40 – Alchemist’s Bargain

Tide, Blood, Desire, Shadow, Disease, Decay, those are the domains of the six Demons.

While the exact nature of demons is debated, we know they are capable of blessing their followers. Though not all of them, as they are not so generous.

Excerpt from Demonology, by Alfred Dumries, Keeper of the Iron Ink.

“Who?” Alexandra repeated, keeping her voice low and body hugging the recessed doorway.

Louis looked at her. “Merinus. One of the Wardens I was telling you about. The kind that’s looking for me, and that I don’t want to find me.”

She nodded, and made herself small.

The voices of the men drifted toward them. “Maret’s a scammer. To dare pricing his shitty potions so high when alchemical supplies are in abundance.”

“Shut up. He’s the only alchemist in the city, the boss will kill us if we piss that guy off.”

Silence, then steps on the cobblestones.

“Anyway, I don’t want to speak to him again. Take someone else with you next time.”

“That’s why you can’t take the next step,” a third voice said. “Coward.”

That voice…

“I’m not…” The steps stopped. “I’m not afraid of that scrawny dealer. He just makes me mad. That smug smile…”

“Yeah, right.”

“Trust the boss, and the reward will come,” the third voice continued, walking away. Alexandra focused, trying to make sure she wasn’t mistaken. “On another note, there are two interesting newcomers to the city.”

“Who?”

The voices faded in the distance before they could hear the answer.

Alexandra exhaled. “Fuck.”

“We’re lucky they didn’t come our way,” Louis said, stepping out of the door frame. He turned his head and looked at her. “It’s fine, you can come out.”

“I…. She looked down, then back at him again. “I recognized that voice.”

Louis tilted his head. “Yes? Me too. It’s Will, one of Merinus’ lieutenants. How did you…”

“Shit. That’s not good.”

“What?”

“You know how I was out last night?” Alexandra asked, her mouth unsteady.

Louis’ face fell. “Don’t tell me he was the one to take your name?”

She nodded.

“Then, I guess he was talking about you, just now.” He frowned. “That could turn into an issue.” He paused, then shrugged. “For you. As far as I’m concerned, my relationship with Merinus has long passed the point of no return.”

Alexandra swallowed. “So it’s fine.”

“Not really. You’re in massive trouble. Potentially. Depending on what they decided to do with you. Maybe they won’t act, maybe they’ll decide you’re a demon worshiper and then who knows where they’ll go from there.”

“Shit.”

“I wouldn’t worry too much. You’re with me, and once they found out, they would have reached the same conclusion.” He smiled. “This only moves the timeline a bit earlier, that’s all.”

She rolled her eyes. “Very reassuring.” Then, she stepped out of their hiding spot. “Let’s go see your alchemist and get out of this shithole.”

Maret’s lab was a few steps away from them, where the men had been. They knocked on the door, and waited for an answer.

The door stayed shut.

Louis knocked again, three sharp raps. Nothing. He leaned closer to the wood. “Maret. Open up. I know you’re in there.”

A clatter from inside, then stillness.

“Maret.” Louis’ knuckles hit the door harder. “You’re not fooling anyone. Come out.”

Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

A long pause. Then the bolt scraped back, and the door swung open.

The man in the doorway was thin to the point of concern, sharp angles, collapsed cheeks, his grey coat hanging off him like a cloth over a hanger. He had ink-black eyes set deep under a heavy brow, and his fingers, wrapped around the door frame, were stained amber. He looked at Louis and groaned

Then his gaze moved to Alexandra.

He looked at her for a moment. His expression shifted. He stepped back from the doorframe.

“Inside.”

The lab was one long room, low ceiling, the walls lost behind shelving that climbed floor to beam. Every shelf was packed: clay jars sealed with wax and labeled in a cramped hand, glass bottles in shades of amber, blue, and deep mossy green, iron-capped vials nested in beds of sawdust, bundles of dried roots hanging between. The smell was sulfur, and above it herbal and medicinal tones, burned wood, rotten apple.

Two furnaces occupied the far wall, with grates that glowed orange in the dim. Between them a slow, luminescent liquid, faintly blue, looped through a series of glass coils mounted on brass frames before draining into a cooking pot. Condensation gathered on the coils and dripped on the floor.