"I'm your Assistant?" I asked, fighting a smile. Winsor scowled at me from beneath the locks of black hair. I got the job, and he didn't even find out if I was a butt or leg man.

"It was the easiest way to extract myself from that unpleasant company. I dare not be openly defiant. She's the highest ranking sorceress in attendance." Winsor slumped away from the door. He sat down on the edge of his bed, nudging a second small black dog out of the way with his hip. It stretched its long limbs lazily. The one that had been watching me from the door was still guarding the door, its ears twitching as it listened to the noise in the hallway. I thought they'd been the same dog, but they were just litter mates, nearly identical.

"Mother says I should mingle more with ungifted." A smirk crossed Winsor's face. "Since you're already here, we'll see then how solidly your story of being a sorcerer's Assistant holds up depending on your skill in assisting a sorcerer."

Winsor moved to the cauldron in the corner beneath a giant hearth. He stirred something with a large handle.

"I have herbs over there, Kratswinner." He pointed to a slab of polished stone. Off to the left side of it were a series of small wooden boxes with various ingredients. On the counter was a sappy branch covered in pine-like needles, and near that, a magically sharpened knife. It was enchanted by the faint sparkles bouncing off it in the dim room. He had the windows mostly curtained. Must be how he maintained that pallid glow.

I walked over and picked up the knife. I took the plant into my hands and diced. My eyes skimmed the room, searching for any covered cages like I had seen in Bernard's cellar. The walls had lots of ingredients on them. The common herbs I knew from the poultices and remedies I'd crafted in my youth to aid the recovery of ailing animals and ward off the common cold. Others I only recognized from diagrams in Mediceum texts. I tried to match some with ingredients I had heard about and frequently claimed were components in my phony potions, like Ghost Ash and Bicorn horn.

On a desk by the window, I noticed a bin full of gems, like Bernard had. Unlike Bernard, there was a wooden box full of dark metal daggers on the other side of table, half of them embedded with gems and twisted into dysfunction. I thought of the fork from the dinner and wondered why anyone would bother lining a dagger with jewels only to allow it to become pockmarked and destroyed.

"Enchanted One, what is the purpose of the daggers?" I asked as I absently chopped the Kratswinner. My voice came out nasal, the pungent aroma of the sappy plant hit my nostrils.

"Don't presume to question me," Winsor said. I glanced over my shoulder at him. He stopped stirring. The tool in the cauldron below continued to rotate, albeit slower. "They are of no importance. They're ruined."

"If they trouble you, I would gladly remove them from your domain, Enchanted One."

"Why bother? The enchantments failed. I can't get them to work together without exploding when I try to combine the spells. I know the text says it's impossible for anyone below a Divinis skill level, but nothing's impossible and single enchantment weapons are so old, it's time for improvement." Winsor walked over to the counter and leaned on it, his palms biting in the edge as he pointed with his chin over at the desk. "That one there on the top of the pile, with the shaft left..." He was musing more to himself than to me. "When I tried to put the cloud chicken next to the thunder sparrow quill in amber, the blade shattered." He touched his face gingerly. I glanced over. The pale skin was unmarred besides the dark circles. "I was so damaged father had to come in and heal me." He stuck his tongue out in a grimace. "And I was forced to drink a double dose of my medicine for the week following, ugh."

"Why are you trying to make a double enchanted weapon, Enchanted One?"

"Because I want Azeria to have every advantage on her Proving. I need to figure it out soon; she doesn't have much time left until she goes." Winsor's knuckles whitened as his hands curled in frustration. "If she had weapons with dual effects, she'd only be burdened by half the equipment. If I made it enchanted with something that rends the flesh and a spell that makes it nearly weightless, I would be satisfied, but the item is stubborn. Overlapping magic is historically tricky. A Divinis level sorcerer often cannot manage it unless he specializes in dagger craft. Those that have already been made are kept in the families of successful Provers or lost in the Barren Lands by less fortunate Provers who fail. But if anyone can overcome lack of experience to craft one, it should be I, for who has a greater motivation than saving the one that they love?"

I kept chopping, without comment. He opened his eyes. His gaze drifted down to the pile of chopped Kratswinner.

"You icicle!" He shoved me away from the counter. "Even the most rudimentary rube knows that Kratswinner is cut in diagonal slices, not straight up and down. It needs to be angled."

