My brows drew together as I stared down at the book. I hadn’t felt an enchantment of any kind on it. I’d touched things that were bespelled before, and there was usually a tell-tale tingle. But this book had just felt... warm. Safe. Inviting. I’d practically tucked the thing under my arm and taken it to bed with me when I was through staring at the pages.
“There’s warding on it?”
In reply, Olga ran a finger over the spine. Wherever her skin made contact with the book, a small, barely perceptible sigil lit up, pulsing white before letting off a soft pop of static electricity.
“Zat is one of zee more minor ones,” Olga said mildly, nodding as she looked back up at me. “If I tried to open zee front cover, I fear zee consequences vould be more dire.”
“But...” I started, swallowing thickly. “I was able to open it,” I explained, not understanding why she couldn’t. “I mean, I skimmed most of the pages if only to look at the pictures.”
Then I reached over to prove my point. And I was able to open the book immediately, but the second I pulled my hand away, the book slammed itself shut, causing Olga’s eyes to go wide and mine to narrow with confusion.
“Hmm,” Olga said. “Zatisinteresting. Perhaps zee magic recognizes you as zee heir to some arcane lineage? You are not zee first alchemist in your line, correct?”
“Second. I’m the second,” I said quietly. “As far as I know.”
But that was the rub. IthoughtI’d known every Morton family secret there was to know. As it turned out, I’d barely scratched the surface of what my family had gotten up to in the intervening centuries between a supposed ancestor and my birth. Alchemists with witch companions. Deadbeat magicians. Untapped magics that had come to bite me on the ass. All of it had slipped unnoticed under my nose for years.
“Zen it is entirely possible zat it is yours by birthright. Or at zee very least, zat zee book tolerates you because you are analchemist in need. Not all books are inert. Zere is a spark in zis one. It recognizes zat I am not its true bearer. Zat is why it slammed shut ven you removed your hand. Maybe zee book chose you.”
I paused for a beat to consider that. It wasn’t a totally absurd notion. Ouire had sought Finn out, not the other way around. The Alchemy for Dummies book wasn’t exactly wagging its bookmark or flashing its pages at me, but there was a sense of… familiarity to it. That warmth I’d noticed earlier. Could it be that someone had sold this book to Smith—someone from my own lineage? Maybe he’d unknowingly returned something to me that he’d purchased from my family years ago? Or maybe he’d picked it up second-hand and it just so happened to have belonged to a Morton? The thought was comforting in a way. Like I was continuing a legacy, not embarking on a fool’s mission by learning alchemy. Of course, I could be completely wrong on both counts and just imagining that the book had warmed up to me? But then—how did I explain the fact that I could open it and Olga clearly couldn’t?
I lifted the book gingerly from the table, waiting for a static shock to leap out and sting my fingertips. The book remained inert, looking for all the world like the ancient occult text it was. I held my breath as I flipped the cover open. Nothing happened.
I opened the front cover to the introduction page, being sure to keep my fingers on the page so Olga could take photos of each page before I closed it again. There were easily ten pages in the forward. It would be enough to keep her busy for now.
“Thank you so much for helping me with this, Olga,” I enthused. “It means a lot to me.”
“Ve’re sisters in zis coven,” Olga said, offering me a kind smile. “You are our blood now, Poppy. Ve have an obligation to protect each ozer, even from ourselves.”
I guess her second sight hadn’t prepared her for when I stood up and threw my arms around her in a tight hug. She let out a startled sound, which wasn’t that surprising considering witches weren’t the warm and cuddly sorts.
“Still, I want to thank you, Olga,” I said, finally dropping my arms and taking a step back so she could breathe normally again. “This feels like the beginning of something good.”
“I certainly hope you’re right, dear.”
Chapter Eight
I sucked in deep lungfuls of sweet morning air, inordinately pleased with myself.
Andre was right. With the rest of these books in hand, I finally had a leg up on understanding this alchemy thing—or I was pretty sure I did. No more scrounging through my grandmother’s journals looking for any scrap of academic rigor. No more late nights trying to decipher her scrawled handwriting. I finally had a guidebook.
A dangerous guidebook with spells designed to keep witches out, but still.
My good mood evaporated when I pulled into my parking space on Main Street and got a good look at my front window, which was now in pieces. The frosted block windows were littering the ground in glittering detritus.
I turned the engine off, threw open the door and lunged forward, cursing when my seatbelt tried to choke me. It took a few seconds of desperate fumbling to find the latch, and another two to master my trembling fingers to get it undone.
The window wasn’t the only thing that had been attacked. The front door of Poppy’s Potions was pockmarked. There was no better way to put it. Parts of the wood had popped open like blisters under a hot and heavy onslaught of what I could only imagine was magic. Most of the door was still intact, luckily, but the room beyond it? Oh, God.
The scent of patchouli, so comforting most days, was overpowering now, with so many potion bottles lying broken on the hardwood floors. Shattered glass tinkled and rolled when I pushed the door open further, trying to take stock of the devastation I could smell beyond. I didn’t have to see to know what the malodorous mélange meant. I only had to lean past the door to confirm my worst fears.
Someone or something had rained sledgehammer blows down onto my shelves, knocking the potions and their contents to the floor. Most of the delicate glass potions bottles had smashed, and the brightly colored liquids were now mingling on the floor to make a muddy brown color that smelled as bad as it looked. Chunks of wood had dug violently into the floorboards, leaving long score marks on my once pristine hardwood floors. I had to tiptoe over the swirling pools, afraid my emotions might act like a spark to gasoline. I couldn’t trust myself around potions right now, especially not ones that I’d made and someone had destroyed.
Keep calm, Poppy, I warned myself.
But still, I couldn’t stop staring at the devastation. Crystals were scattered like crushed marbles around the place, making every step a dangerous proposition. Good thing I was wearing boots. Not only were the crystals and the potions destroyed, but almost every candle in the place had been melted into waxy goo, save for the black candle I’d received from Wanda, which had survived with only a thick slash through its middle. It was now leaning like the Tower of Pisa, threatening to drip still-warm wax onto my grandmother’s journal, which was sitting just below it.
A flame had sprung up from it like it was some sort of trick candle, and the first patters of wax hit the cash wrap. My vision hazed as the stuff oozed onto the counter and down the front of the wrap. A quick glance into my work room revealed that not even my reserve inventory had been spared. The wax from a red candle had been smeared like thick, coppery blood on almost every surface back there. The room was flooded with what remained of my stock, and I had to back out of the room, lest I drop to my knees, tears flowing freely down my face. And that was exactly what I feared I might do—lose it completely. I had to get out of here before I went to pieces.
