Chapter 39
Thirty-Nine
The apothecary shop is just as you remember it, though a much younger woman stands behind the counter now.
“Ah, my old mentor died last year,” she says. “But she taught me everything she knew before she died, so perhaps I can assist? You want something that will make you into a swan? You were cursed?”
She strokes her chin, thinking. Then she begins rifling through the many jars on the many shelves behind her, taking stock of what she has, muttering under her breath.
Do you want her to have something that will work?
Do you want to go home empty-handed?
You’re trying not to want anything at all, which is maybe the best you can do.
“Let me see your wing,” she says to Cyrus, and he offers it. She examines it as one might examine a dissected newt, eyes hard and scientific behind her glasses, ideas blowing smoke out her ears.
“And you want this transformation to be permanent?” she asks.
“If that’s possible,” he says.
She clicks her tongue.
“Come back in three days’ time.”