Witchy Sour (The Magic & Mixology Mystery Series Book 2) (4 page)

The man turned twinkling eyes on me. “Call me Liam. I come from the same place you do.”

“St. Paul?” I gaped. “Minnesota?”

He laughed. “No, I just meant the mainland. America.”

“Oh, wow.” I held a hand over my heart. “I was gonna say, that’s a huge coincidence. What brings you out this way?”

“Business,” he said with a small smile.

“What sort of business are you in?” I leaned on the counter, realizing all at once that I hadn’t started preparing his food. “I’m sorry, you don’t have to answer. I’m just being nosy. You’re probably in a rush, and here I am chatting your ear off. I’ll get your food ready now.”

“I’m here for a few days at least,” he said. “Don’t worry, I’m in no rush. I just arrived, and I don’t have a single meeting until tomorrow. In fact, I thought it’d be fun to get to know the new Mixologist.”

“You’ve been here before?”

He nodded. “Many times.”

“Are you...” I cleared my throat. “Are you from here?”

“I’m a wizard, if that’s what you’re asking,” he said with a broad smile. “No, I was not born here, but both of my parents were. My father was a shifter, my mom a witch. They moved over to the mainland when they found out she was pregnant.”

“This seems like a great place to grow up,” I said, filling the tea kettle with water. “Why would they move away?”

“You didn’t like growing up in St. Paul?”

I thought back to my younger days. It’d been only my father and me, and he hadn’t been a particularly “active” parent, to put things nicely. Most of the time, I’d entertained myself. Friends had been few and far between. “It wasn’t bad. Although, I have family here, and it would’ve been fun to grow up with my cousins.”

“We’re similar, you know.”

“What do you mean?”

“According to her friends, my mother wanted to raise me without the knowledge of magic,” he said. “The rumors say your mother might have felt similarly to mine.”

I set the tea kettle on the stove, not sure if I should be flattered or nervous that I was considered important enough to spur rumors. Reaching above the cupboard, I removed a small vial of Liquid Lighter. After adding a few drops onto the burner, a perfectly blue flame sprouted up and began to boil the kettle. “If both your parents were magic, why would they want to keep it a secret from you?”

“I’m not sure, exactly. My parents were killed when I was young, so I only have hearsay to piece their stories together, and I’ve heard conflicting facts. It doesn’t help that I didn’t hear these stories until my adult years. As a child, I was placed in an orphanage. I never did get to ask them why they wanted to raise me away from here, and by the time I reconnected with the magical society, so much time had passed that it was hard to track down friends of my parents to find out information.”

“Oh my gosh, I am so sorry.” I dropped the piece of bread I was holding, missing the toaster by a mile. “I shouldn’t have asked. I had no idea.”

“How could you? We just met.” With a tight smile, Liam reached over and picked up the bread from the counter. He dropped it into the toaster and pushed the lever down. “It was a long time ago. I really don’t mind talking about it.”

“How did you find out about this place?”

“Well, things started to happen when I turned sixteen. As you can imagine, growing up in an orphanage wasn’t easy. Things didn’t get any easier when I entered the foster care system.”

“I can’t even imagine.”

“I think that maybe you can.” Liam’s eyes turned knowingly in my direction. “Some of the families I had were...well, they didn’t like me much, and they didn’t hesitate to let me know it. Then there were the other ones. The ones where it wasn’t what they said, but what they didn’t say. Sometimes indifference stings more than outright meanness. Never having someone at a school event. Never having a parent who cared enough to stop by for career day. Never having someone to ask why I was upset, or sad, or angry. That can hurt more than sharp words.”

I opened the fridge behind the bar. I was grateful he couldn’t see my ears as they turned a bright shade of red. His words hit home more than I cared to admit, though how he could’ve guessed was another question entirely. I kept my head stuck in the fridge for a bit longer than necessary.

“I’m sorry about that,” I said, pulling the eggs out and setting them next to the stove. “I wouldn’t wish that sort of life on anyone.”

