“May I help you, sir?” said a clerk—a typic, hair a sandy brown.
“I need this filled.” Blackwell handed over the list she’d made the night before. “Are you able to take care of it while we wait?”
The clerk’s eyes widened at the extent of the order, but he showed them to a corner with antique leather chairs tucked around a side table.
“Can you buy leaves here?” Beatrix said, wondering whether Blackwell could really pick what he needed before autumn hit in earnest.
He sighed, slumping into the chair across from her. “Technically, yes, but I’d hate to do it.”
He sounded like a man spending his own money. She wanted to ask him about that, but she hesitated, lost her nerve and instead went with, “Are plant leaves acceptable? Something you could grow in the greenhouse to get you through the winter?”
He shook his head. “Trees only—old-growth trees. Other leaves are essentially useless as fuel. First off, you need to use far more of them to get any kick. Worse, the power they provide isn’t consistent, so you run a high risk of screwing up your spell.”
He lapsed into silence. She looked around, wondering for the first time why he’d insisted she come today. Surely not just to help carry the packages out. She certainly could use the extra pay, but once she caught up on the chores she should have done last night and this morning, her weekend would be all but over.
The clerk, passing by, set several bottles of liquid on the table. Blackwell lifted the smallest of the set.
“Aconite,” he said. “A critical ingredient in brews for high fevers, arthritis and tonsillitis, if used in tiny amounts. Otherwise, it’s a deadly poison.”
Was it wise to mention that after strong-arming her into this job? She suppressed a laugh and tried to look attentive.
“Two drops are sufficient for most medical tinctures. Six, for severe cases. Never use more than that.” The aconite bottle clinked against the table as he set it down. “I hope you have a steady hand.”
She stared at him in blank astonishment. Surely he didn’t mean … “Are you saying you intend me to—to brew?”
“Yes.”
“Perhaps it’s slipped your mind, but I’m not a wizard.”
He waved a hand, dismissing the objection. “Strictly speaking, many steps in brewing don’t require a wizard’s touch. Nothing’s stopping you from handling those.”
Paradigm-shift moments had never treated her well before. Her mother dying after giving birth to Lydia. Her father following two years later. The discovery that their finances were in ruins, rendering impossible all her plans for college and a pioneering career as a medical researcher.
But this appeared to be altogether different. Agoodchange. As close as she would probably ever get to what she’d really wanted to do.
She could hear Rosemarie’s reaction now:Of course—he’s trying to gain your trust. Don’t be a fool. She did once, in a weak moment, tell Mayor Croft her career aspirations. Blackwell could have extracted that piece of information on top of all the rest.
“Unless, of course,” he said, “you would prefer cleaning.”
“No!” The word burst out before she could consider whether Rosemarie would think it the right answer.
She was so very tired of mindless tasks. Of a life that held no relation to the one she’d envisioned. Of fighting for equal rights instead of enjoying them.
She would have to be continually on her guard, that was all.
Blackwell withdrew a notepad from an interior pocket and handed it to her with the heavy pen she’d borrowed the night before. “All right. This”—tapping another bottle—“is adder’s tongue. Taken as a tincture, it’s an emetic—do you know what that means?”
“Induces vomiting.”
“Yes, good. The fresh leaves also make an excellent poultice for swelling. This one is oil of agrimony, the main ingredient in a dressing for open wounds.”
They left the shop two hours later, half-a-dozen tightly packed boxes floating behind them, at once heavy and light. She felt the same way. Tense. Jubilant.
He said little on the trip home, other than to ask where he could replace broken panes in his greenhouse, and thank goodness for that—she wasn’t in the right state of mind to parse every word for nefarious intent. She spent the time thinking of questions. Many, many questions.
Then they came around the bend into Ellicott Mills. The omnimancer’s mansion popped into view—along with a line of people so long, it snaked from the front door to Main Street and well down it, clogging the sidewalks, blocking the road. It looked like someone from every household in town, plus outskirts.
“Shit,” Blackwell said under his breath.
