by Megan Derr
Hux nodded. "Thank you." His eyes fell to the table, but after a moment he looked up again. "I—perhaps I should not speak of certain—uh—"
"Speak freely, unless it makes you uncomfortable to do so," Kingston said softly.
"I'm glad you are the potion master helping me. I trust you, even if we've never properly met until now. I always wondered what you did outside of Acacia."
Kingston let out a small laugh, mouth quirked as he replied, "I have always wondered about you, but it is not the kind of thing we're supposed to discuss, and I did not want to presume more than was offered. But I am happy to know you outside Acacia." He cleared his throat and stood before he said more than he should. "Now let me get the paperwork so we can take it to the Office of Potions and get to work."
He strode briskly from the room, back to the front, and headed straight to his desk, rifling in the cabinet behind it for the forms he needed. Eliza approached him a moment later, handing over a form that had been filled out in her tidy hand. She set it and what was left of the handkerchief on the corner of his desk. "False Heart confirmed, Kingston."
"Thank you. I am handling the paperwork now, then I will return to make the counter potions. I am not to be disturbed until further notice."
"Of course," Eliza said and bustled off back to work. Kingston smiled briefly; when everything had calmed down, and the holidays were past, he would have to recommend her for final testing. He would hate to lose her, but she deserved to be a master.
Pulling out the forms, he sat down and filled out all that he could, then carried the forms and pen with him as he returned to Hux. "Here we are, Master Huxtable. Just fill out the portions still blank." He went over to the stand by the door and pulled down his winter coat, a handsome wool piece dyed dark blue. It had cost him dearly but would hopefully last a long time—and he could certainly afford it now, far from the penniless student he had been more years ago than he cared to count.
Shrugging into the coat, he draped his scarf around his neck and tucked his gloves into a pocket, then sat and sipped at a cup of tea while Hux finished the paperwork. When it was complete, Hux tucked it away in a leather portfolio, slipped it into his satchel, and did up his scarf. He pulled on his gloves, gripped the satchel, and gestured to the back door. "Shall we?"
Hux nodded and pulled his own coat and gloves back on. Kingston pulled the door open and gestured for Hux to precede him out, trying not to notice his rose and civet cologne because it stirred distracting memories of a candlelit room and satin sheets, rose-scented skin gleaming with sweat, soft gasps and nails biting into his shoulders, tight heat, and pleas for more, harder, want to feel it for days.
The cold air was a relief against his hot cheeks as he followed Hux outside. Snow had been falling all morning, had started even before he'd woken up. Foot traffic had whittled some of it from the streets and walkways, but it was falling down steadily enough not to make much difference. There were no carts and carriages about, and most everyone was walking in the middle of the street, where it was easiest to clear the snow away, though many shop owners had cleared away what they could from right in front of their shops.
Lamplighters had kept the lamps going for the day, which was good because though it was only two hours to midday, it looked as though suppertime was approaching. The Office of Potions was normally an easy twenty minute walk, but it took them nearly twice that.
When they arrived, the large, austere, brown, green, and gold building was oddly quiet. The usual offices to which he would take such a matter were closed, and only three of the many desks in the open area were occupied. But the quiet was a relief, since Kingston had not wanted to make a fuss in order to get past the lines. Approaching the nearest desk, noting the woman was actually a master clerk by the marks on her jacket, he pulled out the papers and presented them.
The woman's brows rose when she saw the blue line across the top, marking them as high priority. Brows and mouth turned down sharply as she read through the papers. Without hesitation, she retrieved one of several stamps resting on the right side of her desk. She inked it, stamped the bottom of the last paper, then signed with a flourish and handed them back. "You'll have to go across the street and get an inspector, but after that you are free and clear, Master Lockwood. Please file the necessary papers when the job is complete."
"Yes, ma'am. Thank you." Turning on his heel, he took Hux's elbow and led the way back out of the hall and across the street to the stern-looking, dark gray stone building that housed the Office of Safety and Security.
