“Is this a sick joke?” The question slipped from Sigrid’s mouth as the sorceress yelled.

 

“I assure you, this is no joke,” Lothara scolded her. Sharp cheekbones framed her fierce eyes and aquiline nose. “I won’t ask again. Where is the alchemist?”

 

“He’s…not here,” Sigrid answered, searching for the right way to say he was dead.

 

“I don’t care where he’s gone, I’ve no time to wait,” Lothara cut her off, “you’ll do for now. You’re his apprentice.”

 

Am I still an apprentice if I have no master?

 

“Your master gave me the recipe for Perenelle’s Eleventh Potion,” Lothara continued. She held out a torn page as evidence, slamming it on the counter. “I need certain ingredients.”

 

“The Alchemists’ Guild forbade the sale of that recipe!” Sigrid responded, both flustered and concerned.

 

“Do you think I care? Your master knew the consequences if he didn’t give me the recipe. Do you want to know what I’ll do to you if you don’t give me the ingredients I require?”

 

“N-no, marm,” Sigrid replied fearfully. “But this is a dangerous potion.”

 

“Don’t try to frighten me, child!” Lothara scoffed, shaking her bald head. “I’ve been trained in your craft. Give me what I need or you will die!”

 

“Y-yes, marm.” Sigrid cleared her throat nervously, “Which ingredients?”

 

“The first is Alcorn Dust.”

 

“It’s rare, comes from a unicorn. But we should have some.”

 

“You best have it! The next ingredient is Nephtar, a type of thick water also known as liquid fire.”

 

“Untreated, it looks like clear lava.”

 

“Don’t tell me what it looks like! Do you have it?”

 

“Yes, but I’ll need to prepare it,” Sigrid quivered. She turned from Lothara’s icy glare and sought refuge in the recipe. “Let me see the list… Ah, I know we have this one: ‘Shamîr’s Hook.’”

 

“What is it?”

 

“Stingers from a worm found in the deserts of the Holy Land,” the apprentice responded, her eyes fixed on the document. She checked the next ingredient: the blackened root of a rare weed.

 

“‘Tip of Rat’s Tail,’” she read the ingredient’s name out loud. “I’ll need to check…”

 

“I have Tip of Rat’s Tail,” Lothara interrupted, “I’ve trapped several rats for this purpose.”

 

“Wait! Are they …?” Sigrid blurted, before stopping. She doesn’t know what it is!

 

“Are they what?” Lothara inquired.

 

“Are they…properly cut?” Sigrid improvised, continuing with her ruse, “the tip must be spliced before you chop it. Oh, and it must be the tail of a female rat.”

 

“Hmm, I’ll take that into consideration.”

 

“And this one?” Sigrid asked, purposefully. She pointed to the last item on the list. “Do you have Adder’s Fork?”

 

“Yes. Although acquiring it proved more challenging. Nevertheless, my spells make me immune to snake bites.”

 

Sigrid suppressed a smile deep within her soul. She hoped Lothara wouldn’t notice a jar on the shelf filled with bifurcated violet petals and labelled ‘XIV. Adder’s Fork (herbal reagent).’ The apprentice subtly repositioned herself to block its view.

 

“Was it the brown variety?” Sigrid spoke now with confidence, though not too much. “They have the most potent tongues.”

 

“Indeed, I found a whole nest. Now, as for the other ingredients?”

 

“Let me fetch them,” Sigrid said hastily. She shuffled to the backroom, grabbing the jar numbered XIV on her way. Hardly a minute passed when she returned with a vial marked ‘XLII. Alcorn Dust (powder additive)’ and a jar labelled ‘VII. Shamîr’s Hook.’ She handed the vial to the sorceress and then opened the jar, carefully scooping the thyme-like contents with a spoon into a silk pouch. Sigrid labored under Lothara’s menacing watch. Yet, the apprentice was too focused on her task to notice. Every ingredient must be dealt with properly.

 

“It’ll take a bit of time to prepare the Nephtar,” Sigrid said, handing the pouch to Lothara. “It requires a small burnt sacrifice. But you’ll have it within the next hour.”

 

“You’ll bring it to my manor the moment you’re done,” the sorceress responded impatiently as she turned to the door. “I must begin posthaste. If you fail to deliver, I will find you and you will suffer.”

 

~*~

 

An hour later the apprentice walked cautiously through the village. Her long red hair tied behind her head, she wore gloves and a leather smock she had put on to make the Nephtar. The liquid fire was in a steel cauldron, necessary for transporting the volatile substance. Sigrid held it carefully by the handle, using both hands to keep it steady. Her master had trained her well. She thought of him; his words still dwelled with her. The elderly alchemist was already in decline when the sorceress first arrived in the village last month. In the weeks that followed, his demeanor worsened. He became withdrawn. Visibly unwell. Now he was dead and Sigrid was left all alone. But she knew what to do.

 

The young apprentice crossed the field outside the village toward the old manor house that was the sorceress’s lair. She arrived at the backdoor, as were her instructions. The tall imposing woman met her there. Lothara took the hot cauldron, briefly inspected the Nephtar, and promptly headed back into the house with little acknowledgement. Sigrid departed immediately, cringing at how carelessly Lothara handled the cauldron.

 

Sigrid made her way back into the village, hastily. She didn’t know how much time she had passed before she heard the explosion. Turning, she saw a great plume of flames engulfing what had been the manor house. Embers fell from the explosion. Roof tiles and other debris littered the field. Her cauldron dropped with a thud. Nearby a round object fell to the ground. A skull, its sharp cheek bones framed vacuous eyes that told Sigrid it was over. Beyond, the manor house burned brightly with blue flames. Blue, the sign of ignited Nephtar.

 

The former apprentice recalled the words of her dead master:

 

“Nephtar is easily agitated, one must always calm it using Adder’s Fork.”

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