“So this is safe to drink, right?” I asked as Lethril poured me a cup.
“If it wasn't, I wouldn't be drinking it myself,” they said. “I triple checked the ingredients. We're completely safe, I just want to know the effectiveness of the dosage.”
I nodded. I trusted Lethril. They and I had been on several adventures together. Catfolk and Dragonfolk weren't known to get along, but witches and sorcerers in parties full of burly mercenaries tended to get along quite well. We had taken to meeting for brunch between adventures, and asking each other for advice on spells. So, naturally, when Lethril said they had developed a potion of truth that could be brewed into a tea, I offered to help test it.
The thing about working the night shift of a college campus library was that very few people were around, at least at the beginning of the semester. Later in the year, undergrads would pack the stacks, writing papers and and participating in all night study parties. But right now, with the semester just starting and no major assignments due, my days were mostly spent giving tours and my night shifts were spent shelving what little there was to shelve and scanning entire sections searching for items on hold. Truth be told, despite technically being a computer aide working on her MLS, I often felt like I was a page again.
It was on one of those nights that I first found the little black book tucked in between two volumes of classical literary criticism. It was a small leather-bound volume, no bigger than a pocket notebook. The pages were yellowed and slightly curled, telltale signs of age, but the leather seemed brand new. It had no identifying marks except for the word “Desire” on the front, embossed in silver, evidently the title. Weirdest of all was the fact that it had no barcode, as if it wasn't even a part of the collection.