room. I decided to go with the penis reason and chose the route of tact and negotiation.
“You know, there are more subtle symbols of virility that can be tattooed on your arms. Items that could draw a woman close to you without being so obvious,” I countered.
“Like what?”
“Like what …” I repeated. I glanced wildly over my shoulder, looking for a little help from my two companions in the back room.
Trixie gave a huff before she started ticking items off on her long fingers. “A stag with antlers, the full moon, the oak tree, holly, the bull or even the minotaur, and the eye of Horus.”
The three satyrs looked from one to the other, quietly weighing each of the options that Trixie had listed for them, but I could tell by the tone of the conversation that not one of the choices had particularly won them over.
“You could also go with a mushroom or some particular flowers that have phallic undercurrents,” Bronx added, to my delight.
The head of one of the satyrs popped up, excitement lighting his beady black eyes. “Don’t some mushrooms have aphrodisiac qualities?”
“Possibly,” I hedged. Hallucinogenic? Sure. Deadly? Of course. Aphrodisiac? I had no idea.
“That’s what we want! Mushrooms on our upper arms.”
“You got it,” I said, somewhat relieved that the three of us weren’t going to be drawing dicks on the arms of satyrs that evening. I had a feeling something like that would follow me into my nightmares later.
“Now, we don’t just want tattoos,” said what appeared to be the soberest of the trio. “We want more.”
“An actual increase in virility,” I supplied.
“More than that. We want to draw women to us.”
“Allure.”
“Exactly.”
“Then that’s going to cost a little extra.” I mentally went through the potential list of ingredients that I might use, starting with the most expensive, before I quoted my first steep price. I fully expected the satyrs to hem and haw at the asking price, but they said nothing. All three reached into the little pouches hanging around their waists and slapped two gold coins apiece onto the counter. At today’s going exchange rate for gold, and the quality of the product, I had no doubt that I had been overpaid by a lot.
“Now, gentlemen, you know I can’t properly give you change for gold.”
“Keep it,” one said with a wave of his hand. “A tip. Can we get started?”
“Let’s go,” I said, motioning for them to step into the back room. As I suspected, their mouths immediately dropped open at the sight of Trixie. I quickly stepped in front of my coworker to stop the stampede as she backed into the far corner of the cabinets, effectively trapping herself.
“Trixie, could you go to the back room and draw up a design or two for these gentlemen while Bronx shaves down the area they want tattooed?” I asked quickly. She was already sidling out of the room before I finished the question. I threw a sympathetic look at Bronx, but the trio was less likely to cause problems with a troll wielding a razor. I followed Trixie into the back room where I started pulling down items for the potion.
“You’re fucking insane!” she snarled in a low voice the second I shut the door. “Satyrs! Virility tattoos for a bunch of satyrs? Aren’t they enough trouble on their own without your help?”
“They spend most of their time at strip joints and harassing prostitutes. I don’t see them going after a bunch of soccer moms at the local bake sale.” I pulled down another container. “I’m not making it that potent anyway.”
“You do realize that certain fey creatures do react to natural aphrodisiacs,” she snapped. “What if some poor unsuspecting wood nymph or sprite ran across these three? They could be helpless.”
“Oh, please! Every wood and water nymph I’ve known has been more oversexed than these three and far more dangerous. Helpless, my ass.” I threw some herbs into the mortar bowl and started to crush them into a fine powder with the ceramic pestle.
“Exactly how many nymphs have you known?” Trixie demanded in a surprisingly sharp voice that drew my eyes back around to her. She sat at a small drawing desk, glaring at me. “And how well did you know them?”
“Come on, Trixie. You know what I mean,” I groaned as I focused on pounding the ingredients.
“No, I don’t think I do.”
“You’re starting to sound like my mother,” I warned. At least, it’s what I imagined my mother would sound like. I honestly had no idea how she would sound in a conversation like this. I had been dragged from my home by a warlock at age seven and returned for only a few months when I was sixteen. Family was not something I had a lot of experience with.
A bright flush stained Trixie’s cheeks and she turned away from me. Her sweet voice softened. “Please, Gage. This is dangerous.”
“No, just a waste. You can’t mask what a satyr is no matter the potion. You might be drawn in by the potion at first, but the innate curiosity has to be there in order for the person to succumb to anything. If the person isn’t even a little attracted, nothing is going to happen. I’m just not that good. No one is.”
“Promise?”
I turned from the counter to find her staring at me from where she sat at the drawing table. Half of a sketch of a tall, phallic-shaped mushroom sat on the drawing paper before her.
“I’ll even cut it with nightshade juice so this will have practically no effect on the fey,” I said with a sigh. I was a complete pushover when she looked at me with those wide eyes. It didn’t help that I also knew she was fey and felt more than a little vulnerable around these tattoos I had promised.
“Thank you,” she murmured before returning to her drawing.
“Just draw two designs and then hurry back. I want to get these three out of here so I can call it a night.”
“Any way I can get out of this one?”
I snorted as I walked toward the door with my mixture and a tiny wooden spoon. “Not a chance. The pay is more than worth the twenty minutes it’s going to take you to do this.”
“Bastard,” she muttered, but not with her earlier vehemence. I was at least partially forgiven.
While Bronx was shaving away the bristly hair from the area on the arms of the satyrs where the tattoos would go, I selected three small plastic caps and spooned in a bit of the potion that I had mixed up. I then squirted in black ink. The potion didn’t need to go into all of the colors unless you were weaving a more complex spell and then it was different potions in different colors so that the spell created an interesting tapestry of power on the person’s skin. In this case, the outline of the mushroom tattoos in black was the only part that actually needed the potion.
I was pulling out the needles and scooping out dollops of petroleum jelly to put on small Styrofoam plates, which would help to control the bleeding during
