Chapter Fifteen:
Love Potion No. Nein
*Stumbles in, bleeding and full of bullet holes*
Thought you'd seen the last of me? Not even god could be so lucky.
'She bent down and turned around and gave me a wink
She said I'm gonna make it up right here in the sink
It smelled like turpentine, it looked like Indian ink
I held my nose, I closed my eyes, I took a drink'
…
Caleb woke the next morning to find the bedroom empty. Last night's storm burned itself out, leaving a clear morning in its wake. The hearth's embers simmered beside him, and the low muffled din of the tavern's morning crowd leaked through the floorboards.
He pushed himself up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Frumpkin shot him an irritated look before readjusting, nestling further into the Bahamut tapestry.
Last night stretched long, and sleep had been elusive. He'd spent most of his time curled up in a ball, trying to flush the warmth from his core back into his frozen fingers and toes and listening to Nott in the other room. Once or twice, another potion bottle shattered on her, but more often it was muffled cursing. So he laid on his side, hands tucked against his chest in the cold and dark trying to ignore every part of his brain and body that longed to go to her aid. Love was a muscle memory, it seemed. Or maybe in this case, more of a phantom limb.
In the early hours of the morning sleep came for him with a vengeance. Upon waking he realized he hadn't heard Fjord or Molly leave. Judging by the direction of the shadows, it was already mid-morning.
Groaning, he untangled himself from the tapestry and stood, stretching out so his back cracked. Even in his thirty-two-year-old body he was getting too old to sleep on floors. He pulled his jacket from the nest of fabric under his feet, shrugging it on gingerly around his bandaged shoulder.
He'd meant to ask Jester about his injuries last night, but she'd come home and regaled the group with stories from her day and how beautiful the palace was and how scary the countess was and how silly it was that not even clerics could use magic within the walls. Promptly after she passed out on her dinner plate, and Fjord carried her to bed.
So, he'd intended on asking her before she left in the morning for her next shift, but it seemed in keeping with tradition, yet another of his grand schemes had been foiled.
With a yawn, he left Frumpkin behind and stepped out into the hall.
"No rush, but I would absolutely love to get rid of this stuff as soon as possible," floated Molly's voice from further down.
"I'm working as fast as I can," Nott shot back.
Following the voice, Caleb found himself confronted with Nott's door pinned wide open, letting acrid, chemical fumes waft into the hall. He scanned the chaos: piles of empty potion bottles—all that glass was definitely a hazard—, pages from Lox's journal pinned to the walls with knives, alchemist tools scattered over the table and chairs, and…oh! Her small form popped into view from around the massive cauldron. Her dark hair stuck out in every direction, and her eyes were wide with panic as she sunk to her knees to dig through a pile of half-filled potion bottles.
"How do you feel?" she asked over her shoulder at someone Caleb couldn't see.
"Still dizzy. A little heat-stroke-ish," floated Molly's strained voice.
Nott dug around the ingredient-laden table, boney fingers dancing like the legs of a spider over piles of dried herbs and glass bottles. She pulled a half-empty glass vial out of the mess. "Try this," she said, scurrying across the room and out of Caleb's view.
The resulting pause was broken by the sound of Molly gagging. "Are you sure you're not trying to intentionally poison me this go around?" he asked, voice hoarse.
"Did it work?" she asked, voice edged with eagerness and desperation.
"'Fraid not."
Nott hissed a curse and crossed the room to resume her digging.
Caleb took a deep breath and stepped into the room. "Nott?" he asked, voice tenuous and strained.
She stiffened at the sound of his voice, hand frozen above a beaker. She swallowed hard, grit her jaw, then continued to work, refusing to meet his gaze.
"Nott, please," he whispered. "I need to know what's going—"
His sentence was broken off by the sight of one Mollymauk Tealeaf reclining against the nearest wall. He clutched a wooden bucket close to his chest, head bowed as if in prayer and eyes pressed shut. A fresh cut on his forearm leaked lazy droplets of blood onto the ground, and his scimitar was still red edged from the incision.
"Mol—ly?" Caleb asked, dragging the last syllable in confusion.
"Good morning, Caleb," Molly said, tone brightening but keeping his eyes pressed shut.
"What's going on? Why has Molly been poisoned?" Caleb asked them both.
Nott ignored him in favor fishing a half-filled glass vial from the messy table and pouring it into a larger glass bottle full of mysterious yellow chunks. Once combined, the two substances started to fizz and release a trickle of steam.
"Oh, I'm not the only one," he said cheerily. "You've missed quite the exciting morning already. Earlier—" a roar of commotion from below cut him off.
"That sounded like Beauregard…" Caleb said, staring at the floorboards as if he could see through them.
"That's likely I'd imagine" Molly said.
Across the room, a steady stream of smoke now poured out of the potion. Nott took a step back.
Molly continued speaking. "You wouldn't believe—"
The glass bottle exploded with a deafening pop that sent a spray of liquid and glass across the room. Nott dropped to the floor, hands over her head. Caleb started, and Molly jumped back right into the wall behind him, dropping the bucket and losing his footing in the process so he collapsed to the ground with a loud thud.
Small glass pieces decorated the table where the bottle hand once been, and the last of the smoke drifted up to the ceiling in a fat sulfur-smelling cloud that dispersed on impact.
"Is everyone alright?" Caleb asked, hand over his racing heart.
Nott made an ambiguous grunt, pushed herself off the floor, and brushed several glass shards off her clothes.
"Depends on your definition," Molly said with a groan, blinking the stars out of his eyes and rubbing the back of his head.
Caleb offered him a hand.
Molly took it, meeting his gaze with a crooked grin. "Than—"
Nott whipped around, eyes wide. "Molly, don't look!"
But Molly sat on the floor, still holding Caleb's offered hand, face frozen in mild confusion. He blinked, eyes glazing over.
"Molly?" Caleb asked, urgency creeping into his voice as Molly's face paled. "Nott, what did you have him take?" he asked, looking over his shoulder at her in panic.
She pinched the bridge of her nose. The tension in her jaw made her defeated sigh sound more like a hiss. "Fuck."
"Nott!" Caleb shouted, voice rising in panic.
