Erototonic

"What was that? 'Love philtre", did you say?' The old man mused for a moment, grasping his chin with a claw-like hand as he stared pensively at the polished wooden counter that lay between them. His sparse grey hair was unkempt, and overlapped the collar of his white shop coat. A network of fine crimson veins etched his cheeks and the patrician nose that dominated an otherwise undistinguished face.

Josephine had discovered the little shop in one of the town's back-streets several days earlier, and it had taken a great deal of courage for her to enter, and considerably more to tell the wrinkled old man what she really wanted. She glanced around, fascinated by the rows of odd-shaped bottles bearing strange names, the numerous small wooden drawers with scooped handles of brass or knobs of amber glass, the pigeon-holes filled with tiny white cardboard boxes, folded paper sachets and occasional sprigs of dried leaves and twigs. A rich blend of aromas assailed her, insidiously penetrating into the depths of her consciousness, reviving forgotten memories of her childhood. No, not memories, exactly – evocations of past experiences, perhaps. Experiences that were possibly not her own, but part of some primeval racial "awareness". She shook herself. This was nonsense! Unless there was some hallucinatory property in the miasma of scents around her…

The old man looked up, and his watery eyes met hers. He was thin as a lath and moved with a pronounced limp. His high-pitched voice quavered, and his words were not easy to follow, but she listened intently. He took a tiny bottle of magenta-coloured liquid from a shelf and placed it on the counter. "It rather depends on what you have in mind, young lady. There are several preparations I could suggest, of which this is perhaps the most efficacious, if you merely wish to enhance your own… well, let us say – your own…" he gave a discrete cough and dropped his voice to a mere whisper "sexual proclivities…" He raised a interrogative eyebrow towards the attractive girl. She shook her head gently, setting the auburn hair swirling about her shoulders. "It's not an aphrodisiac I'm looking for…"

"I see, in that case, you wish to induce a member of the opposite - ah - gender to, well – to become enamoured of your manifest physical charms?" Entranced by his curiously old-fashioned turn of speech, Josephine nodded, blushing delightfully.

"In that case, I'm afraid the problem is of an entirely different order. There really is only one very ancient receipt" (he used the archaic term rather than recipe or formula), "which can relied upon. Sadly, it contains several ingredients that are exceedingly scarce, and obtainable now only at exorbitant cost. Fortunately, I do carry a very limited supply of the philtre. It does, in fact consist of two quite separate and distinct doses. You must take one and the victim – beg pardon, the subject must somehow be induced to imbibe the other. This is a necessary safety precaution; the newly awakened affections of the subject must focus directly upon no one but you. You are familiar with Shakespeare's ‘Midsummer Night's Dream' I take it?" She seemed uncertain.

Well, you see, my dear, in the Bard's time knowledge of this potion would have been commonplace, so when he has his lovers imbibe the philtre, his audience would no doubt have been fully aware of the possible consequences, and indeed, the dangers inherent in its use. "Midsummer Night's Dream" is a farrago of misplaced affections resulting from failure to observe the necessary precautions."

Josephine's heart sank. The thing seemed hazardous to say the least.

"Come, dear child, don't be downhearted – things have come a long way since the time of the Bard! There is now a foolproof procedure to ensure that the object of one's desire responds to you, and you alone. Over the years the procedure has been refined considerably. Certain ingredients are omitted from what we call the "Responsive" potion. These are incorporated in a second potion, which we term the "Active" principle. This latter component is by taken the initiator (in this case, you, my dear) several days beforehand. It has to be thoroughly absorbed into the system, and acts in a similar manner to what scientists now call ‘pheromones'. In this case, once the object of your desire has unwittingly imbibed his part of the potion – perhaps in a glass of wine, or coffee, he will respond to the emanations of the "active" principle. In other words, to you, and to no one else! And none save he will be aware of the invisible bait you are trailing…

Josephine's elfin face lit up; the scheme seemed fool-proof. Then, suddenly apprehensive, she asked "How much would it cost – for both potions?"

The old herbalist smiled benignly. "In this particular case, I ask for payment only by results. If for any reason, it fails to work, you will owe me nothing. If it succeeds – and I am confident that it will - I leave the settlement to your discretion. Is that fair and acceptable?"

Josephine nodded gratefully, tears welling suddenly into her dark eyes. At last, Jeff would take her seriously.

"Well, then – I invite you to take a measure of the ‘active' potion. You will find its taste is not unpleasant." With that, he shuffled into the small dispensary behind the shop. He returned a few moments later with a sherry glass half filled with a dark, strongly aromatic liquid. "Drink it down, my dear, but first - do take a seat." He indicated a bentwood chair at the end of the counter. "You may feel a little light-headed for a moment. Possibly dizzy – even disorientated – but it will soon pass. When you are fully recovered, I will give you a small phial containing the ‘responsive' potion. The rest is up to you.

She sniffed the liquid, then took a cautious sip. It was sweet and sticky, and seemed to freeze her throat, yet as it seeped into her stomach it began to tingle with a pleasant warmth. Then the world swam before her eyes…

When she opened them again she became vaguely aware that the old man was locking the door of the shop and slipping the heavy key into his pocket. He picked up another sherry glass brimming with a greenish fluid, raised it in salutation and swallowed it in a single gulp.

He placed the glass on the counter, and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. "I'm afraid I may have mislead you a little regarding the procedure, but this batch of philtre has been made up for some time, and in fairness to you, I thought I'd better test it first. It wouldn't do for things to go off at ‘half-cock' so to speak." He leered at her.

His voice had dropped an octave, and had become firm, vibrant, commanding, and his stoop had entirely vanished. Only then did she realise that he was not old at all. The scales fell from her eyes and she realised that he was a mature, vibrant man, tall and handsome, who walked with a swagger rather than a limp. His shop apron had vanished, and much of his broad chest was visible beneath his unbuttoned shirt. Scooping her into his tanned, muscular arms he lifted her from the chair and carried her from the shop area and into the bedroom.

"Darling…" she murmured.