A Tale of a Powerful Witch Who Hid in a Potion Shop for Two Months

"Don't brew anything. You have enough potions to keep this business running for two months. By then I should be back."

Alder had heard that two and a half months ago. Now the shelves across the room were empty.

The last potion had sold that morning. Quite inconsiderately, the war had failed to end that afternoon. No bells rang from the watchtower. No soldiers marched home through the western gate. The notice board outside still displayed the same royal proclamation in obnoxious gold lettering:

ALL WITCHES OF THIRD CIRCLE CLASSIFICATION AND ABOVE ARE TO REPORT FOR SERVICE.

Alder had worked very hard to land in the Fifth Circle.

He had spent three days making deliberate mistakes, shattered a focus crystal and given a drawn-out demonstration in which he pretended not to manage basic levitation. Only then had the examiner accepted that his original classification was a clerical error.

It was his greatest achievement.

The bell above the shop door jingled.

Next to him, Cassian looked up from his tea.

A woman stepped inside, shaking rain from the shoulders of her cloak. Her tired eyes went straight to the shelves.

Alder assumed she would see they were empty and leave. Instead, she approached the counter.

Cassian set his cup down.

"Good afternoon," he said pleasantly.

The woman glanced between them. "Are you still open?"

"Technically," Alder said.

Cassian kicked his shoe. "What my charming companion means is that we would be delighted to attempt to help."

Alder rolled his eyes.

Cassian was odd. He knew too much about people, for one thing. He could usually tell what a customer wanted before they said it and talk an angry merchant out of demanding a refund. Last week, he had somehow convinced a woman that her potion turning yellow instead of pink was an intentional improvement.

He was clever. Just not with magic.

Alder could not have asked for a better companion in the shop. Cassian was an excellent example of a lost cause witch, and Alder had spent the last ten weeks matching him.

The woman gave the shelves another worried look. "Do you have a restoration potion?"

"No," Alder said.

"Regrettably," Cassian amended, "we seem to have sold our last one yesterday."

“I see.” The woman rubbed absently at her knee. “I suppose I’ll try the apothecary near the eastern bridge, then.”

"They're closed," Cassian said.

Alder looked at him.

So did the woman.

Cassian raised his tea to his lips. “Owner was drafted last week.”

"Micheal? But he was Fourth Circle."

"Volunteered."

Alder grimaced.

Ridiculous behaviour.

“Oh, that stupid, old man.” The woman’s expression tightened with worry. “I hope he’ll be all right.” She dipped her head to them. “Thank you, dears.”

With a tired sigh, she turned toward the door. Her right leg dragged when she moved. The leather at the knees of her trousers was worn, and her fingers were rough from handling cloth. Yellow chalk clung beneath one nail.

A seamstress. She probably spent most of the day standing over a cutting table.

You’ll regret doing that.

Alder ducked beneath the counter and dragged out the shop ledger before she could leave.

"Restoration, restoration…"

He already knew the recipe, but turned three unnecessary pages before finding it.

Starflower. Moonmint. Orisia bark. Maydust.

Embarrassingly easy.

The difficult part would be making it unimpressive enough without giving the woman organ failure.

Alder jumped down from his stool.

"We can make one."

Cassian blinked. "We can?"

"We have all the ingredients."

"Except for fresh moonmint," Cassian remarked.

The woman paused near the door. “Dried will do, if that’s all you have. It may come more cloudy, but my grandson made a few that way when we run out of fresh moonmint. They worked well enough."

Alder glanced at her. “Why won’t he make you more?”

Her expression softened.

“He made me several before he left.” A small smile touched her mouth. “First witch in our family to reach Third Circle.”

Cassian’s fingers tightened around his teacup.

“His parents were so proud. We thought he might teach at Avallon Academy someday. I’d even had a suit made for him.” Her smile faded. “Then the letter came.”

Third Circle was impressive. Third Circle meant talent. And talent was meant to be utilized.

