk it, if not for the food testers he had. Since then, enamoration potions were banned. Aster would be in great trouble if he sold one of those to this woman.

Grandpa always told him that they needed to help people and be honest as apothecaries. And Aster tried to follow his words. He never sold to criminals, he never told lies about the effects of his potions, he wouldn’t even raise his prices to cover the deficit they were running. If he made this potion, he would be going against everything that he had been taught. 

            “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Aster managed to say. “Now, please leave, we’re closed-”

            The woman huffed and stood up. “I can pay whatever amount you want.”

He gnawed on his bottom lip as he moved to behind the counter. He tapped his fingers on the counter and glanced at the bills piling up on his desk, the rows upon rows of numbers dark against the beige parchment. A deep throaty cough echoed from upstairs, reaching Aster’s ears. In that instant, Aster decided. “Fine. But this remains between us. ”

            “Of course. Excellent.” the woman grinned, resembling a conniving fox. “Now, give it to me here.” She held her hand out.
            “I have to make it first.” Aster did not bother hiding the grimace on his face.

            “Ugh. Do make it quick,” the woman demanded, checking her long nails.

            Aster headed out into the back, taking extra care to shut the door behind him tightly. The smells of dozens of ingredients, pungent, fruity, and herbal wafted around the room. He closed his eyes to remember the recipe. Enamoration potions were hard to make and only select apothecaries had the knowledge of how to make one. They had to burn those books with the information in their collection years ago. But Grandpa always drilled it into him to memorize things, so Aster had read every book several times over prior to their destruction.

            He pored over the shelves of little glass jars and wooden boxes, each one with scratched-up labels written in illegible handwriting. But Aster could recognize the ingredients by the color and the texture. He grabbed a couple of bottles of the heat-inducing powders, then the mushroom juice that increases heart rate, and lastly, the grounded-up green herbs from across the ocean.

            Under the candlelight, Aster took spoonfuls of each ingredient shakily, measuring it out based on what he remembered, and dumped it into a small cauldron. He lit the fire underneath it and added water. He stirred the pot as quickly as possible until it all looked incorporated.

            Finally, he procured a pink potion. He poured the cauldron’s contents into two round glass bottles. The woman only needed one, but keeping one around may prove handy if he needed some spare cash.

            Aster briefly wondered what the woman wanted it for. Who did she want to charm into loving her? Was it good of him to sell this to her? But he waved the worries away. The lives of the rich and powerful had nothing to do with him. He did a service and got compensated. It was a fair trade. He shouldn’t worry about it. He tried to convince himself of that, at least.

Aster went up to the front. “Pour this in someone’s drink and it will dissolve. They will fall in love with the first person they lay eyes on after drinking it. Don’t let them find out you’re using it,” he said through gritted teeth.

            The woman’s eyes glinted. She took the glass bottle and massaged it with her hands. “Great work, apothecary. Now, how much do you want?”

            “A hundred gold pieces,” Aster said. His pulse quickened as he watched for the woman’s reaction. A hundred gold pieces was not a small sum. But it would be enough to cover the expenses of the doctor.

            “Only a hundred? Pfft,” the woman scoffed, putting a heavily jeweled hand to her cheek. “Here you go.” She reached into her pocket and threw out a small bag, the silky cloth of the bag itself probably costing more than a hundred gold pieces.

            Aster rushed to catch it. The gold felt heavy in his hands, even if it meant nothing to her. Before he could say anything, the woman pranced off into the emptying street and disappeared around the corner.

            Aster slumped over the counter. Exhaustion pulled at his body, threatening to take him under. Nevertheless, he got up and sat back down at the counter, quill in hand, ready to go through more of the bills.

            The rosy evening light faded. Aster scribbled on the paper, making marks and notes about the costs of upkeep. The oil for the lanterns and candles, the imported raw materials, their food budget, and the tax they paid to the knights every month. The candle flame flickered through the night. The gold peeking from the edge of the bag glittered under the light. Aster glanced at it for just a second, and his heart sank. A dreadful feeling rested at the pit of his stomach, making him want to throw up.

            Just about as he got through half of the stack of papers, someone banged the door. Aster shot up from his seat, breathing heavily. It was too dark to see who was behind the door, but the banging was persistent.

            “Knights! Open up!”

            Aster dragged his steps out as slowly as possible. Every inch of his body screamed at him to run away. He opened the door carefully and completely this time.

            Two knights, one tall and one small, stood outside. The tall one had a mop of messy hair and a permanent scowl. The small one’s dirty helmet covered his eyes but it could not hide his wide smile.

            “We apologize for intruding at such a late hour. However, there has been suspicious activity reported around this store.” The tall one nodded assuredly.

