Even now, Alissa hated hunting. She loathed the killing, the skinning, all of it. But she never resented her father for it. If anything, he had given her the means to survive in her parents’ absence. Hunting was all she knew how to do; it was what kept her and Dhalia alive. Standing by the animals’ dying bodies, waiting for the moment their innocent souls were gone, she would seek strength in her father’s words and whisper the prayer she had learned from her mother so long ago.
Alissa had decided earlier that day that the best place to start her quest would be Bryniard’s apothecary shop, where Mr. Hamit worked. It was not because she missed the old man or because the last of the heartburn potions she bought from him was working its way through her digestive system. To be honest, enduring the eighty-year-old man’s bad temper was not her favorite way to start the day. However, the fact that he was the oldest person alive in Bryniard and the owner of the only apothecary shop was enough to overlook his unpleasant demeanor.
Alissa wore her brown pants and a white long-sleeved shirt cinched at her waist as she walked inside the shop, carrying the only bag she owned on her shoulder. Her eyes fixed on the counter, where a man with a cigar hanging between his lips was busy writing on a sheet of paper. The bell above the door rang as Alissa entered, prompting a grunt and a deep rolling of eyes from Mr. Hamit. He stared at her over round-framed glasses perched on the tip of his nose, his dark brown skin contrasting with the sparse, thin white hair on his head. The strong scent of smoke, old furniture, and mint invaded her nostrils as she reached the counter. If she were ever taken to the apothecaryshop blindfolded, she would instantly know where she was only by the unpleasant, familiar smell.
“You again,” he said.
Her eyes widened in response.
“You can’t expect me to welcome you with open arms after last time.”
Alissa had hoped he had forgotten her last disastrous visit, but it seemed that shattering an entire case of potion vials was not so easily erased from memory.
“That was an accident. I already apologized!”
Mr. Hamit raised his eyebrows, skeptical, and she felt the need to apologize again. “I’m sorry, Mr. Rabbit.”
It was Dhalia who first called the old man Mr. Rabbit, not in jest but simply because it was relatively common for such young children to mix up words. That was the day Alissa laughed the hardest. She laughed until the air in her lungs faltered and her stomach ached. From that day on, both mother and daughter embraced Mr. Rabbit as his official name, though Alissa had never made the mistake of calling him that to his face.
She blushed, noticing her slip-up, but she held the smile of a child begging their parents for something. A smile that clearly stated she had come with intentions Mr. Hamit might not get too excited about.
“What do you want, Miss Kriegen?”
“I need your help with something.” Alissa opened her bag and grabbed a small notebook and a quill pen from within. The man’s eyes instantly narrowed, but he let her speak without interruptions to satisfy the sudden curiosity that took over him.
“I have some questions for you.” Her smile grew wider by the second, as if by smiling, the chances of Mr. Hamit helping her increased. It might have worked with other people, but for this man in particular, it could have been the other way around.
“Questions about…”
“Senectus Subita.” Her smile gave way to hopeful eyes.
“No.” He crossed his arms over his chest and stared at her in boredom.
“Please, Mr. Hamit.”
“Absolutely not.”
“I beg for your help, sir. It’s important.” The urgency in her voice might have been apparent to him because his face softened for the briefest of seconds.
“Okay, I’ll answer your questions. With one condition.”
His eyes were mirthful, and suddenly, Alissa was scared of what he would ask of her. Still, she would do anything to save Dhalia, so she voiced her willingness. “I’ll do anything.”
“I don’t want you to sell Mr. Dreit venison for the rest of the year. I can’t stand any more of that idiot bragging about how venison seasoned in wine and spices is his favorite dinner menu.” The old man grunted at the recollection of Mr. Dreit’s smugness and snarled in disgust, “That rich bastard.” His right hand slapped the counter in anger, and Alissa assumed there was some banter going on between the two.
She thought it best not to mention that her chances of hunting deer this season were close to zero; she agreed instead.
“We’ll see how you like your venison now, asshole,” he murmured to himself with an evil smile on his lips.
Alissa wouldn’t admit it, but she found the bickering between the old men quite amusing.
Clearing her throat to bring Mr. Hamit back to reality, she opened her notebook. Flicking through the pages where Dhalia’s drawings were, she felt her heart sink right before she found the list of questions she had prepared for this encounter.
“Question number one…”
“Oh, there’s more than one question?” The man’s brows shot upward in surprise.
“Yes, there are a few.” His displeased expression forced her to warn him, “You can’t change your mind now. A deal is a deal.”