She winced at his voice, turning her back to him and leaning heavily onto the table, shoulders slumped in defeat.
Caleb opened his mouth to demand answers, but before he could Molly tugged on his hand, catching him by surprise as he pulled himself up at last.
"Molly, are you alright? What did you take?" Caleb asked, brows pressed in concern and mentally cycling through his limited potion knowledge as the tiefling righted himself.
Molly rubbed the back of his head, blinking in confusion with a small quirked frown. "I…I think I'm okay?"
Caleb took a deep breath, willing himself to calm down. Panic wouldn't help anyone right now. "What did you take?" Caleb repeated.
"I took…" he trailed off staring into nothing, face scrunching. He ran a hand through his hair. "I took…" he repeated, even fainter the second time.
Leaving Molly to his bewilderment, Caleb crouched down next to the overturned bucket, where a rosey-pink liquid with a fruity smell was soaking into the floorboards. He dipped his pinky finger in, inspected it for a moment, then popped it in his mouth.
A chill shot up his spine, and a giddy manic energy bubbled up from his stomach to his throat. He clenched his jaw, but his teeth couldn't hold it back, and he barked a laugh before falling backwards.
Caleb blinked, taking a moment to compose himself before pushing himself up to a standing position. Well that was…something…
He opened his mouth to ask another question but was broken off when two hands curled around his torso from behind and a face nestled against the intersection of his neck and shoulder.
"Thank you for helping me up," Molly murmured into his shoulder. "I don't think I said that earlier."
Caleb stiffened.
Oh.
Oh.
So that's the kind of potion it was.
Shit.
A burning flush rose from his neck as he tried to untangle from Molly. "Excuse me, Molly, I need to—"
Molly pressed a hot kiss on the exposed sliver of his neck, and Caleb's heart rate shot into the atmosphere while his stomach dropped, leaving him breathless.
He had to get out of this situation. Now.
Carefully, as if he were untangling himself from poisonous snakes, Caleb pulled Molly's hands back then slipped out of his grip and darted for the exit. He jogged down the stairs, taking them two at a time, and almost slammed into Beau at the bottom.
"Woah, watch it man," she said, catching him by the shoulders to steady them both.
"Thank you," he said, taking a deep breath. "Molly has—" the sentence died on his lips as the full breadth of the inn's chaos struck him at once.
The chandelier swayed, tables and chairs had been flung aside, and overturned tankards spilled glistening ale on the bar, tainting the air with the smell of liquor. Wizened regulars lined the tavern, red-faced and teary-eyed from laughing. Couples dotted the room in various states of romantic entanglement, seemingly unaware of anyone or anything else, while a frazzled Rose tried to pry them apart with a broom. A massive throng of people crowded the door to the stockroom, pawing on it and moaning like a hoard of undead.
All this chaos was punctuated by a rather irate-looking Fjord, who'd been tied upside down to a wooden pillar nearby.
Caleb blinked. "You—the love philters you were using—how did this—?" He ran his hand through his hair and looked to Beau for answers.
"Well someone," she glared at Fjord behind her, "decided he didn't want to put the runoff barrel outside. With the trash. Where it was supposed to go. But because it was 'too cold,' he left it by the back door. In the kitchen."
Fjord squirmed against the restraints. "Hey, it was raining last night, okay?" he protested.
Caleb took another steadying breath, still trying to process the situation. He was keenly aware of the sound of familiar leather boots with a slight heel padding down the stairs behind him. He ignored it and focused on Beau. "And how did it end up being served?"
Beau threw her hands up then gestured at the still-swarmed stockroom. "I don't know, Caleb, ask the damn bartender."
"Please help," called a mournful, muted, voice from the stockroom that sounded very much like Valentine.
Fjord squirmed more violently. "He needs help," he said, shades of genuine irritation and panic passing his face. With a spray of water, he summoned the Falchion to his still bound hands and then vanished in a poof of mist.
Beau cursed, spinning around, only to see Fjord reappear by the door, pushing the other thralls aside with his sword raised. "I'll save you!" he declared, voice booming and chivalrous.
Beau sprinted across the room in a blur and leapt onto his back, pulling them both down. "You're not actually in love with him, man," she growled, wrestling him into a choke hold and kicking the Falchion out of his hand so it skidded across the floor.
"Yes I am," Fjord insisted before summoning the Falchion back in his hand and disappearing into mist a second time.
Caleb took a hesitant step forward, hand hovering over his component bag as Beau tackled Fjord yet again. What could he—?
Hands snaked around his torso from behind, and Molly rested his head on Caleb shoulder with a light chuckle. The lazy curve of his horn pressed into Caleb's neck, point coming to rest just below his adam's apple.
Caleb stiffened, lungs frozen in a half-finished exhale.
"I leave for two minutes, and they're back to fighting again," Molly said with a grin, punctuating the complaint with several 'tsks' for good measure.
"You've been poisoned," Caleb managed amidst a mind full of static.
Molly chuckled, and Caleb could feel the vibrations in his chest, warm and rumbling. "I suppose I have," he said with an unconcerned grin.
Caleb looked away, unable to hold the weight of that soft gaze for more than a handful of seconds. He swallowed hard and focused on Beau wrestling Fjord back into submission.
"Can't you, uh, expel it? With your abilities?" Caleb asked, stumbling over his words and staring straight ahead. "That's what Nott was having you do, ya?"
"Oh, but being poisoned has never been this fun before," Molly said, and Caleb could hear that damn lazy smile in his voice. "Might as well take my thrills where I can get them."
…
Despite his familiarity with the elements, Caleb still found himself wholly unprepared for the experience of Ice Haven after a storm. The freezing rain had solidified on impact, encasing the city in a glittering sheet of ice.
Caleb waded through shin-high slush with Beau's messy shopping list in one hand and a 100-something-pound tiefling hanging off the other.
"It's a nice city, but I don't think I could ever live here," Molly said, looking at their frozen surroundings. "Not enough color."
"Too cold," Caleb added, weaving out of the way of an oncoming cart.
Molly grinned. "Oh, the cold's not so bad," he said, his words coming out in a puff of fog. The rosy blush across his cheeks and nose was the only evidence he felt the chill at all.
