She beams. “I’ve always wanted to make a potion.”
We get out a large simmer pot and jars of herbs. I write down the spell on a piece of paper, fold it three times away from me, and drop it inside the pot.
“Ignis,” I whisper, and the paper lights on fire.
“Wow,” Mabel says quietly, looking over my shoulder. “Now what?”
“Those ashes are the base of the potion. There’s a list of herbs we need to add in a certain order all while charging them as they go into the potion. We get to work, and having someone help with the prep makes it a breeze.
“This is a lot like making soup,” Mabel notes, putting her hands on her hips. “Wouldn’t it be funny to have a soup or potion challenge? Make people taste them and guess.”
I laugh. “It really is just the same as making soup. And depending on the potion, it could be hilarious. I’ve never made a truth potion, but can you imagine people saying exactly what they think?”
“Wouldn’t life be easier that way?”
“You’d think so.”
We add a few more ingredients to the pot and I hold my hands over it, concentrating on the intention. “Vis, surge. Incantationem meam ale,” I chant. “Vis, surge.Incantationem meam ale. Vis, surge. Incantationem meam ale.”
“Crazy how just a few words work, right?” Devon appears in the kitchen, standing apprehensively to the side. He’s dressed in dark jeans and a black t-shirt, looking like his normal self once again.
I remind myself not to be fooled.
“Magic can seem so simple yet so complicated at the same time.” I lower my hands, and turn down the burner. I stir the potion thirteen times clockwise, repeat the incantation three more times, and then stir it counter clockwise.
“It’s done,” I say and turn the burner off.
“That’s it?” Mabel asks.
“Yeah. We can strain it and put it in the vials once it’s cool,” I tell her, motioning to the little glass vials I have on the counter next to my book.
“How does it work?”
“If a demon is inside a body, typically you get the potion inside. Usually by pouring it into their mouth. I guess it works like a supernatural antidote and the demon either leaves or dies if we’re lucky.”
“Have you evernotbeen lucky?” Mabel asks, making a face.
“Oh yeah, and then you gotta think on your feet pretty fast to figure out what to do. And pouring a potion inside someone’s mouth is easier said than done.”
Devon chuckles. “You just said you have to get it inside the body.”
Turning to look at him, I laugh too. “True, but the alternative isn’t any better. Or easier.”
His face lights up with a smile, and it’s like the old Devon is back. He picks up a potion bottle, seemingly ready to make another joke, but then goes sullen.
“Devon?” I ask.
“I remembered something.” Devon rolls the potion vial between his hand, tipping his head to the side. “From the night I died.”
I put the spoon down and turn, eyes latched to his as I sharply inhaled. “About what you found out and were coming to tell me?”
“Yes,” he says, head slowly bobbing up and down.
“Well, spill,” Mabel presses. “What do you remember?”
“I can’t place it directly,” he starts, closing his eyes to try and help remember. “I hear a voice, and something about a seal.”
“Like one you see in the ocean?” Mabel asks.
