The black car was small and sporty, gleaming beneath the afternoon sunlight, the silver chrome grill nearly blinding her. They slid to the curb, idling beside her on the sidewalk, the window rolling down. Harper slowed but did not stop. She had been catcalled by creeps like this before.
“Get in, loser. We’re going shopping.”
It was Holt, leaning over the passenger seat with a grin. Harper scowled.Literally being catcalled.
“Uh, rude. I didn’t tell you that I had to vacuum my furniture to get rid of the dander after you left the other day.”
He dropped his head back and groaned. “I forgot, you’re a fetus. Get in. We have errands to run. Starting with antidepressants, goddess knows you need them.”
She scowled again but got into the car. To her surprise, he did not navigate back to the main road, taking what someone with a very poor sense of direction might have called a shortcut through several developments, snaking through Cambric Creek until they had reached Oldtowne.
“If you were just driving me home, you could’ve said so without being such a weirdo.”
Holt looked askance from the corner of his eye, continuing past the street where her mother and sister lived, around the backside, past several of the large houses she admired on her evening walks until they arrived at the giant Second Empire edifice at the end of Magnolia.
“Are we going here?”
As soon as the words were out, Harper realized he was not pulling into the gated driveway of the stone mansion, but rather was backing into the driveway next door. The ornate Victorian she had admired, with the tower and gingerbread trim, huge sloping roofs, and fanciful exterior paintwork. She gulped, thinking of the huge shadow she’d seen in the third-floor windows. She trailed after him as Holt climbed the steps of the wide front porch, recently restored, she could tell. The front door had intricate millwork and a beautiful stained-glass transom, winking sidelights, and an elaborate brass knocker.Brackenbridge. The name tickled at the back of her mind, but she couldn’t place how or why.
“Do you have arachnophobia?” Holt asked suddenly, glancing back at her with his eyebrows pulled together.
“I-I don’t think so. Why?”
He let out the breath he’d evidently been holding, using the brass knocker to rap on the door before turning to her quickly. “Okay, look. I just need you to be cool, okay? I don’t know what the fuck you kids say today, but no freakouts, all right? Your honor as a witch depends on it.”
“Oh my word, what kind of place is this? Who are you taking me to?!”
Her question never received an answer, for just then, a frazzled-looking woman with a halo of frizzy curls and round glasses perched on the tip of her pert nose appeared hurrying down the hallway. She glanced out the sidelight, smiling when she saw Holt.
“Hello! Come in, come in. Gracious, did you bring her with you?! Well, that’s fine. It’ll make this easier. Come in, both of you. Holt, you know the way.”
Harper followed him down the hallway, twisting through the house until they arrived at a large, spacious work kitchen. Harper did not know what her chief discipline would be if and when she returned to the Collegium. She had no affinity for her mother’s crystals and had a feeling she was rather hopeless at divination, despite Azathé‘s optimism, but she knew the kitchen of the hedgewitch when she saw one, and this was perhaps the largest, most well-provisioned witch’s kitchen she had ever seen with her own two eyes.
“You must be Harper,” the woman said seriously, once she had come bustling in after them. “I’m so glad to meet you. Holt has told me all about you.”
She threw a fast look at the familiar, who was too busy rummaging through the refrigerator to notice.
“I-I am. It’s very nice to meet you, um . . .”
“Oh, how rude of me. Ladybug. Well, Ladybug is just a nickname. Elizabeth Amaranth Brackenbridge, but no one calls me that. I’ve been Ladybug since I was a little girl. My great-aunt tried calling me a Lilibet, but it never stuck. Ladybug has always been what I answer to.”
She was babbling, but it was endearing. As she spoke, she lifted the lid off the cauldron that was bubbling over the work fire, her glasses steaming as she gave it a stir. Harper understood why her curls likely had a permanently frizzed appearance.
“Harper, do you have any allergies that you know of? Also, would you mind hopping on the scale over there next to the brick oven? Holt, if you eat those granola bars, I cannot promise what will happen to you. That is a choice between you and your maker, and it has nothing to do with me. Just putting that out there. And don’t touch the coffee.”
Harper grinned as Holt dropped the designer protein bar as if it were a hot coal. She stepped onto the scale, as instructed, wondering why she was doing so. “Um, no, I don’t have any allergies. None that I’m aware of.”
“Perfect. Okay, let me walk you through what we’ve cooked up. First of all, I have to disclose that I am not a medical doctor. I make no claims to the veracity of any of these herbal remedies, and if you have any concerns about abnormal heartbeat or lack of sleep, you should consult your physician. That being said, these recipes are hundreds of years old. Women like us have been treating their communities with these herbs since before there was even a word for doctor, so take that as you will.”
“Um, sure, right.”
“Perfect. So, we’re going to start with the basics: zinc and magnesium, vitamin D and saffron, great mood boosters. The real magic starts to happen with the adaptogens. Now, with Rhodiola rosea, we use the roots. With St. John’s wort, we use the flowers and leaves. I’ve made you a tisane using both. I hope you’re a tea drinker.”
At that, Harper laughed, still having no idea what this charming, awkward woman was babbling about. “You don’t have to worry about that.”
“Oh, good. That’s good. That’s a relief. Okay, so we’re going to drink a tisane using the Rhodiola and St. John’s wort. You’re going to drink this every morning, and we put the saffron, zinc, and vitamin D in a chewable. I just made it a fruity flavor, but if you don’t care for it, we can change it. Then we have eleuthero and ashwagandha. Now, these are both plant extracts; one is a false ginseng, and the other is a winter cherry, but you’re not going to be eating fruit. Just pop the capsules with your lunch. Then, at dinner, I want you to take your St. John’s wort capsule. Don’t worry, it’s a safe dosage amount.
The Rhodiola and ashwagandha are both good for anxiety and stress. They increase your body’s ability to adapt to stressful situations and environments. St. John’s wort is for clinical depression, and I should tell you, it has proven just as effective as traditional antidepressants in several studies. All the headlines will tell you it wasn’t any more effective than the placebo, but you usually have to read to the middle of the article to find out that the traditional drugs didn’t perform better than the placebo either. So, we have mood regulators and stress adapters. These will help with your sleep and improve your overall energy. If you feel you are suffering from side effects from anything, don’t hesitate to call me. We can always change up the recipe a bit. Each batch is formulated for the specific client. I’m also throwing in a bottle of my best-selling strawberry rose shampoo and conditioner. That doesn’t have any health benefits, but it smells amazing.”
