Caz flushed, embarrassed. “If she can, I’d be grateful. I know you told me not to touch the tree, but I needed that sample. If what you said is true, maybe the Academy could petition the Crown. One of the Masters might bring it forward, to explain the disease, find out why it’s spreading. Maybe it could stop it before it gets worse.” He sighed. “I was just trying to help.”
“I know,” I murmured. “It’s alright.”
“Mag!”I called, my voice echoing past the empty stand at the front of the shop. When no answer came, I tried again. “Mag, it’s me, Odessa! I need your help!”
My eyes flicked to the hearth. The fire was burning strong, well-tended.
“What is this place?” Caz asked, his gaze fixed on the walls, lined with shelves overflowing with mismatched bottles andjars of every shape and size. The air was thick with the scent of sage and something sweeter. Wisteria, maybe. A light haze of smoke drifted through the room. The apothecary looked just as it had six years ago. The only difference now was how packed it had become. The shelves had multiplied, the items had grown, and there was barely room to stand, let alone sit.
“This is Mag’s apothecary,” I said. “She’ll be out in a minute.” I glanced around, unsure if she was actually here at all.
I hadn’t stepped foot in Mag’s shop since that day six years ago. We waited in silence for what felt like ages, and I reassured Caz again that she would appear.
Mag was... strange. It always felt like she wasn’t entirely part of this world. Most folk in Brier Len would agree. She was as much an outsider as she was a fixture. Over time, she’d come to be known as “Mad Mag.”
It wasn’t that Mag was truly mad, just that her way with skirtsfolk gave that impression. Her face was usually drawn into a severe scowl, and her words struck like a whip, with little patience for weakness. Still, her apothecary was the closest thing to a healer’s sanctuary that Brier Len had. Most folk only came to her when they were desperate, when waiting any longer no longer seemed like an option, and the alternative was just as grim.
A sudden, loud thud echoed through the room, and both Caz and I jumped. I took a cautious step toward the noise and called out, “Mag? Is that you?”
Another rattling sound followed, and something clattered to the floor.
“Mag! Are you alright?” I rushed toward the commotion behind the stand, expecting to find Mag sprawled out or throwing things around like a wild woman.
Instead, I was met with a sharp yowl and an ear-splitting screech.
I yelped and stumbled back.
A mass of black fur and wild yellow eyes slinked toward me. With a grimace, I took in the full sight of the creature. It had crooked fangs anda scruffy, matted coat. Easily the ugliest cat I’d ever seen, and also as large as they come. It hissed, low and mean, and I lifted my hands in surrender, slowly backing away until it seemed satisfied with the space between us.
“Wild thing,” I muttered. “Can you at least tell Mag we’re here? We’ve been waiting forever.”
I retreated to Caz’s side, but the cat showed no intention of fetching anyone. It yowled again, loudly, then simply sat and stared at us.
Another moment passed. Then came another clatter from the back, and I silently prayed to the gods it wasn’t another cat. Thankfully, my prayer was answered.
Heavy footsteps pounded toward the front, followed by a muttered chant. “A petal of echinacea, dried, not freshly plucked. The stem of valerian, harvested at high noon. The blade of lemon balm, sharp apex, rounded base, highly veined. Yarrow bulb…”
“Serph!” Mag’s voice cracked like a whip. “What havoc have you unleashed now?”
From behind a flutter of mismatched curtains, Mag appeared, scowl carved deep, eyes sharp as ever.
But the moment her gaze landed on me, she froze. Still as stone. Her head tilted slightly, gaze narrowing with eerie focus.
She looked exactly as I remembered. An old crone, wrinkled and hunched, her presence as strange and commanding as ever. Slowly, she stepped forward, eyes locked on mine. And with every step, the weight of her stare pressed down harder, thick as storm air.
“You,” she murmured, pointing at me, her voice low. “The stars foretold your return to me. Our fates are tied. Once before, twice now, and soon again, for a third time.”
I ignored the remark. “Mag, we need your help. This is Caz, my friend. He’s badly hurt in his shoulder and hand, maybe more.”
I turned to Caz and gave him a small nod toward her, a quiet prompt to speak. He hesitated, then cleared his throat. “Uh, hello. I’mCazimir. I think my shoulder’s dislocated, and there’s a sharp pain in my hip too.”
Mag tilted her head and began to circle him, eyes narrowed. Her worn fingers brushed over the torn fabric of his scholar’s cloak, gliding down his back before pinching the material between her fingers.
“A scholar’s pride, draped in blue,” she muttered, eyes tracing the embroidery on his hood. “A mind worthy of the Crown’s coin, is it? Tell me, scholar, what do you truly know? I, for one, question the worth of knowledge when the answers given are never the ones sought.”
Caz glanced at me, unsure. I shrugged, giving him a look that said ‘just go with it’.
Mag circled him, her eyes narrowed in scrutiny until she stopped in front of him again. She sniffed the air, her wrinkled nose twitching as she drew in a deep breath. In a flash, she grabbed Caz’s wrist, yanked back his cloak, and exposed the raw, blistered skin of his palm.
