Page 15 of Disenchanted
The cat had streaked up the stairs to the upper floor with Mal hard after her. I could hear him stomping about, alternately calling, “Here, kitty, kitty. Nice Ebony,” and muttering, “frapping cat.” Perhaps I should have gone to help him, but I knew from experience that if anyone ended up being scratched by that demon cat, it would be me. I believed it wiser to wait below.
The main floor of the herbal shop was warm and dim, dominated by a long counter upon which were laid out the tools of Mal’s trade, mortar and pestle, a silver scale, empty vials, ladles, funnels, and wooden spoons. Behind the counter were shelves, every inch covered with bottles and jars containing liquids in a rainbow array of colors, anything from clear to blood red to the vilest hue of black. The bottles on the upper shelves required a ladder to reach and were the cloudiest looking, coated with a thick layering of dust.
Nothing was labeled and I often wondered how Mal kept from confusing potions for curing warts with the poisons for killing off weeds. But Mal had a phenomenal memory, and heknew right where to lay hands on the potion he needed, as long as no one else touched anything.
The beams on the ceiling had hooks that hung bundles of drying herbs. Usually, the shop was redolent with a fragrant blend of marjoram, fennel, basil, mint, and other spices. But Mal had some golden liquid bubbling in a small caldron suspended over a fire on the hearth. Whatever the potion was, it emanated a cloyingly sweet aroma that overpowered every other scent.
Before I had a chance to inspect this brew more closely, Mal tramped back down the stairs with the cat clutched in his arms. Ebony set up a loud purr, rubbing her head beneath Mal’s chin, but he ignored her. Opening the door, he chucked her out, saying, “Shoo. Go home to your mistress and don’t come back.”
I heard Ebony’s reproachful meow before Mal slammed the door shut.
“Oh, Mal, how can you be so unkind?” I teased. “Your kitty clearly adores you.”
“Frapping cat! She’s forever sneaking over here bringing me gifts of minnows she fishes out of the witch’s pond. If any tax collector ever sees her, I will probably be accused of owning a working cat and have to pay a huge fine. One of these days, I really will scalp her.”
“In case you need a spare hairpiece?”
Mal glowered at me. “Did you come here today just to insult me or is there some other reason for this unexpected visit? If there isn’t, you’ll have to excuse me. I am quite busy.”
It was not like Mal to be so abrupt, either with the cat or me. I feared I had hurt his feelings with my usual tactlessness. Sidling closer, I said, “I am sorry if I was unkind.”
I brushed a kiss against his cheek and smiled impishly at him. “But if your closest friend doesn’t tell you when you look ridiculous, who will?”
“Humph,” he said, but the taut set of his lips softened a little. “Does it really look that bad?”
“Yes, I am afraid it does. Why suddenly did you decide you need a wig?”
“It is not a wig, Ella.” He bent closer, adding eagerly, “I managed to grow real hair. Go on. Touch it.”
I reached up and gave his hair a gentle tug. Unfortunately, a clump of it came loose in my hand.
Mal reared back, protesting, “Not so hard.” He combed his fingers through his hair to repair the damage and only succeeded in dislodging another handful. He emitted a deep sigh. “Apparently I need to refine the potion a bit more.”
“Why would you even bother with such nonsense? You are an attractive enough man just as you are.”
“Oh, you think so, my dear?” Mal leered, leaning closer with a mock growl. “I had no notion you found me so irresistible.”
“Idiot,” I said, giving him a playful shove.
Mal straightened with a grin. “While you might be smitten with my semi-bald head, alas, my customers are not. I have had several women tell me they find it difficult to believe in the skills of a sorcerer who cannot even manage to devise a potion to grow back his own hair.”
“You are not supposed to be any kind of a sorcerer, Mal. With or without hair. You have no license to practice magic.” I had lost track of the number of times I had reminded Mal of this and the equal number of times he had ignored me, just as he did now.
The caldron on the hearth gave a loud hiss, threatening to bubble over.
“Oh, frap!” Mal exclaimed. Rushing over, he snatched up a long rod with a hook on one end and used it to swing the caldron off the fire. He seized a wooden spoon and bent over the iron pot, stirring the golden liquid. I pulled a face at the sickly sweet aroma.
“Is that your hair potion?” I asked. “Besides looking like you skinned a cat, you are going to smell like a rose garden.”
Mal paused in his stirring long enough to give me a disgruntled look. “No, this is not a hair tonic. It is something far more powerful.”
When Mal showed no inclination to explain further, I drew closer. He scooped up a spoonful of the liquid and blew on it to cool it. He sniffed and took a cautious taste with the tip of his tongue.
“Ah!” He nodded, looking satisfied.
“Mal, what is that stuff?”
His mouth tipped in a mysterious smile. “Something I am planning to call the Elixir of Love.”
