Chapter Text
Closing the shop with a cup of chamomile tea was the best way to end the day. Or so Minho thought.
After a long day of dealing with novice witches and humans drawn in by the many crystals adorning his shelves, he only wanted one thing: to lay down on his bed with his three familiars. As if reading his mind, Soonie trotted toward him in a long, irritated meow. His cats were gluttonous, beware delaying their feeding time for a minute or two.
Minho crouched down, humming softly as he gently scratched the top of Soonie’s head. His familiar answered with more grumbled meows.
“You can wait a little more. Your food won’t be stolen.” He said, gently tapping the cat’s nose. Soonie’s tail flickered wildly, but Minho knew his babies would never bite him.
Looking around his shop, he let himself feel proud of what he had built over the years. One wall was stacked with shelves full of ingredients of all sorts: herbs and flowers, powders of all sorts and even rare ones. Another wall was his library section: grimoires, alchemy and potions books gave some color to his shop. The crystals did as well. He had them in every size: chips,necklaces, bracelets, rings and even pendulums. He also sold teas with calming properties for anxiety that he made himself. Caring for his clients was a second nature for him, even if it is well hidden behind his schooled features.
With a sigh, he went back to work. He filled the popular shelves, made a list of potions he would have to brew in order to satisfy his regulars and organized his deliveries.
Some of his clients, mostly the night species, requested deliveries as the shop was closed during their time of wake. Minho had his own supply of bat postal. He liked to be different and that way, his clients always knew which were his products. Furthermore, climbing up into the attic wasn’t as scary with friendly bats hanging upside down.
The usual postal services were guaranteed by owls and the likes, even pigeons sometimes. However, the birds were quite expensive as fellow witches bred them in order to get efficient results. Minho had spent countless nights thinking, tossing and turning as it would have been quite the investment.
Until one night, after hearing strange noises in his attic, he climbed up there holding an orb of light that reflected in many small eyes. It would have been a funny sight if Minho wasn’t the one being stared at by a dozen bats hanging upside down. It had taken weeks before the shy creatures let him sit with them, even more before they got the hang of it. But now, they did his deliveries and got their own place in his home, with food and a place to stay.
After securing the packages, Minho watched them disappear into the moonlit sky. The stars were awfully bright that evening and that made him frown. His guts were churning, and it was usually the sign that a tower, the tarot card, was about to fall into his life. He respected all kinds of magic, but how he hated tarot. The cards were always too direct for his taste.
With a huff, he locked the window and activated the protection ward to blur the shop. It was a strong illusion he liked to use during the night in order to avoid getting unwanted visits. Some clients of his, often entitled witches, seemed to think that he was to be at their beck and call for every minor incident. He never was a victim of vandalism but he wouldn’t take any chances. His shop was also his home and sanctuary. He would protect it at all costs.
Irritation filled him as he thought back about his years as an apprentice. His awakening had been a shock for his parents who were both mainly humans. His mother had always been very perceptive but Minho wasn’t sure if it was linked to magic. His mother’s side of the family did have the witch gene going back dozens of generations. Of course, it fell on him to awaken that line.
He handled every struggle alone, came into realizations and pushed forward every time life got hard.
Minho had made himself a name in the witch community. The one species that hated all the others. Ever since the witch trials, witches had made sure to woven every other being into their web. Their fear and their need for vengeance made them build a council meant to govern and condemn. Of course, only witches were allowed seats.
Minho waved a hand, making every candle go out as he retreated toward the stairs leading to his flat, right above his shop. A tired smile adorned his lips as he noticed his three babies patiently waiting for their dinner. He dutifully filled their bowls and watched them eat with soft eyes. Affection bloomed inside his chest, warming his limbs that always felt so cold. They were his companions, his family.
He ate some leftovers before taking a well deserved shower. Once in his bed, he felt three dips in his mattress before soft purring filled the silence. They always managed to ease his mind enough to have him fall asleep without any thoughts poisoning his mind.
The next morning wasn’t as rushed as usual. It was his monthly delivery to a nearby nymph based clinic. It wasn’t considered a hospital as those were witch dominated establishments, which was why Minho contributed to the clinic with potions and salves of his own. Hospitals only accepted fellow witches.
Minho thought they would even worsen another species’ state if they were to seek recovery there. Or at least, he wouldn’t be surprised if they did.
Humming to himself, he made sure to review the list of potions and salves requested before grabbing his basket and heading toward the door. Minho grabbed the broom leaning behind the curtain hiding the stairs, his favorite way of traveling, before telling his babies to be good during his absence.
Flying had always been one of his secret pleasures. There was something therapeutic in feeling the wind in your hair and watching the landscape change beneath you. Charms and runes were engraved in the wood to hide him behind an invisible veil to humans. Having to explain how brooms can fly could be a little awkward.