Caleb, on the other hand, was bundled up as well as he could manage, and every breath still felt like a punch in the lungs. It was why he'd stopped trying to untangle himself from Molly after the sixth attempt—he'd run out of energy, and Mollymauk was warm.
Yes. It was those two reasons exclusively.
Not the fact that Molly was witty and charming and made him forget, even momentarily, how shitty his current circumstances were. Or the fact that his wiry arms still had enough muscle to be felt through his coat. Or that snowflakes kept catching on his eyelashes.
Around them, Ice Haven residents broke open the frozen seal on their doors and windows and emerged out from their crystal prisons into the gentle daylight. It was almost beautiful. What would the long-term effects of this kind of weather have on the architectu-?
"Woah, watch it," Molly said and pulled Caleb out of the way of a spray of ice chunks from a window above and into his arms.
Caleb blinked, muscles tensing from the shock of warm arms wrapped around his waist. Molly's hot breath tickled his nose.
"Can you believe that?" Molly murmured, still holding Caleb tight. His gaze flicked down to Caleb's lips. "Some people are so inconsiderate," he breathed, leaning in.
Caleb inhaled, breath catching in his throat. Everything in his field of vision went lavender, and all the reasons why that was dangerous seemed distant and muted now.
To their left, an icicle fell to the ground, pelting their legs with pebble-sized shrapnel.
With that, the spell was shattered, and Caleb's heart roared back to life, beating frantically for all the time it'd been still. He squirmed out of Molly's arms, putting a hand on Molly's chest to steady himself and keep him at a controlled distance. "No no no no no," Caleb said, taking deep, calming breaths. "This isn't right," he managed.
Snowflakes flurried around them like a swarm of bees.
Molly put his hands up in surrender, flashing Caleb a toothy grin. "Guilty as charged! But in my defense, you look awfully cute when you're embarrassed."
Caleb felt his face go hot. That crooked smile was familiar, but the molten warmth in his eyes, crinkled from his grin, was new, and Caleb was breaking under it. Burning.
Melting.
But he couldn't melt. Because if he did, all that would remain was ash and bones, and those weren't of particular use to anyone.
Romance could only ever be a distraction. And even if his ultimate goal hadn't informed his every decision for years, he was too full of jagged edges to allow anyone that close. Too much collateral damage. Too much risk.
He knew this—it was one of his horrible truths he kept locked in a vault deep in his chest—but repeating that mental mantra to himself failed to quell the nervous jitters in his stomach. So they simmered there, waiting and hungry.
Molly gave him a hopeful half-grin. "Shall we?" he asked, offering his arm for them to continue.
"Y-yeah," Caleb managed, stepping forward but shuffling past Molly's offered arm. "Let's keep going. Make sure you're keeping an eye out for Yasha." He kept his eyes forward.
"Naturally," Molly said, sounding slightly crestfallen as he caught up to walk with Caleb.
They wove through Ice Haven's frosted streets towards the market district—watching for their AWOL barbarian all the while. She'd wandered off that morning, and no one was sure if she had consumed some of the love philter or if she was just off following the whims of the Storm Lord.
He'd tried calling to her with Sending earlier.
'Yasha, are you okay? Where are you? You can respond to this message.'
'I'm okay.'
He blew another spell slot.
'Where are you?'
'Oh, by some sort of house, I think.'
Helpful. At least they knew she was okay; now it was just a matter of finding her.
They'd been to the market district once before—the day Lox died—but covered in crystal even the familiar potion shop in the distance looked glittering and new.
The buildings in the market district were pushed close together, as if huddling for warmth themselves. The alluring smell of cooked meat drifted from a nearby tavern. Sleepy Ice Haven natives milled through the streets, fur-lined coats pulled up to their noses. Some took their time, browsing each merchants array of wares, while others plowed through the hawking sellers without so much as a glance.
As they wove through the chaos a bony hand grabbed at Caleb's sleeve.
He whipped around to find a pasty salesman leaning half-way over his stall. "You look like people of great taste. Surely necks as regal as those could only be enhanced by trinkets such as these," he gestured to the wide array of glistening jewelry around him. On several, the gold plating was already beginning to flake. Mollymauk's eyes went wide with interest.
"Oh please, tell me about your wares," he said, enraptured.
"Molly," Caleb murmured in warning.
"Well, these," the salesman gestured to the row of rings at the front, "came all the way from the merchant princes' caravans in Marquet."
"Oh, tell me more."
With every expression of interest, a grin stretched the salesman's face wider and wider. To Caleb's knowledge, goblin-human hybrids weren't possible, but this man, with his bulging eyes and folds of skin in all the wrong places, made him question that assumption.
"And these," the man said, showing his last row of necklaces, "are my most rare, my most precious treasures. Only for the most discerning customers."
"And why is that?" Molly asked enraptured, tail flicking behind him so intently that Caleb had to move out of its way.
"Because," the goblin-man said in a whisper. "These pendants are magic."
"No!" Molly gasped.
"You're overdoing it," Caleb mumbled, but Molly ignored him.
"Yes!" The man cried. "This one is enchanted to keep your skin clear as a summer's day, this one will make all who look at you fall in love with you, this one promises wealth, and this one will keep you young and beautiful for all your days."
"Oh I've developed a habit at this point of dying young and beautiful," Molly confessed. "So I'm not sure how helpful that last one would be."
"No matter, no matter! Today and today only, Sebold the Wonder Peddler can offer you any two of these great necklaces, worth one whole gold piece each, for only twenty silver!"
Molly opened his mouth, but Caleb dragged him away.
"Buy ten, get one half off' special, today only!" Sebold called after them in desperation.
"Oh, what exquisite bullshit it all was," Molly crooned as they left Sebold a pale speck in the distance. "His pitch could use work though."
Caleb hummed in acknowledgement, privately wondering what sort of idiot would sincerely think a single thing from that stall was magical.
Molly went quiet for a while as they wove through the last dredges of the market district.
"I...apologize, Caleb," he said at last, breaking the silence between them.
