Rose led Gretchen through the kitchen, deftly weaving around the various skillet handles jutting out from the stoves. Near the rear entrance—which stood open and blessedly admitted a cool current of air—was another door. Gretchen looked at it with trepidation.
“Don’t you worry. It’s dead now, miss,” Rose reassured her. “This one I did throw a skillet at. A big heavy dwarven cast iron one, too, not one of those lightweight gnomish-made pans.” She winked, then opened the door.
Once inside, Rose kindled an alchemical lamp then upturned a wooden keg. A large black heap of fur, roughly the size of a dog, fell out.
“We’re waiting for an exterminator to come round for the corpse,” Rose explained with a shrug. “Figured they might want to study this thing.”
Curiosity piqued, Gretchen came closer and nudged the heap with her foot. It shifted, and she realized that she was looking at a rat. A giant rat, with two heads. Each of the heads had a set of beady eyes—glazed over now—and a mouth full of vicious, jagged teeth. Its fur was patchy, the skin below red and inflamed, as if it had been burnt off. Amidst the patches were dozens of long scratches, ridges of dried blood crusted on the edges of each wound.
“What happened to this thing?” Gretchen asked in amazement.
“Not sure about the burns,” Rose answered, “but the scratches are compliments of that cat. Like I said, cat burst into the kitchen ready for a fight. Maybe it knew the rat was here. Once that rat popped out though, the cat attacked. Gave him a right walloping, too. Once they separated long enough for me to get a clean shot, I beaned that rat right in the head with my skillet. Well, in one of its heads anyways.”
“My fierce warrior.” Marigold punched Rose affectionately on the arm.
“After that,” Rose continued, smiling back at Marigold, “the cat just sauntered out the back door like nothing had happened. I looked for it after I made sure this hideous thing was dead, but the cat was gone.”
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After thanking Rose and Marigold and settling her bill, Gretchen stood in the street outside of the tavern, thinking. This whole ordeal was starting to get weird. When she first agreed to find Princess, she confidently thought the cat would just be lounging a few houses down from the Millers. At worst, maybe it had climbed a tree in one of the city’s parks. Either way, she had expected to spend no more than an hour looking for the thing.
But now, after the cat had wondered half-way across the City only to attack some sort of mutated rat, Gretchen wasn’t so confident. She had a lingering feeling that fate was at play here, that she was on the outside looking in at something larger than she had initially imagined.
She let out a dejected sigh.
“You’re going to ask Barty for help, aren’t you?” Bumblebee asked from his lounging position on her hat. She had thought he was asleep, passed out from his gluttonous meal.
“Yes. He’s going to rub my face in it, too. I just worry about interfering with the flows of fate. But at the same time, I worry that I’m already caught up in those flows. That, or it’s all just one big coincidence and I’m overanalyzing the entire thing to death. Wouldn’t be the first time.”
Gretchen checked her mechanical pocket watch and was shocked to see that she’d spent more time at lunch than she’d realized. She’d have to pause the hunt for today if she was still planning on reporting the trafficker to the Fae Embassy.
She smiled as she started the long walk back to the Arcane Quarter. At least she would accomplish one thing of worth today.
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Bartholomew Reginald Leslie Ravensblood—known more simply as Barty to his close acquaintances—sat at a workbench high in his tower, enjoying his favorite hobby. In front of him, alchemical flames flickered beneath a delicate glass flask, its blue liquid contents bubbling gently. Vapor rose from the boiling liquid and was then trapped and funneled into a helical glass spiral, the vapors shifting in color from blue to purple as they cooled. A small flask at the end of the device collected the precipitation, one rich amethyst drop at a time.
Barty watched the process, and though it was something he’d seen a thousand times before, he still smiled at the magic of it. In truth, there was actually no magic involved in turning the liquid into a gas and back into a liquid. It was purely science. But then, to those with Barty’s knowledge and experience, the line between science and magic was thin indeed.
A knock at the tower’s door broke his concentration.
“NOT. For. Hire.” he shouted out, magically amplifying the words until his glassware shook gently with the reverberations.
“Please sir,” a voice drifted up to him. “I’m here for a potion.”
“Well why didn’t you say so!” Barty shouted down. He turned off the alchemical burner then grabbed the flask of purple liquid and swallowed its contents down in one quick pull. Barty had started brewing this Longevity Potion over a century ago, commissioned by a warlord who, on his death bed, had the hubris to dream of cheating fate. Unfortunately for the man, he’d died a few short months later, long before the tonic’s precursor ingredients had finished maturing.
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
One man’s loss, Barty thought. He smacked his lips, enjoying the interplaying of flavors: the potion’s sharp citrus top note gave way to a tangy rhubarb middle that lingered on the tongue before eventually fading into the subtle but undoubtedly delicious aftertaste of irony.
He huffed down the steps to the tower’s receiving room, beard tucked back over his shoulder to prevent himself from tripping over it.
“Yes, yes,” he said as he opened the door. “What manner of elixir do you seek? And I warn you, if you say the words ‘love potion’ I swear I will turn you into a toad. And I dare say you’ll be the kind that does not get kissed.”
The man at the door was short and squat, and wore a finely tailored pinstripe suit. His chins, strangled as they were by his shirt collar, bobbed as he swallowed a sudden lump in his throat.
“Good day. I am Hefestus Crane, owner of Hefestus Industries. I’ve heard a legend of a potion that can bring good luck. Is such a thing possible?”
