She frowned. “Well, I think the little jerk deserves what’s coming to it for scaring Poppy and her son.”
I raised my hands, figuring they could decide whether or not to bring Burns on their own time. “So, I can count on you both then?” I double checked.
They exchanged a glance before nodding.
“Damn straight,” Violetta answered.
Chapter Twenty
If you’d told me ten years ago that my best friend would turn out to be a haughty, fashion-obsessed, argument-in-witch-form named Wanda Depraysie, I would have laughed you out of town.
If you’d gone on to tell me that I’d trust my safety and the safety of the whole damn town to a group of witches, I’d have thought you were on something. And if you’d had the audacity to tell me I’d end up a spiritual sister of sorts to the whole damn race of witches? I would have thought you needed to be committed.
Yet here I was, in the coven house and acknowledging (if only to myself) that it was my home away from home. Setting up my things in Maverick’s brewing station felt a lot like making myself at home in a brother’s bedroom. He would have been annoyed to find me here using his things, but he also would have tolerated me. Why? Because we were family.
The wards hummed faintly under my hands as I let myself in, a sleepy murmur of protection that recognized me and fell still again. The floorboards creaked familiarly beneath my weight, echoing too loudly in the otherwise quiet.
I made for the kitchen, thinking I might as well clean up while I waited. A few empty mugs littered the counter, and someone had left an herb bundle drying by the window. I wiped away the film of dust that always gathered after spellwork. I was saved from having to further clean when the door at the far end of the hall creaked open. A figure shuffled in, wrapped in a patchwork robe.
“Up late again, little sparrow?” Olga asked, voice somehow seeming thicker with sleep.
“Early, actually. I’ve got too much on my mind. I thought I’d make coffee before the morning chaos.”
Olga blinked at me through the dimness. “Mind if I join you?”
“Not at all,” I said. “Same as always?”
“Ja,” Olga replied, sliding onto a stool at the counter.
I measured the sugar, poured the cream, and stirred until the mixture looked just right. Then, with a soft whistle, I poured a second cup into a tiny mug, just the right size for the raccoon perched on the edge of the counter. Franz, Olga’s familiar, sniffed eagerly at the sweetened cream, whiskers twitching.
“You said you were done with the translation?” I asked as I wiped a stray coffee dribble from the counter.
Olga nodded, eyes sparkling. “Ja, every note from German to English. Zee translation is all ready if you vant to review it.”
“Tell me what you found,” I said eagerly.
It took everything I had not to lunge at the notebook she’d set on the kitchen table, because I desperately wanted to understand this legacy I’d been gifted. I had a feeling that it was the answer to protecting the people I loved.
“It’s rudimentary stuff, for zee most part. A few of zee more popular elixirs for your traveling alchemist to peddle. I can tell zis Klaus Schwarzkopf had to hawk magic for survival. It’s vy he vas so jaded about zis mortal magic. Alchemists are too human for zee monsters, and too monstrous for zee humans.”
“But aside from his life’s tale of woe, what else did you find?” I pressed.
She laughed. “Like I said, zee spells are elixirs. Standard first lessons. Brews for vitality, love, and good fortune. Best brewed around crowds already enjoying zemselves. Absorbing zee ambient heat of good vibes into crystals, zat sort of zing. It is similar to vat you do now but... more.”
I raised an eyebrow, because I was slightly confused. I wasn’t sure if it was Olga’s thick accent or what. “Are you saying I need to brew while I’m in the middle of a party?”
“Did someone say party?”
The door to the kitchen swung open again, and Wanda stepped in, her heels clicking softly as she crossed the room. She sashayed into the kitchen, immediately reaching for the coffee pot and poured herself a steaming mug. And, of course, she was dressed to the nines.
The blouse hugged her curves in all the right places; the neckline dipping just enough to be daring, while her pencil skirt emphasized the long line of her legs. I smirked, setting my mug down on the counter.
“Wow. Trying to get your husband hot and bothered this early in the morning?”
Wanda laughed. “Maybe,” she admitted, taking a careful sip of coffee. “But can you really blame me?”
“I can when I’m sleeping a few doors down.”
