Chapter 4 - The Poisoned Air of Willow Street
The walk down Willow Street was like walking through a ghost town. The windows of every house were shuttered tight, glowing with the sickly, yellow flicker of sickroom candles. From behind closed doors came the low, agonizing hum of delirium and the rattling coughs of people fighting for their next breath.
When they stepped inside the apothecary, Emily stopped dead in her tracks, a wave of pure nausea hitting her stomach.
The shop smelled entirely wrong.
Instead of the crisp, clean scent of dried peppermint, clean alcohol, and subtle earth, the air was heavy, thick, and cloying. It smelled of too much dried sage—burned carelessly in copper pans in a panicked, superstitious attempt to drive away evil spirits—mixed with the sickeningly sweet, rotting stench of spoiled syrups and improperly stored belladonna.
Jacob had tried to brew medicines. He had pulled jars down at random, mixing ingredients without rhyme, reason, or proportion.
Emily walked behind the counter, picking up a heavy glass beaker filled with a dark, murky brown liquid. She uncorked it, lifted it to her nose, and instantly recoiled, coughing.
“Stramonium,” she hissed, turning her blazing eyes onto Jacob, who stood shivering by the door. “You mixed Jimsonweed into a respiratory tonic?”
“I... I thought it was comfrey!” Jacob stammered, wringing his hands until his knuckles were white. “The labels... the labels had faded, and I didn't know which jar was which—”
“You didn’t know because you never bothered to learn the scent!” Emily shouted, slamming the beaker down on the counter so hard the glass cracked. “Stramonium doesn't heal a cough, Jacob! In high doses, it paralyzes the lungs, constricts the blood vessels, and turns the lips gray! You didn't cause a plague—you poisoned half the town with your ignorance!”
Jacob turned the color of curdled milk, his knees buckling. He slid down the side of the counter until he was sitting on the floor, his head in his hands. “I just wanted to help... I thought if I could cure just one person, father would look at me like he used to look at you...”
Emily didn't have time for his confession. She grabbed a clean linen cloth, wet it with pure spring water, and wiped her hands. She examined the sample jars Jacob had prepared for the patients, tossing them one by one into the slop bucket.
Then, she paused.
A faint, ghostly scent drifted past her nose—a sharp, complex aroma that cut right through the stench of burned sage and spoiled syrups.
It reminded her of winter bark—the deep, resinous scent of ancient pine and frozen soil that only appeared when the earth was locked in the deepest freeze of January. But it was November. There was no winter bark harvested yet.
Emily frowned, tilting her head. The scent was coming from the back room. No—it was coming from beyond the back room.
From the garden.
May you like
Emily dropped the cloth and ran toward the back door of the shop, her boots clacking loudly against the floorboards.
“Emily, wait! Where are you going?” Jacob cried out, scrambling to his feet and stumbling after her.