“Oh indeed. Elementary, really. I could have it ready for you in a fortnight.” Barty started to withdraw back into the tower, shutting the door in the man’s face.
“Actually, uh, great wizard.” The man’s eyes narrowed and he licked his lips as he spoke. “If such a thing were possible, is not its inverse also possible?”
“You wish a potion that brings you bad luck?” The bushy white caterpillars that were Barty’s eyebrows first rose with shock before lowering and drawing close with suspicion. “Why would you want such a thing?”
“My reasons are my own, sir. Perhaps I find myself too successful in business and merely wish to challenge myself. Now, I’ve heard that you’re the best potion maker in the City, so I came here first. Are you able to make such a thing, or should I seek out Aleister Thelema instead?”
“Pah!” the wizard snorted in derision. “That hack Thelema’s potions are as likely to poison you as change your luck. And speaking of poison, I’ve a good idea what you intend and I’ll have no part of it. Good day, sir.”
The tower door slammed shut with such force that a rain of mortar, dust, dried pigeon shit, and dead ivy leaves showered down on the businessman. He spat on the tower’s foundation, the thick phlegm defying gravity as it tenaciously adhered to the brick wall. Then he turned on a dime and stormed off into the heart of the Arcane Quarter.
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About a block away from the embassy, Bumblebee alighted from Gretchen’s hat to fly beside her, his shimmery green wings emitting a low-pitched buzz.
“All that riding around, I thought maybe you’d forgotten how to fly,” Gretchen joked.
“Yes, well. You are a very capable chauffeur, but I do have an image to maintain.” He ran a hand over his pants, smoothing out the wrinkles, before doing the same to his short brown hair.
The twin suns were growing lower as Gretchen and Bumblebee rounded the corner towards the embassy’s main entrance. They found themselves in the shadow of the tall building, and Gretchen shivered as she drew her jacket tight. Winter would be here soon. She hoped that Princess was able to stay warm, whenever she was. Assuming she was still alive.
The embassy’s entrance was flanked by two centaurs, their upper torsos covered in ceremonial armor. The silver filagreed breastplates gleamed in the golden, dusky light. They nodded solemnly to Gretchen, while greeting Bumblebee with the formal welcome of state.
“Hail Brother, and be welcome to our hospitality,” the centaurs announced in unison.
“Hail Brothers, and I accept your hospitality,” Bumblebee replied in turn.
Gretchen and Bumblebee were swallowed by an even deeper shadow as they entered the embassy. The large, dimly-lit lobby eschewed the bright alchemical lamps that were all the rage in the City. Instead, torches lined the walls and wrought iron cresset baskets hung from the ceiling, both contributing to a pall of sooty smoke that lingered just below the tall ceiling. The lobby contained multiple doorways leading off to restricted areas of the embassy, and an armored centaur stood guard at each.
In the center of the lobby was a semicircular wooden counter, its highly polished surface reflecting the flames above. Wooden scrollwork lined the front of the counter, and the detailed engravings made it appear as if vines and trees were slowly overtaking the furnishing. Four satyr stood behind the counter, lines snaking out before them. Gretchen took a spot in the nearest line, where a satyr was talking to a fairy.
“I’m sorry sir,” the satyr said, “fairy circle number four is already booked for the night of the solstice. However, fairy circle number…nine is available,” he said after consulting a chalkboard calendar behind the desk.
“I didn’t know there was a number nine. Where’s is that?” the fairy asked.
“It’s located in the Emerald Grove. A truly fantastic area this time of year. The dogwood trees are stunning after a light dusting of snow. Believe me, you’ll never want to leave.”
“That does sound quite lovely. Where is this Emerald Grove?”
“Just past Buxton.”
“Buxton?! That’s almost four hours!” the fairy fumed.
“Yes sir. But the solstice is just a week away.” The Satyr paused for emphasis and leveled a stern look at the fairy that Gretchen could clearly interpret as meaning it’s your fault for waiting so long, so don’t yell at me. “The closest circles book up months in advance.” He reached for a piece of chalk. “Would you like me to put your reservation in for number nine?”
“Yes,” the fairy sighed. “Thank you.”
The Satyr made a few quick scratches on the chalkboard then yelled, “Next in line!”. The fairy flew off, a look of frustration writ plainly across his minute face.
“Hullo Bumblebee!” The satyr said as Gretchen and her winged friend approached the counter. He wore a very human-like pair of pants along with a crocheted cardigan, and a broad smile split his face.
“Hello Thornapple. Nice to see you.”
“You as well. How can I help the two of you today?”
“We’ve come to file a report.” Gretchen found that she was clenching her fists. She took a deep, slow breath and then placed her hands on the counter. “A pet shop owner over in the Arcane Quarter implied that he trafficked in fae. Offered to buy Bumblebee from me, if you can believe it.”
A hush fell over the room at Gretchen’s accusation.
“Unfortunately, I can very well believe that, miss. Humans can be thoroughly vile creatures,” he sneered. “Present company excluded, of course,” he added belatedly.
“Thank you for reporting this. Can you provide a business name or location for this store? I’ll get started on the paperwork and launch an investigation into the potential violation of City ordinance right away. Don’t you worry, we’ll ensure that the matter is handled promptly.” His eyes had locked with Bumblebee’s while speaking, and they shared a slow, knowing nod.