Chapter 2: Potion Shoppe Story

The snow had been falling for a few hours – the soft, fluffy kind that foreigners dreamed of, and so very rarely got. It had quickly piled up until it was an inch or an inch and a half thick, enough to reach halfway up the toecap of his old military boots. It wasn’t enough to be a bother. Ivan kept his hands in his pockets and carried on walking.

About a month ago, the snow would have brought the new university students running from their dorms, eager to experience the sensation of a true Northern winter. Many of them wouldn’t have seen snow before at all. It was a yearly event, a hubbub of snow angels and snowmen and snowballs and pretty much any combination of the above.

By now, though, most of them had wised up to the fact that snow wasn’t just pretty. ‘Pretty’ wasn’t even the primary attribute. The primary attribute of snow was that it was cold and it was wet, and that was a lesson most of them learned the hard way. Most of them weren’t built to handle it the way the natives were, and a month on, the sight of snow in the air sent them all scurrying back to their dorms.

It left the campus curiously empty, and it rubbed Ivan the wrong way. He’d walked the zones too long, and now places that should have been lively but weren’t – abandoned malls, husks of old towns, the withered shells of country farmsteads – filled him with a curious sense of dread. It was funny, really. After his return from the army, he’d felt vulnerable and exposed any time he was in a crowd; now, these moments of isolation were what made him feel the need to look for cover. It was a problem he tried to solve by drinking, with sharply limited success.

Beneath his coat, he had begun to sweat.

His body had felt sluggish lately – at first just a little, and then it got worse all at once. Now even the weight of his clothes was a burden. Even walking was a chore. He’d made a living for himself on the strength of his body and the steadiness of his hands, and now that body was betraying him.

It came with the worst possible timing, too. He’d only recently been recruited by a new employer, one he was eager to impress. Falling sick as soon as he went on payroll hadn’t been part of the plan. The company medical officer had found no physical reason for his malaise, something that seemed to surprise nobody in particular. He’d been presented with a note that he was sure was notice for his termination – only to find that it was something completely different.

It was a prescription for a particular medicine, which he was to seek out at the University’s potion shop. He was familiar enough with the grounds after having spent his summer working as a glorified tour guide for the more curious students, but he hadn’t been aware of any potion shops. He’d assumed it would be one of the shops that had sprouted at the front of campus to deal with those pressing student needs – stationary, packaged meals for those who couldn’t cook, and the like – but had no luck.

After some time spent roaming around and wondering dully if he’d been sent on a snipe hunt, he found it nestled up against the side of one of the lab buildings. At first he’d assumed it was a gift shop or cafe, since it had an adjacent garden plot that seemed like it would be a nice place to sit and eat, but apparently he’d been mistaken.

The shop itself was wood-furnished, with a wide front window that had been kept free of superfluous advertisements. But for the fact that the racks within had vials and tonics instead of pills and ointments, it looked disappointingly like a regular (if slightly old-fashioned) pharmacy.

He checked the note he’d been given one more time, before sighing and pushing open the door. A bell tinkled as he entered, but no salesperson came to greet him. Probably in the back, fussing over a cauldron. One could only hope. It gave him a little extra time to look around, peering at the little colourful bottles on their hooks.

You break it, you buy it – AND you clean it up. Shop managed by artillery mages. Don’t test your luck, was written in chalk on a sandwichboard at the front of the shop. It looked like the Don’t had been erased and rewritten a few times, as if two employees were arguing over it being there. He was peering in to look closer when he was startled by a thump from the back of the shop.

“Whooooooooof! Sorry, just had to vent off some fumes in the back, we’ve got something real potent cooking up. Yoohoo, customer! Where are yoooou?”

The owner of the singsong voice found him quickly – not that he’d been trying to hide, although he briefly contemplated it. Before he knew it, he was being borne down upon by a woman a full head taller than him, clad in a form-hugging witch’s robe and with a matching hat perched jauntily on her head. Her fringe, kept uneven so it swept over one side of her face, had been dyed a deep violet.

