Chapter 8 #2
Arthur didn’t know what spiritways were, but unless they were near his sinuses, which felt practically electric from the spice, he didn’t think so.
He waited a few more seconds, but nothing else happened.
Maybe magic potions didn’t work the same on vampires.
At the very least, he felt certain this one wasn’t poisoned.
“Yeah, uh, totally.” Arthur tried to adopt the same buoyant air as he responded. “I feel…aligned.”
Apparently, he was convincing enough, because Ambrosia smiled and returned to their tour, leading them toward the yurt from which she’d emerged.
Fresh lavender blooms in terra-cotta pots bracketed the entrance, their scent blending with the pleasant summer breeze.
Arthur hoped the coven didn’t plan on a lengthy stay in the woods, if only for the lavender’s sake.
It wouldn’t stay healthy here in the shade for long.
“This is where we do morning meditation and yoga. It’s so essential to greet each day with flexibility of the mind, body, and spirit.” Ambrosia’s voice was soft and dreamy.
Arthur closed his umbrella and stepped into the shadowy tent after her.
The inside smelled of cedar and sage. Decorative stones lined the canvas walls, and a pyramid of stacked yoga mats was a pop of color in the corner.
Arthur scanned the yurt for anything suspicious, but there really was nothing to find at all, irregular or not.
“Oh, I do so love yoga!” Salvatore trilled. “Downward dog, upward dog, sideways dog…”
Sal continued reciting yoga poses, both real and imagined, as the tour progressed.
Most of the yurts were private spaces for the platinum coven members. Ambrosia noted her own, situated directly opposite the entrance to the campsite. It was decked out with dark magenta velvet curtains that had to be quite the undertaking to keep clean in the forest.
“Eagle pose, half pigeon, quarter roseate spoonbill…”
Ignoring Sal, they carried on. Arthur longed to peek inside Ambrosia’s yurt, but didn’t dare split from the pack at this juncture.
Ambrosia led them through a yurt devoted to mealtimes, and conveniently neglected to mention the Best Pots tucked back in the trees.
Porta-potties, Arthur supposed, didn’t exactly match the aesthetic aims of the platinum pavilion.
“Horse, cowgirl, reverse cowgirl…”
Arthur elbowed Sal in the ribs.
“Hey! I was just getting momentum—” Sal abruptly stopped whining.
Ambrosia stood before the final yurt, arms held wide so that her silvery sleeves draped like waterfalls.
Arthur once again recognized the pose from the poster at the festival; perhaps there was a reason it was on the promotional materials.
She glanced at each of them in turn, a dramatic pause.
“This,” Ambrosia said in her wispy voice, “is where the magic happens.”
As he followed Ambrosia inside, Arthur’s fingers itched to get out his notebook and catalog everything: a shelf stocked with ingredients and more potions of various colors, a large wooden table with mismatched chairs, and a stack of books with titles like Magically Significant Flora of the Pacific Northwest and Potions for Dummies.
There was even a cauldron sitting atop a camping stove, though it was empty at the moment.
“There are many ways to cast spells, of course,” Ambrosia said as Arthur took everything in, “but I’ve found potions are the best way to share my magic with the world.”
“Why is that?” Arthur asked before he could stop himself. “I just, uh, didn’t realize witches could specialize in different methods of magic as well as types.”
Ambrosia laughed kindly, averting her eyes in a show of faux modesty. Her antics weren’t so far off from Salvatore’s, and now that Arthur was getting used to her manner, he found more than one similarity between them.
“Spells exist only in the moment,” Hailey rattled off as if reciting coven doctrine, “but potions retain their magic and can be sent where they’re needed.”
“Indeed, Ms. North.” Ambrosia turned away, gaze traveling lazily over the cauldron in the corner.
She knows my name, Hailey mouthed at Arthur and Sal silently.
“There’s much to recommend all aspects of magic, of course, but I’ve found potion making to be the most collaborative.” Ambrosia looked over her shoulder at them, a knowing smile on her lips. “And as you know, I am nothing if not a proponent of power through unity.”
Hailey looked fit to pass out, or ask for a selfie and an autograph.
Arthur wasn’t sure which way she’d break.
“Your system of sending witches the unfinished potions so they can add their magic before selling them to their community is so brilliant. I love how it allows each witch to put their own spin on the brew, even those who can’t travel to work with you in person. It’s so inclusive!”
Arthur raised his eyebrows. Inclusive was one word for it, but he thought it sounded like she let the other witches do the hard work. Perhaps Ambrosia Celestine wasn’t as powerful as everyone thought.
Sal began to drift around the tent, obviously bored now that everyone’s attention was on Ambrosia. He opened a book, then shut it with a loud snap, shaking his head. “Is all this entirely safe? I heard a fake pet psychic died here recently.”
Ambrosia’s serene smile fell away. “Lola? She was no more a fake than I am. She has…had…a gift. I would ask you not to speak ill of the dead—at least not in the platinum pavilion. The spirits can be restless and I’d rather not invoke their wrath in my inner sanctum.”
“I apologize for my new friend here. It must be very difficult—we’ve only heard rumors of the incident. Were you and Lola close?” Arthur asked, trying not to let on that he had more than a passing interest in the matter.
“She was an old friend. Those burdened with the Sight like Lola often have difficult lives. People don’t want to hear the truth. Sometimes I think being a charlatan would have been easier on her. Lies are often easier to believe than harsh reality.”
Nodding in sympathy, Arthur did his best to look serious. The woman was dead, so it was a very solemn matter indeed, but he couldn’t imagine how telling people their pets’ star signs could’ve gotten her into trouble.