“I’m sure he’ll be glad to find you well when he comes home,” Cassian said gently. “We’ve still got one sprig of dried moonmint upstairs. We can have the potion ready by tomorrow.”

Alder’s gaze dropped to the woman’s knee.

“No.”

Cassian looked at him.

“Fresh would be better.”

The woman shook her head. "Oh, I couldn’t ask that of you. It takes three days to get it from the mountain."

Alder pictured the slopes northeast of the city, nearly a hundred miles away.

Three days? Maybe if you walk.

“The dried will do,” Cassian said. “We can have the potion ready by tomorrow. Come back then.”

The woman thanked them both. Cassian told her twice that a deposit wasn’t necessary, but she left one anyway. A moment later, the bell gave a final soft chime and the shop fell quiet.

Alder sighed. "We have to brew."

Cassian’s expression turned grave. “Brew what, poison?”

"That sounds harder than a simple restoration potion."

"I wouldn't know.” Cassian shrugged his shoulders. “I have never made one."

"Me neither. I’ve only heard people talk about it."

They moved into the back room.

The first step was to heat water in the cauldron.

Alder knew thirty-seven ways to produce fire. His chances of choosing the one a Fifth Circle witch should know were not good.

So instead he glanced toward Cassian.

Cassian studied the little iron stove, then crouched, opened the wood compartment and reached for the matches.

Right. Matches.

He should have thought of that.

Eleven minutes, six matches and one argument about kindling later, the fire finally caught.

Cassian reached for the cup he had brought from the front room, took a sip, and grimaced.

"We took so long my tea went cold."

Alder glanced at him. “If you knew fire magic, we wouldn’t have wasted ten minutes with matches.”

"You don't know fire magic either."

"It's not my tea that went cold."

Cassian narrowed his eyes. “You are a terrible witch, Alder.”

Alder smiled. "That I am."

He left Cassian to his suffering and went upstairs.

The attic held enough ingredients to poison half the capital, with a little imagination.

Alder knew exactly where everything was, so he spent another four minutes searching.

He took the dried moonmint and a handful of orisia bark, moved the starflower somewhere less obvious and chose the wrong variety of maydust.

When he came downstairs, Cassian was exactly where he had left him, holding his tea in both hands. Steam rose from the cup.

Alder stopped on the final stair.

Cassian glanced at him.

"Oh," he said lightly. "I put on a kettle while you were upstairs."

"Alright."

Alder set the ingredients down. "I couldn't find the starflower."

Cassian got up. "I'll look."

His gaze dropped to the ingredients and paused on the maydust before he went upstairs.

Alder watched him go.

Tea sounded good.

There were biscuits in the cupboard, the good ones with sugar crystals. Tea would go well with those. If he was going to spend all afternoon pretending not to know how potions worked, Alder deserved compensation.

He took a cup from the shelf and reached for the kettle on the stove. The iron was cold.

For several seconds he stood there, watching steam rise from Cassian's cup.

A floorboard creaked overhead.

Alder put the kettle down, and looked up the stairs.

"Found it."

Cassian came downstairs with the starflower and another maydust, then placed both on the table.

Alder looked at the second packet.

"Why did you bring another maydust?"

Cassian followed his gaze.

"Oh. Was that maydust?" He pointed at what Alder had brought down. "I didn't recognize the variety. Thought it was something else."

"It's fine. We can use yours."

We should use yours. It’s the right kind.

They began brewing.

Alder crushed the orisia bark too lightly on purpose.

Cassian waited until he put it in the pot, then poured in too much starflower.

“Ah. Sorry, sorry.”

Alder glanced at the mixture.

Actually... that might help.

The extra starflower would soften the bark fibres and make up for the poor crush. It would throw the balance slightly off, but nothing Alder couldn’t correct with a flick of his fingers.

A small binding spell should settle it.

He waited until Cassian turned away, then flicked two fingers toward the cauldron.

The spell sank into the potion without so much as a spark.

Good. We might still manage to make it.

