Hedi drew out a pocket watch, eyes tracking the second hand as it circled like a silver carp in a dark pond. She pressed the case to her ear, shook it like dice in a cup, and listened to the movement hum like a trapped bee.

“I know Dark Magic, and I understand witches,” she said, voice flat as winter glass.

“From books, childhood hearsay, or actual contact?” Winnie dabbed a fingertip into a gray-white powder, touched it to her tongue like tasting rain, then bent to scribble, ink flowing like a creek. “It irritates the stomach. Don’t add too much.”

“Descriptions vary, but the theme runs the same—‘they hate humans,’” Hedi said, the words dropping like pebbles into a still lake.

“I don’t… hate much,” Winnie drawled, a smile curling like incense smoke. “Only the ordinary kind. Geniuses in magic, like you, are a storm with unknown wind.”

“Because I can guess you’re using mind reading?” Hedi’s gaze was steady as a stone lantern.

Winnie flopped back in the chair, legs lifted like branches in a gust, and cackled till it rattled the air like dry seeds in a gourd. She had to clutch her belly, laughter running out like rain. She took off her glasses and wiped tear-bright eyes, the lenses fogged like a window at dawn.

“Humans love to misname things. It’s telepathy,” she said, words crisp as frost.

“Same meaning, different letters; every culture has its mirror word,” Hedi replied, tone level as a plumb line.

“Smart creature,” Winnie said, grin sharp as a crescent moon.

Hedi thought for a breath, thoughts drifting like leaves, and paced the shop slow as a tide. “I don’t mean to pit witches against humans. I don’t know if your ‘misnaming’ hides hostility. I’m just speaking plain.”

“Relax. Witches do hate humans, but business is business,” Winnie said, shrugging like a reed in wind.

“What about my business?” Hedi’s brow set like a knot.

“The risk of erasing memories is too high,” Winnie said, voice low as a cellar.

“Not erasing. I want to recall as many details as possible,” Hedi said, intent like a drawn bow.

Winnie cocked her head half around, only her right eye on Hedi, bright as a cat’s lamp. “You’re not here to erase someone’s memory?”

“How—” Hedi began, breath snagging like silk on a thorn.

“I know nothing about customers,” Winnie snapped, hand up like a shut fan.

“No wonder you asked if I worked in public safety or law enforcement. Sounds like there’s a cautionary tale,” Hedi said, wry as bitter tea.

“Not a failure,” Winnie said, chewing a thin dry stalk that crackled like straw. “Just made a bit of chaos. And you smell like that too.”

“What smell?” Hedi asked, shoulders tense like a drawn net.

“The same as that woman,” Winnie said, eyes narrowing like a sliver of moon.

“Say it straight,” Hedi said, words like a knife’s flat.

“I know nothing about customers, okay?” Winnie sang, voice light as wind through chimes.

Hedi felt she should mark the moment, so she took out her wallet, the leather dull as old bark.

“Hey, hey—trying to buy me off with a few crumpled bills?” Winnie stormed over like a small thunderhead and snatched the cash. “It absolutely works. What do you wanna hear?”

“The woman who asked you to brew a memory potion,” Hedi said, tone calm as dusk.

“I can’t discuss client privacy,” Winnie said, lips pressed thin as thread.

“I don’t need her specifics. I just need the potion’s basic purpose for the last custom order,” Hedi said, words clean as spring water.

“Erasing memory. You guessed that yourself,” Winnie said, shrugging like falling ash.

“What does that ‘same smell’ mean? You can tell me that much,” Hedi said, voice low as a cavern.

“Death,” Winnie said, suddenly leaning down, hands on Hedi’s shoulders like iron birds. “You’re going to die, Melvina. I can smell the corpse-stench, thick as swamp fog.”

“Do witches moonlight as fortune-tellers now?” Hedi asked, a dry spark like flint.

“Hey, don’t lump me with those charlatans,” Winnie said, snorting like a kettle.

Hedi twitched her shoulders, shaking off Winnie’s hands like rain off a cloak. “Back to the point.”

“I said it already. I don’t do business with a mage—Spellcaster,” Winnie corrected herself, the word switched like a card.

“So the last client who ordered was a Spellcaster? She stirred trouble, and now you refuse any Spellcaster?” Hedi asked, the guess landing like a stone.

“Say what you will, ‘Professor’ is still ‘Professor,’” Winnie said, the title ringing like a bell.

“I won’t cause trouble. I only want to recall certain things,” Hedi said, intent steady as a lighthouse.

“You want to recall?” Winnie said, eyebrows lifting like gulls.

“…Yeah,” Hedi said, voice thin as smoke.

Half convinced, Winnie drifted back to the counter and sat in a bizarre tilt, hips to the right like a crooked branch, torso leaning left like a bent bamboo. She propped her jaw on her elbow, which rested on the desk like a stone.

“The last one said the same. Because an entire city of hers went missing,” Winnie said, words falling like cold seeds.

“I feel you’re hinting at me on purpose, but won’t say it straight,” Hedi said, frustration rising like heat.

“You two share the same fate, different wishes. One to forget, one to recall,” Winnie said, palms up like empty bowls.

Hedi let go of thinking, or she’d spiral like a moth into a flame of riddles. “I want a memory potion to recall. Old things. Things from way back.”

“No need to custom-brew. A single-person dose. We can do it now,” Winnie said, quick as flint.

“You planning to mess around in my head?” Hedi asked, a chill like dew.

“Don’t make it sound so ugly. Think about it—if you stir up trouble and the cops find the potion bottle, I’ll be cooked like a fish,” Winnie said, grimace sour as green plums.

“You won’t be able to yank out my memories,” Hedi said, certainty flat as slate.

“Let’s try,” Winnie said, a spark like tinder.

Hedi took two steps back, the distance opening like a crack of light. “Easy to say. Risk is another matter.”

“You’re short on time anyway. A preview of your life’s lantern reel isn’t bad,” Winnie said, smile thin as paper.

“Thanks for the blessing. I intend to die of old age,” Hedi said, stubborn as a root.

“Change your mind anytime. Honestly, I like you. Interesting human Professor,” Winnie said, warmth like tea steam.

Hedi strode out of the potion shop, footsteps crisp as frost. The talk yielded nothing. To have her brew a memory potion, I’ll need leverage like a pry bar. And that woman who bought a forgetting potion—same fate as me, gnawed by the Dark Realm?

Because her whole city—Shattered City?

Olivia Viola?

She forced open the Dark Realm, and the erosion spread like mold to everyone in town.

No. When I spoke with Olina, it was clear—one person’s dose. That means the last batch got shared out like water. If so, the guards couldn’t have remembered a thing.

Either way, Selina must recall who spoke with her sister. Only then will Olivia’s motive surface like a sunken bell.

Ask Claire?

He heard about memory potions from Olina. He might know something. But Selina would get jealous like a cat with raised fur. I’ll go back and tell her first, hear her take—after all, does this tie back to me?

Dark Realm Erosion still isn’t solved, a storm cloud still hanging.

I’m being dragged by riddles like a kite on a crosswind, and the knots don’t touch my life at all.

Hedi shook off the cluttered thoughts and took her usual seat—back of the bus, by the window, where the city flowed past like a river of glass.

When she got home, Selina suddenly ran to the door, breath quick as sparrow wings.

“You’d barely left,” she said, hesitating like a leaf on the edge of a branch. “The Institute called.”