Where To Read The Apothecary Diaries Novel Novels & Stories

Her smile looked like it hurt. The closet came next. Her clothes were still arranged by color, by season. Heels lined up like a fashion show. Then I saw a shoebox, taped shut with yellowing masking tape. I hurried to open it and inside were old prescriptions, anxiety meds sleep aids. Then painkillers. The kind doctors stop prescribing when things get too dark. And then... the diary. Black leather. Worn edges. Her name is engraved inside the cover like a brand. I hesitated, then flipped it open. I skipped the later entries. I already knew how the illness crept in.

“There’s not much to talk about. I’m an exile with a death warrant and a mate who’d rather kill me than have me expose the pack secrets.” Cassie’s eyebrows lift. “Is that what you think?” The question sits there, sticky and sharp. I look away, up at the line of drying herbs that bisects the room. There’s more variety here than in most apothecaries: sage, mugwort, skullcap, dried poppies hanging like little brown bells. Bundles of pale birch bark, glass jars packed with yellow roots and bitter leaves, whole shelves dedicated to vials of what I’d guess are poisons if I didn’t know Cassie’s reputation.

“They found out I have the code. I don’t know how, but… I’ve seen them watching me. I’ve been followed. Two nights ago, someone tried to break into my place. I have to disappear, Lexi.” My voice trembled. “So what do you want me to do?” He handed her a single page—a torn scrap filled with symbols, numbers, and scribbled lines. It looked like chaos. “I need you to write this down. Copy it—exactly. Keep it somewhere safe. Somewhere no one would look. I’m burning this journal tonight. You’ll be the only person left with this.” I stared at the paper. My hands shook as I took it. “Pastor Dav…”

How my pulse stumbles every time she leans her cheek to my neck, murmuring some sleepy nonsense about how I smell like lemon balm and espresso. She does not see the war inside me. Or maybe she does. And that is what makes her so dangerous. Now she is gone, drifting to the studio or curled somewhere with her sketchpad and I can still feel her. Like the echo of sunlight long after it has set. I sit back at my desk, scrolling past the finalized documents. The apothecary is already hers. I signed it over this morning. Legally. Magically. Quietly. Not just the storefront either. The garden behind it… the hidden one, with old wards and sleeping roots? It’s hers too. A sacred space few living being

Inside, most of the books stayed dry. Cyrus had never been much of a reader in the old world. In the age of smartphones, patience came cheap. Reading demanded effort and time, time better spent scrolling through short skirted influencers. Now the internet was basically dead. He rarely even touched his phone anymore. Thus, he figured he might as well borrow a book or two to pass the time. Maybe it would help keep whatever remained of his sanity warm in this frozen apocalypse. He stayed in the library for half a day. In the end, he picked up a coming-of-age novel and slipped the thick volume into his coat pocket.

I said,my voice firm. She nods, her hands on her thighs for balance. I watch her face tighten with effort. A second passes, Then I hear the first trickle. Warm golden piss hits my chest, Splashing against my skin. It's hot, like liquid heat spreading out. The stream is stronger, hitting me right in the center of my chest. running down in rivulets over my nipples and stomach. The smell hits me—sharp, musky, all her. I love it. My chest gets soaked fast.

But even at that, it’s too broad of a title. There should be uncountable doctors in Cryptid Pack so where do I start the search from? Judging from the fact that I found this journal in the Castle, perhaps, the said doctor resides in the Castle? If I know more about the author, I might be able to know more about my power and what I can do to find the Auro Herb. But if I plan to run away very soon, then none of this will matter anymore. A rapid knock on the door makes me gasp slightly, being startled out of my thoughts.

He shoves the heavy thing inward, steps back, nods toward the dark within. A space like this isn’t some dark chamber underground. This place holds books, yes - but nothing like the quiet halls I know. Different somehow, right from the first step inside. A circle of walls holds shelf after shelf, rising from floor to ceiling, made of deep-toned timber. Not filled with old poems or dusty histories wrapped in leather. These are diaries. Row upon row, possibly endless, uniform in shape, covered in dull gray fabric. In the middle stands one massive table - carved from ancient black wood - bathed in a pale green shine cast by glowing spheres sealed in glass boxes. Scattered throughout: diagrams of

"I need a studio. A place where I can study and prepare my remedies. Somewhere with good light and space for my herbs and tools. I cannot work miracles from a bedroom, Beta Emrich." He nodded. "There is an old apothecary tower in the east wing. It has been unused for years, but it can be cleared and prepared by morning." "Excellent." A small smile played on her lips. "And I need access to the king's library. There are texts on rare ailments that I suspect will be useful for treating the queen. Her condition is unusual, as I am sure you have noticed." Emrich made a mental note. "I will have the librarian grant you full access. Anything else?"

Doctor's VISIT 1. I sat in the waiting room of Dr. Jake Anderson’s private clinic, my legs crossed tightly and my heart beating faster than it should. The place was luxurious, soft lighting, expensive leather chairs, spacious and complete privacy. No crowded waiting area, no noisy receptionists. Just me and the quiet hum of classical music. Dr. Jake was a fellow member at my book club. He had a popular reputation among the women for being so attractive, young and talented.