Cassian turned back with a spoon, moving with enough enthusiasm that it slipped straight from his fingers. It struck the edge of the table, bounced once, then skidded across the floor until it tapped Alder’s shoe.

They both looked down.

Cassian sighed. “That was intentional.”

“Of course it was.”

Alder crouched to pick it up.

A small bubble rose in the potion behind him. He paused, frowned at the cauldron, then straightened and handed the spoon back.

Cassian took it and immediately leaned over the pot.

"Wait," Alder said.

The spoon stopped just above the surface.

"I haven't put in the moonmint yet."

"Oh." Cassian drew it back. "Right."

Alder separated the dried leaves, taking his time. Moonmint was annoyingly sensitive. Too much and the potion would numb the entire limb instead of restoring it. Too little and it would do practically nothing.

Alder dropped the moonmint into the pot. As the leaves touched the surface, the potion shuddered.

A line of violet appeared in the blue. Alder frowned.

The colour spread slowly between the pieces of starflower. Then the whole mixture turned a violet.

Alder stared. Restoration potions were blue. The shade varied with the ingredients, from pale blue to turquoise, or silver-blue if the moonmint had been harvested during a full moon.

Never violet.

A bubble rose and popped. The mixture solidified.

Cassian poked it with the spoon.

"Well," he said.

Alder's eyes narrowed.

That's overbound.

Badly, which was impossible.

His spell had been exact. He could have performed that binding charm unconscious, underwater and after being hit in the head with a brick.

Maybe the starflower ratio had altered it more than expected.

No. Cassian hadn't added enough for that.

"Perhaps we used the wrong maydust," Cassian offered.

"Perhaps," Alder nodded.

That was the correct maydust.

Alder scowled at the purple brick. Their last usable starflower was gone. Which left them with a problem.

"We need fresh moonmint."

"I'll get it," they said simultaneously.

Alder grabbed his cloak first.

"I'll get there faster."

Cassian looked him up and down. “I have longer legs.”

“I’m not walking.”

Cassian raised his brow.

“I’ll teleport.”

“Ah. You can teleport all the way to the mountain?”

“Not in one jump, stupid. I’ll chain them.”

“Right. Yes. I have to do that too.” Cassian recovered quickly. “Long-distance jumps are difficult.”

Alder gave him a look, then opened the door.

"Don't burn the shop down while I'm gone."

“I don’t know fire magic.”

“I’m sure you’ll find another way.”

Then he stepped outside.

Four seconds later, he was on the mountain. Fresh moonmint covered half the rocks. He crouched and began picking.

Three days. Honestly. Who would be stubborn enough to walk up here?

Five minutes later, he had enough for twelve restoration potions. Returning so soon would be suspicious

So Alder teleported back to the city, chose a café six streets from the shop, and spent an hour and forty minutes eating cake. It was an excellent solution.

Before leaving, he stepped beneath an awning drain until his cloak was soaked through. He walked the remaining streets.

When he finally stepped back into the shop, water was dripping from the hem of his cloak.

Cassian stopped what he was doing and stared.

"You look like you drowned."

"It's raining."

"I had gathered."

Alder dropped the moonmint onto the counter.

Cassian blinked at the amount. "You found quite a lot."

"I had enough time to search."

“In that rain?”

Alder wrung water from one sleeve. “I’m afraid commanding storms is a little beyond me.”

Cassian’s eyes travelled from his dripping cloak to his wet hair.

Then he sighed.

“Upstairs.”

Alder frowned. “What?”

“Change.”

“I’m fine.”

“We’re out of fever suppressants.”

“I’m not going to get sick.”

Cassian pointed toward the stairs. "Change, and go to sleep. I'll finish this."

Alder looked at the moonmint, then at Cassian.

"You?"

“I was here for most of the brewing.”

“So was I. That’s why I’m worried.”

“Have some faith in me.”

“No.”

Cassian rolled his eyes.

Still, they needed the potion, and Cassian could at least recognise the ingredients.

