The Curious Account of How Agent Beretti Came to Believe in Magic

For my own 2020 Halloween Flash Fiction Challenge, days 4 and 5

“So this is how we get the bastard,” the Director said, raising the glass bottle in front of a LED light. The bottle was old and skull-shaped, and it was filled with an angry green liquid.

“I never thought the Agency would have to resort to magic,” Agent Beretti said.

“You know we’ve tried everything.” The Director handed the bottle back to Agent Beretti. “And by everything I really mean everything. Yet we couldn’t get him. He’s still alive. Never in the Agency’s history have this many assassinations failed. Not against kings, high priests, CEOs, or dictators. That in itself is magical.”

“I still find it ridiculous that we believe a witch’s potion will work,” Agent Beretti said. “Dug up from a nine hundred years old crypt.”

“It’s not just you who has serious doubts,” the Director said, shaking his head. “I don’t really believe it myself. But I’m willing to give it a chance. Especially as we’ve run out of all other options.”

“And how does it work?” Agent Beretti said. “Even if it’s a magical poison, we have to get it into his system, don’t we? Which is impossible, considering that we were unable to get him with traditional poisons?”

“No,” the Director said with a slow sigh. “Someone on our side drinks this. Someone who considers him their worst enemy. Because that’s what this potion does. It kills your worst enemy. And you. Most probably.”

Agent Beretti leaned a little forward.

“What?” he said.

“Yes, I’m afraid that’s the price,” the Director said. “At least the witch’s notes say so. Drink the potion to off both yourself and your worst enemy. Mind you, even she says nothing is certain. Maybe only you will die. Or only your worst enemy. Or neither of your, or both of you. There’s no spell to chant, no magic circles to draw, nothing. Just drink the thing.”

“I see,” Agent Beretti said, after a while. “What does the Lab say? What’s really in the bottle?”

“Impossibly stale drinking water, colored green by some herbal mixture. Not a poison, but a nine hundred years old tea. It would and will give anyone serious indigestion, though.”

“And we’re giving this a shot,” Agent Beretti said, eyebrows raised. “For real.”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” Agent Beretti stood up, and stretched himself a little. “I’ll drink it. I guess that’s why you wanted to talk with me. I hate the guy the most, I guess. We all know we have a real bad history. Unless this potion needs me to believe in magic. I can’t do that. Maybe I will, if the potion works, if he dies suddenly and I don’t. But even so, it may just be coincidence. But it won’t happen. I’ll get sick for a week, is all that will happen. I can take that for the Agency’s sake, so that everyone here can come to their senses and stop looking at magic.”

The Director picked up the bottle, nodded, and handed it over to Agent Beretti.

“One last question,” Agent Beretti said. “We’re sure it wasn’t him who put this bottle there in that crypt, right? And the lab results have been double checked, I suppose? Our systems haven’t been hacked? It’s not him tricking me into poisoning myself, is it?”

“No, it isn’t,” the Director said. “Everything is in order. At least everything that’s not witchery.”

“All right then,” Agent Beretti said. He uncorked the bottle, and sniffed it.

“Wow! Mint chocolatey!” he said. “If it tastes as good as it smells, I’ll need its recipe! Cheers!”

The Director smiled at him, and watched him drink up.