Chapter 29
Twenty-Nine
Failure is both mentally demoralizing and physically painful.
It’s a waste to bleed and suffer lingering aches from the consequences of magic that leads nowhere, but that’s the nature of risk versus reward. Veda holds the vial of the Liquid Curse to the light, reluctantly accepting the truth. She failed.
“I thought the potion was supposed to be clear before the two-day incubation period,” Peter says from the doorway of the brewing room at Weston.
Veda’s been here all morning, taking each step carefully, paying the quiet price of the magic it takes to brew.
The first sign of trouble came quickly after she started, when some of the vials in the storage closet began to vibrate, clearly affected by the pull of magic.
“Yeah, it is.”
“Ah. Where are Hiram and Antaris?”
“Home,” Veda replies absently, skimming the potions book. “We didn’t think it was a good idea for Antaris to watch in case something went wrong.”
“Home? We?”
She rolls her eyes. “Here you go.”
Peter smiles. “I’m happy for you three.”
Veda struggles with happiness. Like swimming in murky water, she can’t see what lurks beneath the surface and has to tread with care. “I’m trying to enjoy these moments, but it’s hard not knowing the outcome.”
“It’s harder when you do.” They sit with the weight of what’s to come until Peter picks up the vial. “What do we need to do to try again?”
“Change the environment. It’s easily influenced by what’s around it, so this potion needs to be brewed in virtual solitude, and I need a smaller cauldron.”
“That’s easy,” Peter says smugly. “The cottage. Before you moved in, our brewing instructor used it for complex potions with the older Mages. If something goes wrong, the cottage won’t explode or implode. That’s why I gave it to you. Why don’t you take a break and—”
“There’s no time. I need to brew this correctly as soon as possible.” Veda touches her nose, scowling at the blood, and grabs a nearby towel. “I wonder how Ariadne got her hands on the Liquid Curse for Marlene; it’s damn near impossible to buy, and she can’t brew as a Seer.”
“I assume she convinced someone to make it. A few drops goes a long way. I called around, no one’s selling it.
Either they don’t have all the ingredients in usable states, or the brewing and transport time make it impractical.
If we pack the ingredients now, we can grab a new cauldron and stirring rod from the potions store on the way to the cottage.
I’ll sanitize the room and air with a spell.
It’ll need to sit for a bit, but that’ll work well for what I’m leading to. ”
“Which is . . . ?”
“Khadijah found help for our ninth curse-extraction attempt.”
Lucky number nine. “When?”
“Gabriel agreed to take Antaris for a sleepover. He said he’d call Hiram once we got off the phone. I figured we could start when they leave.”
“Okay.” Veda packs the ingredient vials carefully into the transport bag Peter offers, and they leave in his car.
Purchasing the cauldron and clearing out the back room of her cottage takes time, but once they’re finished, she steps outside while Peter casts a sanitizing charm.
Blue mist spreads through the room as he shuts the door behind him.
“Ready?”
Even if she isn’t, she has to be.
When they arrive at Hiram’s house around noon, he’s packing a sleepover bag.
An excited Antaris hands her the unfortunate stuffed rabbit, entrusting his most prized possession to her while he’s gone.
She covers his hands when he gives her the black bow tie that’s been absent since he decided to wear other colors. “I’ll protect everything, okay?”
“Thank you,” Antaris whispers, leaning against her leg. She rubs his back, still in awe at hearing his little voice. Hiram appears in the doorway with the cat carrier. Inside, the cat looks like he’s pleading for freedom.
“He’s going?” Veda asks.
“Yeah. Gabriel’s thinking about getting a pet. This is a trial run.”
“Oh my Cosmos.” All she can think about is the exponential potential for chaos.
“Exactly.”
Antaris doesn’t bat an eye when Veda hugs him extra tight before loading him and the cat carrier into the car. Wearing soccer cleats, August is impatiently waiting in his seat.
“I didn’t know he had a game today.”
“He does.” Gabriel looks back. “We’ll do pizza with the group, maybe paintball.”
Antaris glances down at his white shirt and fiddles with his orange knitted bow tie, eyes widening in horror. Hiram’s reaction is, to her amusement, similar.
“There will be covers for your clothes,” Veda says.
Antaris’s relief is loud. Gabriel stifles a chuckle.
August says absently, “I don’t like the covers.”
“Of course you don’t,” Hiram grumbles.
Veda clasps her hands. “Okay, we’ll see you later.”
Stepping back as Gabriel pulls away, Hiram glances at Veda. “Peter filled me in on what happened with the Liquid Curse. I have an idea, depending on how this goes.”
