The Lost Apothecary(50)

The next book was half the size, both in height and width, with soft, sand-colored binding. I turned several pages until I found the title, printed in a small, even font: Spells for the Modern Household. I was pleased to find that it appeared written entirely in English—no strange symbols in this one—and the first few pages revealed a wide assortment of everyday “recipes,” although not the sort required to make a pudding or a stew:

Elixir to Extract Child’s Tendency to Lie
Brew to Assign Infant’s Gender In Utero
Tincture to Create Great Wealth Within a Fortnight
Brew to Reduce Age in the Woman’s Body
On and on they read, each stranger than the last, but I felt it possible that here within this book, I might locate something useful. I found a more comfortable seated position and tucked my legs underneath me. I continued to read each and every recipe, sure not to overlook a single one, and I searched especially for anything in reference to spirits or ghosts.

Concoction for Erasure of Memory, Specific or General
Philter to Instill Affection in Object of Desire, Even Inanimate
Elixir for Restoring Breath to the Deceased Infant’s Lungs
I paused, bumps forming on my skin, as I felt a warm breath against the back of my neck.

“My own mother used that spell,” came the young voice, mere inches behind me.

Ashamed of the book in my hands, I snapped it shut.

“Sorry,” he continued, his voice backing away from me. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

It was the shop boy. I turned to face him, seeing now more clearly the pimples on his chin and the roundness of his eyes. “It’s okay,” I mumbled, the book lying limp in my lap.

“A witch, then, are you?” he asked, a sly grin at the edge of his lips.

I shook my head, embarrassed. “No, just curious, is all.”

Satisfied with this response, he nodded. “I’m Tom Pepper. Pleasure to have you in the shop.”

“Th-thank you,” I muttered. “I’m Eliza Fanning.” And though I wanted badly to open the book once again and continue my search, I found that Tom, up close, was not so unpleasant to my eyes.

He glanced down at the book. “I wasn’t lying, you know. That book was my mother’s.”

“So your mother is a witch, then?” I was only teasing, but he didn’t laugh as I’d hoped he would.

“She was not a witch, no. But she lost her babies—one after the other, nine of them before me—and in her desperation, she used the elixir on the page you just closed. May I?” He motioned to the book, waited for my nod and gingerly took it from my lap. He flipped to the page I had just been reading and pointed to it. “‘Elixir for Restoring Breath to the Deceased Infant’s Lungs,’” he read aloud. Then, looking up at me, he added, “According to my father, I was born dead, like all the others. This spell brought me back to life.” He tensed, as though the revelation pained him to share. “If my mother were still alive, she could tell you about it herself.”

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, our faces close.

Wetting his lips, he looked to the front of the shop. “This is my father’s shop. He opened it after my mother died. The front, where you came in—those baubles all belonged to her. Things she collected for the babies over the years. Most of it never touched or used.”

I could not help but ask, “When did your mother die?”

“Soon after I was born. Later that week, in fact.”

I covered my mouth with my hand. “So you were her first baby that lived, and then she did not...”

Tom picked at a fingernail. “Some say that is the curse of magick. Why books like the one you’re holding should be burned.” I frowned, not understanding what he meant, and Tom went on. “The curse of magick, they believe, is that for every reward, there is a great loss. For every spell that goes right, there is something else—in the real, natural world—that goes terribly wrong.”

I looked at the book in his hands. It would take a great while, a couple of hours, at least, to read every spell within. And even then, who knew if I would find something that might prove useful? “Do you believe in the curse of magick?” I asked.

Tom hesitated. “I don’t know what I believe. I only know that this book is very special to me. I would not be here without it.” He then set the book gently in my lap. “I would like you to have it. You may take it for free, if you like.”

“Oh, I can pay you, surely—” I reached a sweaty hand into my pocket, fumbling for a coin.

He put out a hand but did not touch me. “I’d rather it go to someone I like than a complete stranger.”

At once I felt hot, almost unwell, as my stomach turned loops inside of me. “Thank you,” I said, hugging the book close to my chest.

“Just promise one thing,” he said. “If you find a spell in there that works, it will be two for two. Promise me you will stop by and tell me of it.”

“I promise,” I said, untangling my tingling legs to stand. And though I did not want to go, I had no reason to stay. Making my way toward the door, I turned back a final time. “And if I try a spell and it does not work?”

This seemed to take him by surprise. “If the spell does not work... Well, then the book cannot be trusted, and you must come back to exchange it for another.” His eyes glinted mischievously.