19
L ana stirred the contents of her cauldron. The murky substance shifted to pale green and developed a viscous quality.
“This is the extracting potion I mentioned from our first lesson,” Lana said, adding a pinch of crushed herbs into the mixture. There was a recipe book next to her, though she rarely glanced at it during the demonstration.
The open fire beneath her cauldron was making me sweat buckets, but not a trace of perspiration lingered on Lana’s forehead as she tapped her ladle on the rim. Fat droplets of extracting potion splashed back into the cauldron. “Potion making is a skill every witch needs to learn.”
“Even charmwitches?” I asked.
“Yes. All witches can do it. Think of it as cooking. Everyone can follow directions, but there is a difference between a person who cooks and a chef,” Lana said. “Inventing new potions requires skill as well as a magic unique to herbwitches. ”
“Is there anything charmwitches can do that herbwitches can too?” I asked.
Lana set aside her ladle with a clatter and wiped her hands on her apron. “Yes, levitation. Most witches learn that out of the womb. However, you’ve yet to learn the skills essential to an herbwitch,” she said. With a wave of her hand, a new cauldron replaced the old one. “No more dillydallying. Try making the extracting potion yourself.”
I perspired more, but not because of the heat. “Am I ready?”
I’d only ever read about potion making in books and the only magic I had done was see colors. And that was completely involuntary.
Lana continued organizing the space. A dish of chopped lavender whizzed past my head, narrowly missing my face.
I certainly hadn’t learned to make things levitate either.
She finally turned when the only thing left on the counter was a leather notebook.
“You will never be ready unless you start,” she said, pushing the recipe book toward me. “Now go wash your hands.”
I felt even more incompetent crouching amongst the bushes behind Lana’s cottage, scrubbing my hands with the ice-cold water that gushed out a low faucet. If I had been born a real witch, I could have easily filled a dish with water with a flick of my wrist. With a sigh, I dried my hands on my skirts, trying not to be too disappointed. It wasn’t as if I could practice magic outside of lessons.
When I went back inside, dishes and jars of ingredients waited for me on the counter. Lana pointed at the recipe book without a word, looking very much like my old governess.
I obediently read it .
Ingredients:
2 cups water
Rinds from five limes
5 tbsp crushed lentils
3 drops brittlebrush oil
1 tsp azoola extract
Directions:
Pour in water and bring to a simmer. Drop in rinds, thinly sliced. Mix crushed lentils with brittlebrush oil and add the mixture to the cauldron. Let potion sit for five minutes before splashing azoola extract. Stir counterclockwise for three minutes. Let the potion rest for ten minutes.
“Is that all?” I said, bewildered. It looked like something straight out of Theodora’s cookbook, except for the strange ingredients I had never heard of. “Can’t humans make potions too, if they have all the ingredients?”
“Of course not,” Lana said. “It may seem as straightforward as any recipe, but only witches can truly bind these ingredients together in a way that makes them work. You will find that you pour some of yourself—your own magic, that is—into the cauldron every time you make a potion.”
I nodded, though not fully comprehending. Pouring a bit of myself into a cauldron did not sound appealing .
“Well? What are you standing around for?” Lana said. “Fetch the water.”
Grabbing an empty pitcher, I went to the faucet again, grumbling quietly so Lana wouldn’t hear. I simply had to figure out how to levitate objects.
By the time I filled the cauldron, I realized why Lana compared potion making to cooking. On paper, the instructions seemed easy enough. The challenge was carrying them out.
“You’re slicing them too thickly.”
I fumbled with the scalpel and went back to a thicker piece rind. I sliced off a miniscule portion of it, nearly impaling the tip of my finger in the process. My cheeks burned.
The witch made a noise at the back of her throat. “Never mind that. The water is simmering.”
I scraped the lime rinds into the cauldron. They landed with a splash, sending a few drops into the fire. “Sorry,” I said sheepishly.
“The lentils and brittlebrush oil.” Lana motioned to the counter. “Not a moment to waste. And please be careful with the oil. That is my last vial.”
I glanced at the glass vial that was no larger than my thumb. I decided to handle the lentils first. “You can’t get more?” I measured out the five tablespoons and poured them into a mortar.
“Supplies are hard to come by. Even the witch-made ones,” Lana said. “Plants with magical properties are overlooked in favor of growing regular crops, which don’t turn out well anyway.” There was a hint of bitterness in her voice.
“Oh,” I managed to say. My hands shook as I dropped three drops of the bright green oil. The scent was a mix of peppermint and chives. It fizzed when it soaked into the lentils. I immediately screwed the cap on and began crushing the concoction with a pestle.