"Oh?" Caleb asked over his shoulder as he dodged an overeager salesman gesturing wildly at his collection of eyeless fish. "Don't apologize, the salesman was just—"
"No, before that," he clarified, "I can be...impulsive," Molly said, chewing on his words, "But I know you're not the most physical person, so I should have—"
"It's alright, Mollymauk," Caleb said. "You've been poisoned. It's not your fault."
Molly gave a noncommittal hum. They stepped around a gnomish man and his gaggle of small, laughing children.
Caleb sighed. Maybe he was approaching the situation the wrong way. Mollymauk, his good friend, had been poisoned. Nature of that poison aside, the best Caleb could do for him was watch over him until either the tincture ran its course or Nott found the antidote. Make sure he didn't do anything he'd…regret when he returned to his senses. The last thing he needed was to lose his final ally by letting him get too familiar while drugged. Grand strategies and plots aside, Molly deserved more than that.
Caleb absently traced the fresh embroidery on his sleeve.
Steeling himself, he grabbed Molly's hand, lacing their fingers. A way to control the distance.
Molly looked up at him in surprise.
"Stay close, alright? I will, uh, help you through this as best I can," Caleb said, turning away as he realized how corny that sounded as he said it.
Molly's snow-flushed cheeks stretched in a Cheshire grin, a self-satisfied twinkle in his eye. "Oh with pleasure."
…
Normally, it was easy to hunt down Yasha in a crowded area. She cast enough of a shadow that onlookers took note. But as it turned out, tall women clad in black and white weren't in short supply in Ice Haven. And after an hour of following false leads, they stumbled upon her by pure luck as she carried an armful of lumber through a residential street.
Their time in Ice Haven had coaxed a flush from even her pallid complexion, and snow collected on her dark hair. She started when she saw them. "Oh, hello," she said, still holding her planks.
"How are you feeling on this fine morning, Yasha? Lovestruck and breathless?" Molly asked with a teasing smile.
She stared at their locked arms. "Uhh, not so much, no. Not anymore."
"Not anymore?" Caleb pressed.
She shrugged. "Yeah, no. I think I was for a bit, but it wore off pretty quickly." She looked at Molly. "Did you…?" She mimed chugging a pint.
"When have I ever abstained from a good drink?" he asked. "But believe it or not I was helping our lovely alchemist this morning, and wouldn't you know it things didn't go according to plan." He tutted in exaggerated remorse before flashing Caleb a grin.
She nodded. "So you're still…?" She took a pointed look at their entwined arms.
"Deeply infatuated with our wonderful wizard? Absolutely," he said with a wide grin, patting Caleb on the back—who flushed a vibrant red in turn.
Yasha gave Caleb's shoulder a sympathetic squeeze. "Watch out for him until it passes, alright?"
Caleb could only nod.
"Decided to start a craft project, then?" Molly asked with a raised eyebrow, taking a pointed look at her stack of wood.
Yasha shifted from foot to foot. "Yeah well, the woman I ended up…" she chewed on her words for a moment, "...following, she, uh, needed a hand fixing some things around her house, so..." she trailed off with a shrug and nodded towards a woman several houses down the road, kneeling by her front door with nails in her mouth.
The woman waved.
Molly waved back.
"Apparently one of the walls of her house collapsed a couple nights ago. Just turned straight to dust. So I thought I might stick around for a few hours and help out, ya know? It felt weird to stop halfway."
Caleb flinched. He'd thought this street looked familiar.
"Well, it's good that you're alright," he said. "Did you want to come shopping with us? The others were going to do it, but it seems in all the chaos the task has fallen to us."
"No, that's alright. I trust your judgement. Don't let Molly get me anything too flashy," she said.
Caleb snorted. "I think it would be easier to divert a river from its course."
"Well said!" Molly said, beaming and patting Caleb on the arm.
Swallowing down his rising blush, Caleb addressed Yasha. "We'll be a couple streets over. If you need anything or our friends," he glanced at the nearest alley, "make a reappearance, shout and head our way."
She agreed, and they were off.
He took a moment to let Beau know.
'We found Yasha. She's safe. Going to run errands. Do you need us to come back or pick anything up?'
And after a brief pause, came the stiff reply.
'No.'
He wished he could see Beau as she said that. Wished he knew if that tone was residual anger from the revelation three days ago, or from stress from the current circumstances, or if something was legitimately going wrong back at The Tipsy Seal and she was being too prideful to ask for his help. But he didn't know, so all he could do was keep moving forward.
...
They entered Ms. Washmiggle's Potion Emporium to the sound of Molly's gasp. "Oh I'm sure Nott loved this place," he said, taking in the high, towering shelves and displays of sparkling potions as rainbow and glittering as himself.
"She did," Caleb confirmed, gently leading Molly by the hand through the aisles as he devoured the spectacle.
"Oh I bet there's all sorts of fun to be had here," Molly said, a mischievous grin growing at as he ran a clawed hand across a row of firey potions that boiled without heat. His rings clinked on the glass like music.
Caleb pulled them through a throng of patrons clustered around a display of orange potions that gave off a pleasant, radiant warmth. "Focus, Molly," he said without malice.
"Oh, there's a cosmetics section."
Caleb gave a relenting sigh. "Only five minutes while I talk to the clerk, alright? We still have errands to run."
"Oh you spoil me, darling," Molly said, planting a quick kiss on Caleb's temple with a laugh before vanishing into the aisles.
Caleb froze in place, his mind careening off the tracks it clung to. The previously subdued electricity in his gut jumped to life, flooding his body with giddy, jittery energy, his temple at the epicenter. It made him want to run laps, melt, and vomit all at the same time.
He'd forgotten, just for a moment, that Mollymauk was drugged. They'd fallen into their usual routine. Casual, comfortable conversation. Mild teasing. It was so easy to forget that Molly was deeply and desperately in love with him. Temporarily.
Before Caleb could fully drown himself in his own self-loathing, an aging halfling woman tugged at his elbow. "Something I can help you find, son?" she asked. Her frizzy hair was tamed back into a bun, and there was a small crack in her brass-framed spectacles.
"Ah, yes, actually," Caleb said, reigning in his emotional whiplash. "You are the proprietor, yes?"
