“Tylenol.” I took a medium-size bottle out of my satchel. “One or two pills will kill pain and bring down fevers.”

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“Fever cure. Now that’s useful magic.” He took the bottle from my hand and tapped the side. “I see the bottle is enchanted too.”

“It’s plastic; that means it keeps water out and it won’t break if you drop it. Here, this is how you open it.” I lined up the arrows and flipped the lid off, showed it to him, then snapped it back on.

His eyes widened and he nodded happily. “Ahh, it’s fine magic. What do you ask for it?”

“Do you have anything to break spells?” He humphed at me as though I ought to know better than to ask such a question. “Breaking spells is a complicated business. I couldn’t do it for all the wealth the royal family is promising, and I can’t do it for you. Is it the Black Knight’s armor that is enchanted? His sword?

Himself? Where came his magic from? I’ll never be able to get close enough to tell so I can give no counterspells.”

“I didn’t mean the Black Knight’s spell. I was thinking of a spell a fairy put on a friend.” Before I could explain what had happened, the wizard shook his head. “There are as many fairy spells as there are flowers. It’s near impossible to know the recipe for undoing a specific one. Casting a spell is like throwing mice into your neighbor’s barn. Easy enough to do, but 194/431

near impossible to undo.” He turned the Tylenol bottle in his hand, clearly displeased to have to give it back.

“Is there anything I could do to make a spell better, to modify it somehow?”

“Not unless you know someone with a better enchantment who’s willing to switch.”

“To switch?” I repeated.

A grimace crossed the wizard’s face. “I should have thought of it when I was talking to the prince.” His grip tightened on the bottle. “I do have some switching potion. It’s an obscure bit of magic. Takes years to make a single batch. He can’t fault me for not remembering.

How often are two enchanted people in the same place?” The wizard looked at the castle as though debating whether or not to go back inside.

“I want to buy it,” I said. Because even though it wouldn’t break Tristan’s enchantment, it suddenly occurred to me I could still help him defeat the Black Knight. I could switch enchantments with the knight and then he would no longer be invincible.

Simon, who’d been busy placing things into the wagon, stopped his work. His hands froze somewhere among the bottles and boxes, and he turned a pair of startled eyes in my direction. I knew he wanted to say something, but the wizard didn’t give him time.

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“You want to buy it?” The wizard’s voice changed so quickly—suddenly all business—that I wondered if his speech about selling it to King Roderick was just for my benefit. He pulled at his beard thoughtfully. “Such an important commodity is expensive. It will cost you the pills, the fire sticks, and the silverware.” I fingered the spoon, suddenly unsure. This could be either a very good decision or a great financial loss. I glanced at Simon, but he was no longer looking at me.

He’d gone back to putting things into the wagon with a grimace set fiercely on his face.

“How does it work?” I asked.

The wizard dug through things in his wagon, sending some of them spilling in a noisy clatter as he retrieved a small mirror. Before I could question what it was, he took my hand in his bony grasp and held it under the mirror. Almost as quickly, he released my hand and held the mirror up to study. His eyes squinted and his eyebrows drew together like two furry caterpillars. “Ahh,” he said. “So you are under an enchantment. Certainly not the worst I’ve encountered. Still, I can understand why you’d want to switch with someone.” I took the mirror from his hand to see what he was looking at. On its face, and fading as I watched, were the words: When said occupant tells a lie, a reptile or amphibian will appear on his or her tongue.

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The wizard took the mirror from me and tucked it back into the wagon. He sorted through several more items and finally pulled out a blue clay jar no taller than his thumb. He wiped off the dust with the sleeve of his tunic until the bottle shone like a robin’s egg. “This is the potion you need, m’lady, and this is how it works. As you know, a kiss can be powerful magic—” He must have seen my blank look because he added impatiently, “A kiss can awaken a princess from an enchanted sleep. It can break the spell that keeps a prince in the form of a frog.”

I nodded, at last remembering my fairy-tale lore.

“Right. A kiss. Powerful magic.” He swirled the bottle, mixing the contents, and looked firmly into my eyes. “But once you drink of this potion your kiss will lose that power. For seven days, anyone who you kiss or who kisses you—anyone who carries an enchantment— will take yours from you and leave you theirs.” His eyes grew stern, as though I needed to be told the next part. “Therefore, you mustn’t tell anyone of your state or the way the enchantments pass. If you do, you risk all sorts of folks with bad enchantments trying to give you theirs.

“And don’t think you can simply kiss the offender back. Once two enchantments switch, they won’t switch back no matter how many times you kiss.” For a 197/431

moment he didn’t seem like a man making a business deal, but like my father warning me about something he thought I’d probably do anyway. “So don’t be rash or impulsive. Magic is a downfall to those who don’t think it through. Make certain you want another’s enchantment before you kiss them.”

But I was already certain. After all, if the Black Knight wasn’t enchanted, then kissing him wouldn’t change me at all. And if he was enchanted, well, then I knew what the enchantment was, and I wouldn’t mind having it. Invincibility. I reached into my purse, took out the match-box and the silverware, and handed them to him. “Can I buy the mirror too?”

He shook his head as he tucked the things I’d given him into his wagon. “What is a wizard without his divining tools? Besides, it most likely wouldn’t do you any good. They that have favorable enchantments usually wear gloves for just that reason.” The wizard pulled the cork from the switching potion and handed it to me. “Drink up, m’lady.” I took the bottle from him, but hesitated. Simon had caught my attention again, and was looking at me with agitation, one hand clenched far too tightly on the edge of the wagon. Perhaps the wizard wasn’t telling me everything, or perhaps this was just a bad idea.

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Magic was dangerous. That had been my problem since the beginning. I’d tried to use fairy magic to solve problems that were best left alone. I’d gotten Tristan in-to a terrible predicament and now I owed it to him to help him however I could. If that meant taking some risks, well, it had to be done.

I put the bottle to my lips, tilted it upward, and let the bitter liquid burn its way down my throat. The taste made me cringe and shiver.

The wizard grinned at my reaction and took the bottle back from my hand. “A word to the wise: don’t let any animals lick you for a week—it’s as good as a kiss, and any skin of yours is vulnerable to the switch. You won’t know if they’re enchanted folk until it’s too late and you’re mewing for your supper.” He dismissed me with a nod of his head, then tucked the empty bottle back into the wagon. His attention turned to Simon and his voice grew gruff. “Finish loading things, but mind you, don’t break anything or you’ll be finishing your apprenticeship as a goat.” Then the wizard walked to the front of the wagon, muttering things I couldn’t understand. Simon’s gaze stayed on me, the agitation still in his eyes. I knew he thought I’d acted foolishly and I turned away from him.