Chapter 1 #3
‘I promised that if you guessed your true name,’ he said, locking his dark blue eyes with hers, ‘I would return your memories and heart, and you would be free to leave.’ He unspooled a leaf of parchment that bore signatures, but Thea was too panicked to read it properly.
She clamped a hand to her chest, an unfamiliar sensation unmooring her.
Where once there must have been a rhythmic thudding, now there was a flutter that felt too light, too insubstantial. ‘What did you do to my heart?’
His eyes drifted to the heart-shaped box he held like lost treasure. ‘I promise you, Theodora, that I will take great care of it. You may not remember, but you asked for this as well. The spell woven here is a masterpiece. It will not fail.’
With that, he’d handed her the keys to the apothecary and walked away. Leaving her reeling in place. ‘No, no,’ she shouted after him. ‘You cannot leave me here, I have no memory of making this deal!’
‘A deal is a deal, and I never renege on a deal,’ he said without turning.
A spurt of blackberry juice hit Thea’s cheek now, distracting her from her memories.
Wiping it away, she blinked hard. Filtering the juice from the pulp into a little copper pan, she set it above a flame to simmer, adding water, a sprinkle of salt and a splash of homemade vinegar, fermented under the watchful eye of a wolf who was not always a wolf, and muddled in some fresh mint.
She loved crafting potions: the process soothed her, made her feel calm and in control.
A sharp contrast to the power that coursed through her veins: fate’s power.
The power of bargains and balances, which had been given to her by Lord Stiltskin, along with the apothecary itself.
Both for the small price of Thea’s heart, memories, and her name.
If that girl returned, this would be the power Thea would wield to grant her wishes, requiring the girl to pay for the service with time.
‘That smells divine.’
Thea startled, glancing up from her blackberry potion. ‘Sorry, I didn’t hear the bell ring.’ Wiping her hands on a nearby cloth, she smiled at the stranger by habit, though her mouth was tight; he’d intruded on her sanctuary.
The stranger’s embroidered blue waistcoat and matching jacket and breeches whispered of wealth; his light, tawny features peered out from under pomaded and powdered hair.
The apple tree in the corner blushed, its green apples glowing red.
Resting an elbow on Thea’s work desk, the stranger peered into the pan.
‘What are you making?’ He turned his gaze back onto Thea, his close attention sending warmth rushing to her cheeks.
How ridiculous. She was a grown woman around five and thirty, not a young girl harbouring a secret affection. Or a flighty apple tree.
‘I’m making ink,’ she told him. ‘A rich purple ink, imbued with protection and luck and love. It’s for writing beautiful letters that will arrive safely.’
Thea longed to write something lovely to send to a distant friend, or relative.
But without her memories, she didn’t know if there was anyone out there in the world for her.
Anyone who pined for her, as she pined for the idea of them.
Instead, she made this ink, to help others connect with their loved ones, even if she couldn’t find hers.
Sadness pinched her. Shaking it away, she added, ‘Is there anything that I can help you with?’ She ran an eye over him, realising that he was her fourth new customer of the day. How unusual.
‘Ah, yes.’ He straightened. ‘I’m having some trouble sleeping.’ His rueful smile revealed a single dimple on his smooth, clean-shaven face. Thea couldn’t help staring at it. It looked like it would perfectly fit the tip of her finger.
‘I have just the thing.’ Tearing herself away, she led the stranger back to the shop floor and up the spiral stairs to the mezzanine, where the moon hung like a suspended jewel.
When she glanced up from a velvet-lined drawer of sleeping potions, their silvery light playing over her face like starlight, the stranger was standing at the top of the staircase, staring around in wonder.
‘This is quite fascinating, Paní . . .?’
‘Thea will be fine,’ she said, a little shyly.
‘Malek.’ He canted his head. ‘A pleasure to meet you.’
Suddenly, the scent of blushing apples filled the apothecary.
Hiding her secret smile, Thea removed a sleeping potion before easing the drawer shut.
She tilted the glass bottle, watching the potion slink to one side.
Liquid moonlight. It gave off a soft lilac shimmer.
‘Add two drops of this to a cup of tea an hour before you wish to sleep. I recommend brewing this as an accompaniment.’ Crossing the mezzanine to a shelf lined with baskets, she ran a finger over the labels she’d penned with her favourite quill and sapphire-bright ink.
‘Happiness, Love, Luck . . . Ah, here, Sleep.’ Plucking a handful of sachets packed with her signature blend of valerian, lavender and camomile, strung out to dry beneath a star-spangled night, she handed both the brew and the potion to Malek, who was distracted.
‘Love? Can you truly brew a tea to make someone fall in love with you?’
‘No, you cannot. It’s one of the hardest things to do, even if you have magic coursing through you, to steal someone’s heart.’ Thea absent-mindedly touched her collarbone. With a start, she smiled at him. ‘That you’ll have to do the old-fashioned way.’
He slowly smiled back at her, flashing that dimple once more.
This close, she noticed the bags under his eyes, the bluish cast beneath the white powder he’d attempted to conceal them with.
‘No more than four drops per night,’ she cautioned, making her way back down and over to her counter, writing down the purchases and taking his coins.
‘Until next time, Thea.’ He lingered over her name, giving her pinpricks of delight.
‘I am certain we shall meet again soon.’ That dimple made another appearance before he strolled out into the gloaming hour.
Around him, the Magic Quarter was settling, with shoppers hurrying back for dinner, and the scent of cooking and potions – and perhaps a spot of rain – twining down the cobbled street.
Thea gazed after Malek. The ghost of her heart gave a solitary thump.