Witch Village was in trouble. The way Lana made it sound, they were worse off than they were in the past. My thoughts strayed to the royals. Did they know how witches are living? Would they care if they knew? Would Ash care if he knew?
I hesitated. Surely his opinion of witches would not be favorable if he finds out the queen fell ill with a witch-made poison. I ground the mixture harder. There was no way I could tell him what I knew without exposing myself.
The next best thing was to prove Duchess Wilhelmina guilty.
Lana made it clear the week before she did not condone meddling in human affairs, especially royal affairs. But I was determined. I had scoured my potion-making book for something that may help, but to no avail. My last resort was to ask Lana.
“I’ve been wondering,” I said, keeping my voice casual, “how many kinds of potions are there?”
“There are many. Herbwitches invent new ones every day.”
“Is there a potion that just...kills?”
Lana was silent for a moment. “You’re speaking of poisons. Not the ones for critters, I presume?”
I shook my head.
“I’d be lying if I say not a single witch has created a poison meant to kill humans,” Lana said. Her voice was grave. “But none of them have made it into the hands of non-magic folk. Except one.”
My interest peaked. Could there only be one witch-made poison above ground? “What is it called?” I asked .
“Manbane.” Lana’s face looked grimmer than I had ever seen it. Her eyes flicked to me, sharp and suspicious. “Why are you asking?”
Questions of what manbane did and what it was made of died on my lips. I’d be a fool to prod her.
I shrugged. “No reason. Is there a potion that makes someone tell the truth?”
I felt Lana looking at me. “Yes, there is,” she said slowly. “But it requires a rare ingredient.”
“Really? What?”
“Gold.”
Perhaps I could use some of my own jewelry once I beg the recipe off Lana. But my plans were crushed when she spoke again.
“Five pounds of pure gold.”
I choked on my saliva. “Five pounds?” I said, sputtering.
“That’s right,” Lana said in a clipped voice. “Five pounds. No more, no less.”
I gripped the pestle a little harder. “Can we make it?” I ventured to ask.
She snorted. “Only if you bring five pounds of gold, girl. Now finish up the lentils before the water boils over.”
The next fifteen minutes I spent sweat-drenched and nervous as I worked under Lana’s scrutiny. It was as if my limbs had forgotten how to function as I trembled and slipped and poured, but there was a new sensation I experienced amongst it all. My fingertips tingled as I went through the motions. A hazy swirl of purple-red filled my vision and drizzled into the cauldron like rain on a summer day.
So that was what Lana meant by pouring a part of myself into the potion .
By the end of it all, I had a glass of cloudy green liquid before me. Lana set hers beside it. Compared to hers, mine was two shades too dark and much too lumpy. My embarrassment mounted even as Lana assured me that potion making took years of practice to perfect.
“Let us test these, then,” Lana said. She rummaged through her cupboard and brought out two empty jars. I recognized them as the containers she used for her general antidote. A subtle golden glow emitted within them.
Lana uncorked her potion and poured half of it into a jar. Almost immediately, the green liquid turned amber.
“Is that the general antidote?” I said, widening my eyes.
“That’s right. The extracting potion turns into the potion it’s extracting, if done correctly. If I had more of it, I wouldn’t have to make another batch of antidote.”
“Can’t you make more? It seems like it’ll save a lot of time.”
Lana shook her head. “I don’t have enough brittlebrush oil to make big batches. It’s ridiculously rare as well, so no witch in their right mind would use so much for an extracting potion.” She paused and gestured to my vial. “Try yours.”
Expecting the worst, I poured my attempt of the potion in the other jar. Nearly all of it vanished when it made contact. A miniscule drop of amber liquid rested at the bottom.
“If you made it right it would retain the same volume,” Lana pointed out.
I sighed in dismay. “Sorry I wasted your brittlebrush oil.”
WHEN I RETURNED TO the Strongfoots’, the house was empty. The butler informed me that Tori and Genevieve had gone for a stroll in the palace gardens and that Lord Strongfoot was in town with Vicky and Ria. I retired to my room, where I gazed glumly at my failed potion in its lumpy glory.
The shade of green reminded me of when Lydia taught Genevieve and I to embroider strawberry vines. Mine ended up looking like asparagus stalks. My stepmother scolded me for not possessing an artistic eye like Genevieve.
Afterward, I had gone to Papa and asked him to excuse me from Lydia’s lessons. He consented. I stayed terrible at embroidery ever since. Was my apprenticeship with Lana going to end up the same way?