            “It smells great in here,” the small one complimented.

            Aster opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He stepped back and let the pair enter, their boots clanking on the wooden floor.

“We received a report of Mrs. Salusia’s visit to this apothecary,” the knight said, mustache quivering as he enunciated each word with overexaggerated clarity.

            “Mrs. Salusia? I don’t know who that is.” He really didn’t, he told himself.

            “White coat, big beret?” the smaller knight offered.

            Aster’s mouth dried. “I don’t know anyone by that description.”

            “Really?” The tall one narrowed his eyes and stepped closer to the counter.

“She was murdered just an hour ago. The suspect is on the loose, but we detected traces of an enamoration potion in his drink,” the small one explained.

He could hear his own heartbeat thudding in his chest. His vision grew blurry. “How terrible, but what does that have to do with me?”

The tall one clicked his tongue. “If she was here, at an apothecary, this may be where she got the potion.”

Aster remembered the second potion that still sat dangerously in the back. It would be glowing radiantly pink. It would be impossible to miss, especially knights such as these ones, trained to track down illegal substances. He took a shuddering breath in.

“There were stab wounds all over her body.” The small knight shook his head. “Work of a madman.”

Did he forget to add an ingredient? The heat-inducer may have qualities that could cause extreme anger in theory, but he had never seen it happen. Did he remember incorrectly? He cursed silently in his head as he ran over the steps he took.

            The tall knight leafed through the ledger on the counter. “You don’t get a lot of business these days, do you?” he said suddenly.

            “That’s none of your business.” Aster snapped. He maintained an expressionless face. “I have the right to expel you from this store.”

            “We are here to investigate an illegal substance, apothecary. An illegal substance that was involved in a murder.”

            “Well, she wasn’t here,” Aster rebutted. “People don’t come to this store. You see how our business is doing.” As long as he forgot about it, nothing happened.

            The tall knight snarled. “Don’t test my patience, apothecary, if I order a search of this store-”

“They discovered the suspect on the outskirts of town!” a man outside shouted.

            The tall knight growled and dragged the small knight out without saying another word, out to chase the murderer with a horde of knights. They stampeded out on horses and on foot, sounding like a raging thunderstorm. Soon after, their shouts disappeared. The silence of the night returned, like none of this ever happened. 

            Aster exhaled. He sat in his chair, barely able to form coherent thoughts. He told himself over and over again that he did not kill her. He only sold something she asked for. It was alright. This was fine. This had to be fine. He was not the one with the knife, he was only the one who sold a potion.

He went out into the back. He stared at the pink potion. It looked harmless from a distance, just another colorful liquid. He held it gingerly, pouring it out into another potion. The liquid felt chunky, already coagulated somehow, as though it had sat around for months and not hours. He mixed the two together, and a nondescript gray potion appeared.

            Finally, he turned to go up the stairs with a candle in hand, taking each step slowly. The candle illuminated the dark hallway, untouched by the chaos downstairs.

            He knocked on his grandpa’s door. Hearing strained breaths, he entered.

“What was all that ruckus downstairs?” Grandpa scratched his head, a few wispy gray hairs still on it.

            “Nothing. It was nothing. Just some knights doing their thing.” He knelt down and held his grandpa’s limp hand.

            Grandpa smiled and leaned back on his bed. He barely shifted his body as he talked. “Was business good today?” Grandpa asked airily, barely any strength behind his deep voice. Years had passed since the disease struck him. Not a single potion worked, and Grandpa had laughed at the irony of being an apothecary but being unable to help himself. Only when the doctor came with his patches and needles would he feel better.

            Aster tightened his grip. “Yes.”

            “Did you help people today?” He always asked Aster this.

            “Yes, I did.” The lies poured out of his mouth easily, like a clear potion.

            Grandpa’s glassy eyes went dim. “That’s good, that’s good.” It was almost like Grandpa could tell there were chunks in the potion.

            Aster rubbed Grandpa’s worn fingers. They were fingers that worked day and night, fingers that fed him, clothed him, and now fingers that could barely move. Today, he found the funds for his treatment. He did something good. Whatever happened to that rich woman was no longer a concern.

            Even though he told himself that, Aster could not help but think about what would have happened if he just refused her request. He shoved the thoughts to the back of his head, but his breaths came shaky and nausea swirled in his stomach.

            “Are you okay, Aster? You don’t sound well,” Grandpa murmured.

            He had to be okay. For the store, for himself, for his grandpa. He had to be okay. He would bury the story of the enamoration potion in the depths of his heart and never let it out. If Grandpa found out, he would be disappointed. But Aster knew that he must carry on with the secret, for the good of everyone.

            “Yes. Yes, I’m okay.”