Chapter 9
Morgaine entered her Potion Room still thinking of the dress Elise had made for her.
In truth, she had found the design absolutely exquisite: perfect cleavage, a most appropriate opening in the skirt, and a bodice designed to accentuate what mattered most. She had wanted to put it on at once.
The garment was a classy piece no witch could ditch, particularly one with her frame.
But after the sizable dinner, she hadn’t wanted to disappoint Elise by not fitting into the delicate garment.
She would wear it later, perhaps for the First Bloom.
Devon was going to be there. That devil.
Elise’s dress was sure to turn heads, even those that rarely looked away from their own reflection.
Morgaine kept thinking about the dress and the spectacular entrance she would surely make at the coming witches’ festival.
Her beloved fellowship of witches would attend without fail.
She rarely saw those old hags, and she knew that by now they would have accumulated a fair share of complaints about the war to entertain a whole year of gossip.
As she fetched one of her cauldrons and set fire to prepare a potion for Elise, she started wondering if it would be sensible to bring the girl with her.
When using her Mirror of Daimor she had seen nothing that suggested the girl could bring trouble.
Elise had surprised Morgaine every single day with her committed work and practiced hand.
Her energy had manifested in an almost invasive presence of squirrels in her garden.
The animals always appeared when a strong force was at work.
And seeing this sign, Morgaine could not dismiss the possibility of Elise having potential for magic after all.
The girl had already proven to have her own kind of magic.
It took one look around the Potion Room for Morgaine to see that all her glass, cauldrons, books, and herbs could use Elise’s miraculous cleaning spell.
The room hadn’t been dusted in a decade, and even if Morgaine was no snob for grime, she was beginning to see the appeal.
Apprentices, however, had always turned out a disappointment for Morgaine.
She remembered Francella. Ah, that wicked girl had potential and was quick-witted as well.
But how unwilling she proved to be when it came to following directions.
Her enthusiasm lasted only as long as her good mood.
It was a sin to possess as much talent as stubbornness.
Not to mention the silver and gold that had accompanied Francella on her departure.
The experience had left Morgaine with a greatly reduced inclination to take any lass under her wing.
Besides, she could not teach just anyone to be a witch. Magic had to find them, to claim them. One of the gods or goddesses had to choose her as a conduit, just as Hagen, god of the West Wind, had seen fit to choose her at nineteen.
“Let’s see how Elise does in the city before getting ahead of myself,” Morgaine murmured to herself as she went to her potion shelf and drank a drop of her Elixir of Fine Form to make a modest correction to her grown gut.
“By earth and breath, take a delicious shape,” she chanted.
Her waistline reduced in seconds to its usual slender circumference.
This potion alone had paid for her house.
It was a beauty. For Morgaine it worked as a mild remedy, but it was a wonder for women with a devoted sweet tooth.
“Ah, now for the fun one,” she chuckled.
Morgaine took a few ingredients from the shelf, weighed them, and then went back to her cauldron. By now it was warm enough to blend everything into the Strength Potion. She was not about to leave the girl to her luck among the gentlemen of questionable manners who lingered about the apothecary.
Elise needed to air a bit of skin, but in Metz that meant trouble when the skin was accompanied by a good shape.
Morgaine had simply wanted to free the girl from those high-collared dresses of Falaine.
The sooner she shed that foreign turn of mind about fashion, the better.
The girl needed to live, especially after that wretched story of the little coward of a fiancé and his no less wretched family.
“This will do her good,” Morgaine whispered as she dropped the ingredients of the potion into the steaming cauldron.
“By root and stone, let strength make its home!”
A thick breath of steam rolled into the room, covering Morgaine, the cauldron, and any hope of avoiding a cough.
“Khrr—kh. I forgot how powerful this wicked thing can be.”
But as strong as the potion was, Morgaine was sure it would be perfect for Elise.
The city had changed so much in just two weeks that the girl was not about to step into a bed of roses.
The tension and suspicion among the people, along with the shortage of supplies, had put everyone in the least charitable disposition.
It was such that even Morgaine’s usual good mood suffered from time to time.
Just that morning she had tried to enjoy a refreshment at the tavern of an old friend, a sensible orc who always received her with a free ale. This time, though, the ale seemed to have run dry, and Morgaine paid three times the fare for a small drink.
In spite of the lack of warmth, she set herself to enjoy a bit of conversation and thought it only appropriate to offer a few thoughtful observations on the war.
But such deep contributions were hardly appreciated.
A man not overly burdened with wit took it upon himself to offer a response in return.
Morgaine had to resort to giving the man a small touch with her dagger before he did the same with the chair he held in his arms. One couldn’t even enjoy a drink during these blessed days.
Not to mention the number of people as distinguished as the gentleman in the tavern who seemed to have chosen Metz as their new home.
The locals had put up a fair fight against outlanders, but the matter appeared largely settled.
The steam from the cauldron began to clear, and with it a smile tugged at Morgaine’s lips. She pictured the louts approaching Elise, only to be met with a touch of the potion.
“This will do beautifully.”
*****
Morgaine stepped out of the Potion Room with a vial in hand, expecting Elise to be ready by now and eager to leave before dark.
“I’m sending you to a good friend of mine,” Morgaine began as she emerged from the steaming chamber.
Elise was nowhere to be seen, but Morgaine failed to notice as she continued, “His name is Henrik. Tell him to give you a dram of Sauxpan dust, two handfuls of Bitterwurzel roots, and a pinch of Wurzelgut.”
She was deep in her head, thinking of Henrik and those strong hands of his that could soften a rock with the right moves. Ah, she would have liked to pay him a visit, but she had had enough of Metz for a day.
“Where are you, darling?” said Morgaine, only then realizing there was no sign of Elise.
Then, as if answering her call, Elise stepped out of the Tailor’s Room and into the light before the kitchen windows.
Morgaine, in spite of being exclusively fond of men, couldn’t help but stare from head to toe. Elise was the very image of sin. She could only imagine what a man might feel at the sight of her.
“For all the demons on earth, dear,” the witch croaked. “I’m glad I’m sending you with protection.”
“Do you have a mirror?” Elise asked, standing timidly, somehow uneasy in a dress that made her look as compelling as a banquet after famine.
“There’s one in the Potion Room,” Morgaine said, although she did not extend an invitation for Elise to use it, fearing that, as pious as any good girl from Falaine, Elise would refuse on the spot to go into the city in such attire.
No, Elise needed to see the world had other excitements than marrying some spoiled lordling.
Elise did not ask for the blessed mirror again and instead, listened carefully to Morgaine’s shopping inquiries and advice on how to enter Metz. Morgaine recommended the hole in the wall, though she was sure the guards would offer little resistance this time if Elise tried the main gate.
“I’ll use the opening you showed me,” Elise said.
Morgaine nodded and gave her three silver coins and a basket for her errand at the apothecary.
“Give the old basket to Henrik. He gave it to me last time I was there,” Morgaine said.
Elise nodded.
But just as she was about to set off on her journey, Morgaine extended her arm, holding a blue vial in hand. “Drink this,” the witch said. “Repeat this chant after taking it and when you need to defend yourself: By root and stone, let strength make its home.”
“What will it do to me?”
“You’ll see,” Morgaine smirked. “It’s one of the rarer potions, and it lasts only an hour, so you would do well to make some haste.”
Elise said the chant and gulped the thing on the spot.
“Good,” Morgaine said. “Now go.”