I shook my head. No. This was different. This mattered. And most importantly, this was enjoyable. I never found pleasure in anything my stepmother forced me to learn, but learning magic with Lana was something I looked forward to, despite her occasional crabbiness.
Lana said potion making took years of practice. If it was practice I needed, it was practice I would get.
I burst out of my room, failed potion in hand, and was halfway to the kitchen until I realized what I was holding.
An extracting potion. Erasmus. He needed to extract the poison from the queen’s goblet. He couldn’t possibly do it without magic.
Without another thought, I grabbed my things again and headed off to the palace. When I arrived, I flew down the halls and winding stairs and burst into Erasmus’s laboratory.
“Did no one teach you how to knock?” the inspector demanded.
He was lounged on an armchair with a book that looked suspiciously like A Sailor’s Seduction . The room seemed to have accumulated twice as much clutter the last time I had visited.
“You’re right,” I said, out of breath.
“No one taught you how to knock?”
I sucked in a breath. Erasmus needed to know. He was the only person I trusted with my secret. “You’re right that I was taught by a witch. Actually, she’s still teaching me. I’m an herbwitch’s apprentice.”
Erasmus stared, his whiskered jaw slack. No doubt Lana’s concealment spell was dissolving before his eyes, revealing my witch traits. “Well. I suppose we have a lot to discuss.”
As Erasmus attempted to clear some space around his work table, I told him everything—how I discovered my magic, what I saw at the Debutante Ball, how Lana taught me about extracting potions and the concept of magical things leaving a trace.
“Aha!” Erasmus exclaimed after listening to my story. “So, you think the duchess used a witch-made poison on the queen.”
“I do. And I can prove it to you,” I said, holding up my extracting potion. “May I?”
“You may,” Erasmus said eagerly. “It’s been much too long since I’ve seen magic in action.” He hovered over my shoulder as I poured the rest of my potion into the queen’s goblet.
Like earlier, most of it vanished, except for the tiniest drop of a blood-red liquid veined with indigo. “I think it’s called manbane,” I said, my voice wavering.
Erasmus took the goblet and inspected the drop. “You think? Did your witch instructor tell you what it does, exactly? Or if there’s an antidote? ”
I shook my head. “She didn’t want to talk about it,” I said.
Erasmus hummed. “Poison is always a touchy subject for witches. Probably because they’re always accused of making them. Well, no matter. We’ll just have to test it ourselves.”
“Ourselves?” I said, stepping back.
Erasmus ducked under the desk. Shuffling ensued. A second later, he popped up with a board and a metal cloche in hand. “I’ve been saving this critter for a while.” Squeaking sounded from within.
I sighed. “Is that another palace mouse?”
Erasmus lowered the board into a crate on the ground. A white mouse scampered out and began exploring the box.
“I’ll feed it the poison and we will see what happens. Proportionately, it should be the same dosage as the queen’s,” Erasmus said. “Hand me the goblet.”
I obeyed and crouched down as the inspector held the jeweled cup to the crate. The mouse climbed in the goblet, and then out. Another look at the goblet told us it had ingested the manbane.
“And now,” Erasmus said, “we wait.”
And so we did. Seconds turned into minutes. Minutes turned into hours. It wasn’t long before both Erasmus and I grew bored of watching the mouse scurry around the box.
I furrowed my brows. “Nothing is happening,” I said, slumping onto a barrel. “Maybe it’s my extracting potion. I didn’t brew it correctly.”
Erasmus frowned and removed his spectacles. “Hold your horses,” he said. “Queen Cordelia hasn’t fallen over and died after being poisoned. Perhaps this manbane is insidious. The victim merely appears asymptomatic, but feels the effects over time. There are many such poisons.”
“There are?” I said .
He nodded. “I’ve seen many a great witch struggle with some spell or potion or other—but they eventually figure it out. It takes practice, little flower, like all things. But I’m sure your potion has done the job, albeit not the best—ack!”
Erasmus jumped out of the way just as a large gray rat scampered across his feet and dived into a hole in the opposite wall.
“Blasted rodents!” he cursed, brushing off his trousers.
I cringed. “I should probably get going then,” I said, hopping onto the stairs in case the rat decided to come back. I fancied I saw a pair of eyes in the hole. “Keep me updated?”
“I will. And also,” Erasmus said as I was about to turn, “don’t tell your prince that the poison is witch-made. I don’t think letting everyone know that a witch is the cause of Queen Cordelia’s ailment would do any favors for witchkind.”
“It isn’t a witch, it’s the duchess! And...and he isn’t my prince!” Though I knew he was right, I couldn’t help but be indignant.
