As soon as classes are over, I head for the witch campus. It’s pouring again today, but this time I’m prepared. Now I’m really glad Patricia insisted I bring an umbrella with me. I double-check the text from Nils, my screen already damp with humidity.Should be ready soon. Swing by after class.
I look around the witch campus, searching for the greenhouse. Witches are everywhere: on their way to the library, the dining hall, or their dorms. For a moment, I see Emilía walking among them. As soon as I blink, she vanishes.
I haven’t been back here since the séance.
Nibbling on a nail, I spot a familiar face among the witches.
“Irina,” I call, jogging over to her.
“H-hi, Edith.” She clutches her umbrella so hard her knuckles turn white. “W-what brings you here?”
“I’m just looking for Nils,” I say. “Where is the greenhouse?”
“Over there.” She tips her chin to the left, opposite of the way I was heading. “S-Sorry, I have to go.”
Before I can even thank her, Irina dashes toward the library. She must really believe I’m the killer. Shaking my head slowly, I head for the greenhouse.
Once Isaac confesses, I’ll be able to clear my name.
I should hurry, but I’m nervous about seeing Nils again after he tried to kiss me. Should we talk about it? It didn’t seem like he wanted to yesterday. He apologized and quickly changed the subject. But I should make sure he knows I only want to be friends.
A relationship is the last thing I want.
I start chewing on one of my cuticles while I walk. What if I accidentally offend Nils, though? If he likes me, rejecting him could hurt his feelings. Or worse. I can’t help but think of Jason and how he reacted when I toldhimno.
The greenhouse glass is fogged and gleaming wet with the downpour. Humidity dampens my cheeks as I step inside. Raindrops pelt the roof, pinging off the glass and trailing down the sides of the greenhouse like tears. Everywhere I look, plants blossom and grow wild, but I don’t see anyone around.
“Hello?” I say.
“Edith?” Nils pops out of a side room and smiles. “You’re just in time. It’s nearly done.”
After shaking out my umbrella, I join him, grateful there’s no lingering awkwardness between us.
The glass beakers and vials on the table remind me of chemistry class, but everything else looks strange and unusual. A slip of paper is next to Nils. There’s a mortar and pestle, an assortment of bottles in varying shapes and sizes, and bundles of herbs covering the wooden table.
“Um, I wanted to apologize for yesterday,” I say, feeling suddenly awkward. “It wasn’t you. It’s me. I just don’t do relationships.”
“No worries.” Nils reaches for some delicate white flowers. “I get it.”
He seems unfazed as he grinds petals with the pestle. The muscles in his arm tense while he works with determined focus. He seems so in his element. He looks happy and unbothered by what anyone else thinks about him here.
His brow is knit as he carefully funnels the powder into the beaker.
Not wanting to disturb him, I start reading over his notes.Truth-teller potion, the page reads.Will make its drinker speak only the truth, whether they wish to or not. Depending on dosage, effects can last anywhere between thirty minutes to three hours.
“One more thing,” Nils says, wiping his forehead.
He reaches for the row of bottles, his hand hovering over ones labeledleft breastandright palmandlittle fingeruntil grabbing the one labeledroot of tongue.The bottles seem so small. There’s no way they could actually contain those, right?
I swallow the lump in my throat. “What are those?”
“Blood,” Nils says. “Different mixtures require blood from specific body parts. Since truth-teller effects speech, it requires blood from the tongue.”
“Right,” I say, feeling queasy as I watch his dropper fill with red.
Carefully, he transfers a few drops into the vial.
Blood swirls through the potion like ink.