"Will they help us?" Hux asked. "Given it is their employer's son we suspect… it's only supposition at this point but even just the possibility…"
"Nobody hates him more than these people, believe me," Kingston replied. "They are the ones who must let people down, time and again, when they're forced to release Elmhurst. He makes betrayers of them, and no one in this building is happy about that. Any chance to stop him for good is one they'll gladly take."
The young man at the front desk gave them a look he probably thought was professionally suspicious but mostly looked like he'd bitten into something sour. "Can I help you, sirs?"
"Yes, it's a matter of some urgency," Kingston replied. "I need to speak with the Chief of Lords." He displayed the stamped papers.
The young man read over them, then blanched and hurried off still clutching them, disappearing through a door behind his desk. Kingston shook his head and turned to Hux. "At least all seems to be going smoothly. Sometimes it is the paperwork that kills, I vow it."
Hux laughed, bright and genuine. Kingston wanted to kiss him; he loved when he could get Hux to laugh. "You are complaining to a master secretary about paperwork?"
Kingston grinned. "At least you knew you were in for it. I was a fool and forgot about that part of owning a business."
They were both still smiling at each other like a pair of idiots when the door opened again, and the young man from before said in a quiet tone, his posturing gone. "The Chief of Lords will see you."
"Thank you," Kingston replied, levity vanishing as the gravity of the situation returned full measure. They followed the young man through the public access doors, a double set of heavy, frosted-glass doors simply marked with Office of Safety and Security, Headquarters in gold and black script.
Past the doors, the building was bustling with noise and activity as officials and visitors and criminals all mingled. A few paused to stare when Kingston and Hux walked past, but nobody waylaid them. The office of the Chief of Lords—properly, the Chief of Investigation of the Nobility—was mercifully quiet. The Chief himself was younger than Kingston expected, somewhere close to his own thirty-nine years.
He was pretty, with long, curly blond hair tied loosely back with a pink ribbon. He wore a dark pink jacket, a white and pink striped waistcoat, dark brown breeches and boots, and his nails had been painted the same pink as the ribbon in his hair. He took his seat behind the enormous desk that took up a good part of his small office and motioned them to the seats in front of the desk. The nameplate on the door had said Chief Harold Potsworth.
Potsworth rested his fingertips on the papers Kingston had handed over to the man at reception. "Master Lockwood, is it? And Master Huxtable. I could kiss you both for bringing me so fine a present, and on Frost Eve."
"I do not think this is a cause for celebration, Chief," Kingston replied coolly.
"No, it's not," Potsworth replied. "My apologies, I was not making light of the situation. Quite the contrary. I have been trying to put the despicable Lord Elmhurst in a cage for a very long time, but he always slips away like a well-oiled snake, no thanks to his father. My priority is of course for Lord Oswald, but I am hopeful that we will at last be able to do away with Elmhurst once and for all, thanks to such quick action on both your parts. Given the importance of the persons involved, and the trouble likely to ensue from this, I am supervising the situation personally. I hope that does not cause you additional stress."
<
br /> Kingston shook his head. "On the contrary, Chief, it will be reassuring to have you along."
"Yes," Hux agreed. "I want Lord Elmhurst stopped, and if I have a Potion Master and the Chief of Lords tending the matter, I am much reassured. Thank you both."
"I'm glad we're all of the same mind. That happens less often than you might imagine. Let's be off, then. Time is of the essence." Potsworth did not wait for their reply, merely rose and crossed the office, threw the door open, and led the way through the building and back outside.
Outside, the snow had gotten even worse, falling heavily enough that it took them just over an hour to travel the short distance to Kingston's shop. When they finally reached it, Kingston did not bother going around to the back but went through the front door, nearly blown in by the wind that certainly had not been that strong when they'd first headed out.
Eliza jumped as the door flew open. "Kingston! Goddess have mercy."
"Eliza," he greeted. "Sorry for the start. The weather has grown quite wretched. Close up the shop, turn up the emergency lights, and go on home if you can, my dear. If not, you are, of course, welcome to stay here."