A last-minute decision leads to Veda sitting on a large blanket by the lake. The afternoon is overcast but breezy; the sun sneaks through the clouds. They’re by the edge when Hiram checks on her for a third time. Veda nods at Khadijah and Healer Michaels, deep in conversation out of earshot.
Veda nods over at the two. “What’s happening there?”
“They’re debating which potion to use . . . and it looks like Khadijah is backing down.”
“Impressive. We need to learn his secrets.”
Expecting Hiram to joke, instead she finds him scooting closer to her. Hovering. He presses his lips to her forehead, toying with the end of her braid.
“Don’t get maudlin now.” She notices something in his hand. “What’s that?”
“Antidote for foxglove poisoning.”
“I could have—”
“Made one? There’s no time.” He glances back at the healers, then pockets the vial. “If this doesn’t work, then . . .”
“We try the foxgloves. Alone.”
“Khadijah is—”
“Going to be pissed. But we don’t have much to lose.”
“Only your life.”
“Ariadne is coming for that anyway.” At Hiram’s wince, Veda adds, “You don’t have to stay for this.”
“Thanks for the out, but I’m not taking it.” The double meaning is not lost on her.
Hiram stays with her when they wade into the lake.
Water is the best conduit of magic, according to Healer Michaels, who casts spells to shield them from view and monitor her vitals.
He hands Veda the vial of Heartbeat Hollow’s essence.
“Drink and count back from ten. You may be aware, you may hear things, but you shouldn’t feel anything. ”
Hesitation lingers, even with the vial in hand, uncorked and ready for consumption.
Veda has a hundred things she wants to say to Hiram, but drinks before she can speak her mind.
Counting down from ten, she floats on her back and watches the sky.
The breeze is warm, the air is crisp. The gentle lap of waves on the shore is so quiet, she can hear the occasional splash of jumping fish.
A hand in hers is the last thing she feels before darkness overtakes her.
Time loses shape and meaning, passing through Veda’s fingers like smoke. She falls deeper and deeper into the contradiction of tumultuous peace.
“Hiram, hold her.”
“It’s working . . .”
“Oh my Cosmos . . .”
“No . . .”
Veda does not know when the darkness loosens its grip, but her eyes flutter open.
Blue is the first thing she registers—eyes so familiar, yet the man behind them looks like he’s aged five years in seconds.
She doesn’t need to ask. She can still feel it.
“It . . . it failed.”
Strike two for the day, and unlucky nine overall.
Veda wakes late that afternoon, reflecting on the day’s failures until Hiram drags her outside for tea on the dock.
They watch the sun sink below the waterline and have a quiet dinner.
It’s peaceful despite the looming heaviness.
Veda hardly thinks about the fact that they’re truly alone for the first time, and by the time she does, Hiram says, “I think I should brew this with you.”
“Aren’t you—”
“It’s not my best skill, but brewing involves more preparation than actual work. You’re not alone, remember?”
She stares at him for a long moment. “Ready when you are.”
The silent ride to her cottage is tense, but his hand on her knee stops her mind from flying everywhere. Veda stands in the middle of the living room, rocking back on her heels.
Hiram takes the lead. “What do you want me to do first?”
“Wash your hands. We both should.”
Afterward, Hiram dries his hands and rolls up his sleeves one at a time. Veda watches with interest she doesn’t have to deny. His brow lifts, smirk sharpening like glass when he catches her. She turns away too fast, bumps into the table, and curses under her breath. “I should finish preparing.”
His chuckle follows her.
For the next fifteen minutes, Hiram observes her every moment like he’s the meticulous brewer, but she ignores it, slipping into routine as easily as putting one foot before the other.
Veda checks whether Peter’s sterilizing spell worked.
The small cauldron is dry, the cutting boards clean.
She rebalances the scale, wipes the knives, and ensures the mortar and pestle are spotless.
The vents are open and the windows are properly cracked.
Nothing escapes her scrutiny. Not even him.
Veda gives Hiram a brewing apron and puts on the other one.
“To avoid contamination,” she murmurs as he lets her tie his.
Hiram doesn’t let her go without tying hers in return, securing it snugly. Gloves on, they approach the table. Together, they move like cogs in a well-oiled clock. Veda only has to give instructions once. He starts mincing the moss first while she brings distilled river water to a boil.
“Do you know why Seers can’t brew?” she asks, hushed. “Their power is like using a blowtorch to light a candle. They put out too much magic when potions only take a light touch. Costs nothing but a twitch.”