I've never feared death. Not because I don't have anything to live for, no, I guess I just embrace my own mortality. That's one reason the gods envy us, don't they? Our lives mean more because we have an expiration date. A punch out of the universal time clock, if you will.

It's why I never understood everyone's fear of Hades. Oh, no, the God of the Underworld. To worship him meant you were accepting reality or something. Newsflash: Death IS reality. And some of us have to face it sooner than expected.

I'd always considered alchemists to be quacks, but we'd run out of options. My boyfriend, Ambrose, had been sick for months. No doctor could tell us what was wrong with him. If I heard one more person say, "The best you can do now is to make him comfortable," I'd shove my fist so far up their-

"Can I help you, dearie?" The alchemist, a miniature woman with a nose as long as her neck, wiry white hair, and fingers as gnarled as a tree trunk, asked.

I jumped, obviously far too lost in my thoughts to have noticed her. The hood of my brown cloak flew off my head and I pressed a hand to my chest. "By the gods, you startled me."

The rounded glasses resting on the tip of her nose magnified her eyeballs to the size of pomegranates. "You were the one who rang the bell..."

I sneered, eyeing the large bronze bell still swaying near my head. "Right. Listen. All I need are some healing herbs and I'll be on my merry way." Digging into my satchel, I clutched a handful of drachmae, ready to get the Tartarus out of dodge.

"Ah, yes. Not all kinds of healing herbs will work. Tell me what ails you." The alchemist hobbled her way past me toward a vertical row of shelves filled with jars.

I had to step out of the way, otherwise she would've faceplanted into my kneecap. "It's not for me. It's for my boyfriend, Ambrose."

She cackled. "Ambrose. An ironic name for someone on their deathbed."

"How did you-" I pinched my eyes shut. "Fever. Aches. Upset stomach. Does any of that help?"

"Yes. Yes. Hallucinations?" Her hands dragged over the jars, knocking one of them to the ground.

I scrunched my nose, stepping me and my sandal-covered feet, away from shards of glass. "Not that I know of."

"Gassiness?" She looked at me over her shoulder, flicking her tongue to the corner of her mouth.

I grimaced, twirling my wrist. "Not that I've...noticed?"

She nodded, smacked her lips together, and cradled five jars against her chest. I held my palms out, sliding backward as she whisked past me.

Honestly, was she blind as a bat?

Pottery clanked against glass as she aimlessly measured ingredients from each jar. Using a mortar, she ground them all together, lit it on fire with a smoke cloud flourish, and poured it into an empty jar.

"This paste should help, but as always there's no guarantee," she said, holding the jar of green liquid to me.

I took it between two fingers with a grimace. "Any side effects?"

She narrowed her eyes. "Not living is a pretty big one already, wouldn't you say?"

Hesitantly, I popped the cork and took a quick whiff. Puffing my cheeks, nausea boiling, I quickly sealed it back up. "For the love of Zeus, this smells like centaur dung."

"What'd you expect it to smell like? Lilac?"

"How is he supposed to take this when he's already queasy?"

"You're the girlfriend. You figure it out. Thirty drachmae." She made a come-hither gesture with her hand and held her palm out with one fist on her hip.

A breath hitched in my throat. "Thirty?" Panicking, I dug through my satchel again for good measure. "I only have twenty-five" I stared down at the pile of coins in my palm with a frown.

"That'll do." She did her come-hither again, lifting her nose in the air.

"It's all I have." I clutched the coins to my chest like a puppy.

"Do you want the concoction or not?"

I bit down on my lip and sighed. "What have I got to lose?" My hand moved toward the alchemist, her greedy gnarled fingers making grabbing gestures. "Except—" I recoiled, partially turning my back.

The alchemist rolled her eyes.

"How much of a guarantee or not is this?" I asked, narrowing my eyes.

The alchemist lurched forward, snatching the coins from my hand.

"Hey!"

She shoved me toward the exit. "Closing time. May the Fates be with you!" She gave one final push and I was outside.

"You never said if I could get—" I reached a hand for the door and it slammed shut in my face. "—my money back."

For such a tiny woman she had the strength of a rhino. I peered down at the vile, hoping, praying to whatever god would listen it would work. Ambrose was the love of my life. I wasn't ready to lose him.

Flipping my hood up, I headed home. It was a hovel by any sense of the word. But it was my hovel. I could hear Ambrose's moans from the other side of the door. Not to mention there were more holes in the walls than Swiss cheese, but I digress.

"Meg?" He asked in a weakened voice.

I rushed to his side, throwing the hood off, and taking his hands in mine. "I'm here. I bought you some medicine."

He lifted his head and then let it flop back down to the straw pillows. "Why'd you waste our money? You know it won't work."

"Stop talking like that you big lug. What other choice did I have?" I threw my cloak over a chair and removed the vile from my satchel.

Now to make this putrid ooze tolerable.

"You know what choice you have, Meg. Why make this harder on yourself?" His long black hair stuck to his forehead from fever sweat.

We didn't have much in the way of herbs, but luckily there were a few mint sprigs left. This could either make it taste better or worse...hm. I shrugged, ground some up and added it to the vile.

"You may have given up on yourself, Ambrose. But I haven't." I walked over to him and sat on the edge of the bed, popping the cork from the medicine.

"You've always been too good to me," he croaked.

Seeing a man who could plow an entire field without the aid of an ox reduced to lying motionless on a bed, was hard to stomach. He needed back to his old self, to not look so...weak.

"Here." I poured some of the thick liquid onto my finger and held it out.

His brown eyes stared up at me before he parted his mouth. I smoothed some over his lips.

It took a grand total of three seconds before he gagged and sputtered.

"What in Tartarus is this?" He yelled.

I scrambled for a horn mug, grabbing the clay pitcher of fresh water. "Here. Wash it down. You need to take it all." I held the mug out to him.

He snatched it from my hand with a glare and guzzled every last drop.

I leaned away, curling my hands against my chest.

He sighed and let the empty mug drop to the floor as his arm drooped down. "Thank you."

"There, see? You're going to be fine." I gave as reassuring of a smile as I could muster.

He groaned and turned on his side.

My bottom lip quivered and I bent forward, resting my arm on the bed, and shoving my face into it.

He had to be fine.

"I'd sell my soul if I have to," I whispered.