Page 27

PIPER

W oodroot’s Apothecary sits on an island in the middle of the Briar Hollows River.

For a long time, it was neutral territory, literally situated directly in between the two covens of Mystic Hollows.

Like Fitz, Morty is a witch who never picked a side.

He wasn’t a member of the Tenebris or Lumen covens.

Anybody could shop at his apothecary. His one rule is that while you’re inside his store, you have to be civil, regardless of what side of the river you live on.

A pedestrian bridge that has seen better days connects Morty’s tiny island to either side of Mystic Hollows.

The wooden structure sways when you walk on it, and I love how crossing it feels like a tiny thrill ride.

Will it hold firm? Or will a plank of wood disintegrate beneath my foot.

I’m sure Morty has it magically fortified, but it gives the illusion of something fragile.

Regardless of the time of day, the apothecary is always lit with a welcoming glow.

This morning's weather is gloomy and overcast. It makes me appreciate the golden lights spilling from the windows even more. The weathered wood siding and severe sloping roof lines give the building the look of a medieval cottage in a fairytale. There’s a massive window in front of the store where Morty displays a variety of goods.

Most are likely to cause people to turn away rather than go inside.

Faint wisps of wood smoke perfume the air.

It doesn’t matter what time of year it is, there’s always a fire going.

I head toward the back entrance, but I know the front of the store just as well.

The shelves overflow with spell ingredients.

Everything from animal bones, bird feathers, dried flowers, to human hair, and teeth.

Spells that I’ve helped make line rows of shelves in bottles big and small.

Some require an absence of light to hold their potency and are housed in the shop’s many dark corners.

Though it looks chaotic from a casual observer’s point of view, Morty knows the location of every item in this place.

I walk in through the back door that leads to what has essentially become my workshop over the years.

The smell of cedar smoke greets me, and I’m immediately comforted.

I’ve been helping Morty for years. In the beginning, it was mainly as a way to learn how to use my magic.

Morty is the best potions maker in Mystic Hollow. Probably in the entire Upper Peninsula.

Once I was old enough, his shop became a haven for me.

I could get away, and my father wouldn’t question it because I was bettering my magic.

And because it got me out of his hair. Once Tucker became my guardian, he didn’t let me come to Morty’s for several years until I finally broke free and got out on my own.

Morty swung his door wide and welcomed me back with open arms.

I used to work here for free. The Beaumont family has a large inheritance.

I don’t need extra money. Once I was on my own, Morty insisted that I take profits from the potions and elixirs that I made.

Morty pretends he’s not interested in my wellbeing.

He likes to act as though he doesn’t need help, but then he’ll turn around and say he’s stumped on a concoction.

He’s far superior at creating drafts and potions than me, so I know it’s a ploy.

I usually come in a few times a week, but I haven’t been by in the past few weeks. Between things with me and Ambrose, and the trials the coven is hosting, I’ve been busy. I feel bad that I’ve left Morty to deal with all of the store’s orders on his own.

As if my thoughts conjure him, Morty pushes through the doors that lead to the front.

“There you are. I was about to send a search party to make sure you were still alive.”

Morty is the most ostentatious–or fabulous–dresser I’ve ever met.

Sometimes both. It really depends on who you ask.

This morning, despite the early hour, he’s wearing a perfectly tailored red suit with a black button-up shirt underneath.

There's a large red tulle puff sticking out of the coat pocket, or maybe pinned to his lapel. It’s hard to tell.

He’s wearing a pair of round black glasses, but I suspect they’re just for show, because he rarely wears glasses.

“I heard a very big rumor about you, sweetheart.” He perches half a buttcheek on a tall stool.

My cheeks immediately flush because I know what rumor he’s talking about.

I feel bad that I didn’t come over to tell him sooner.

Morty and I have a unique relationship. He knows more about me than he lets on.

A while back he was at Fitz’s house when I stopped for a visit and she revealed I had a geas on me.

Morty took in the information and didn’t say another word about it.

