I couldn’t believe it. Two months of waiting for the local apothecary to get this specific flower in stock, one that was picked on the other side of the world at the height of the fourth full moon.

And here was some kid, claiming that it was his.

I was the only witch for a 50 league radius, and no one else would even know what to do with this plant. This kid had to be someone’s apprentice, and they were going to have a fight on their hands if they thought I would give up that easily.

“Sven, really?” I asked. The boy looked like he was too flustered to do anything about this clear mixup. “I promised my client that I would make her the healing tonic as soon as you got the blossom. You know that.”

“And then I got a second order, and he was willing to pay triple what you were. I could only get one in stock. You’ll have to discuss it between yourselves.”

“What does your master even want with it?” I asked him.

“My master?” he said. “No, this is for my betrothed.”

Great, so now I had some upstart young witch to deal with, trying to encroach on my territory and my potion-making business.

“Well, she’s just going to have to wait. Whatever potion or tonic she’s making is probably beyond her capabilities, anyway.”

“No, no, she’s not a witch,” he said.

What on earth would someone without magic even want with this thing? How would they even know about its existence?

“So, what are you planning to do with it?”

“I’m baking a cake.”

A cake. This ingredient that’s almost impossible to get a hold of, that only blooms under very specific conditions. And it’s going in a cake.

I glanced at the boy, who had apparently paid triple what I offered to bake the flower and eat it. He did not appear very wealthy.

“Well, your cake is going to have to wait,” I told him. “My client needs this healing tonic sooner rather than later.”

“My fiancee can’t wait, either!” he protested. “She says she won’t marry me until I make this.”

I remembered then, one of the occult plant books designed for the non-magical folk. It listed this plant as one of the least likely to exist (a choice by the author to prevent things like this from occurring, I can only assume). If the kid’s girlfriend thought this plant probably didn’t exist, I couldn’t imagine she actually expected this cake to happen. And if the cake didn’t happen, apparently they didn’t get married.

I’d seen similar things countless times.

“Take it from someone who gets endless requests for love potions: that’s a shitty thing to do. She’s pulling you along.”

“She loves me!” he said. “She just has high standards. And you’re just trying to get me to give up the flower.”

Well, yes, but that was beside the point.

“Most non-magical folk don’t even think the plant exists. She doesn’t have high standards, she has impossible ones. Something tells me this isn’t the first nearly impossible thing she asked you to do.”

The boy remained silent.

“Tell you what. I have some lavender at home. It will have the same taste and color. I’ll let you take it off my hands if you let me have Sven’s stock of the good stuff. Make her a cake with that and then let me know if she gives you another impossible task.”

Sven was put out by the loss of the sale, but that’s what he got for almost giving away my order. The kid seemed to take it as a challenge, but tentatively agreed. We traipsed back to my potion shop together and he inspected the other bundle of lavender, comparing the two of them for nearly half an hour before he agreed.

He sounded so sure of himself when he left that I almost didn’t expect to see him again.

And then a few days later, the little bell of the shop rang and here he was again.

“Now she wants a tarte made with the berries of the eyover tree.”

“That doesn’t exist,” I told him truthfully.

“That’s what Sven said, but I wanted….”

“You wanted to make sure,” I finished for him.

“Well, I wanted to make sure, but I’m also here for a love potion.”

“Take it from me, kid, a love potion isn’t ideal. You’ll spend the rest of your life doubting, and you’ll need to dose her constantly. It’s not ethical and it won’t be good for either of you.”

“I didn’t mean for her. I meant for me. I want to fall out of love with her.”

“I can’t do that,” I said.

“Why not? You’ll give other people love potions but not me?”

“I can’t do it because that potion doesn’t exist. It’s just a myth. Better witches than me have tried.”

“Oh. Well, can you… I don’t know. Give me a potion that will forget her?”

“Only if you want to forget everything else, too,” I said. “Forgetfulness potions aren’t picky about the memories they erase. You need to get over her like everyone else does. Maybe get a new hobby.”

“All I know how to do is bake,” he said miserably, “and that just reminds me of her.”

I was not an impulsive person. Not usually. But as I remembered how he had scrutinized his ingredients, and the precision that went into baking, I made him an offer. I wasn’t getting any younger, after all. Not without the Elixir of Life.

“How would you like to be a witch’s apprentice?”