Maddox blinked rapidly. “Under control?”
“Magic,” I said shortly. I turned to them both, removing Celeste’s throat spray from my pocket. “Also, I found this.”
I told them about how she had used it during the night I lost my magic. She had reformulated sickleweed potion as a throat spray that expelled outward instead of taking her own magic.
Giselle nodded. “There’s a reversal charm she likely used to achieve that.” Then, she raised a brow. “Are you sure that’s the potion? What does it smell like?”
My throat went dry as I recalled Bennett’s spiced scent and ghostly embrace. I thrust the bottle to Maddox instead. “It’s supposed to smell like what you desire most at the moment.”
Maddox gingerly uncapped the bottle and sniffed. His eyes widened. “It smells like the fields at home,” he said, amazed. He inhaled deeply. “Grass and fallen rain on an overcast day. And a hint of fresh hay.”
He gave it to Giselle. She hovered over the rim. “Smells like pie.”
I nodded. “That’s it, then. Now we need to figure out how Celeste is keeping the magic she has taken. And how to get it back.”
Maddox frowned at Dominic, who was once again still as a statue. I regarded the latter. I still wanted to punch him for his impudence. But he would need his jaw intact to answer our questions.
“Giselle?” I said.
The seamstress exhaled heavily. “Alright. Let’s take this upstairs.”
***
THE HYPNOTIZED DOMINICdidn’t stumble on a single step on the way up, though his limbs appeared entirely limp. Maddox gave him wary glances. Giselle marched several feet ahead. She didn’t want to speak or look at us, though I hardly knew why.
We filed into my room after making sure Lord Frederick wasn’t lingering outside. Maddox stood against the door anyway as a precaution. The cats bounded over to me from the window.
“Hello Misty. Pippin,” I said softly, stroking their ears. Misty narrowed her eyes at Dominic, hissing. “It’s alright. Giselle is using her magic on him.”
The seamstress shifted uncomfortably, gaze darting from Maddox to the floor to me. “Do I have to do this?”
Maddox tilted his head. “Is making him speak not part of your magic?”
Giselle pressed her lips into a thin line. “It is. I can also make him dance like a monkey and walk on his hands. I can make him jump from that balcony,” she said, pointing to the far end of the room, “or I can make him stab himself.”
I stared, taken aback. “You’d never do that.”
“I could.”
“But you’d never,” Maddox said.
She clenched her jaw as she sat on an ottoman, polishing the amethyst bottle with her sleeve. Dominic followed suit but fell bottom-first onto the ground.
“You don’t get it,” Giselle said. “My magic will always have the potential to be wicked.”
I shook my head, wondering at how carefree, confident Giselle could ever think that about herself. “I’ve been there,” I said, smiling humorlessly as I recalled all the dirty work I had done for Mother, “and all I could do was talk to animals.”
“If that’s the case, then all witches have the potential to be wicked. Humans do too.” Maddox scrunched his nose at Dominic, who sat on the floor with his legs splayed like a child. The paper on his forehead added to the effect.
“You could never be wicked if you don’t wish to,” I said slowly, running my fingers through Misty’s fur. “Forcing someone to speak against their will may not be objectively good, but you’re doing this for the benefit of other witches. Intention is...the soul of an action.”
Giselle stared at her hands thoughtfully, though she still didn’t look convinced. “I suppose I never thought of it that way.”
I gave a short laugh, half at her cluelessness and half at mine. All these months I had agonized over being under Mother’s influence, believing everything I did came from a place of wickedness. But that had stopped last summer, the moment I decided to thwart her plans.
That was what Misty was telling me all this time.
I straightened my shoulders. “Shall you ask the questions or shall I?”