"Yes, sir. At your service," Ms. Washmiggle said with a nod.
"So I have a, uh, friend, who wants to make someone fall in love with her," Caleb said, plowing forward as if it would somehow get his thoughts under control. "She wanted to know what would happen if she combined two love philters."
Ms. Washmiggle chewed her cheek. "Well I can't say I'd recommend it. There's a difference between herbal balms and true potions. True potions have bits of magic in them, and tend to have...unpredictable consequences when tampered with." She said frowning. "My uncle tried combining two strength potions one day and blew himself and his neighbors on both sides to high heaven."
"I'm sorry to hear that."
She shrugged. "You live and you learn. Or you don't. That's how it is."
Caleb frowned. "So if she did combine them, do you have any idea how long it would last?"
"Love philters are powerful but short-lived—otherwise everyone would be using them. Typically, they last about fifteen minutes."
"And combined?"
She frowned. "Like I said, there's no telling with potions. Could kill the person instantly. Could make the effects last forever."
Caleb's mouth went dry, and he swallowed hard. "Forever," he repeated.
She nodded. "However, if your friend wants to avoid potentially killing the object of her desire, it would be safer if she used the standard dosage. It would be expensive over time, but I offer installment plans," she said with a wink.
Forever. Forever. What would he do if Molly was in love with him forever? Granted, if his long-suffering plan finally bore fruit, forever for Molly would end within the next forty-eight hours.
He felt sick. "Is there an antidote?" he asked, mouth dry.
"Why would anyone bother making an antidote for a harmless potion that lasts fifteen minutes?"
"I see your point," Caleb said, feeling pale.
"Honestly, I don't think you have anything to worry about, hun," she said conspiratorially.
He blinked. "Sorry?"
"Oh I was young once too," she said, elbowing him in hip with a grin. "That tiefling is over the moon about you, clear as day. No potion required."
"It appears that way," he said joylessly. He needed to sit down.
"Well, here." She looked around for a moment before grabbing a small bottle of amber liquid off a nearby shelf. "Consider this a gift."
Caleb took it, staring at in his palm. "Ah, thank you? Is this—?"
"Oh it's not a potion. It's for chafing," she said with a wink.
Caleb blanched. "I—no! We're not—! It's not—!" Hot blood flooded back into his face.
A purple hand snatched it out of his open palm. "Oh this is fabulous, thank you, love," Molly said, holding the golden liquid up into the sunlight before pocketing it. And suddenly he was back, all rainbows and crooked smiles and smelling of old incense. He twined around Caleb's arm. "Ready?" he asked.
He nodded and let himself be guided out of the store and into the frozen street beyond. The ice encasing the city was beautiful earlier, but now he saw that the buildings were not decorated but trapped. Like overnight someone had taxidermized the city and set it under a glass case.
Molly pulled him off to the side of the street. "Are you alright?" He looked him over with concern. "You've gone pale."
Caleb shied away from the scrutiny. "I am pale."
"Caleb."
Caleb swallowed. What could he say? The truth? That he was distressed he'd only have the privilege of Molly's company for two days more before abandoning him to the whims of fate—who'd never been kind to him in the first place—and that during those two days, Molly might not even be himself. Just a cruel shadow.
After a pause long enough to hold eternity, "Just tired," he said.
Molly's eyes narrowed, cherubic lips quirked into a frown. "Now you're going to need a little more confidence to sell a lie like that, darling."
"I'm worried…I'm worred that when you… return to your senses you'll hate me," Caleb said. Half-truths he could do. Half-truths were safe. "And I'm even more worried you'll be like this forever."
Molly blinked. "Oh is that all?"
Caleb recoiled.
"Hey, wait," Molly held him in place. "I'm sure our lovely resident alchemist will find a cure by sundown if she hasn't already. You believe in Nott, right?"
"Yes," he said without hesitation, going still.
"Fantastic. Then there's that problem solved," he said and moved his hands to cup Caleb's face.
His palms were warm and smooth, and Caleb could feel the cool indent of rings brushing the end of his jaw. He went rabbit-still under the full weight of Molly's molten attention.
No one had thought him worth a look like that in decades.
"Mr. Caleb, you have given me several opportunities to hate you, and I have ignored all of them. Why would I start now?" He brushed a thumb over Caleb's cheek.
It took every ounce of strength Caleb had not to lean into the gesture. "Even a saint's forgiveness has limits, Mollymauk," he murmured, too mesmerized and too resigned to avert his eyes.
Mollymauk's face split in a wolfish grin. "Ah, it's an awfully good thing I'm not a saint, then."
…
Caleb had a vague understanding of fashion. Don't combine patterns, be careful about wearing colors too close to each other in hue, and the first two rules were optional if you had enough confidence—as exemplified by one Mollymauk Tealeaf.
While his confidence allowed him to flourish in twelve different patterns and fifty different colors, that ability was not, in fact, miraculously granted to his teammates by proximity.
"How about this?" Molly asked, holding up a swathe of rose-pink fabric.
"What is it exactly?" Caleb asked, looking up from the cloaks he rifled through.
"A sash I believe," he said, tying it around his waist experimentally.
"Scarf," corrected a narrow-faced man eyeing them from the front counter, trying to riddle out why two foreigners in travel-worn garb were plaguing his fine establishment. He eyed Molly's carnival glass scimitars with unease.
"Oh that's no fun," Molly said, already tying a second scarf around his waist.
Around them hung various articles in dark or jewel tones, brocades with abstracted wave patterns, and fur-lined coats and cloaks made of ermine, fox, and the whitest hare. Clear sunlight filtered in through the back window, catching on the finer embroidery kept behind the front counter and away from over-eager hands. Among such finery and decadence, even the omnipresent cold decided to check itself at the door.
Caleb referenced the crumpled shopping list where Beau had scribbled out several hasty clothing requests. He had nothing to go on size-wise except his own memory, but thankfully the Ice Haven denizens preferred more formless, straight, or A-line clothing. It was difficult to parade one's figure while wearing the necessary layers of fur required for survival. That didn't, however, stop Mollymauk and his scarves from trying.
