Free Poison by Bridget Zinn

business, she wrote him the most formal letter possible. She wanted him to know right from the start how serious she was.
    Ned’s lecture, on the other hand, had been poorly attended despite the name he’d made for himself, but he hadn’t seemed to mind. His clothes fell in wrinkles over his big belly, and it looked like he’d just randomly picked them up off the floor; but when he spoke he’d had the same spark as Hal.
    Ned had ended his lecture by saying, “So, yeah, that’s what I’m working on right now, but, hey, you don’t want to hear me yammer on anymore. Anyone up for some meat loaf? I’ve heard the place across the street has the best.”
    Kyra had gone with him, but only because she felt bad.
    She felt worse after tasting the meat loaf. “Actually,” she said, “I’m pretty sure mine’s better.”
    Ned’s round face lit up. “Do you use cumin? I don’t know why more people don’t use it. It’s pricey, but a small investment for so much goodness.”
    Later, when she’d written to invite him to join the business, she’d included a recipe for her most recent improvement to meat loaf.
    In the end, though, she hadn’t chosen them for their personalities or how they dressed. She’d chosen them because they were the best at what they did, and because they both loved potions. Just like she did.
    When things had been good, energy sparked through the flat, and they made potions and poisons that did things no one would have ever thought possible. Everything seemed right with the world. The memories caused Kyra to ache all over, knowing these events would never happen again.
    She realized that Fred was watching her. His eyes flickered with the flames from the fire. She looked away.
    “You really do love your work, don’t you?” Fred said. “I can see it on your face when you’re thinking about it.”
    “Yeah, I guess I do.”
    “I’ve never felt anything like that. Watching you makes me feel like I’m missing out on something.”
    Kyra couldn’t meet his eyes. “It isn’t so easy. There’s always a price for love.”
    Fred was quiet for a minute, and he came around the fire to her side. His shoulder brushed against hers. “I don’t know anything about working, but I do know a little something about love.”
    Kyra’s breath caught in her throat, but when she looked up she saw he was smiling, his face inches away from her own.
    “Have you ever heard the song ‘My Love’s a Bonny Lady, if Only She Weren’t a Fish’?”
    “Is it about a mermaid?”
    Fred shook his head. “Nope.”
    Fred taught her the song, and soon she was joining in on the refrain:
    Her skin’s as pretty as lilies, her eyes as bright as a star,
    If only she could come up here, she’d be the prettiest girl by far.
    Alas, she’s under the ocean, I cannot kiss her there,
    For whenever I duck my head under, I come gasping up for air.
    A kiss, a kiss, I’d give my fish a kiss.
    My lady lies under the ocean where I cannot get a kiss .
    Fred beamed at her as she finished the verse. “Okay,” he said, “now you’ve got to learn the hand motions. Keep rhythm with your foot and lift your hand up as though you’ve got a mug of beer in it.”
    He raised her arm and folded her fingers around an imaginary mug handle. “Now pretend you’re in the pub, swinging the mug to the tune, and when you get to the part ‘whenever I duck my head under,’ duck your head”—gently, he pushed her head down and to the side—“and tip the mug. It’s not quite as entertaining without the beer actually splashing down on your face, but you get the idea.”
    Kyra’s long hair caressed her cheek. From that angle she asked, “Are you serious? You pour beer on your face?”
    “Well, you aim for your mouth.”
    “I’m sure this is extremely popular with pub owners.”
    “If it keeps the customers happy… Once through with the hand motions?”
    For some reason, the ridiculous drinking song reminded Kyra of her dad. He would love