"I think I might," she said. "I wanted to speak with you anyway, once your current matter is resolved, and I'll never get home in this mess. I told my mother this morning I might get stuck here, so I'm accounted for. I'll just finish tidying up then go upstairs and leave you to your work." She smiled at the other two as she bustled about tidying the front area and the counter, locking the door and turning on the blue light that indicated they would answer should someone have an emergency. "Oh, Ms. Coultress stopped by with a package—mistletoe to decorate the shop. She said it was a travesty a shop called Two Parts Mistletoe had none to spruce up the place properly for Frost Days." She lifted her eyes to the ceiling.
Kingston chuckled. "A pity that it is not potion grade mistletoe. I'll figure out something to do with it. Just leave it in the back room."
"What's the difference between decorative mistletoe and potion mistletoe?" Hux asked. "And why did you choose to name your shop after mistletoe? Doesn't it represent luck in love? Wouldn't that be bad, given love potions?"
Eliza made a face. "In terms of power, the mistletoe they use for decorating is like drinking water. Potion grade is like drinking a well-aged scotch. Regarding love, Mistletoe has nothing to do with love specifically. It's a foolish corruption of tradition that probably came from some potions apprentice running their mouth, though the misconception has been around so long now there's no proving it." She pushed back a strand of strawberry blonde hair, shoving it impatiently into the bun from which it had escaped.
"Oh?" Potsworth asked.
Kingston motioned for Eliza to be off, seeing by the strain at her eyes and increased fidgeting that she was tired and in need of a break from people, though her demeanor never faltered. He really would be sad when she was gone. She smiled gratefully, nodded to the other two, and slipped away to the back.
"Why is mistletoe associated with love, then?" Potsworth pressed when she'd gone. "It's always touted as a love charm, token, and so forth. All I've ever heard my whole life. Learned most of it from my grandmother." He lifted the counter partition, motioned Kingston and Hux through, then dropped it behind him and stole one of the many stools scattered about the work area.
Stripping down to his shirtsleeves and waistcoat, Kingston left the rest of his clothes on his desk. He rolled up his sleeves as he returned to the work area, pulling out a ring of keys and crossing to the far wall where locked cabinets were lined up beneath well-stocked shelves. "Mistletoe is what potionmakers call a master component, or a foundation component. If you know the master component, you have at least some idea of what the potion is meant to do." He unlocked the cabinet he needed and pulled out several glass jars filled with dried plants, flowers, and herbs, along with several vials of colorful liquids.
He carried it all back to his worktable, where he carefully arranged them before pulling on long work gloves that covered his arms up to his elbows. Hux sat on a stool nearby, hands folded in his lap, looking very much like he would like to be doing something but had no idea where to start. Kingston smiled at him, hoping he managed to be reassuring. He resumed speaking as he went over to one of the heating stations and got a fire going. "We have a saying in potionmaking: one part good, two parts strong, three parts deadly. Whenever a potion calls for three parts of something, be wary—especially when it's something as powerful as mistletoe. In traditional witchcraft, mistletoe means I surmount all obstacles, and is meant precisely for that—to overcome something.
"That is the original reason that mistletoe is so popular during Frost Days. At the very end of the year, as we turn into the new, mistletoe was hung to offer strength to everyone in the household. Two parts mistletoe over the front door to lend strength to surmount all obstacles to everyone who passed under it. Over the years, it's become distorted to focus exclusively on love." His mouth tightened. "In the case of this particular potion, it is overcoming Lord Oswald's true feelings for Elmhurst and forcing them to become 'love'."
Hux looked like he was going to be ill. Potsworth looked no better.
"You begin to see why potionmakers despise the idea that mistletoe is taken to mean 'lucky in love' by most," Kingston said quietly. "In point of fact, there are many kinds of love spells, the same there are many kinds of love. 'Love potion' is actually a class of potions. The particular potion given to Lord Oswald is what everyone thinks of as a love potion, but the correct name for it is False Heart potion. To counter that potion, I have to make a Broken Heart potion. And to help heal the lingering effects of it, we will also have to administer a Healing Heart potion over the course of several days. Now, Chief, I am about to work. I will need to concentrate, so please do not interrupt unless it is absolutely vital, or you must ask something to make certain your observation is properly recorded."
