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Shadows stood in his wake.
Pushing past the girls, I try to ignore them and the shadow lurking stranger.
I close the short distance to town with my skeleton key to the shop and my basket of herbs. My sour mood must have been obvious to the other town members and festival goers who were giving me a wide berth in the enclosed streets.
As I reached the apothecary, my heart felt warm.
I’m welcomed by the wide-open doors propped for customers. This was more of my home than my family dwelling. Herbs in various stages of drying hang along the ceiling. Candles flicker around the shop. The familiar smell of sandalwood rolled over me. Agatha sat slightly swaying in the weathered rocking chair in the corner.
The logs in the hearth crackled off to my right. The light smell of smoke and incense brings a smile to my lips.
“Evening Agatha, I brought some more herbs for the shop. I noticed that we needed some more to dry.” Placing the large pile of herbs on the counter, I slipped past Agatha and gave her a quick hug.
Agatha pulled me close as she stared at me with nervous eyes, yanking me close and greeting me with a cheek kiss. “Someone came here asking for you.”
Watching Agatha, I knew something was off. Her face stared gravely at me. Like she couldn’t speak freely. With a tense jaw, Agatha observes the shop. I follow her eyes around. Spotting no one.
Shooting her a crooked grin, I laugh. “Someone’s come to express their undying love for me? Which one of my many suitors could it have been?”
“That’s not funny.” Agatha glares at me. Her demeanor is so different from her normal playful energy. “Pandora, listen to me. This is serious, I have seen this man but once before in this village,” her quavering voice is frightened. Eyes wide, her hands shake slightly.
Agatha is odd but not this odd.
I raise an incredulous eyebrow as I sort the foliage on the counter. Taking care to bind the bundles with twine before hanging them on the ropes strung across the ceiling. “Yeah? There are a lot of men in town, aren’t there?” I question. “He is probably in town for the festival.”
As one of the largest mortal towns in the area, Karpathos is the hub for many of the festivals.
“Pandora, watch out tonight,” Agatha’s voice was a hair above an inaudible whisper. “Be with a guarded heart.”
With a slightly forced confused smile, I cock my head. “Okay Agatha. I promise to be safe.” Even though I'm not in danger.
The matron nods, visibly taking a moment to collect herself by glancing over the shelves upon shelves of her wares.
Agatha requests, “Would you start a new batch of healing tinctures?”
“Sure thing.”
Scooping out lavender essence, valerian root and other ingredients to create our home-made draught, Agatha states, “You’re such a dear. My hands aren't as steady as they once were.”
Grasping the metal stirring rod, I blink.
Not again, I groan.
The dark worn wooden fixtures of the apothecary fade into a bright airy marble apothecary. Extravagant enough to be a palace.
“Pay attention to that healing tonic,” a deep voice warns. “Wait, don’t stir yet!”
Whipping around, I stared up at the bare chest facing me. Towering above me, a middle-aged man stands above me. Long curly brown locks are half tossed into a bun while the rest drapes loosely around his shoulders. Dark eyes focused on the mixing bowl. Gripping my arm he reaches over me, knocking the metal utensil from my grasp. “No metal!”
Both wrists are bound in shackles. Broken and no longer tethered. the memory of what was once bound. I question, “Why do you still wear shackles? Don’t they interfere with brewing?”
“No, they have no effect on my ability to brew. My shackles serve as a reminder of mortals and their hatred of species that are unlike their own,” he prattles, not paying much mind to his response. “Especially Centaurs and the other ‘beasts.’”
The half man, half horse stands beside and mostly behind me. Watching my movements intently.
Chiron, that's his name. But I don’t know I know this but I’m certain it’s him.
“Wood only for this tincture,” he instructs.
