A Potion to be Rid of One’s Enemies by Jeffrey A. Ballard

Zephaniah smoothed the sapling’s shading, caressing the tip of his middle finger along the edge. Warmth bloomed in his cheeks as absenthe rose from the meager dust pile next to him and swirled around the sketch.

He glanced up at the actual sapling in his apartment’s small greenhouse to get the perspective perfect and then began to draw a grafting onto the sapling—a grafting that should be impossible between the two species. But he swore he worked out the problems this time.

Absenthe imbued the sketch, a heady experience. Almost there.

The new-reality sketch wasn’t the hard part, aside from the paltry absenthe storage limits. The hard part was preparing and growing another sapling. That took weeks.

He grabbed a harder-tipped pencil for detail work. The final step—

“Bough-wough-wough!” Jasper, Toby-the-neighbor’s dog, suddenly howled.

The pencil jerked across the page, snapping the pencil tip. The swirling absenthe evaporated, the meager pile now empty.

Zephaniah sighed and looked up through the greenhouse’s roof wondering how he was ever going to get this grafting done. He crumpled up the paper, threw it to the floor, and yawned.

The front door opened and shut a minute later.

“I’m in here,” Zephaniah called to his thaumaturgical-botanist partner, Amos.

Amos lumbered in excitedly carrying a small black bag before slowing down and seeing the crumpled sketch on the floor. His shoulders slumped. “Jasper again?”

Zephaniah nodded. “Jasper again.” Once a new-reality sketch was started, it couldn’t be interrupted, it couldn’t be fixed. No mistakes.

“Do you have time to start another one?”

Zephaniah looked up at the sun. If he left now for more absenthe he may be able to get back in time. The lighting had to be—

“Bough-wough-wough! Bough-wough-wough!“

Zephaniah sighed again and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “It doesn’t matter. Not with that noise.”

Amos plopped down the small black bag. “I’ve got the solution for that.”

Zephaniah looked at the gold “C” on the small black bag—Cirta, the premier absenthe potion maker in all of Orrix. “Are you sure about this?” he asked.

“Ten full marks sure.”

Cirta’s absenthe potions were the best, and therefore, the most expensive. Zephanaiah took the small glass vial out the bag and studied the label: A Potion to be Rid of One’s Enemies. “Is Toby really our enemy though?”

Amos looked at Zephanaiah as if he wanted assurances the sun would rise tomorrow. “So, it was only coincidence that one day after he learned of our craft, signs went up all around the building about the dangers of absenthe and the ridiculous limits allowed in apartment buildings?” Amos looked pointedly at the empty absenthe bowl. “And two days after that a ‘surprise’ visit from the absenthe enforcement patrol for a home inspection?”

“I don’t know about this.” Zephanaiah yawned.

“How are you sleeping?” Amos asked, knowing full well the answer.

Jasper’s barking has done more than screw up sketches.

“And he definitely ratted us out to Orrix Refuse,” Amos added, sensing Zephanaiah wavering. “Elisabeth showed me the complaint.” Amos picked up the crumbled sketch and made a show of putting it in the trash labeled “Hazardous.”

There wasn’t enough residual absenthe in failed-absenthe sketches to be dangerous. But the law was all absenthe related waste had to go to the Absenthe Disposal Center—all the way across the city and with a fee on an already tight budget.

“Besides,” Amos said, “all it’s going to do is move Toby away.”

Zephanaiah rubbed his temple. If they don’t finish this grafting soon, they’ll be the ones moving away.

Zephanaiah popped the cork. It had to be him—Toby was his neighbor. The scent of cinnamon wafted out before he took it one quick gulp. He sputtered. The sharp hot liquid stung on the way down. A new warmth spread out from his gut.

“How do you feel?”

Zephaniah thought about it. “Warm.”

Amos grinned. “That means it’s working! I bet ole’ Toby is already thinking about moving.”

“It’s Tobias,” Zephaniah said without thinking.

“What?”

“Tobias—that’s his name. He hates Toby. It was his mom’s pet name for him and the kids at school taunted him with it.” How does he know that?

“Okay …?” Amos studied him.

“Bough-wough-wough!“

They both startled. Amos shook his head in annoyance.

“He’s scared,” Zephaniah said again without thinking. “He doesn’t like to be alone.” The warm feeling spread throughout him. How does he know these things? But he does know them as if they had happened to him.

“No dog wants to be alone.”

“It’s more than that. Ever since he lost his previous owner, he’s had separation anxiety.”

“Previous owner?”

“Tobais’s twin sister. She died in an absenthe accident. A discarded absenthe-imbued pocket watch reacted with a dropped magnifying loupe. Killed the watch maker and Tobias’s sister in the apartment above.” Zephanaiah slapped his forehead. “We’ve been fools.”

“Where are you going?”

Zephaniah grabbed his coat and rushed to the door without answering. Several minutes later he entered into Second Community Bank and waited impatiently in the teller line.

“Next!”

Zephaniah walked up, his heart racing. “Hello, Tobias.”

Tobias took a few seconds to recognize him. “Oh, hello, Zephaniah.”

“Your dog—”

“I’m working on the barking,” he rushed.

“It’s not that. I was wondering, can I spend some time with him? I thought maybe if he knew me, he could then spend the day with me while you’re at work. Then he wouldn’t be alone and I could tire him out taking him for walks.”

Relief broke over Tobias’s face. “That— that would be wonderful! I’ve been worried we would get evicted. And I’m— I’m not sure where we would’ve gone.” “It’s not a problem. I’m sorry I didn’t think of it sooner.” And then, because he wanted to, Zephaniah stuck out his hand, shook on it, and rid himself of an enemy.