Free Merrick by Claire Cray

villager ask Merrick for a love
potion. He always refused, and scolded them for thinking he’d do otherwise.
    “No, sir,” she
wailed softly, and began to cry. “I know you won’t make him love me. But I know
you can cure me of this terrible desire! Mary Blackson told me you gave her
mother a tonic that stopped her from lusting for the – ”
    I was suddenly wide-awake
and attentive.
    Merrick had
interrupted the girl to scold her for her gossip and for believing talk of
magical tonics. He then lectured her on the inevitability of heartache. “It is
a fact of life, as any other sorrow. You must bear it, as we all must.”
    “Sir, I cannot! I
cannot go on!”
    They went on like
this for some time, until at last Merrick calmed her tears by agreeing to give
her a tincture to help her through her troubles.
    She was beside
herself with gratitude. Through her tears, she asked what it was made of.
    I strained to hear
the ingredients he quietly listed, then repeated them in my mind as I lay
there. I even put them into a little melody to help myself remember. Lavender,
wormwood and thyme. Lavender, wormwood and thyme. Lavender, wormwood and thyme…
    I held no
illusions that I would be able to recreate one of Merrick’s concoctions with
any accuracy. But wasn’t there a chance that the ingredients could produce at least
some of the desired effect? After weeks of feeling alarmed and helpless under
the onslaught of these sudden desires, the thought of being able to show some
resistance was a small comfort. And perhaps the brew would trick my mind and
body into curing itself, like when my mum used to give me a bit of sugar water
to stop the pain of a skinned knee.
    All right, so I
was desperate. I knew it. But what did I have to lose by a small, earnest
attempt at preserving my pride?
     
    The next night, as
soon as Merrick went into the cave, I got up and went to the kitchen.
    Lavender, wormwood
and thyme. I found the first two clearly labeled, but the fourth and most
common herb of the bunch escaped me. I had to look over the bundles hanging and
all the loose leaves and coarse grounds in jars before I recognized what I
needed.
    Mixed in roughly
equal parts, he’d said. I set water to boil and prepared the herbs in my
teacup.
    As I sat at the
table to down my brew, I indulged in a bit of self-pity. How things changed,
indeed. If I’d been in the city at that moment…
    Oh, what was the
point in thinking that way anymore? I wasn’t in the city. I was in a stone
cottage at the mouth of a cave, apprenticed to some kind of otherworldly
creature, sharing his bed and lusting for his body. I was drinking a bitter tea
at a wooden table in a symbolic attempt to purge myself of the multitude of
fantasies that had been plaguing me for weeks. I was imagining Merrick’s hands
on me, my hands on him, his smooth skin against my lips, his breath on my
stomach, his fingertips trailing up my thigh, his…
    I downed the last
of the tea in a large swallow and set the cup down hard. Then I quickly cleared
the evidence, leaving the kitchen as I’d found it.
    Lying in bed
again, I felt quite cheerful. My heart was even beating a little faster from
excitement.
     
     
     

Chapter 12
     
    “William.”
    When I opened my
eyes, things looked rather strange. The trinkets above me seemed out of
perspective, their edges very clear, and when I looked at one, the others
seemed to shift as though they were breathing.
    Merrick’s hand
covered my forehead. “You are ill,” he said, a mixture of surprise and concern
in his voice. “Why didn’t you say something?”
    “I’m not ill,” I
rasped. My throat was very dry. I tried to lick my lips, and found my tongue
dry as well. My heart was fluttering. There was a faint green tint to the
ceiling.
    “Look at me.”
    I turned my eyes
to Merrick and cringed. His golden eyes seemed too large for his face, and his
mouth was pulsing strangely. “Oh, sir, you look very strange,” I moaned, trying
to cover