“I survived. Even so, I was an emotional kid. When I turned sixteen, things changed. I’d get angry. The others would say something hurtful, and then shortly after, something bad would happen to them. Once, one of my ‘brothers’ blamed me for taking the family car and going for a joyride. Of course I didn’t do it, but his parents didn’t believe me. They punished me and gave their kid the keys to the car. He drove it to the movie theater and when he came out, the car was totaled. A semi-truck had run into it—a freak accident. Nobody was hurt, thankfully, but still.”

“That sounds a little like a coincidence,” I said hesitantly.

“I agree.” He looked over at the toaster as the bread popped up. “But then it happened more and more. The family didn’t let me go to prom. That year, the prom center had a sewage leak that ruined the entire event. They didn’t let me play sports one afternoon, and a football came flying through the window the next day. They locked me in my room without supper, and the power went out and spoiled all the contents of their fridge. And that was just the beginning.”

“How long did it take you to put two and two together?”

“A long, long time,” he said. “I gave myself every reason to believe it was a coincidence, used every rationalization technique I could muster. It wasn’t until my junior year of college that I started digging into my history.”

I picked up the toast and set it on the plate, then turned to crack eggs over the pan. “That must have been a shock.”

“You cannot imagine,” he said. Then he hesitated and gave a shy smile. “Well, you probably can.”

I laughed. “I’ve been here a few weeks, and I’m still not sure I believe it.”

A friendly silence took over as I finished cooking breakfast and passed it to him.

“There you go. I’ll stop asking questions and let you eat,” I said. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Same to you. Thank you for this incredible food.”

“It’s really nothing.” I passed him the cup of coffee. “Simple.”

“Island life. Nothing like it.”

“Are you considering moving here?” I asked with curiosity. “If you enjoy it so much, what’s holding you back?”

“Business,” he said again, and I let it drop.

After a moment of slightly awkward silence, I busied myself washing my hands. The sound of the bell above the door tinkling merrily drew my attention as I wiped my hands on a towel. “Hello,” I called to the new visitor. “May I help you?”

The new visitor didn’t answer. Gliding across the floor, the figure moved like a storm cloud. Dressed in all black robes with a hood pulled over his head, I couldn’t tell whether the figure was a woman or a man. He or she crossed to the far end of the bar and sat on a stool, bringing with him a layer of caution and a dose of foreboding.

I exchanged a “raised eyebrows” glance with Liam, then mouthed an “Excuse me,” before shuffling down to the end of the bar. “Hi there, I’m Lily. Can I get you something to eat or drink?”

The figure’s head was bowed so deeply I couldn’t catch a glimpse of his or her face. Lining the rim of the hood was a silky black ribbon about one inch thick, glinting under the sun.

An arm snaked out from under the billowing black robes. He or she removed a napkin from the stack on the bar and put the tip of their fingertip to the paper, beginning to write in huge, sweeping movements. To my horror—and astonishment—black ink began to flow from the place where the nail met skin. When the figure removed his or her hand and passed me the napkin, I glanced at the message.

I blinked at the writing there: ELIXIR.

The Elixir was a drink that I’d only learned about, but never prepared. It was a potion meant for someone in desperate need. A potion meant only for a person on the edge of death. Once a person drank this potion, there was no going back: It was meant to preserve the spirit after death for a short time. Almost like a ghost. I’d only read about it in books, and I had no desire to see it work in real life.

“I’ll...I’ll be right back,” I mumbled. “I don’t have the ingredients here.”

“Everything okay?” Liam asked. “The eggs are delicious.”

“I’m so happy,” I said distractedly. “I mean, I’m happy you like them. Sorry, I’ll be right back. Can I get you more coffee?”

Liam waved for me to go on, which was a good thing since I already had one foot in the storeroom.

“Gus,” I said to the old man hunched over the table. He didn’t look up. “Gus!”

“I’m busy,” he grumbled. “Doing your job, since you don’t seem to fancy doing it yourself.”

“Look at this.” I slapped the piece of paper down on the table.

Though Gus tried to hide his interest, curiosity won out and he glanced at the writing on the napkin. He did a double take then looked up at me with a grave expression. “Who asked for this?”

“A guest,” I said. “A visitor I’ve never seen before. He’s wearing a cloak. What do you make of it?”

“The Elixir,” he said slowly. “Is a touchy subject.”

“I’ve read about it.”