Alder quietly slipped one sprig of moonmint into his sleeve.

"Don't ruin it," he warned.

Cassian glanced at the heap left on the counter.

"I have at least ten tries before I need to worry."

Alder did not find that comforting. He went upstairs anyway.

By morning, the potion was finished. Alder held the bottle up to the light. The liquid inside was clear, with a faint silver sheen running through it.

“Huh.”

Cassian smiled from behind the counter.

"Beginner's luck."

Alder lowered the bottle. “How many batches did you ruin before this one?”

“Only five.”

There were ten untouched moonmint sprigs drying beside the stove.

Alder put the restoration potion down.

Could be a joke. Who knows with this guy?

The older woman arrived shortly after noon.

Her face brightened when Cassian presented the bottle. Then she held it toward the light, and her smile vanished.

"This is fresh moonmint."

Cassian leaned against the counter. “Only the best for our favourite customer.”

She looked from the bottle to him, bewildered. "But where did you get it?"

“The mountain.”

“I know where it grows.”

Alder frowned. “Then what are you asking?”

Cassian coughed into his fist.

The woman stared at Alder.

"That journey takes three days."

"On foot, maybe."

Her eyebrows rose.

Alder realised there might have been a better answer.

“I teleported,” he said.

Her eyes widened.

“Not the whole way,” he added quickly. “That would be ridiculous.”

Cassian gave the smallest approving nod.

Alder continued, “Just a series of small jumps.”

The woman blinked. "How many?"

He hesitated. Too few might sound suspicious. Should he be able to jump five miles at the time? Sounds unimpressive enough.

"…Twenty?"

The woman caught the counter with one hand.

Cassian leaned forward. "Madam?"

"Twenty jumps?"

Cassian’s eyes shifted toward him.

"Yes?"

"My grandson could do four."

Alder said nothing. There really was nothing more now he could say to make it better.

“Five, once or twice,” she went on, voice thinning. “He’d sleep half a day afterward.”

Alder felt a chill run down his spine.

“That’s why the journey takes him three days. He’d teleport until he couldn’t anymore, then rest before continuing.”

Oh.

Oh no.

Alder slowly turned toward Cassian.

Cassian, though, looked just as blank. Then something shifted in his expression.

"Well," Cassian said pleasantly, "short-distance jumps are considerably easier. Weaker witches compensate by doing many of them."

The woman stared at him.

Cassian cleared his throat. “Or so I’ve heard. I can’t really teleport.”

Like hell you can't.

He had offered to make the trip himself.

The woman looked from Alder to Cassian, then down at the perfectly clear potion. Slowly, she turned toward the royal notice visible through the window.

Well, this is it then. I’ll have to leave tonight.

Her fingers tightened around the bottle.

"My grandson didn't want to go either," she said quietly.

Alder’s attention snapped back to her.

"They told him it would be selfish not to. That someone born with that much talent had a duty to use it."

Her thumb brushed over the glass.

"I suppose people ought to be allowed to decide for themselves what their gifts are for."

The woman tucked the potion carefully into her bag, then looked between them once more.

"My lips are sealed."

She gave them both a small, but warm smile.

"Thank you."

The bell jingled as she left, and a gust of rain-cooled air swept briefly through the shop before the door swung shut.

Alder and Cassian stood in silence. Neither looked at the other for several minutes.

At last, Cassian leaned his elbows on the counter. "We could wipe her memory."

Alder turned. "Oh? You know a mind-wipe spell?"

"No." Cassian smiled. "But you clearly should."

“I think someone who can chain-teleport halfway across the country ought to know one.”

“I can’t teleport.”

“You could yesterday.”

Cassian sighed. “I hit my head last night and forgot how. Truly heartbreaking.”

Alder narrowed his eyes. “Did you forget fire magic too?”

“Alder, how could I forget something I never knew?”

They both looked at the kettle.

After a moment, Cassian sighed. “Tea?”

Alder pushed himself upright.

“I’ll find the matches.”