The journey wasn’t too long and soon, he could see the rooftop of the clinic. It was easily recognizable. Nymphs were known for their love of nature and a building with ivy and wisteria growing on it was uncommon in a modern street.
He left his broom in the entrance, not really worried as witch magic was needed to make it fly and weirdly enough, they didn’t seem to like loitering around that district.
Upon entering, Minho immediately felt the tense atmosphere suffocating the patients waiting their turn. He approached the counter carefully and quickly found the source. Two men with muscular builds were frowning, almost growling at the nymph nurse who looked worried but was trying to remain cool and composed.
Werewolves.
“What do you mean by ‘You can't do anything for him’?!” One of the two said, and seeing how he was posturing, Minho wouldn’t be surprised if he was the leader of a pack.
“The curse he seems to be under isn’t anything we have dealt with before-” The nymph tried to explain before the werewolf cut her off.
“Then find someone who has! I will not let you abandon one of my packmates.” The werewolf growled before storming off toward one of the rooms, probably their packmate’s.
Minho couldn’t help but sympathize with them. He would probably have acted worse if one of his babies was injured and the way to take care of them was outside of his abilities. But he also felt a little pinch in his chest for the nymph who probably wished she could do something to help.
He approached the counter after giving the nymph nurse some time to process the situation. She recognized him immediately and sighed in relief, something that always surprised Minho.
“Witch Lino, we were eagerly awaiting your delivery. This way, please.” She said kindly, leading him to their supply room.
Minho appreciated their use of his witch name. Giving your real name to faes was quite the most idiotic thing to ever do. Pacts and bindings weren’t uncommon in the magical community. However, fae contracts were the worst of them all. They usually had no loopholes and bound you for life.
His relations with the nymphs hadn’t been as friendly in the early stage of their agreement. To be honest, it was him who had reached out to them because of one of his clients. A regular vampire who had been burned multiple times by sunlight before Minho established his special night deliveries. They had mentioned that his healing salve worked better than the paste the nymphs used and that it was a shame his fellow kin couldn’t benefit from it.
That had motivated Minho into proposing a business agreement with the clinic. Doubts had plagued his every step as he didn’t know if the nymphs would react badly to his witch nature. The healers had thought that it was a prank at first, or a way for him to spy on their establishment to send information back to the witch council. That was illegal, but then again, witches could be nasty and quite resourceful.
Obviously, he had to prove that his products worked efficiently before both parties signed. He had chosen to be upfront right in the beginning and a few of his regulars accepted to be his testers. They knew that they had nothing to fear and were more than enthusiastic to help out and get more efficient medicines available in the clinic for their kin. Minho and a few resistant nymphs butted heads a few times. Yes, he was a witch. However, harming others wasn’t in his cords and discrimination even less so. But insulting his craft, his skills, that is where he drew the line. It almost made him pull back his proposal. Thankfully, they came over to his shop and apologized, explaining themselves and calling a truce.
The nymph and him stocked up the shelves before they discussed the next delivery. Minho noticed that the shelves emptied far faster than usual.
“We are going to need more salves for minor wounds and potions to ease anxiety.” The list went on, but Minho liked spending his week-ends brewing.
It meant two calm days in front of his cauldrons with his babies and a few cups of tea. He often used those days to put spices in a simmer pot, letting the scent fill his little shop and home.
He often changed the spices depending on the seasons. Right now, it was autumn: Apple slices, cinnamon, cloves, cardamom, some cranberries if he felt like it and a bit of rosemary.
He finished writing down the last potion before the door of the supply room was yanked open by a frantic nymph who looked a little too glad to see him. His guts churned. The tower was approaching.
“Witch Lino! I had hoped to catch you before you left.” The nymph sighed in relief, making Minho frown. “We have this case, something we have never seen before and some of us are suspecting a witch curse. Would you agree to have a look? You are the only witch we are on friendly terms with…”
There was his tower, he was certain of it. Take it or leave it, but it will always find a way to come into your life. There was no escaping. Minho had always made it his pride to follow his instinct, and his guts were telling him to take it now. His impassive expression must have made the nymphs await a refusal as they welcomed his nod with wide eyes.
He was escorted to a room, Minho noted that there were a few coats left on one of the chairs. That patient must have caring friends or a worried family, he mused. He didn’t have time to analyze his surroundings more as the nymph healer drew his attention to the body lying down on the bed.
“His pack brought him to us over a week ago. He seems to have been cursed into a deep sleep, almost like a coma. We haven’t been able to get a single reaction out of him.” The healer sighed, shoulders dropping in defeat.
