Page 1 of Potion of Deception (Potion of Deception #1)

OMINOUS SIGNS

P ink smoke danced in the air emitting from a small cauldron. Dim light cast its rays on the floor at the exact moment a click came from the cash register.

Violette was closing the store and putting away the pots of brewing potions.

Lid after lid slammed shut over the vessels on their own until the smoke disappeared, and with it, all the magic dissipated.

Now, it was an ordinary room with several shelves and tables containing glass bottles filled with colorful liquids and ingredients for preparing even more magical concoctions.

She placed the stand of glowing bottles in an antique emerald cabinet, then locked it.

Her blue-gray eyes glimmered as the light in the remaining lamp went off and the fresh air caressed her face.

The old-fashioned beige sign that read ‘Closed, we are waiting for you tomorrow!’ gently swayed on the door, while the little, old bell above made itself known, awakening the silence in the alley.

The only living soul down the road was a black cat playfully wagging its fluffy tail as it watched the witch hurry home.

Warm lights were pouring from the windows of the cafe a few windows away from the ‘Potions and Magic Infusions’ shop; and the store across the street; it seemed like the owners worked longer than normal hours today. Same as Violette.

Just before closing, she had been detained by an indecisive old woman, who continually doubted the quality and reliability of the potions the store sold.

Violette didn't mind staying a little longer, she often did so, but of her own volition – when she was reading and missed closing time or lost herself while experimenting with the preparation of some new interesting liquids.

However, such customers had exhausted her and all she could do while talking with the woman was glance at the clock on the wall, which had long since struck nine o'clock in the evening.

The time was late. All the shops were closed except those few that were shining with inviting light, but no silhouettes in the windows were detected.

Most of the lanterns had already gone out and only one was still illuminating the path for the wanderers and those lost at such a late hour.

A strange somberness altered the air in a way that Violette had never noticed before, though she wasn't quite bothered by it; no one had ever heard of something happening in the Enchanted Alley that would later be written about in an emergency release of the local newspaper.

Furthermore, there was no better weapon than the magic wand attached to her waist.

The pounding echo of Violette’s patent leather boots on the cobblestone was disrupted when her attention drifted to the small alleyway.

Her body froze. The lonely lantern outlined her silhouette as her eyes glanced into the dark corner of the dead-end street.

Two male figures were standing at the wall, one ominously glared in her direction and a chill swept over her shoulders.

A black scarf covered half of the man's face; she saw nothing but black eyes that faintly flickered at her from the darkness; The echoing voices, ricocheting off the walls, fell immediately. An awkward silence hung in the air.

The other man frowned, his head bowed, fingers shaking, while the man with black eyes stayed peculiarly calm.

A knot tightened in Violette’s stomach, and she felt she did not belong.

No matter what was happening here, it was none of her business, and therefore she continued on her way, without a single word.

The lantern on the street was gleaming with dim light, the candle flame acted absolutely fickle and seemed to almost die out before flaring up again, as if warning her about something ominous.

Two yellow eyes belonging to a white owl glistened in the darkness above the green sign that said ‘Glasses from Avistar Aclarar’ as it watched people pass in the lane.

Violette tipped her head only to find the owl's gaze fixed on her – chilling and creepy, as if peering right into her soul.

She quickened her pace. Her boots bounced off the pavement as her light amethyst cape fluttered in the wind along with her dark brown hair.

The lock on the door clicked as Violette turned the handle and crossed the threshold into a dark corridor. The warm light from the lamp on the wall flickered slightly, casting her shadow on the floor.

Taking off her boots, she hung her silk cloak on a hook by the door and walked down a small hallway. With the snap of her fingers, the lights in all the rooms lit up. Her path led to the living room.

She stopped in the passage, leaning her shoulder on the wooden arch, her gaze lingering on the man dozing in a dark blue velvet chair.

A faint smile tugged her lips, but with that – invisible sadness burdened her existence.

She approached almost silently and squatted down, lightly touching the man's shoulder.

