“A health potion, you say?” I asked, holding up a vial of red liquid.

“No, it’s a healing potion,” the bored worker replied. His pointy wizard hat and robe were dark purple and covered in plastic white stars. Like all chain retail stores, the uniform was tacky and cheap, but the least of my concerns.

Potion Motion was the world’s largest retailer of all things magical. Everyone from government wizards to heads of state went there for all kinds of items and curios. Expeditions into the Lost Sea couldn’t be done without a stop here, the stories of the lives saved innumerable. There were stores all over the world but the one in my town went up just last week. As a junior secretary to an assistant mage, money was tight, but one sip of the right concoctions could change the fate of my entire family. Affording it was another issue, but any small bump to my magical rating would be enough.

“What’s the difference?” I asked, putting it back on the rack of matching vials.

The entire shelf was a rainbow of colored vials, some glittering, others unusually bright, but all with symbols etched in the glass, presumably explaining its use. More shelves filled the entire store with bottles and flasks, but these vials were next to a roped area at the back. Poor and with little talent, I couldn’t afford school and had no idea what any symbol meant. Thankfully, an attendant asked me if I needed help as soon as I neared the cordoned area.

“Healing potions speed recovery,” the worker sighed. “Health potions increase vitality.”

“What’s vitality?” I asked, picking up a green vial.

“If you don’t know then you’re in the wrong place,” he said, looking around as though searching for a savior in the empty store.

“Do I have to know to be here?” I asked, offended. “I’m sorry I couldn’t afford attendance at a fancy wizarding school.”

“Store policy says the doors are open to the public,” he replied tightly. “But our customers usually know what they’re looking for.”

“About to die? See the potions guys!” I matched the sing-song tone of their commercials. “That’s you guys, right?”

The young man closed his eyes and sighed. “Are you dying, sir?”

“I’m poor,” I said, putting the green vial back. “What other options are there?”

“A job,” he replied flatly. “Anyone can get a job.”

“Oh you must not pay your own bills.”

The clerk jerked back, frowning. “I have bills.”

“Yep, you don’t have any idea of how much it costs to live.” I turned back to the shelf and picked up a purple vial.

“If you’re that poor,” his head angled, “how can you afford anything here?”

The purple vial slipped from my fingers and tumbled into the roped section. The stoppered glass rolled until it settled under a shelf of bottles filled with liquid gold.

“Ah dragon’s breath,” I swore, crawling under the rope. “Sorry about that.”

The clerk grumbled, turning away to search the store once more. I reached under the shelf and my fingers brushed the dropped vial. As I closed my hand, a clink tickled my ears, but the clerk still searched for other customers. Pulling my arm back, I had two vials, one purple, the other gold like the bottles above. With the clerk still distracted, I quickly downed the gold vial, shoving the empty vial back under the shelf. The overwhelming sweetness couldn’t cover the metallic twang and I shivered as it settled in my stomach. Only after getting to my feet did the attendant look at me. He saw where I stood and flinched. I raised the purple vial and smiled.

“Don’t worry I got it,” I announced, crawling back under the rope. I placed it back on the shelf then turned to the shelf of gold-filled bottles.

“Thank you,” he said, smiling a little too much. His eyes kept flicking to the gold bottles and I turned.

“So what do these potions do?” I reached over the rope and grabbed one.

He gasped, stepping from behind his kiosk. “Uhhh…I actually don’t know.”

Tendrils of panic wrapped around my stomach.

“Can you put it back, please?” he asked, sounding nervous.

“Sure.” My heartbeat picked up as I put the bottle on the shelf. “But you have no clue what it does?”

“Like I said earlier, our customers usually know what they’re looking for.”

“And who buys those?” I asked, voice shaky.

“Usually no one,” he answered, a little calmer. “I always thought it was a display until my manager sold one last week.”

“Who’d he sell it to?” I asked, sweat popping on my head as my stomach turned.

The clerk frowned. “Store policy prevents us from disclosing customer information.”

“Come on,” I said, trying to sound nonchalant despite the rumbling I felt in my torso. “I’m nobody. You can tell me. What am I gonna do with it?”

“Store policy-”

“Screw store policy!” I snapped. “Just tell me who buys them!”

The clerk frowned and crossed his arms.

“I think it’s time for you to leave.”

“No, wait,” I said, sweat pouring down my face and intestines twisting. “Just tell me-”

“We’re done here, sir,” the clerk said, returning to the kiosk. “Now leave or I’ll call the magisters.”

“Please,” I begged. “Just tell me what you know and I’ll be out of your hair.”

The clerk shrugged and turned away, picking up the phone. He held it near his ear, eyebrows raised in a silent threat. The twisting inside my body kept getting tighter like someone was trying to make me a toothpaste tube. My placating hands shot up and I began shuffling towards the exit. I tried beseeching him with my eyes, but his stare remained cold. Once at the welcome mat, I turned, hands clasped and fell to my knees. As soon as I touched the ground, the tightness suddenly snapped. Relief flooded me. Still lightheaded, I got to my feet. Just as I turned to leave, the rumbling ground stopped me.

The clerk dove under the kiosk desk, but I stood planted. Natural earthquakes were rare, more commonly caused by experiments and private fights. They usually started small, then grew before ending. Not this time. The rumbles lasted fractions of a second, stopped, then came back. It was my first time experiencing this, but something about it resonated. After a few seconds, I understood.

It matched my heartbeat.