His brows knitted. “Me too,” he said, unsheathing his swords. Cautiously, he made his way inside.
I’d never seen a witch’s home before, but as I stepped through the rickety door behind him, I was struck by how it looked exactly as I’d imagined: chaoticallycluttered, dark and foul. Especially the odor.
The air was a perfume layered with fetid notes of mold and rot and decay. It was unbearable on my nostrils and made mystomach clench. Breathing through my mouth, my eyes darted around the space before my body followed.
From the look of it, the cottage consisted of two rooms. The room we stood in served as part kitchenette, part dining room, part sitting room. Behind a shut door was another room designated for sleeping, I assumed.
The entire space was in complete disarray. Mugs, pots and plates were strewn around the kitchenette and the small wooden table at the center of the room. Tattered, mismatched furniture was arranged around a pitiful hearth whose bricks were crumbling with age. Candles, moth-ridden fabrics and books were sprawled carelessly across nearly every inch of the floor.
The only hint of organization amongst the mess were the rows of dusty glass jars and vials of colorful liquids neatly arranged across windowsills and shelves. The jars were filled with herbs, fungi, seeds, and—to my disgust—small animals, insects and eyeballs. The animals appeared to be preserved by some sort of green liquid, giving them an unnatural mossy tinge that made me squirm.
There were obvious gaps in the collection—some vials and jars were missing. Was that a coincidence or a clue? Either way, I’d keep looking.
We didn’t speak. All I could hear was the sound of boots against the groaning floor. That, and the internal music of my own shallow breathing, thrumming pulse and thudding heart.
Filip had already begun to scour the kitchenette, so I decided to investigate the littering of books on the floor. I had only advanced a few paces when, without warning, something sprang into my path.
I shrieked.
Filip spun, swords raised. The sharp-eyed concern on his face instantly dissolved into revulsion.
The carcass of a fox dropped down from where it hadpreviously been suspended, high up in the ceiling. My stomach turned at the sight of maggots in its empty eye sockets.
“At least we know whose eyeballs are in the jar,” I said with forced humor, although the words came out wobbly.
“Deceiver’s whore,” muttered Filip, returning to his exploration of the kitchenette.
On shaky legs, I continued towards the books, giving the dead fox a wide berth. Something menacing hummed in the atmosphere. It made me want to run for the woods and never look back.Stop being a cowardly shrimp, I scolded myself.
Getting to my knees, I tackled the pile of texts on the floor. There were books on gardening, foraging, needlework and, to my bewilderment, fairy tales—some of which I had read myself. I shuffled through the titles of what appeared to be recipe books, astounded by the absence of shadowy grimoires. In fact, there wasn’t a hint of anything magic related. Everything in the pile was so normal, so… mundane. If I didn’t know any better, I would have thought that a mortal woman lived here, albeit an eccentric one.
I glanced up at the wobbly old shelf that sat in one corner of the room. The books had undoubtedly once lived there, but now it was nearly bare, except for one battered old book with the barely legible title,Legend of Land. Next to it sat a rock, a basket of yarn, an enormous charcoal-colored feather, and a jar containing a bright purple cocoon the size of a bird’s egg. The cocoon most definitely didn’t come from Anerdor, and I’d be willing to bet on my tail that it was preserved with some kind of magic.Not so mundane after all…
I picked myself off the ground and approached the shelf, when something at my feet caught my attention. A leather-bound notebook, its black cover worn and faded with age. It was the sight of the esoteric engravings on the cover that compelled me to reach down and grab it.
The moment my fingers made contact with the grainy leather, something within me thrummed, like a charge of energy. It took me a split second to recognize it, but then I felt it. An undeniable force.
This book contained magic.
Cautiously, I lifted the notebook. It felt strangely heavy for something of its size, as if it were forged from metal. Holding it up to my face, I squinted at the cover. It was engraved with arcane symbols I didn’t recognize and, in its center, was a sigil of some sort of serpentine animal surrounded by a ring of flames. Curiosity more than sufficiently provoked, I opened the book.
The first page was blank. Brows drawing together in confusion, I inspected the next page, and the one after that. By the time I’d skimmed the notebook in its entirety, it was painfully clear that there was nothing in it. My shoulders slumped in disappointment.
“Find anything?” Filip called over from the hearth. He had managed to get soot all over his uniform and his face. He was thorough, I’d give him that.
“I think this notebook holds some kind of magic,” I replied. “But its pages are completely empty.” I studied the cover, running my hands over the raised patterns of circles and lines. None of them matched the symbol from the note.
“You can’t possibly know that,” he responded, doubt etched into the features of his sooty face.
“Just look at the engravings.” I held up the book. “If I had to guess, I’d say they describe some kind of spell.”
“Or a warning,” he muttered.
Let him keep his doubts. I knew I was right. “I haven’t found anything strange.” At the sight of Filip’s raised eyebrow, I said, “Okay, I haven’t found anything that proves Basia’s the murderer.”
He hummed his agreement. “I’m done in here, let’s keeplooking in the other room,” he said, already heading toward the closed door.
I shoved the book inside the deep pocket of my cloak and followed him.
