``A drop of nymph blood. Three strands of the desired person's hair...'' The horse murmured into his book, one digit following the lines. He sniffed and turned around to his ingredients cabinet. He sorted through the tinkling bottles of dubious origin until he found the small vial of nymph blood.
The horse, Brutus, wore only an apron. The real work hadn't begun yet, and he was alone, so there was no need to conceal his yellow and white-dappled body beneath a robe. His black mane was cut short. It helped to assuage his fears of his own hair falling into his concoctions.
Though, tonight his worries were buried underneath a stronger emotion.
Today... hadn't been the best. Brutus had started the morning by closing his left hand in an oaken door and consequently dropping a valuable elixir to cure hair loss requested by a local noble. That was fifty gold and eight hours of effort wasted. This meant he would have to go into town, again, and refill the stocks he'd lost. He'd been stopped by multiple people asking for cures for whatever trivial nonsense that mattered to them. Some children had thrown mud at him and called him a demon worshipper. Sure, he could have burned them alive, but, that hardly would help his image.
The white-muzzled horse frowned as he walked to his cauldron. Brutus knelt down, and pointed a finger at the fresh kindling underneath, whispering an incantation until fire sparked from him to the wood. Normally going into town wasn't that bad, but, he couldn't avoid the local herbalist, since she was his main contact for ingredients. Ms. Jensen was... not his favorite. He could remember it clearly.
Brutus had walked into her shop as always.
The jackal had grinned at him, her dark eyes swirling and sizing him up. ``Oh, Brutus! My favorite customer,'' Ms. Jensen had spoken, sultry notes heavy in her speech, ``what do I owe the pleasure? Here for the usual?''
Brutus shook his head. ``No, ma'am. I was wondering if you had more woodwort and boletus magnum.''
``Let me check real quick, deary,'' she'd said, turning around to her wares, arching her back to the point he thought it would break, her tail arcing upwards.
The horse had pinched the bridge of his nose before walking to the counter. He really didn't have time for her antics today. He'd tried to gently tell her before that he wasn't interested.
After a couple moments she turned back to face him, setting down a couple glass bottles onto the counter. Ms. Jensen put her ebony elbows on the wood and looked up at him, doing her best to show off her bosom. ``Well, hun, it appears I have what you're looking for. Now, what can you do for me, hmm?''
Brutus cleared his throat. ``I could pay you gold, for one. That seems the easiest.''
``Oh, no, no, no,'' she'd tutted, pouting her black lips,'' while I enjoy your gold, I think you know I'd prefer something more as well.''
Brutus felt his eyebrow climbing. ``Ms. Jensen, I'm quite busy today. I have to remake a potion so that I can earn my living.''
``I'm quite aware, my darling. But I insist that we make arrangements. You play so hard-to-get,'' she cooed, reaching forward and languidly drawing her fingers down his bicep and forearm. ``I'll tell you what, I'll let you buy these ingredients if you promise to go with me to the tavern tomorrow and let me buy you some drinks.''
``Or you could be professional and just let me be on with my business?'' he'd countered coolly.
``Where's the fun in that, honey?'' Ms. Jensen grinned with sharp, white teeth. She fit the predator description a bit too well. ``But, you can go ingredient hunting yourself if you'd rather not go with me. That's the deal.''
The horse had crossed his arms, pulling away from her. ``Madame, this is beneath you. I'd like to purchase what I came here for unaccosted.''
``And I'd like to have a few drinks with you tomorrow,'' she'd stared hard into his eyes, still smirking.
Brutus groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose again. He'd tried to think of some way to get out of this. He could have gone for the ingredients himself, but, he knew that it would take him more time to find them than he had left before the noble returned. Why did she have to be so difficult?
``Well, love? What's the verdict? Time is ticking, and I'd be happy to keep you company tomorrow.''
His eyes widened and he'd suddenly grinned. ``You'll `keep me company' tomorrow only, correct?''
``That's what I said, sugar,'' she'd purred, reaching for him once more.
``All right then, I accept. Let's shake on it.''
She'd looked at him suspiciously at his quick change of heart, but he'd already grabbed her outstretched wrist. He'd gripped a bit more forcefully before letting her wrist go.
``Oh, and one more thing,'' he'd said, ``I also need an extract of fern.''
She'd nodded, smiling triumphantly and had turned around. He'd quickly pocketed something before she faced him once more.
Now here he stood in his tower, cauldron bubbling. The horse pulled out the few hairs he had swiped from their handshake, dropping them in a vial. His ears swiveled when he heard a knock at the door. Brutus groaned. Visitors meant he had to get dressed. He set down his apron and clopped over to his dresser.
``Be there in a moment!'' he called, tugging on a purple robe and matching hat with yellow stars.
The horse walked to the door, flinging it open, ``Welcome! What can Master Brutus do- oh. Hello, Markus, I wasn't expecting you tonight.''
His apprentice stepped in the door, chortling at his master's greeting. ``I know. I just forgot something from yesterday.'' He peeked around and saw the cauldron bubbling. ``What are you doing tonight, Sir?''
Brutus rubbed his chin and smiled. ``Taking out some frustration... See, Ms. Jensen insisted she keep me company tomorrow.''
Markus groaned for him.
The horse continued, ``and because she was so helpful, I decided to agree.'' Brutus carefully picked up the vial of her hair. ``However, the caveat it is I'm turning her into a sentient fern tonight and it won't wear off until after tomorrow, so, regrettably, she won't be able to talk or move while she `keeps me company'. I feel a potted plant is better company anyway.''
When Markus gave him an appalled look, the horse laughed, adding the ingredients into his cauldron. ``Lesson, kid, don't mess with me on a bad day.''
~The End
3/25/19
By: Novak ``Walto''
