Page 3 of Potions and Proposals
“I told you to give yourself more time with it! You’ve taken twice as long as you said you would,” Rosie pointed out. The Order’s Occult Research Department at the Vatican weren’t patient people. “I’m beginning to think you don’t want to give it back.”
“They wouldn’t have sent me a confiscated Hawthorne grimoire if they thought I was going to try and keep it.” Lucy didn’t want to risk shattering the trust she’d built with the Order. Of course she wished the grimoire could stay in her family, but relations between magical folk and those who’d prosecuted themhad come a long way. One grimoire, no matter how sentimental, wasn’t worth the cost.
“What if they’re testing you, just looking for a reason to pick a fight with us magical folk after all these years of peace?”
“The Order have no reason to doubt me, and if anything, the previous grimoires they’ve sent me have been far more ancient and powerful,” Lucy argued, not liking the idea of being tested. “It’s a show of their trust.”
“Do you even wonder if they use the spells you translate for them? Just because they haven’t so far doesn’t mean they won’t.” Rosie had never liked the arrangement between the library and the Order, which Lucy had agreed to continue after her grandfather’s death. But even if the work was challenging, Lucy couldn’t bring herself to complain about working in her favourite place on earth.
“Studying magic is all that interests them. Even if they wanted to, they can’t read grimoires or cast spells. Magic isn’t in their blood, like a car without an engine. They can study it, but they can’t drive it. If they could, they wouldn’t have started sending the grimoires to us.” Despite their knowledge, without her help, all these potions and incantations appeared as utter nonsense to the magless. They could touch the letters, smell the aged pages, and collect the ingredients, but they were powerless.
“I’m surprised they didn’t just coerce a witch during the war to translate them,” Rosie said, flicking through the illustrated pages.
“I’m sure they tried hundreds of years ago, but if a witch was coerced I doubt she’d give them the real translations,” Lucy mused. She didn’t like dwelling in the past. The hurt her ancestors had suffered was too overwhelming, and Grams had always taught her that hate was the body’s natural poison.
“‘Essence of dragon’?” Rosie shivered.“What’s that supposed to mean– blood, nails, scales? Heart was very popular in thefifteenth century, but rare.” She was one of the top researchers of magic in the country, and full of useful knowledge.
“I don’t know which; it’s my best guess. It’s ambiguous wording like this which is making all of this take so long.” Lucy released her long, dark hair from its messy bun and rubbed her scalp, trying to relieve the dull headache caused by staring at dull cursive lettering for over eight hours.
“I didn’t think a Hawthorne text would contain blood magic,” Rosie said, putting down the note as if it would hurt her. Not being a witch herself, she understood the evolution of their magic and the history of it, but not so much how it worked.
“Back then, there was little difference between light and dark magic. Though Hawthornes moved away from sacrifice and rituals and towards healing magic, it’s still part of our past. Many potions that are banned today are scattered throughout every family’s history.”
“Some still might use them.” Rosie smirked, clicking her long nails – always polished to perfection – against the desk. She might lose her clothing when she transformed into a grey wolf, but she’d never be seen without painted claws.
“Those are just rumours.”
“C’mon. The Mathersons might appear squeaky clean, but look at what happened with the dad, and the younger brother!” Rosie said, fidgeting with her rings.
“They might not have a perfect record, but they’ve helped the town a lot in the last few years with the Manor. Everyone benefits from the increased tourism,” Lucy reasoned, trying to be diplomatic. Since Benedict hadn’t retaliated after the teacups-and-koi-fish prank, she was hoping he might’ve turned over a new and more mature leaf.
“I never thought I’d hear the day when you defended the Mathersons,” Rosie quipped, sitting on the edge of the desk.
Lucy closed the grimoire before her friend could see anything else that might frighten her, putting it back in its protective case. “Even if Benedict’s brother and father made mistakes, the rest of the family shouldn’t be judged.” The Matherson family had seen more tragedy than most – though her sympathy for them didn’t mean Benedict, the eldest son, didn’t drive her crazy. “Would you like it if you were blamed for what the wolves in the woods got up to?”
Rosie chewed her pale pink lips. “Fair point. So long as they don’t bring the Order’s hunters to our door again, I promise to think better of them.”
Lucy heard the concern in her best friend’s voice and had to admit there was a valid reason to worry. Though the magical village of Foxford was well defended, the Vatican’s hunters were still a threat. It was for that very reason she hadn’t even thought about keeping the grimoire that rightfully belonged to her family.
“Good, and I promise to show my face above ground once I’ve finished the final three spells.” She sighed, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. After another long day, even the wired rims felt heavy.
“I’ll hold you to it. If you don’t show yourself upstairs every once in a while, the town will think I’m keeping you trapped down here – which you’d probably enjoy. However, the more you’re down here, the more I have to be.” Rosie peered through the glass walls to the enchanted artefacts lining the stone shelves beyond and shivered. “This place still gives me the creeps. I always feel like the armoured knights along the tunnels are going to wake up and skewer me.”
“They’d only skewer those who try to steal,” Lucy chuckled, knowing Rosie would never do such a thing. “You wouldn’t hate it so much down here if you spent more time here!”
Rosie backed away towards the glass door. “No thanks! My speciality is researching mystical creatures and artefacts. I don’t do spells or potions.”
Rosie had never fully trusted magic, and Lucy understood why. Over the centuries, there had often been discourse between witches and wolves. Their transformative ability was said to have come about by the curse of a jilted witch and a human; distrust was in their DNA.
“Then why darken my vault this evening? Because I know it wasn’t just to check in,” Lucy said, cleaning up the scattered papers and piling up the reference texts.
Rosie began to pace, her running shoes squeaking on the glass floor. “There was something I needed to tell you…”
Lucy groaned. “Please tell me it isn’t Order related!”
Her worries were confirmed when Rosie started twisting a strand of auburn hair between her fingers, avoiding eye contact. “They called today. You didn’t respond to their last letter. I wanted to wait to tell you tomorrow so we could enjoy the Equinox tonight, but since you were still here…”
“Serves me right for taking so long,” Lucy muttered, “but I wanted to wait until I was finished.” She glanced down at the book. Only three more spells before she could finally be rid of it.