Someone, in a fit of comedic genius, had given her a capelet that hung down over her chest, in a vain attempt to disguise her truly prodigious bust. The way it hung only emphasised the truly enormous assets she was working with.

“Well hey, shortie,” she greeted him, looking him up and down. Mostly down. Although she had a face that could be politely called ‘gothic’ (and more impolitely called ‘gloomy’), she had an irrepressible sense of cheer to her voice. “What can I do you for? Just browsing, or looking for something in particular?”

“I’m not short,” he replied, perhaps a little grumpily. He was right. He knew he was right. It wasn’t that he was short, it was that he happened to be surrounded by people taller than him at every waking moment.

“Sure, sure. You want some growth tonic? A jar of this will fix you right up. Works if you apply it as a lotion, too, for more discrete locations. Go ahead, ask me how I got this big,” she said, winking and thumping a fist against her chest. The swaying went on for a few seconds.

“Diet,” he replied.

“Diet! Hah! That’s a good one. I haven’t been on a single diet in my entire life. I keep trim with good, wholesome exercise,” she said, although he had his doubts about the wholesomeness. “So, what’re you here for?”

He gave her the note. She looked at it, and her eyes – which matched her hair in colour – opened just a little wider.

“Hold your horses there, shortie. You want that potion? That stuff’s way too potent to be giving out without a good reason. Why do you need it?”

“I’ve been suffering from exhaustion. My boss told me to get the potion, so here I am.”

She looked him up and down again – more closely this time. “Hmm… Listen, this isn’t stuff you wanna get hooked on. You sure there’s not another way to handle your exhaustion? You sleeping right? Getting enough exercise?”

He arched an eyebrow. “Do I look like I need more exercise?”

She snickered. “You look like you’re wearing a coat.”

He couldn’t say she was wrong, but he still found it irritating. He quickly unbuttoned his overcoat and lifted the sweater and tank-top beneath it, showing off a solid set of abs. He looked at her, as if to say: Your move.

“Ooh. You draw those on with marker?” she joked, but immediately ran her hands over his stomach. “Nice, nice. You’re in great shape.”

“I’m ex-military. I keep myself fit. By the way, you can stop touching them now.”

“I definitely could,” she said, and didn’t. After a few more seconds she decided she’d tried his patience enough. “So, it’s not a lack of exercise, huh… You get yourself a new girlfriend, then? Having trouble keeping up with her?”

“I’m not seeing anybody right now.”

She nodded idly, as if filing that information in her head for further consideration. He had a bad feeling, and it only intensified when she broke out into a smirk. Her eyes glinted like a cat’s.

“So, ex-military boy. Been running any Zones lately?”

He coughed. “If I had, I couldn’t tell you.”

Zones – or thaumic exclusion zones, as they were formally known – were wild spaces where magic ran rampant and the laws of physics as you knew them could be suspended at a moment’s notice. They also bristled with magically irradiated artefacts, trinkets from the old world that had been given strange properties by their new and hostile environment. They were dangerous but potentially lucrative, a combination that brought would-be treasure hunters from all over to gamble life and limb on a good haul.

They were also, however, of great interest to the military, who kept as many of them as they could cordoned off under strict supervision. Trespassing into a zone was a federal crime, and if found guilty you would be given some nominal prison time in which to contemplate your life choices before being summarily black-bagged as soon as your sentence was up.

Students at the university were sometimes permitted on expeditions into local, well-known Zones to study the magical topography, and sometimes Ivan was permitted to guide them. But most of his trips had been of the distinctly sublegal variety.

“Hah. That’s a yes if I ever heard one,” the witch carried on, tapping the side of her nose. “Well, good news! With that information, your dear little Doctor Sonya can make a diagnosis! You, shortie, are suffering from what we in the industry call ‘magic sensitivity’.”

He tilted his head a little, an invitation to continue. She jumped on it gleefully; like most intellectuals, she couldn’t resist a chance to flex her knowledge.

“See, when a humanoid being is born, they’re born with… I guess you’d call it a layer of insulation against magic. Most spells and other magical phenomena don’t take on them, and if they do, the effects are reduced,” she explained smugly. “It’s why the military doesn’t just use mages to burn whole cities down – a lot of the civilians would just come wandering out of the fire with nothing worse than a bit of heatstroke.”

