Episode 24
Michael’s eyes lit up when he saw the little bottle Lindsay had been watching. It matched the medicine listed in the document that the Marquess Nopen had given him.
“That is…”
“It’s a mana-boosting potion. One bottle should be enough. Price is one million gold.”
“That’s almost everything you’ve got?”
“I have one more bottle, but do you really want to waste money?”
“Buy that one too. Aiden.”
Michael called to the man standing behind Aria. Aiden pulled out two pouches of gold he’d prepared ahead of time and tossed them at Lindsay’s feet.
The coins jingled as Lindsay bent and picked up the pouch. The pouch used space-expansion magic too — stuffed full of coins.
She took another bottle of the potion out of her cloak and set it on the floor. When she nudged it lightly with the rounded toe of her purple shoes, the bottles rolled. The red liquid sloshed inside.
“Why’d you—!”
Aiden scrambled to scoop up the rolling bottles. Luckily, none were broken, but he was furious.
“Are you crazy? Rolling precious medicine around like that?!”
Lindsay gave him a calm look and answered dryly.
“Wasn’t it your custom to toss things on the floor? I at least rolled them for you.”
“You rude—!”
“Aiden.”
“Your Grace! But the medicine—”
“He’s still a business partner. Show some manners. Witch, that’s your second warning. There won’t be a third.”
‘Still a business partner,’ huh?
Lindsay thought about Michael’s words and told them when the potion should be taken and what changes to expect afterwards.
From Michael’s tightened face to Aiden’s angry chest, everyone listened to her for once.
“How will we know if she’s cured?” Michael asked.
“Check if mana is evenly present throughout her whole body, like today. The potion usually takes a day to work, so give it, then check the next day.”
After answering, Lindsay stood from the wooden chair, and Aiden dashed forward and slammed his hand down on her shoulder so hard she dropped into a seat.
Her butt stung from the sudden impact, and she scowled.
“Michael! Aiden—”
Aria, startled, rose from the sofa. To her, Aiden seemed like a playful older brother — someone she’d imagine as family. But this Aiden looked very different from the person she thought she knew.
Michael gently wrapped an arm around Aria’s shoulders and whispered into her ear.
“Don’t worry, Aria. He’s just worked up because we still have things to talk about.”
“But he tried to stand up—”
“I’m fine.”
Lindsay waved to reassure the worried Aria.
Michael told Orca to escort Aria out. Aria hesitated and looked back at the parlor until she’d left, then the door closed.
Lindsay casually asked, “Are you going to let her go out like that? The basement air wasn’t exactly healthy.”
“Mind your own safety,” Michael said.
Wow. What a way to answer.
As soon as Aria was gone, Lindsay tightened her fist. Something in her popped — a little bone-gnawing crack — and her smile twisted.
“We’ve got the medicine and the instructions. Anything else to do?”
Michael didn’t react to her teasing. He stared at Lindsay, who was still held by Aiden, sizing her up — not exactly friendly.
“Boss. Shall we move to the workshop?” Aiden’s tone had become lighter, and the way he addressed Michael had changed.
The moment Lindsay heard Aiden’s name, she clicked. She knew exactly what “workshop” meant.
Michael’s late father, the former Duke Perdeus, used to snatch kids, lock them up like animals, and force brutal training and experiments on them. Dozens died; those who survived were freed by Michael and went out into the world. They formed a mercenary group afterward — the Shadow Mercenaries.
The Shadow Mercenaries made the duke’s basement their base and remodeled the place however they liked. One of those rooms was the “workshop.”
It wasn’t for normal work. It was a torture room — a place used for interrogation and disposal for missions.
Still, I’m kind of a beneficiary of his actions.
Lindsay hoped Michael wouldn’t drag her into the torture room. In the book, he’d been a hero who protected the last of humanity, even if he hadn’t prevented every disaster. If any humanity remained in him, he might negotiate.
“Take her,” Michael said.
“Right away!”
The idealized hero in print, it turned out, had no mercy or conscience here. Lindsay’s face fell with disappointment.
Back at the shop, I rang up the last item and announced the price.
“Ten gold.”
I shoved the ten coins the customer gave into the pot under the counter.
“Excuse me… witch. What’s your relationship with the boss?” the customer asked.
I forced a smile like the witch told us to when dealing with customers, but my lips dropped a little.
The woman blushed and avoided my eyes. With the witch out, meeting a shady client, I was anxious. Why did people keep prying into our relationship?
Everything felt wrong. The witch leaving me, the sudden flood of customers, the sleepy kitten sprawled in a basket on the counter.
Holding in a rising rush of emotion, I told the woman politely about my relationship with Lindsay.
“We promised to be together for life.”
It wasn’t exactly a lie: Lindsay and I were bound by an open-ended contract.
The woman grabbed her medicine and hurried out; most of the other waiting customers left after her.
Where is the witch now? Is it dangerous to meet the client she found through the black market? The witch’s power isn’t something to ignore, but I worried anyway.
It can’t be love, the witch says — she always claims it’s just clinging to a lifeline. The way she brushes it off is almost funny.
Seeing her blush and then draw a line after inviting me over looks like flailing — refusing to accept a new feeling and clinging to the familiar. That kind of denial wouldn’t happen if she didn’t care. Realizing that made me breathe easier.
“Come again, please.”
After sending the last customer off, I looked at the cat in the basket. The black kitten lifted its head.
Its golden eyes were full of boredom and laziness and had no trace of worry for the witch.
“Nero, the sun’s going down.”
[The sun setting is just the normal way of nature,] the cat replied.
I stared at the cat that answered off-topic, but it said nothing more. The thirsty one must bow first.
“When will the witch be back?”
[She’ll come when it’s time.]
“You familiars can see your contracted witch, right?”
I spent half the day with the witch and the other half digging up information about her, but there wasn’t much. It’s hard to write much about a mystical being like a witch — like a dragon, she’s mostly a tale — but exceptions do exist.
Three days ago, I got my hands on a book that observed and described someone’s fascination with a mysterious woman. It recorded how the admirer met the woman and how their relationship grew.
The woman in that book used old-fashioned speech that didn’t fit her looks, brewed unusual magical medicines, and talked to a black crow she always carried. The book’s description matched the witch in so many ways — so maybe the witch’s cat has crow-like abilities too.
[Where did you hear that?] the cat asked, annoyed.
Hearing the cat’s snippy reply made my chest swell a little. I felt like I’d found a clue to get closer to the witch.
