Page 91 of Summer of Sacrifice

But she could feel the hard length of him against her. She wanted nothing more than to drop her pestle and bend over the counter. Instead, she twisted, putting her in a no less compromising position, but it somewhat halted her kitchen counter fantasies. He bent in to kiss her, the closeness causing the parchment she’d hidden in her bodice to crinkle. The sound sent ice coating her bones.

Cal instantly saw the shift. “Seleste? Are you all right? Are you truly that worried?” He stepped away, hands raised and a boyish grin on his face. “I can be good, I promise.”

She gave him her best smile. “No, you can’t.” Sauntering forward, she closed the space between them again and gave him a gentle kiss. “Go to your châlet while I finish here. I promise that I will slip out of this dress and into your bed the moment I arrive.”

“Goddess,” he groaned with heavy-lidded eyes. “Please do exactly that.”

She laughed and swatted at his rear. “Get out of here.”

Cal gave her an exaggerated bow and left out the back kitchen door. As soon as it shut behind him, Seleste pulled the hidden paper from her bodice and unfolded it with trembling fingers. The list of ingredients given to her by the Grimoire. The ones she needed to collect beneath the cover of darkness.

Swallowing hard, she set the potion list aside and quickly poured the rest of the moon water into the medicinal potion for the current earl.

“Guérir. Restaurer. Relancer.”

She stoppered the vial and gathered it, along with the list of new dietary restrictions they’d come up with and written down in Seleste’s best imitation of Dr. Pollock’s handwriting.

It wouldn’t last. It was only a matter of time before their plans were foiled, but it would give them enough time to ensure the remedy would work, and gather enough evidence to prove it to the good doctor and the earl. With any luck, that would be enough for them to continue the remedy.

As an extra precaution to extend their secret for as long as possible without anyone noticing, the doctor had written a note at the bottom of the dietary list, insisting the entire household be on it as well, for solidarity.

Dread coursing through her veins, Seleste set the items where Madame Riley would find them come morning and picked up her list from the Grimoire.

First to procure: the blood of a weasel.

It had been a long time since she’d held a knife like this.

The bone handle dug into Seleste’s palm as she walked through the woods behind Whitehall, cloaked in silencing magic.

It had been a long time since she’d been forced to hunt.

Listening intently, she stepped over branches and bramble, hoping to find a weasel before she reached the path toward their sunflower patch. She couldn’t bear the thought of desecrating their sacred place with the blood of a kill.

Unwilling to prolong the hunt or give Cal any reason to grow worried about why she hadn’t yet arrived at his châlet after making the draught for his father, she paused amidst the trees. Closing her eyes, Seleste centred her unsteady mind. The dread in her gut since reading the Grimoire’s Order had unfurled into a slick sea beast of mal de mer, though her feet were firmly on the ground, nary a boat in sight.

“Viens à moi, mon sacrifice.”

Her pure, clean magic bucked at the spell, sending another bout of nausea roiling through her. She hadn’t been able to eat a bite in two days. This type of potion was wrong. Distinctly against what they believed in. Every witch had the power, hidden beneath the well of their innate magic. But it was never to be used, never to be summoned. A spell used for a potion wouldn’t tap into that deep part of her, at least she didn’t think so, but what it pulled from the blood of the animal was disconcerting. What it would do to Cal, even more so.

But it was the betrayal making her nauseous.

A rustling sounded to her right, and Seleste turned, dagger ready. She saw the creature’s beady black eyes glint in the moonlight, and her own eyes burned with the pricking of tears.

Another betrayal was afoot as she knelt, letting her cloaking magic fall away. The weasel shrank back, but Seleste held out her hand, a few berries in her palm. It sniffed the air as if deciding whether the berries were worth the risk, ultimately deciding they were.

Crawling through the brush, it stopped just short of her fingertips. Her instinct was to murmur to the creature that it was all right. That she wouldn’t hurt it. But this time, it would be a lie, and she couldn’t bring herself to lie.

Gingerly, the weasel approached, snatching a plump berry in its tiny paws before turning to dart back into hiding.

But Seleste was faster.

Catching the weasel by the ruff of its neck, she ignored its cries of fear as she held it aloft.

“I’m so sorry,” she whimpered, quickly slicing the dagger across the innocent animal’s neck. Blood began to pour, sliding down her wrist and arm, the weasel going slack in her grip. Tears streaming down her cheeks, Seleste dropped the dagger and pulled out a small vial to collect the blood.

Laying the creature to the side gently, she corked the vial and wrapped it in linen before tucking it into the basket she’d brought with her. Taking a small shovel from her basket, she dug a hole in a patch of moist soil, protected from the harsh sun by the shade of trees, and laid the weasel to rest there.

“I will not let your sacrifice be in vain,” she whispered as she filled the grave, praying to Hespa it wasn’t an empty promise. Praying that this potion would not harm Cal.

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