“I heard about that in basic training. A lot of the higher ups were saying magic is useless for warfare.”

“Well, it sorta is… right now. See, that little layer of insulation? That doesn’t last forever. When bad boys like you go wandering into high magic areas like the Zones, or get caught in some weird magical crossfire, that protection erodes. And when it goes, you never get it back. It’s like getting your magic cherry popped.” She grinned to herself, apparently delighted with the metaphor.

“And that results in falling sick, like I did?” he asked.

“Ooh, not quite. You’re actually not sick at all. It’s just that, now you don’t have that layer, you’re subject to all the magic hanging around in the air, and when you move, it’s pushing back against you. You can think of it like an extra layer of air resistance. You’re tired because you’re working a lot harder to do basic stuff, and that fatigue adds up.”

He scratched his chin. “The effect is really that bad?”

“Oh, in a high magic area like this? Sure. It’s like… you know those hanging bead curtains you see in weird shops and stuff? Around here, it’s like pushing through one of those with every step. In a really high magic area like a Zone, it’s like walking underwater.” She gave him a sidelong glance, grinning widely. “Normal people usually end up completely bed-bound, but I’m guessing those abs of yours are actually doing something for ya.”

“And this is just a thing I have to live with?” He found himself regretting asking the question; he didn’t feel like he wanted to know the answer.

“Nah. After a couple weeks, most people adapt to be able to use the magic in the air to enhance their movements, which tends to balance it out. Heck, most of us end up moving even better in high magic environments than we did before we went through it.” She snapped her fingers urgently. “Oh, right! I should probably mention, almost every mage you’ve met has been through this before as a kid. From what we can tell, kids who get magic sensitivity end up developing some level of innate magical talent, but adults don’t get any perks. No spell-slinging for you, shortie.”

He sighed, relieved. “Right. So it’s not permanent. What’s the medicine for, then?”

“Oh, it’s not really medicine, I guess. It’s just the mother of all energy drinks. One hit of the stuff will keep most experienced mages ticking for three days straight. Really popular in exam season, although people kept getting hooked so we had to stop giving them out.” She sighed fondly, apparently recalling her own misadventures with the stuff. “You won’t get the full effects until you’re done acclimating, so it should be safe to give you if you stick with the recommended dose.”

He folded his arms and tipped his head down in thought, letting the information settle in his mind. He had never been accused of being a quick thinker, but the difference between a simple man and a stupid one was whether they understood their limitations. He let things percolate. He gave them time.

“But while you’re here,” Sonya went on, heedless of his musings, “why don’t you look around and see if there’s any other fun stuff you want to take home? I saw you looking at a few things.”

He shrugged, and gestured to the racks with an open palm; they were a maze of unlabelled vials, apparently sensical to the people who worked there but nobody else. Maybe that was the point. You couldn’t exactly steal randomly from a place like this, since who knew what you’d be chugging when you got home. “I was just wondering what some of it was.”

“Oh, that one?” she jumped in as his hand trailed over a random vial. Whatever was inside was pink, but the bottle had been decorated with black glitter. He didn’t even know they made black glitter. “You’ve got good taste. That’s actually one of my own personal brews.”

“What is it, then?” he asked. Slowly, giving her every chance to stop him, he took a vial from the rack and gave it an experimental shake. Something about the consistency worried him.

She gave him the biggest grin she’d shown since he walked in. “Oh, it’s lube.”

He considered immediately dropping the bottle, but the sign at the entrance made him reconsider how committed he was to the bit.

“But it’s magic lube,” she carried on, as if that meant anything at all to any sensible person. She gently took the vial from his hands; her fingers were warm as they brushed across his.

“I’m probably going to regret asking, but… what does it actually do?”

She took a step forwards, apparently delighted to find somebody with even a begrudging interest in her work. One step forwards was a lot, when your chest went out that far in front of you.

“Well, you know how people say, ‘Don’t stick your dick in crazy’?”