He started to enunciate all of their tentatives: salts, mixtures meant to stimulate the brain and more nymphic pastes that Minho knew roughly. He had a good idea of their use from analyzing the concerned ingredients' capabilities in his own brewing.
Minho approached the bed, taking in the man lying there. Round cheeks, soft brown hair falling over his forehead and he looked far too pale. Too weak. Dread filled him as he approached the bed. How he hoped to be wrong.
“Do I have permission to touch him?” Minho asked the healer, who answered with a hopeful nod.
Minho turned back to the man, slipping his finger on the inside of his wrist to take his pulse. Low, steady but their skin was far too cold. He then sent his magic out, making it go through his arm and inside the patient’s body, seeking an anomaly. He found it quickly. It was indeed a witch curse.
There was a magical fog around the patient’s brain, keeping him unconscious and slowing his organism. The spell had migrated towards the heart, gradually slowing its beating. Minho knew what it meant. He had to lift that curse before it held onto the man without any hope to be reversed.
It was quite the nasty one. Witches mainly disliked other species because they were essentially ingredients in their eyes. Werewolf fur was the key ingredient of a great vigor potion, enhancing strength. Vampire venom could be used for an elixir meant to entrap the one you fancy into an obsessive spiral. This specific spell had been created to capture a being and keep them docile in order to have an unperishable source to farm the said ingredients from.
So the witch thought this man was a creature.
Minho closed his eyes with a frown as there were no traces of wolf or vampire magic. He felt something else, some sort of whirlwind. The magic seemed light, carefree, and somewhat a little chaotic.
“What species is he?” Minho questioned, eyes still closed.
“I am a Sylph.” A voice replied, but it wasn’t the nymph’s. Minho was sure of it.
He schooled his expression before opening his eyes, knowing what he would find. A ghost.
It was an ability seen as an abomination in the witch community. Dark magic and anything related to death was forbidden. Those choosing that path were hunted down. No one really knew what happened to them after they got caught by the council. Minho always kept that ability hidden. Anyone sound of mind would have done the same.
He asked some privacy to the nymph, waiting that the door was closed before turning to the wind spirit. The ghostly man tilted his head, more curious than horrified.
“So you can see spirits. Isn’t that unusual for a witch? Then again, we don’t know much about your kind.” The man commented. “I’m Jisung, by the way. Han Jisung.”
“Do you remember what happened before getting hit by the spell?” Minho questioned, choosing to ignore the other’s question.
Jisung hummed, his gaze drifting to the side as he tried to remember. “Nothing much. I do remember feeling a sting on my shoulder before my body got all weak…”
Minho nodded. Spells often hurt when they hit a body.
“It was indeed a witch’s doing. It is a very old spell used to keep someone in custody to use them as an ingredient supply.” Minho explained, blunt but a little apologetic. “There is a way to break it but it will take some time for me to brew the needed potion.”
He watched as Jisung seemed a little relieved at the news.
“Good… I can’t stand watching my packmates worry about me. Chan hyung hasn’t slept in a week, trying to find a way to cure me.” Guilt plagued his words.
Minho was a little surprised to hear that Jisung was part of a pack. He remembered the two werewolves from earlier and guessed that they were part of the boy’s packmates.
“Werewolves feel deeply. You shouldn’t feel guilty for his concern.” As Jisung seemed surprised that he knew, Minho mentally agreed to explain. “I happened to see him and another werewolf at the counter when I came in.”
Jisung nodded. “He isn’t always like that, I promise.”
Minho ignored that to focus on another point.
“You mentioned being a sylph. Is that why your spirit was brought out of your body?” Sylphs, or wind spirits, were known to be a little chaotic but no one really knew the extent of their magical capabilities.
Jisung shrugged. “I suppose so… But it has never happened before.”
Minho hummed. He guessed that one could never know their full abilities. The witch probably mistook Jisung as a werewolf since packs were usually exclusively composed of wolves. It wasn’t his right to question the wind spirit’s involvement in a wolf pack, so he didn’t ask any of the many questions his curious mind came up with.
“I will go and gather all the ingredients I will need in order to get you back on your feet.” Minho said, pulling his hand away and calling his magic back.
Jisung looked unsure for a moment and Minho had a good guess about what he was about to ask. To speak to his pack.
“I’d prefer keeping as little contact as possible with your packmates. They do not need to know about my involvement in your case. But rest assured that I will help the nymphs and deliver the potion as soon as its brewing process is done.” And on those words, Minho turned and left the room.
He didn’t mean to cut the conversation short, but he didn’t know when Jisung’s pack would come back. The last thing he wanted was to be cornered in a small room.
He spoke to the nymph healer who looked ready to cry when he announced an antidote.
He hopped back on his broom, his mind already analyzing where to get the needed ingredients. And getting one of them was going to be a challenge.