Apothecary Diaries Spoilers Novels & Stories

Garrick muttered. Rhys raised his crossbow. "Trap." I stared at the small black shape in the snow. "I’ll get it." I opened the door just a crack and used a long carbon-fiber pole to drag the package inside. Rhys kept his aim trained on the outside the entire time. Back in the control room, I opened the waterproof bag. Inside it was a letter and a vacuum-sealed pack. The handwriting was Delilah's. "Declan, my dear ex, you’re harder to kill than a cockroach…"

She stumbled to the doorway, watching as the man disappeared down the stairwell with Jax close behind, both vanishing into the shadows of the building. Her apartment looked like a war zone—shards of glass, overturned furniture, the envelope of photos scattered like fallen leaves. And then she saw it. Another envelope. This one tucked beneath her bed frame, half-hidden. Her pulse pounded. She crawled forward, hand shaking as she pulled it out. Inside weren’t photos this time. It was a stack of documents. Hospital records. Her name was on every page. By the time Jax stormed back in, empty-handed, she was sitting on the floor, the papers spread out around her.

There was a large table in the center of the room, with a cloth spread out and several jars of different liquids arranged neatly. Derek moved towards the table and saw an open book placed on it. The pages were filled with intricate drawings and descriptions of different plants and their properties. The ink on the pages had begun to fade, and some pages were torn at the edges. Derek picked up the book and flipped through it, trying to find something that could be of use to him. As he read through the book, he noticed the apothecary had made notes in the margins, detailing the combinations of herbs and roots he used to create different potions. Some of the ingredients listed were rare and hard

But relaxation wasn't what I had in mind. I stood up and walked over to the bookshelf, running my fingers along the spines of the books until I found what I was looking for. The worn leather-bound volume felt heavy in my hands as I carried it over to the coffee table and opened it to the marked page. The intricate illustrations of whips, chains, and other BDSM paraphernalia made my pulse quicken with anticipation.

Clutching the small paper sack containing one of my diet pills, I approached the counter—wearing a surgical mask and some sunglasses to hide my identity. “I was hoping you could analyze the contents of this for me,” I said, trying to keep my voice level. “There are some… concerns about what might be in it.” The apothecary’s bushy eyebrows rose, but he didn’t question me further. With a solemn nod, he took the bag and made his way over to the workspace on the other side of the shop. I watched with bated breath as he carefully emptied the contents of the bag onto a ceramic plate and began crushing the little blue pill with a mortar and pestle.

Smith panicked, and he hurriedly said, “Mr. Weaver! Mr. Weaver, don’t be in such a rush to hang up the phone first. I-I have one more thing to ask of you. You have to help me, please...” Liam asked rhetorically, “What is it?” Smith hurriedly said, “It’s about the Apothecary Restoration Pills. My son has finished using the box of medicine yesterday, and it worked very well for him. So, I want to beg you to give me some more of the medicine...”

I had already made that vow in the dark. I took two of my best trackers for the morning’s rounds, quiet wolves with good noses and better memories, and we worked the path of the tray backward. Kitchen. Pantry. Scullery door. I spoke to scullions and dishboys, to the pot-witch with onions on her breath, to the night steward who wrote with an elegant hand and sweated when he lied. The ledger showed an oddity: a new apothecary’s stamp on a bundle of minted tea that wasn’t on last month’s accounts. “Gifted by a patron,” the steward stammered. No name, of course. “A courtesy for the King’s table.” “Not for his table,” I said, letting my voice cool to winter. “For his prisoner.”

“What is this about, Spencer?” “Your father had written the cure in his private diary. I’d had that diary for years and hoping to give it to your mother. Last month I was going to send it to Alicia when I went through it out of curiosity. And there, I found it.” Like tidal waves, bliss rushed into Anthony and imploded, drawing to a pinnacle. But Anthony with his pride and feeble disbelief, remained in his resolve and appeared all but blank and mindless. “What’s the cure?”

he encouraged, taking a seat across from me at the kitchen island. I carefully untied the twine and peeled back the paper. Inside was a stack of worn leather journals, their pages yellowed with age. On the cover of the topmost journal was a familiar symbol—a snowflake-like design that made my heart skip a beat. "These are..." My voice trailed off as I gently opened the first journal. Inside, written in a flowing script I somehow recognized despite never having seen it before, were detailed formulations for healing herbs combinations. At the top of the first page was a heading: "Winter's Remedy – Primary Formulations."

He approached my bed and gave me a kiss on the forehead, then another one on my tummy before another creak escaped through the door. Slowly, I opened an eye and made it dart around to confirm he was truly gone before opening the second. I heaved a sigh of relief. A very close call! I yanked the sheet away and off of me, levitating out of the bed to my apothecary through the secret sliding panel in my inner sanctum. My heart dropped to my mouth as my eyes opened to the terror in front of me— at the state of my apothecary. What the hell happened while I was away?