“You’ve read about it, but have you ever seen it in action?” he asked, a bitterness to his words. “Have you witnessed the effects of this potion?”

“No.”

“It’s a dangerous thing. Very dangerous,” Gus said. “Only those mortally ill may request this potion. Even then, it speeds up the dying process. I haven’t heard of a batch being made for at least ten years. There are strict regulations on those who may ask for it.”

“Regulations?”

“There’s a strict procedure you must follow by law.”

“Is it difficult?”

Gus shrugged. “It’s not time consuming, and it’s not hard. Difficult...that depends on what you mean.”

“Well, what do you mean?”

“The regulations state that you must give the requesting party a Truth Seeker potion first, followed up with a single question:
Do you understand the consequences of drinking The Elixir?
”

“Why?”

“Because of the nature of the potion, we require the user to fully understand the consequences before we may serve them.”

“If the requesting party says yes, what happens next?”

Gus sighed. “If he or she fully understands the consequences, then they’ll answer yes and you’ll move along to the next phase. If they say no, they’ll forget they ever asked the question, and their memory will be wiped of anything in conjunction with The Elixir.”

“It’s like an auto-detonate function,” I said as Gus nodded. “Why so secretive?”

Gus bit his bottom lip. “The name of this potion is murmured only in dark and hopeless places. Those who seek it have a strong, desperate desire to use it. A desperate and hopeless man is a dangerous one.”

I wanted to ask more, but I felt like I was using up all of my questions. Thankfully, Gus must have read my mind because he explained further.

“Imagine the things one may do if they obtain The Elixir,” Gus said. “It gives someone life for hours, sometimes even days after they die.”

“Like a ghost?”

Gus tilted his head sideways. “Of sorts. More like an apparition with certain...powers. If the person has dangerous intentions, imagine how much damage they could do with The Elixir. After all, they are already dead. There are virtually no consequences for them.”

“They could...they could hurt people,” I said. “And never be punished for it.”

He nodded. “That exact situation happened only once before the regulations came into play; the repercussions were devastating.”

“I don’t feel comfortable with this,” I said, turning around. “I’m just going to tell our guest that we don’t serve the potion. I want no part of this.”

Gus held up a hand. “I’m afraid you can’t do that.”

“Why not? I’ve never made the potion before, so I’ll use that as an excuse. I’m inexperienced.”

“If a person requests The Elixir from the rightful Mixologist, the Mixologist is required to accommodate them. That is also part of the regulations,” Gus said with a shake of his head. “I’m sorry, Lily. You need to give your guest the Truth Seeker and go through due process. Those are the rules.”

“Shouldn’t I be allowed to choose if I want to brew a certain potion?” My heart beat quickly at the thought of mixing up something so potentially devastating. “I don’t feel right about any of it—the whole concept—none of it. Wouldn’t it be better to just avoid the whole thing?”

Gus stood up slowly. For the first time, he seemed to feel each one of his eighty-something years of age. A pained expression crossed his face as he gripped my shoulder with one hand. “The job of the Mixologist is not to ‘play God,’ for lack of a better saying. Your role is not to be the judge and jury; it is to offer help to those who need it.”

“But you just explained how dangerous this potion can be if used wrong.”

“How do you know he’s intending to use it wrongly?”

I hesitated. “Maybe I’m being short-sighted, but I don’t see any particularly great way to use it right. What could a person need to do so badly after they are dead that they’re willing to die faster? The thought gives me a bad feeling.”

Gus took a deep breath, releasing it slowly. “My grandmother took The Elixir.”

My eyes widened. “She did?”

He nodded. “My mother was due to give birth to me just as my grandmother was being wheeled into the hospital. She was about to die from a terrible illness, just as I was about to be born. She’d been suffering for over three years, and the end of her life came as mine began. On the mainland, I believe humans call that disease Alzheimer’s.”

I raised my hand to Gus’s, which was still on my shoulder, and squeezed it. “I’m so sorry.”

“She knew the end was coming, it was just a matter of time.” Gus removed his hand from my shoulder and crossed his arms. He rocked back on his heels and stared at the ground, looking nostalgic for the first time since we’d met. “They say people can sense when the end is near.”