"What do you think of this?" Caleb held up a black tunic, heavy with brocade. "For Fjord?"
Molly's nose wrinkled, but his smile remained. "Oh, who are we burying?"
Caleb snorted. "What would you dress him in?" he asked, eyebrow quirked in challenge.
Molly took a moment to scour the store before ending up in the women's section and pulling a bright orange overcoat with flying cranes decorating the bottom half.
"I think even if you could convince him to wear that, it wouldn't fit his shoulders," Caleb said.
Molly let the overcoat drop with a sigh. "That's unfortunate. It appears we might have to do the unthinkable, Mr. Caleb: cooperate," he said with faux seriousness.
Caleb bit back a smile. "It seems so, Mr. Mollymauk."
Rows of multicolored fabric, quiet debates, and gentle teasing filled the next hour, along with more electric moments than Caleb could bear. It was the gentle brushing of fingertips as they reached for the same coat, the way Molly trailed his hand across Caleb's shoulder blades as he passed by, and Molly's quiet, contented smiles that only intensified when Caleb caught him staring. It was like being struck by lightning.
And worst of all, some godforsaken, traitorous corner in his brain was beginning to like it.
Fjord and Yasha were the easiest to shop for. It took a moment to find something to fit Beau's sensibilities, but after searching they pinned down an outfit with loose pants.
Nott was tricky—it had to be something her size, but everything child-sized was too infantile for a grown woman, and the clothing store specializing in smaller races sat on the other side of town. After deliberation, a tunic became a dress—girth wrangled into submission by one of Molly's scarf-sashes.
For Jester, they found a rose and cream brocade dress tucked in a corner of the store. It wasn't as flouncey as she'd like, but if she stuffed the petticoats she already owned underneath, perhaps it'd suffice.
Molly leaned on the front counter. "What's the gaudiest thing you have?"
The clerk bristled. "I do not sell gaudy things, sir. This is a reputable establishment."
"Indulge me," Molly said, propping his chin on his hands while his tail swayed behind him.
"We are fully willing to pay," Caleb added over the mound of clothes he carried.
With an abused sigh, the clerk vanished into the back and appeared several minutes later with a layered robe, bloated with embroidery and heavy with pearl beads strung along the edges. It smelled strongly of dust and age.
Molly's eyes lit up. "Oh it's hideous. I love it," he said already reaching for the garment.
The clerk ground his jaw and handed it over.
"And, what's the price on this one?" Caleb asked.
The clerk spat out a price like it was an insult, valuing it three times higher than any other article in the store.
Molly ran a hand over the embroidery with cheeky delight. He opened his mouth, but Caleb put a hand on his arm before he could accept.
"I think we'll keep looking for the moment, thank you," Caleb said, and the clerk jerked the robe away and vanished to the back.
Molly turned on him with a look of exaggerated betrayal.
"For that price, Mollymauk, we can get you many, many gaudy things," he murmured.
Molly sighed. "What's the point of money if you don't—"
"Use it, I know," Caleb continued, "but there's a difference between spending money poorly and spending money wisely."
"I make a point of never doing anything wisely."
Caleb chuckled. "This I know too. How about this: if we cannot find anything better elsewhere before the end of the day, we can come back."
"You drive a hard bargain, but I suppose I can be coerced into spending more time with a handsome wizard on my arm," Molly said with an innocent smile that made Caleb choke on air.
"I—we'll see if you still feel that way before the day is up," he managed.
They canvased the store one last time, picking up scarves and stockings and anything else they'd missed the first time. The collection of shoes on offer was meager at best, but as he turned to remark upon it to Molly, he'd found he'd disappeared.
"Look what I found," came his smooth voice from the opposite side, causing Caleb to jump. Molly held a deep blue tunic with orange-gold trim.
"It's too much, Mollymauk. I'll find something...simpler," he said. He hadn't worn anything that nice in years.
"Because you want something simpler or because you don't think you deserve something like this?" Molly asked without malice.
Caleb swallowed hard, shrinking under the scrutiny. "It's fine, I just don't—"
"Because I might have already bought it. So if you don't like it because it's not your taste, we can return it, but if you don't like it because you don't like spending money on yourself, then this shouldn't be a problem, right?"
Caleb cringed. "You didn't have to. You're drugged, I shouldn't have let you—"
Molly cut him off. "Then just pay me back when the potion wears off," he said easily.
"I doubt you'll let me even then."
"You're absolutely correct."
Caleb took the tunic, handling it as if he'd get it dirty by touch alone. "Thank you, Molly."
He beamed.
They purchased an armful of clothing and only when seventy gold pieces were placed on the counter did the clerk's demeanor melt into something pleasant. With the clothing folded, wrapped in parchment, and strung together, the clerk gave them directions to the nearest cobbler and suggestions to where they might find masks. Most of the masquerade's invitees had commissioned custom masks months ago, and the leather worker was likely sold out as well. The clerk suggested they try the nearby theater, as they were in the process of revamping their play roster and had plans to auction off the old costumes in a week or so.
They had luck with the cobbler, and after greasing a palm or two, they were allowed access to the theater's back room. Crated costumes filled the narrow space, and a tall window illuminated streaks of dust.
With an easy motion with his scimitars, Molly popped the lid off several crates and was shoulder-deep in beading and iridescent fabric just as quickly. "Oh, this is just like the circus," he said with delight, withdrawing a stylized oni mask with curling bottom tusks and regarding it for a moment before tossing it aside. It cracked as it hit the ground.
"Anything you find I should be able to clean with prestidigitation," Caleb said, eyeing the makeup stains on the inside of the broken mask.
Molly hummed in acknowledgement. "You know, Mona and Yuli were in a theater troupe before they joined the circus," he said, mostly to himself as he dropped another mask on the pile.
Caleb's face scrunched as he blew the cobwebs off his memory. "They were the halfling women, ya?"
Molly nodded.
"Why did they leave the theater?"
"Something about a nasty ex running them out of town. Couldn't tell you if that was the truth or not, but with a story that interesting it might as well be."
"Do you miss it? The circus?"
"Oh of course. But just because you miss something or somewhere doesn't mean going back is the right choice," he said pointedly.
Caleb stayed quiet.
