6
When the water turned a deep brown from the nixgrass, Bennett seemed to forget his fear in favor of curiosity. He wandered down from his perch and nudged my leg.
Are you making progress, Cissa?he meowed.
“Yes,” I said without looking down. With tense concentration, I fished out the limp nixgrass pulp from the cauldron with a wooden spoon. A few drops of water hissed and sizzled on the stove. Giselle hadn’t instructed me on how to turn down the heat, so I left it alone and carefully moved the cauldron onto the counter to let it cool.
As I looked around the clutter of ingredients for something called broadleaf gelatin, Bennett leapt onto the countertop and poked his nose over the rim of the steaming cauldron.
Smells nice, he said, curling his tail. One of his paws knocked over the wooden spoon I was using. It clattered to the ground.
I crossed my arms. “They say curiosity killed the cat.”
Bennett looked at me with wide copper eyes. His whiskers twitched.
I sighed, wiping my hands on my apron. “Why don’t you go out and play?”
Play?he asked, aghast.
I reckoned he hadn’t been told that in a decade. I looked out the bay window, noting the lush herb garden and a comfortable patch of sunlight that shone in the center. A cat’s heaven.
“Well why not?” I asked archly. “You’d be more comfortable out there than in here. Plus there’s a stove and I don’t know how to use it. I don’t want you bumping into anything hot.”
Bennett picked his way across the countertop, but I lifted him up before he did any more damage. I set him on the windowsill and opened the window. The hinges squeaked, letting in a sprightly whoosh of wind.
“Go on,” I said.
But Cissa—
“Please. I need to work.”
He shook off his paws.If you insist.
He hopped down to the garden. I watched him nose around the shrubbery for a moment before closing the window and returning to the potion book.
“Broadleaf gelatin...” I surveyed the clutter of leafy herbs and jars above me, none of which had labels. Frustrated, I wiped my hands on my apron, which was already streaked with stains.
“Giselle!” I called out, traversing down the hall to her room. I hoped it was too soon for her to have left. “Can you help me find...oh!”
The white-haired witch at the end of the hall was certainly not Giselle.
“Lady Narcissa! Well, hasn’t it been a while?” Ferdinand said with a toothless grin.
I had met the old charmwitch at the Grand Alevine Opera last winter during the kingdom tour. I smiled, hoping I didn’t look too frazzled.
“Hello, Ferdinand. What are you doing here?”
“I live here!”
