“I really like apples, that’s all.” It wasn’t entirely a lie. But it still didn’t make much sense. Ash merely looked perplexed. Luckily, he didn’t comment on my odd behavior.
“I’ll see you in a week, then?” he said.
I returned his smile. “I’ll see you then.”
19
Lana stirred the contentsof her cauldron. The murky substance shifted to pale green and developed a viscous quality.
“This is the extracting potion I mentioned from our first lesson,” Lana said, adding a pinch of crushed herbs into the mixture. There was a recipe book next to her, though she rarely glanced at it during the demonstration.
The open fire beneath her cauldron was making me sweat buckets, but not a trace of perspiration lingered on Lana’s forehead as she tapped her ladle on the rim. Fat droplets of extracting potion fell back into the cauldron. “Potion making is a skill every witch needs to know.”
“Even charmwitches?” I asked.
“Yes. All witches can do it. Think of it as cooking. Everyone can follow directions, but there is a difference between a person who cooks and a chef,” Lana said. “Inventing new potions require skill as well as a magic unique to herbwitches.”
“Is there anything charmwitches can do that herbwitches can too?” I asked.
Lana set aside her ladle with a clatter and wiped her hands on her apron. “Yes, levitation. Most witches learn that out of the womb. However, you’ve yet to learn the skills essential to an herbwitch, so I wouldn’t worry about that,” she said. With a wave of her hand, a new cauldron replaced the old one. “No more dillydallying. Try making the extracting potion yourself.”
I perspired more, but not because of the heat. “Am I ready?”
I’ve only ever read about potion making in books, and the only magic I had done was see colors. And that was completely involuntary.
Lana continued organizing the space. A dish of chopped lavender whizzed past my head, narrowly missing my face.
I certainly hadn’t learned to make things levitate either.
She finally turned when the only thing left on the counter was a leather notebook.
“You will never be ready unless you start,” she said, pushing the recipe book toward me. “Now go wash your hands.”
I felt even more incompetent crouching amongst the bushes behind Lana’s cottage, scrubbing my hands with the ice-cold water that gushed out a low faucet. If I had been born a real witch, I could easily fill a dish with water with a flick of my wrist. With a sigh, I dried my hands on my skirts, trying not to be too disappointed. It wasn’t as if I could practice magic outside of lessons.
When I went back inside, dishes and jars of ingredients waited for me on the counter. Lana pointed at the recipe book without a word, looking very much like my old governess.