He hung against the wall as Molly continued to dig through crates, withdrawing one, then ten, then twenty masks and throwing them in a pile. Once every several minutes, he'd throw some interesting bobble or accessories aside before continuing the hunt.
Caleb was content to stay silent and watch. Narrow fingers danced over worn embroidery and squished feathers. Caleb couldn't divine rhyme or reason as to what made something tacky enough for Molly's keep pile, though he did notice that when Molly found something he liked, his tail swayed faster for just a fraction of a second.
It was cute, honestly.
He wondered if that was a tell. Next time they played cards, he'd—there wouldn't be a next time. Clammy remorse tangled around his guts with frozen fingers. Tomorrow was the day of the heist. And, if things went right, the day of his second jump. He had less than thirty-four hours left with the Mighty Nein, and most of those would be stolen by sleep and heist preparation.
A familiar hollowness returned to his chest.
Molly leaned deep into a crate before him, taking a moment to shoot Caleb a smirk over his shoulder. "Enjoying the view?"
Caleb swallowed the lump in his throat and forced a smile that felt more like a grimace. "I…don't think it would be in good taste to ogle my drugged friend, Mollymauk."
Molly snorted and dug deeper into the crate, his entire upper body disappearing into a multi-colored fabric sea. "Good taste is far overrated," came the muffled reply. "And absolutely no fun at all."
The growing smile withered on Caleb's face as a pang of ache shot through his chest. Preemptive grief for the upcoming loss. Maybe he should finally take some of Molly's advice and live for the day. After all, the day was all they had.
…
They emerged from the theater with a collection of Molly's treasures and stepped onto the street in the midst of sunset. Gilded sunbeams stretched through amber clouds and lingered in the ice around them, turning the city into liquid gold.
On their way to Yasha, they stopped at a small, open air restaurant where a half-orc served noodles at the counter. They slid onto a pair of empty stools near the end.
"Ah, what a pity we won't be able to see the look on Fjord's face when the potion wears off. Oh, I would pay good money for that," Molly hummed as they waited for their food.
Caleb chuckled at the thought. "He'll go white as a sheet."
"Or bright red," Molly countered. "Mumble some excuse. Shuffle away. Refuse to make eye contact with anyone for an hour or two."
Caleb nodded in agreement, allowing himself a soft smile until a new, cold thought settled in his stomach. "And you're sure you won't regret this day too?"
Molly gave him an appraising look and took a rare moment to compose his thoughts. The half-orc placed their bowls in front of them, but they went ignored.
At last, Molly spoke. "I've made a point to regret very little, now that I've had a second chance, Mr. Caleb. I don't regret things that've made me happy, and today has made me happy."
Caleb stared at his soup. "I see."
"Caleb, look at me."
He did.
"Were you happy today?"
"I think I…it wasn't so bad."
Molly gasped in faux offense, placing a hand over his chest. "Wasn't so bad? I take you on a whirlwind shopping tour of the city, treat you to dinner, buy you the finest robes, and all I get is 'it wasn't so bad'?"
Caleb bit back a sad smile. "I'm not letting you pay for dinner too."
Molly ignored that, and continued on, "What next?" He gestured around them. "If I give you a branch from a golden tree, or pluck the moon from the sky for you, would that make it an 'okay' date?"
"Stop," Caleb said with a small laugh, bumping their shoulders together. "It was good, Mollymauk."
"Ah, the truth at last." Satisfied, Molly started on his dinner, taking a moment to calibrate to the chopsticks.
Caleb stared down into the amber liquid in his bowl, pale noodles floating just beneath the surface like a school of eels. Molly had given him so many gifts, both in life and in death. The periapt, motivation, perspective, sympathy, embroidery, and now, unwittingly, a final parting gift: one last golden day.
…
By the time the trio arrived back at The Tipsy Seal, the sun had long since sunken past the mountainous horizon.
Only a few quiet patrons remained, nursing half-empty tankards and playing cards. There were no signs of their friends or any of that morning's mess—except for maybe a claw mark or two on the stockroom door.
Valentine manned the bar, yawning as they came over. "Late night shopping, huh?" he asked, eyeing their armloads of packages. He lowered his voice. "Prepping for the big day tomorrow, huh?" he asked, wiggling his eyebrows with a crooked grin.
Caleb nodded then looked back to Molly and Yasha. "You two go on ahead."
Molly watched him for a moment, then nodded. "Alright. Let's go, Yasha. You heard the man," he said, looping an arm around her waist as the two headed for the stairs.
Valentine gave a lazy wave goodbye.
"How did you fare today?" Caleb asked.
"Who? Me? Oh, you mean the love philter thing," he said, blinking in realization. "Yeah, that was my bad. Total whoopsie daisy, ya know? A bartender accidentally drugging half the inn? Rose didn't fire me for it, though." He frowned, looking at the bar with brows pressed together. "Or maybe she did but hasn't told me yet. Shit." He ran a hand through his white hair, elongated elven ears pointing downwards in distress.
"The owner seems like a reasonable woman. I doubt she would fire you for such an honest mistake," Caleb said, then plowed forward. "I wanted to ask how long it took for the potion to wear off? Is there anyone still under the influence?"
Valentine sucked on his lip in thought. "It took about three hours, I think. Everyone just kinda wandered away at one point or another, so I assumed it wore off? I guess no one specifically told me 'I am no longer in love with you' though," he said, tapping a finger on his chin.
Caleb massaged his forehead. "And you are sure no one was poisoned after three hours. No one."
"I mean, I was until you said it like that. Why?"
Caleb sighed and leaned onto the bar to support his weight. Had Molly been lying the whole day, or was he the exception to the rule? Molly had always been exceptional, but he was also almost as big a liar as Caleb.
Caleb groaned, resting his forehead on the counter. He didn't want to think about the implications of Molly being drugged or not drugged or lying or, worst case scenario, telling the truth.
"Nightcap?" Valentine offered, setting a small glass by Caleb's head. "It's on the house."
Caleb took it with a sigh.
"Your necklace came out of your shirt," Valentine said, nodding towards Caleb's chest.
