I shook my head slowly. “Nobody really knows. I can’t risk it.”
“And you figured out the cure?”
“Ani thinks that ground dragon eggshells might do the trick…”
Fiella gasped, clutching my wrist. “Dragon eggshells! Dragons haven’t been seen since the Old Gods abandoned the realm. I’ve read about them in books. Are any eggs even left? How are you going to find one?”
I shrugged. “I’m going to have to look. There’s no other option.”
“Well… I won’t judge you if you and Tandor…” She winked. “Get to know each other on this trip. I’ve seen the way he watches you.”
I brushed her off. “That’s just the love potion talking. Tandor hardly looks at me. Not any more than he looks at anyone else. And even if I wanted to take things further, have a littlefunon the trip, that would be wrong considering he’s quite literally drugged. Not happening.”
Fiella just lifted her brows at me.
The days preceding the trip passed quickly—I kept myself busy enough that I hardly had time to breathe, let alone think.
I completed every order I had lined up, and even a few that weren’t needed until after Hallow’s Eve, just to be safe. I distributed what I could, and anything that couldn’t be delivered now, I left with Fiella so they could be picked up while I wasgone. I only had to bribe her two silvers for the trouble and swear that I would bring her back a baby dragon if I happened to find an actual dragon egg.
I didn’t have the heart to remind her that dragons were extinct.
I sat on my favorite stool, tense, feeling uneasy now that I had my list of tasks completed. I was leaving in the morning and had gotten everything done. Absolutely everything. I had even cleaned my shop, wiping down every surface instead of utilizing a cleaning enchantment like I usually did.
I was still irritated with the sprites, but my anger had dulled, losing its sharp edges. I allowed them to follow me around, only threatening and cursing at them every once in a while.
They still tormented me, of course. They never stopped messing with my shop, moving things, opening jars, dipping their tiny fingers in ingredients. I just learned to expect it and deal with the consequences as they came.
I didn’t let their presence rile me anymore.
The more time I spent around the sprites, tolerating them instead of trying to force them to flee, the more I was able to see them. Make out their actual forms instead of just vague blurs.
I could see that they were shaped like normal folk, for the most part. They were just tiny and winged. I could almost discern their elemental affinities, as well. The fire sprites had a brighter appearance, while the water sprites were murkier.
One water sprite in particular was bolder than the rest. She stayed out in the open longer. Approached me with boldness. Refused to flee when I fluttered my hand at her in a threat. She was currently perched on the lip of the cracked cauldron, sitting abnormally still. Watching me, always watching me. Like I was a performer there for her entertainment.
My new familiar was a huge pain in the ass.
The purple sludge was furious that I had unceremoniously shoved a portion of it in a jar (understandable, I guess) and it held a grudge impressively. Even when I opened the jar and reunited the sludge chunk with its larger counterpart, it hissed and spat at me. For three entire days, it sulked in the corner, hunkered in its cracked cauldron and covered with the sheet like it was literally hiding from me.
It was fucking ridiculous. Kind of hilarious, seeing an all-powerful magical concoction throwing a tantrum, but ridiculous all the same.
I ignored it as much as I could. When it couldn’t be ignored, like when I needed to pass by or use that corner of my shop, I tried my best not to roll my eyes or flip my middle finger at it. It was sensitive, apparently. I learned that lesson very quickly after receiving a wayward drop of sludge to the eyeball.
I hadn’t told anyone else about the situation. I still couldn’t wrap my mind around how I’d accidentally created myself a familiar. Afamiliar. A thing of legends, of storybooks, of the witches from the time of the Old Gods. Familiars were a sign of power, of strength. Of immense magical control. I knew I was great, but I didn’t know I wasthatgreat. If I’d thought defying the realm of possibility was an option, I would have attempted it a long time ago. I would’ve much preferred a cooler familiar, though. Like a cat. Or a squirrel.
The sludge gurgled in the corner, a big bubble bursting with an echoingpop.
My magical witchy companion, everyone. Behold.
I sighed inwardly. If I created it, I could at least attempt to form peace with it. Could familiars speak? I had no idea.
I cleared my throat. “Hey, cauldron sludge. How are you doing over there?”
The gurgling ceased, and the sludge stilled. Not a great sign. I walked over and removed the sheet covering the cauldron, clutching it awkwardly in front of me.
“I’m sorry for shoving you in a jar without asking first. In my defense, I didn’t know what was happening and I was having a crisis.”
The sludge shrank down, shriveling until it formed a tight mass that was about the size of my torso. It looked… petulant, almost.