"I'm sorry, Enchanted One." I bowed my head repeatedly. "Forgive me, Enchanted One."

Knowing my time might be short, I finished scoping out the room from my stationary position of penitence. Winsor scolded me, long-winded and condemning, but he sounded more frustrated than angry, so I wasn't too afraid. Let's see, there was a massive bookshelf with a of number tomes shoved onto it, many worn from reading. A few live specimens stirred in cages and bowls. Nothing smart, nothing like fairies, but mice, birds, and fish. One of the mice kept beating its tiny wings on its back, trying to flutter toward the top of the cage. It couldn't get off of the ground, its tiny pink toes struggling.

On an opposite shelf, a snake lay languidly. A live mouse scurried around its cage, a wing on one side but not the other. I suppose it was a better way to dispose of the failed experiments then releasing them to infest the rest of the house. In the fish bowl next to it, fish swam carving letters into the waters with colored wakes, although the cursive they were spelling out was gibberish.

The bed was tucked beneath one of the large overhanging shelves. Next to the pillow laid an open book with notes written on it. On the bed stand, a beeswax candle burnt down to the wick lay blackened and extinguished.

"Although, I shouldn't be too cross with you. I knew you were a phony, and it was only morbid curiosity," Winsor insisted. "If I had any use for coin, I'd take it from you to replace the ingredients, but in all honesty, there is such an excess I would rather not bother." He ushered me toward the door. "Man who ruined my Kratswinner, henceforth be banished from this manor. If he does not flee, in intense pain he shall be."

Nothing happened as Winsor guided me toward the door. Winsor walked behind me, glowering sourly as we passed the large paintings on the walls of finely dressed figures, all of them more substantial than Winsor. I paused to say something to Winsor, when something slapped me. Then I winced as it morphed into a punch. I felt my skin bruise.

"Don't stop moving..." Winsor's voice laced with concern as he hesitantly reached out and shoved me with his hands forward. The pain stopped. I kept taking steps toward the exit.

"What, what would happen if I tried to come back, Enchanted One?" I asked.

"You'd experience sensations as if you were a fish being gutted," Winsor said, nonplussed. "Some people prefer the stomach pain enchantment, but I find this one more effective with intelligent beings. The pain is too intense. People can't grit their teeth and get through it."

"You think I'm intelligent?" I asked, cheekily. Maybe if I charmed him before we made it to the door...

"Relatively intelligent," Winsor clarified coldly. "Compared to a Goblin."

"Ah."

"Compared to me, you're still an icicle, obviously."

"Of course, Enchanted One," I demurred. We were now at the front gate. I hesitated, and this time I noticed a sharp pinch before the slapping sensation began. "But the head maid is expecting my help."

"If Lucia inquires, I'll be sure to tell her what became of you," Winsor said, and he shoved me softly toward the door. "Now if I were you, Mister Phony Sorcerer's Assistant, I would get going."

I took another step forward toward the town, and the nauseating pain subsided for a second.

"Whatever happened to that Moon Giant of yours?" he asked. I kept walking forward, unable to stop, dreading the pain that would happen if I didn't. I was relieved to have an excuse not to answer as I hurried along the path. The smell of those flowers from so long ago swept across my face as the wind hit the trees surrounding the manor, and I tried not to gag.

I could walk in any direction safely once I made it to the bottom of the path that led up to the home. I took some time away from the mission, giving Winsor time to get involved in something before I tried to sneak back. His comment at the end seemed like a boast. He knew where Mallow was, and playing dumb about it was a way to torment me. I was sure of it. Him mentioning her right after he expelled me was too great of a coincidence.

About thirty minutes later, I circled around to the back side of the hill and climbed the narrow, smaller path that was unofficially cut in the pristine lawn.

(( A/N: Hello to the new readers! Phony Potions got a few hundred more views this last week or so. Naturally, I am very happy about that!  Enjoying the story? Can't wait for the next part? Consider purchasing the book from Amazon: http://a.co/eF5rugt or the ebook from Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/658059

I'll be uploading the entire story here too, one chapter a week, so you'll get the tale if you're patient. Also please spread the word if you enjoyed the story! Your feedback inspires me to complete the in-progress sequel, Enchanted Executions! ))