“Father,” she said softly, trying not to frighten him by abruptly snatching him from the clutches of his dreams.

Then she patted his shoulder once more, smiling gently as he opened his eyes through his lopsided glasses.

“You need to go to bed and rest,” Violette noted, helping him get up.

His back straightened as he clumsily adjusted his glasses, placing them back on his thin nose.

“I am fine,” he muttered sleepily and yawned. “I closed my eyes only for a second. How are things at the store? ”

“Everything is alright. It was a busy day.”

“Did I tell you how amazing you are?”

“A thousand and one times. I'm keeping count,” she teased with a faint smile.

Once she had shown her father to his bedroom, she went back downstairs.

Her body fell into the chair, hand covering her face.

She was tired –actually, exhausted – but not from work or what she'd been doing all day in the shop.

The heavy burden on her shoulders had weighed on her for several weeks now, ever since her father had fallen seriously ill.

Seeing him so lethargic and devoid of any joy was tearing at her heart, and it did not get easier with a new day.

The thought that he felt so sick didn't become commonplace and she couldn't get used to it, no matter how much time passed.

Just a couple of months ago he was a healthy man, her father, cheerful, absorbed in work and papers, and now…

all he could do was spend the whole day at home, sitting in a chair reading a book.

Occasionally he made it into the office, but tiredness overcame him too quickly to get any work done.

Violette constantly scolded him for it, although she understood that it was hard for him to sit and do nothing.

She couldn't imagine what torture it was for him to just sit at home without diversions, considering how he loved his job.

She herself couldn't imagine sitting in one place for days on end, without the opportunity to go out to do what she loves.

His strength was quickly leaving him, sometimes he looked too pale and helpless, and she found it difficult to stay around.

She knew that he needed her, but she couldn't bring herself to be in the same room with him for more than half an hour.

She almost always disappeared to the shop, and no matter how much she loved her father and wanted to spend time with him – his lifeless appearance was slowly killing her.

This was not her father, this was a completely different person, devoid of color and joy of life.

And despite him trying to sound more cheerful, more positive in conversations with her, she knew that he wasn't doing this sincerely, it was only to ease her worries.

He would never admit how hurt he was, just as she would never admit how much gloom his condition brings her.

Violette hardly knew anything about the illness that took over him. Even magic was hopeless to identify it and it was as strange as it was hard to believe. The only certainty was that it was progressive, and time seemed to be flying by.

There was another reason she spent all her time in the shop: she often sat up late over books in the hope of finding at least a single hint of a cure for him.

Doctors and wizards were stating that no magic would help against the illness that captured his body, but she couldn't allow this to be true.

She kept searching. She knew that she was able to help him; all she needed was more faith.

She tried to adopt this faith from her cousin, who always seemed to be in control over any situation and who was able to deal with any problem and task.

Violette was afraid that she wasn't so strong, but she wanted to be like that.

She didn't want to give up because if she did – who would fight for her father?

Everyone folded their hands, everyone shook their heads, sighing and expressing their sorrow.

It was pathetic. She didn't need empty sighs and pitying looks.

She needed hope. And no one could offer her even the smallest fragment.

Instead, they only kept making the stones on her shoulders sink deeper.

She pushed those thoughts away – she had no need to be sad, everything would be fine.

She couldn't afford the luxury of disbelief.

Time was running out, her father was only getting worse, and the thought that one day she would come home and find him in his chair dozing in eternal sleep frightened her more than any dark alleys.

Sometimes it felt like her whole family was cursed, maybe one day it would be her turn.

First her mother, now her father…as if there was a black mark hanging over their house.

Her mother's sister also died mysteriously just a few years ago.

If fate had enemies, then the Effontesorts were definitely on the list. But Violette didn't believe in fortune or fate; that's not what her parents taught her.

They showed her that she was capable of everything if she makes an effort.

So she made it her immutable principle to never give up.

And she would have continued her attempts to find a cure, if not for one evening that changed the course of her life.