The Apothecary Diaries Web Novel Novels & Stories

Just quiet. His car was spotless, the scent of pine and leather lingering as I buckled in. No evidence of the fight we had in it just two days ago. The apothecary sat at the edge of town, tucked between an old bookstore and a tiny café. Inside, it smelled of dried herbs, honey, and dust. Rows upon rows of tiny jars, labeled with what looked to be duct tape, lined the walls. “Feverroot,” I read aloud from the list.

So they had to rely on both legitimate and black market suppliers, buying small amounts here and there of different varieties and strengths, then guess at the appropriate mixture. So far, it had worked. “Do you have enough for tonight?” Leda asked, concern colouring her voice as she stared over her sister’s shoulder. “I think so. The Zack’s closed down their apothecary after their daughter was married an Alpha from the political region. The Alpha had bought them a pleasant place on the middle levels so they have retired. So I had to find a new supplier for the extra.” Cythia answered. “Who?” Leda asked, not so much because she minded but in the hopes that her sister would see how much leda v

He led the way, taking a torch off the wall, and the three of them walked through the opening and down an ancient, stone stairwell, twisting into the blackness. They finally reached the lowest levels, and continued down a corridor, barely lit by the torch. Finally, they reached a room. In it was a single object: a golden stand, on which sat a huge, ancient Bible. The ancient book must have been two feet wide and long, covered in an ornate casing of silver and gold. The three of them crowded over it. As Caitlin stared, she could feel the scroll heating up in her pocket, and she knew, she just knew, that this was the book from which the page was torn.

“We were due for a field trip.” The Apocrypha Gastronomica was housed in a pocket dimension that looked like a grandmother’s kitchen crossed with a mad alchemist’s lab. Jars of glowing liquids lined shelves, cookbooks floated in mid-air, and a faint smell of ozone and burnt sugar hung in the air. In the center of the room, hovering over the main tome—a massive book bound in what looked like living dough—was the problem.

the two responded simultaneously and with a shrug, she flipped Francis’ journal to the next page. Dear diary, today, the 19th of September, I was selected alongside two others to represent the Enchanters that make up Golden Lake University for the contest, ‘Vestige of the Aptest’; an annual contest that holds between ‘freshers’ and I can't wait to mail my mum about this. She will definitely be proud of me. Harold, Trisha and Wilkes fell silent as they read what Francis had in his journal thanks to the light from Trisha's phone fell on the yellow pages.

"'The relics,' he says, Eyes wide, I nod, reaching for the chalice and cross, laying them on his stomach. I stroke his cock fast at them. His hips buck and he cums hard. Thick ropes shoot out, he spits, the silver chalice splashing. white streaks on the gold cross. It pools on the cloth. More spurts hit my hand-hot, sticky-dripping down the sides. I drain him dry, from base to tip, watching as the last drops fall upon the holy items.

My gloved hands rested uselessly on the open manuscript. “You’ve worked late every Thursday for the past two months,” he said quietly. “Always alone. Always in this room. I’ve watched you from the upper gallery more than once. The way you handle the books. The way you go completely still when you think no one is looking. The way your breathing changes when you turn certain pages.” My mouth went dry. I stared at the botanical illustration in front of me—delicate ink lines of a flower that suddenly felt obscene. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Then I found it. One folder. Marked with my father’s blood seal. I broke it open, my heart already hammering. Inside: a physician’s report. Dated six weeks before my parents were attacked. Hidden. Buried. Patient: Lord Alaric. Symptoms: sudden and persistent fatigue, internal inflammation, signs of slow-acting neurotoxin. My vision blurred for a moment. Neurotoxin. Poison. There was more. A copy of a transaction record—an unauthorized shipment of rare herbal compounds traced to a private apothecary in North Dominion territory.

I take the heavy black canopy umbrella from his trembling hand, pop it open with a sharp snap, and lead the way toward the elite apothecary labs of Ravenshade University. All along the stone archways of the medical quad, rows of silver-leaf wolf-bane and moon-bloom herbs release a heavy, bitter medicinal fragrance into the humid air. It is a quiet, peaceful sanctuary, but my wolf bristles under my skin, sensing the foul stench of betrayal hanging over the ancient stone buildings. Billy keeps pace beside my broad, voluptuous frame, his eyes wide with genuine curiosity. "You are enrolled in the higher-level apothecary track? I thought you were a first-year human transfer."