Chapter 42
Forty-Two
In three days, you take him to the apothecary.
She gives him a vial, and says, “This tincture reactivates the residual magic inside you. One drop works for a day.”
Cyrus looks at the vial, and the milky-white liquid inside it, like an answered wish he cannot yet bring himself to believe in. “So,” he says, “the whole bottle, then…?”
“Would last you for a long time,” she says.
In a quietly bewildered voice, he says, “Thank you.”
“I could not fix up something permanent like you wanted,” she says, “but I made a second vial. If you drank them both… Well, that is as close to permanent as anyone could make for you.”
When he takes the second vial from her, his shoulders sag with relief. He says, with more feeling, “Yes, thank you.”
You are losing him. Two vials, and that’s it. You have lost him.
“Maybe start with one drop to see if it works,” you suggest as you lead him out of the shop. It is your way of ensuring the tincture’s success as much as it is your attempt to hold onto him for just a little longer. If he sees through your scheme, he doesn’t say as much. He simply agrees with you.
At the lake, Cyrus swallows one drop.
And you’ve never seen anything more beautiful in your life than his body becoming his body.