“The royals would sooner imprison a witch than they would a duchess, little flower,” Erasmus said, his face grim. “Promise me you’ll keep this, and your identity, a secret.”
I sighed. “I know. I promise.”
WHEN I TOLD THE STRONGFOOT’S cook, Jasmine, that I wanted to help with the meals, she laughed at me.
“I am sure, Miss Flora, that you’ll find something else to amuse yourself with,” she said, gesturing dismissively with a wooden spoon .
But I was adamant. After pestering her for hours, she finally caved and let me help with dessert.
“I didn’t plan on making any tonight, so you can do what you like,” Jasmine said, handing me an extra apron. I thanked her profusely and set to work after the rest of the kitchen staff took their break.
Theodora had made her raspberry tarts in front of me so many times that I had learned the recipe by heart. Thankfully, I had some experience baking them, but they never tasted quite as good as Theodora’s. It never occurred to me that the exquisite taste of all Theodora’s food was due to her magic. I was eager to try it myself.
I spent the entire afternoon and the earlier part of the evening sifting and mixing and whisking. It was all very standard, but the most peculiar sensation overtook me as I made the tarts—very much like the sensation of making that potion at Lana’s cottage.
My arms and fingers tingled and my chest felt warm. Even without touching my crystal I saw a pulsing purple aura seeping into the dough from my hands. I was using magic. And it felt good.
By the time dinner was served, the tarts were ready.
Jasmine and a couple of other kitchen maids peered over my shoulder as I plated the pastries. They were not immaculately shaped like Theodora’s. Some had too much filling, others had too-thin crusts, and I had forgotten to sprinkle sugar on several. But I knew I had done a decent job.
I plucked one off the plate and invited the others to do the same. One bite and I knew I had done it. The peculiar, zingy aftertaste in Theodora’s tarts was present, though while hers tasted more mellow, mine tasted of something zesty .
“This is...not bad at all,” Jasmine said, her dark eyebrows shooting up to her hairline.
I smiled. It was as good of a compliment as I could get from her.
Tori and Lord Strongfoot, on the other hand, were more enthusiastic in their commentary.
“By golly, I’m never letting you leave,” Tori said, reaching for a third tart.
Lord Strongfoot reached for his fifth, a shower of crumbs and sugar falling from his beard like snow as he took a bite. “I’m almost afraid to say it, but Amarante, these are better than my wife’s custard pie!”
For the next couple of days, I spent my time in the kitchens. Jasmine had begrudgingly allowed me to help out with daily meals. What I lacked in skill I made up for in magic, and though no one knew why the food tasted marginally better, it was agreed that my presence in the kitchen had something to do with it.
As I continued to read Lana’s book on potion-making, I realized that precision was a skill that did not come magically. But I was building on that very skill under Jasmine’s watchful eye. By the end of the week, I figured out how to mince and slice evenly and knew exactly how long it took for onions to cook through. It was only a matter of time before my growing confidence in the kitchen translated to potion-making, something I was sure Lana would be satisfied with the next time I saw her.
But as I learned the skill of measuring and slicing and timing, something else was nagging the back of my mind. I did not know how to levitate objects. It seemed like a pointless skill to acquire. I certainly wouldn’t be able to make things fly around outside of Witch Village—yet I wanted to master it. For the first time in my life, I had something special and I had every intention of making the best of it.
One night when Genevieve was asleep, I attempted to move a perfume bottle. It was on the vanity a few feet away from my bed. I positioned myself at the foot board, my arms crossed under my chin, and stared hard at the tiny glass bottle.
Nothing happened. I shifted and slipped my crystal out of my nightgown. Magic pulsated underneath the smooth surface.
I knew now that there was eucalyptus oil in the perfume meant to calm nerves. But it still did not move. I analyzed the bottle, squinting for details in the darkness which the moonlight barely chased away. It was skinny at the top and fatter at the bottom, like a pear. The glass had a textured surface and the knob at the top of it was a perfect, smooth sphere.
I thought about tipping the bottle over by its skinny top. Magic thrummed in the crystal. The perfume bottle wobbled.
I smiled so widely my cheeks ached. The bottle did not tip over and it certainly hadn’t moved the direction I wanted it to, but it did not discourage me any less. It was a start, and more importantly, it was a sign—a sign that I was capable.
The next morning, I woke up with dry eyes and sore cheeks and a plethora of misplaced items on the vanity.
“Why are you smiling?” Genevieve asked as she helped me into my dress. Her brow raised when she caught my gaze in the mirror.
I only grinned. “I think I’m actually getting good at something.”