Mama has never allowed me to go into the shops by myself, especially around All Hallow's Eve. Today, she has allowed me to venture into town by myself with the promise that I'll only go to the drug store.

Of course, I'm not going to obey her all the way. I am going to get the medicine. I'm just not going to get it at Parkinson's Drug Store.

There's a building that gets rented out to nomadic companies that I've never been allowed to enter, even with Mama or Papa. This month, the sign out front reads BAUER AND TRAVERT'S POTIONS AND CURES, INC. I know they sell Marlowe's Cold Cure for five cents less than Parkinson's Drug Store does.

They sell other things, too. Mary van Daele (she's from up North; she's from a new-money family; Mama likes to call her a hussy) came back with a small green bottle, the contents of which made her skin practically glow with health.

I take a breath. I am standing outside. This is my last chance to turn back and go to Parkinson's like a good girl.

I enter the shop. The bell jingles as I do.

There is one man behind the counter, wiping it down with a rag. Shelves and shelves of herbs and bottles line the shelves behind him. He looks up when I walk in; his accent is thick and Texan. "How can I help you, miss?"

I swallow any apprehension I may have. "I need a bottle of Marlowe's Cold Cure."

He nods, reaches under the counter, and plops a rectangular brown bottle on top of it. "Can I get you anything else?"

"What..." I pause to gather my thoughts, then walk further into the store, closer to the counter. "What else do you have?"

"All sorts of things. Potions, cures, herbs, you name it. Whatever you want, we've probably got it."

"Potions?"

"They're not magic, don't worry." He winks at me. If I were better at being a girl, maybe my body would have gone fuzzy at that.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, we've got all kinds, if that's what you're asking. Potions for health, for beauty, for anythin' and everythin'. For example, this'll make you what you're destined to be." He holds up a vial the size of my index finger.

I can't afford to pass this up, I don't think. "I'll take it."

"That'll be one-fifty for both of them."

"A full dollar and fifty cents?"

"For this? Yeah. I'll knock the price down by twenty-five cents if you drink the potion in here."

That doesn't make a lick of sense. Still, "You drive a hard bargain."

I pay the man, pick up the small bottle of potion, and uncork it. It reeks of almonds and rosemary.

He looks expectantly at me. I knock it back. It tastes bitter.

Almost immediately, I am nauseous. Soon, I can't breathe. Soon, I am on the floor, clutching at my throat.

And everything reeks of almonds.