The Apothecary's Shop

Avowed | Chapter 4

Claire had relished wandering the streets of Paris, once. Perhaps she still did, deep inside. She trudged, allowing her feet to carry her where they would. Strangers jostled, and their impatience signaled her approach to the market. Navigating by instinct, she eventually came to a quaint shop with a forest green door. The wooden sign overhead read, “M. Lefebvre, Apothecary”.

She lingered outside. “No, thank you,” she would say, or, “In a moment,” to every door held open by arriving and departing patrons both. She wondered whether this shop was for her, and whether the plants in the window were truly happy.

“In or out!” called a svelte woman, when next the door opened. “You’re making everyone nervous.”

Claire looked straight down and slipped inside, touching nothing.

Faint aromas — lavender and licorice memories of Basque Country — beckoned her to shelves catalogued by source and benefit in a library of remedy devoted to the public good. Tinctures, potions, little glass mercies of all sorts, abounded in an otherwise spartan hall. She scanned tag after tag. Her lungs squeezed, and she laughed without mirth. No need to count the money she had brought. There was no expense which lay beyond the reach of Jules’ knowing.

“Maïté, you have brought me this far,” she whispered, fingering the broken remnant of the wooden cross. A jagged edge caught her by surprise, and a scream welled within her. She again looked down, and studied her shoes in embarrassment.

Finally lifting her head again, she locked eyes with the shopkeeper. Never breaking the gaze, Claire crossed the aisle and slid Maïté’s folded drawing across the countertop. “This. Quickly.”

The shopkeeper reviewed the drawing, and breathed in. “I see. She said you might come. Follow me.”