I suspect he’s known about it for some time, but hasn’t asked because it was impossible for me to talk about.

Not that he knew that, but if I’m being honest, he probably did.

“Are you talking about the council thing?” I start gathering supplies to make a batch of the potions that sell out the fastest. I make the same ones every week.

Those are usually the ones for sexual enhancement.

We have a lot of horny old men in this town.

I make sure that an equal amount of libido enhancers get made to match all the erectile dysfunction medicine that goes out the door.

“Oh, don’t you dare.” Morty crosses his arms and shifts until he’s fully seated on the stool. He watches as I select ingredients from the shelves. Everything from raven’s feathers, crushed newt eyes, dried snakeskin, to cinnamon and sugar. I plunk them down on my workstation without looking at him.

“What are you talking about, then?” I continue to play dumb.

“Oh, please. Let me see the ring?” Morty makes grabby hands, and when I don’t whip out my hand fast enough, he impatiently snatches it.

“Why are your fingers taped?” Morty stares down at my hand before lifting angry eyes. “If you tell me that husband of yours did this–”

I yank my hand back and wince at the twinge of pain. “What? No. This was Tucker. During the first coven challenge.”

“That fuckwit. I thought he was taken care of. This Crone cursed coven,” Morty mumbles under his breath.

“He’s part of this coven challenge, so that makes him hard to avoid.”

Morty slides off his chair and walks over to a shelf filled with stock that hasn’t been placed upfront yet.

“You know who else was selected to be part of the council.” Morty raises his eyebrows at me as he looks over his shoulder.

“That was a fluke. I honestly don’t know why the magic picked me.” I start crushing herbs in a bowl, using my fingers to break them apart. The sprigs of dried lavender crumble and mostly make it in the bowl.

Morty sets a bottle on the counter in front of me. “I know why. You might try to hide who you really are from the world, but magic senses all.”

I scoff. “I’m just a kitchen witch. There’s nothing impressive about me.” I scrape the cinnamon against a small grater, being careful not to shred my knuckles in the process.

“You are not just anything. You think I let any random witch into my workshop, my darling.”

Morty calls everyone pet names. That’s just part of his southern charm. Although no one really knows exactly where he’s from. It’s only the slight twang of his accent that gives him away. He taps the bottle on my bench. “Drink this. It will help speed up the healing on your fingers.”

Grabbing a basket, he starts loading it with potions, drafts, and lotions from the overstocked shelves.

He doesn’t look at me as he continues his sermon.

“And don’t forget how far you’ve come, Sugar.

Sometimes it feels like we journey forever and never reach a destination.

But that’s because the end is a moving target.

We never stop growing and learning. If we do, we might as well be dead. ”

“I guess. It’s just…that doesn’t make me brave or worthy of leading anyone.”

He stops filling his basket and gives me his full attention. “I remember when you first walked into my store. You couldn’t even look me in the eye. But you were brave enough to ask me for a job. That took a lot of courage.”

I stare down at the mess I’ve made on my work counter. I’m not usually this untidy. “You could’ve done that without an ounce of fear.” I deny that it was anything impressive.

“Maybe, but we’re different people, Piper. For you, I know it took a lot of bravery. And now when you come in here, you look me in the eye. When I poke, you poke back. I see how much you’ve grown. And I know that you deserve a spot on the council.”

I give up on my mixture. I’m not paying attention. At this point, I’m as likely to make someone sprout horns instead of a hard on. “I’m not powerful.”

Morty hefts his now full basket to his side, his tuft of tulle nearly smothering his face.

He bats it away with an eye roll. “The things I do for fashion.” Then he makes sure I’m looking at him before he goes on.

“Your power is quiet, but that doesn’t mean it’s not strong.

” Morty squeezes my shoulder and heads to the front of the shop as the bell over the front door tinkles.

Before he leaves the back room, he points at me.

“Drink that potion. Or I will come back here and yell at you.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Save that for your husband.” He winks at me and then pushes through the doors with a flourish.

“Oh my God.” I groan and Morty’s laughter echoes behind him.