As far as the first lines of sales pitches went, that one did not inspire confidence.

“Well, I think that’s a little discriminatory,” she said. She had somehow managed to sidle up right next to him, as if they were comrades in arms. “After all, crazy girls need dick too! In fact, I have it from a reliable authority that crazy girls need more dick than average!”

He had a sinking feeling that this reliable authority would list her as a primary source. He tried to step away, but she had caught his hand. It occurred to him then that she was very large and he was very tired and she could probably pin him to the wall without trouble and do whatever she wanted from there, if the thought occurred to her.

“So, I made this stuff. It acts as insulation from crazy energies and shields your dick while you’re in there.”

Crazy energies? Insulation? He wasn’t even sure how the concept of that was supposed to work, but he had a feeling that staying quiet would let her take the reins of the conversation entirely. “So… Does it work?” he asked, for want of anything better.

“Don’t know,” she said carelessly, sloshing the bottle around in her hand. “Haven’t found a willing test subject yet.”

He sighed. “Well, not a lot of people want to be first in line to test stuff like this. Seems dangerous.”

Her eyes glinted, and he realised she’d caught him like a mouse in a trap. “Oh? But you’re a brave guy, creeping around in those Zones all the time. I bet you could handle the taste of danger. Why don’t you do a little part time work for me, hm? Help me test out a few things? You can start right away. Just flip that sign to closed and come on into the back with me.”

“I don’t think I’m eligible. I don’t know any crazy girls willing to fuck me,” he said woodenly. He wasn’t sure if it was a lie or not; some of the girls he’d met recently had been a few apples short of an orchard.

“Don’t you? Are you sure about that?” she asked, and her mouth was close to the tips of his pointed wolf ears and there was a trill in her voice that escaped all the way down his spine and into every part of his body that could tingle. He was struck by the violent realisation that some parts of him were more tired than others, and his dick was not one of those parts.

“I’m sick and exhausted,” he tried. “The last thing I need is trying to satisfy a crazy girl who needs more dick than average.”

“Aw, shortie,” she purred. She embraced him from the back, her arms sliding down him under his coat and under his shirt and trailing across to his abs, her long pointed fingers resting on the edge of his waistband. “Have you been doing all the work, all this time? You know you can just sit back and let a girl ride, don’t you? But…” The was a sudden hum of irritation in her voice, the suppressed sigh of a woman who has to give up a prize when she doesn’t want to. “It would skew the data, I guess.”

She let him go. She didn’t actually let him go. She kept her arms where they were and petulantly allowed him to untangle himself. If her hands had trailed a little lower and found his erection, he doubted she’d have let bad data keep her from a good time. Suddenly he could barely keep his eyes off her fingers, the violet-painted nails that had been so close to his cock.

“Well, better get this prescription served, then,” she said, bouncing back into abrupt cheerfulness. “You just wait here, and I’ll get back to you. Maybe flex in the window a little, draw in some customers.”

He looked out of the window pensively, considering the opportunity he had just turned down. He didn’t flex, and no customers came in. There was nobody passing by in the snow outside at all.

After some rummaging in the back, she called him over to the register and gave him a large paper bag that felt curiously heavy. The instructions and dosage, she said cheerfully, were all inside.

“And I slipped a few bottles of you-know-what in there as well. Just in case you feel like paying me a visit in two weeks time for some… you know. Scientific rigour,” she giggled conspiratorially.

“I’ll… I’ll keep that in mind,” he replied. He wasn’t sure how to keep it off his mind.

“Oh, and by the way,” she called as he turned to leave. Her mouth curled into a sly smile; the glint in her eyes was back, and stronger than ever.

“Mm?”

“Say hi to mommy for me.”

“Mommy?”

“Catherine. Your boss,” she said, leaning her elbows on the counter and grinning. “That’s her handwriting on the note you gave me.” She let the words sink in for a long moment. Her smile was brilliant. Blinding. Familiar. “I’ll see you in two weeks, handsome. Rest up well.”

The snow kept falling, but he barely felt the cold as he loped back through the city. The burning in his face was more than enough to keep him warm.