Potsworth and Hux both nodded, and Kingston set to work, first pulling out the components he needed. All love potions included mistletoe. The difference was that the good, legitimately useful ones required 1-2 parts mistletoe. Only the illegal ones required three parts.
A broken heart potion was two parts each of mistletoe, bittersweet nightshade, and apple blossom, and one part each persicaria, butterfly weed, and red balsam. Turning them all into a fine powder, he tipped them into a heavy porcelain bowl, and added purified water, binding solution, tincture of sunlight, and a small measure of activating oil. He stirred and stirred, then carried the bowl over to the heating station.
On top of the small stove, the heavy metal bowl full of water was steaming, not quite boiling. Kingston set the larger porcelain bowl atop it and resumed stirring. Slowly the mixture began to bubble, turning from a muddy brown to a muddy red then gradually to a bright jewel red with ribbons of pearlescent pink.
Removing the bowl from the heat he turned to his work station, continuing to stir all the while so the potion would not cool too quickly and wind up lumpy, or worse, seize.
His arm ached by the time the potion was cool enough for him to leave off the stirring. The bowl had been just over half full when he'd begun, but the potion that remained filled not even a quarter of it.
Leaving it to finish cooling, he put out the fire, then stored away all the components and tidied up his workstation. By the time he was finished, the potion was ready for the final stage. He poured it into a new, clear glass bowl and added more purified water, a small measure of simple syrup, and a few drops of vanilla. He stirred it all together, then poured it carefully into a glass bottle and sealed the bottle with a cork.
He set the bottle on the counter. "This is the broken heart potion. Now I must make the healing heart potion, which will take a bit longer since I must make enough to be administered twice daily for ten days."
"Carry on, Master Maker," Potsworth said.
Kingston nodded, pulled on a new set of work gloves, and started again. The healing heart potion was two parts each mi
stletoe and lily of the valley, one part each cranberry, white oak, liverwort, and narcissus. The broken heart had taken him about an hour to make; the healing heart took just over two. When he was finished, a larger glass bottle holding a pale pink, swirled-with-yellow potion sat beside the red one.
"You make it look so easy," Hux said, joining him at the counter, lightly touching the bottles before letting his fingers fall to rest on the back of Kingston's hand. "Which means it must not be easy at all."
"Fifteen years of schooling and working, but I had a head start from working in my mother's kitchen. A childhood of cooking is a good foundation for a lifetime of potionmaking." Kingston smiled, and Hux's quiet smile brightened. Kingston started to lean in, but a soft cough from Potsworth reminded him of where he was and what they were about. He withdrew but did not miss the faint disappointment that flickered across Hux's face.
"The secretary sought out his lover to stop a love potion, how quaint," Potsworth drawled.
Hux flushed. Kingston cast Potsworth a quelling look.
Smiling in reply, Potsworth swept an arm toward the door. "Shall we go speak with the esteemed Lord Oswald and have done with this matter? At least the snow will keep Elmhurst from making a run for it."
Kingston nodded and knelt to pull out a box from the many stacked on the shelves beneath the counter, then stood and settled the bottles in the special, cushioned velvet dents. He closed and locked the box, tucking the key into his waistcoat. "Shall we?"
When they were all bundled up again, he led the way out the front of the shop, locking the door before they slowly trekked through the snow and rapidly descending dark. Thankfully, the location of his shop meant they were at the perfect starting point for almost everything, and Lord Oswald's house, while a reasonable distance, was not as far away as it could have been.
It still took them nearly two hours, though that was partly due to a necessary break to thaw and regain their strength. They finally reached Oswald's handsome, stately townhouse just as the hall clock began to chime eight o'clock. A footman came hurrying in and helped them out of their sodden, snow-encrusted coats. "Master Huxtable, we were beginning to fear you would not return. Lord Oswald has been asking after you every half hour. Dinner is set for nine o'clock."