He looked down, expecting so see the periapt for a fraction of a second, but it was only his worn bronze anti-scrying amulet.
"Thanks," Caleb said, tucking it back where it belongs.
"Is it magical?" Valentine asked, head cocked.
"Sentimental," he said, lying easily.
Valentine nodded. "Makes sense."
"Is yours?" Caleb asked, taking a swig of his nightcap and nodding towards Valentine's necklace. The one with the bitemarks on the chain.
Valentine grinned, chest puffing up at that. "Oh yeah, for suresies. Can't you tell what it does?" He planted his hands on his hips, striking a pose to let Caleb fully observe him.
"It uh…" Caleb searched for an answer in the tacky pendant but found none, "keeps you from being poisoned?" he offered at last.
"Well," Valentine said breaking his pose with an eager expression. "The necklace is keeping me young and beautiful forever." He pointed at an equally-tacky ring on his index finger. "This ring is supposed to make something very lucky happen to me in the future, and this other ring is supposed to make me very rich in the future. I got a really good deal on the set," he said proudly.
Ah.
"And how much, exactly, did you pay for the set?" Caleb asked as the mental pieces clicked into place.
Valentine sucked on his cheek. "Oh, a whoooole lot, but you can't argue with these results, right?"
Caleb looked the bartender over. He was scrawny, his pale hair was thinning, and if the fine lines forming at the corners of his features were anything to go by, the necklace had never worked. "Did you buy your jewelry from a man named Sebold?" he asked at last.
"You know Sebold the Wonder Peddler?" Valentine asked, eyes going wide with excitement. "He gave me a whole five copper discount for being a frequent customer on the last ring I bought."
Caleb bit back a comment on how Valentine had probably wasted multiple paychecks on fake magical items. What was it that Molly always said? Let people have their harmless bullshit. "He must be a very nice man," he said at last, offering the empty glass back to Valentine, who nodded contentedly in return.
"Good luck tomorrow, alright? Show those Sharkfins who's boss," Valentine said quietly as Caleb excused himself from the bar.
Caleb bid him a good night and travelled up the stairs to find the entire party collapsed in a pile in the center of Nott's room. Yasha and Molly had already added themselves to the tangle, that day's purchases abandoned on the bed. Yasha rested her head on Beau's calf with Molly tucked into her side, using his coat as a blanket.
The sharp chemical smell of the room had dissipated, but the surrounding piles of potion bottles and half-used ingredients remained. On the table sat a vial of nearly clear liquid with a note in Nott's scratchy hand:
'Molly, do not drink!'
Jester had added several floating skulls around for emphasis. He didn't know if Nott had managed to find an antidote for the love philters or if she even needed to, but she had managed despite all odds to finish the special poison required for tomorrow.
If this happened a week ago, he would've crawled next to her. The movement would've woken her up, so he would've told her how brilliant she was for accomplishing such a feat, praised her hours of hard labor. With a sleepy smile, she would nod, pretending she was lucid enough to understand a word he said, then they would've fallen asleep just like that.
But that was last week, and this was now. The wound had been carved and cauterized. Another bridge burned.
Dying embers simmered in the fireplace, and cool moonglow illuminated a long stretch of the floor from the frost-fogged window. He stoked the embers with the iron poker, watching the sparks escape like scattering bugs. The metal felt heavy in his hand.
"Caleb," Molly's voice called, drifting softly across the room.
The embers flickered before him, pulsing with their arrhythmic glow.
"Caleb," he called again.
Caleb turned at last.
Molly watched him, propped up into a sitting position courtesy of Beau's back. "We're going to have a long day tomorrow," he murmured.
Caleb could only nod. The day had slipped through his fingers like sand.
Molly gestured at the empty stretch of floor beside him and Yasha.
Holding back a sigh, Caleb stepped over the maze of legs sprawled out on the floor and seated himself near Molly, careful to keep several inches between them.
Molly frowned at that, tail flicking once in agitation. His face relaxed as he closed his eyes with an exaggerated yawn. His arms stretched up, then with a practiced motion he wrapped one around Caleb shoulders and one around Yasha.
Caleb couldn't help leaning into the familiar contact. Molly's warm arm felt good against his cold neck, and a fraction of the tension left his shoulders under the comforting weight.
"You've tried this trick before," Caleb murmured in weak protest.
Molly smiled, eyes still closed. "I'll stop trying it once it stops working."
"Thank you, Mollymauk."
"Always," he answered softly.
Minutes ebbed past, and soon Molly's breathing fell into pattern with his sleeping companions, but memories of the day kept Caleb awake.
He glanced toward Molly out of the corner of his eye, and his heart jumped. Quiet moonlight illuminated the curves and angles of his face, while the warm firelight from behind caught in his hair and jewelry. His lashes were long against his lavender cheeks, his dark mouth ever so slightly agape.
Here, in this moment, Mollymauk was the most beautiful person Caleb had ever seen. A spot of unrelenting joy no matter how grim and complicated the situation became.
He tore his eyes away, placing a hand over his heart and grabbing a fistful of shirt in absence of a periapt.
This was terrible.
Today had been wonderful.
And because of that, it was terrible.
Terrible because, even when magically induced, Molly's love wasn't a different beast than his friendship. It was an extension of it. Conversation. Playful ribbing. And then a kiss every once and a while.
Awful. Terrible. Horrible.
Because now he knew the exact flavor of the joy he must abstain from. The traitorous, nebulous desire had irrevocably taken shape, and his lips were stained wine-dark with the knowledge. For the rest of his miserable days, he'd be able to picture with perfect clarity Mollymauk staring at him with absolute adoration. Molly's kisses. His casual touches. That soft look that could melt Ice Haven itself and leave him breathless and full of wonder.
Times like this convinced him his Strongest Spell had sentience. His formula had been airtight. His theory perfect. His runes immaculate. And despite it all, it'd found ways to work against him. Send him back a day too early, to save a dead man who should've stayed buried. To reignite his long-burning love for his friends. To show what new love he might possess if only he could forgo his goals.
But he couldn't.
And it knew.
So it drove the knife deeper, and he did nothing but squirm on the blade.
Night passed. And then, after all their preparation, it was the day of the heist.