Page 52 of Night of the Witch
His lips twitch. “I thought you said we wouldn’t use your magic?”
“No—I said we wouldn’t use the type of magic you were asking about. But the potions I’ll make are perfectly acceptable to ask of the Well. I need to make them all tonight, though. I can’t exactly whip out a cauldron, pointy hat, and broom in the middle of a hexenjäger cell, now can I?”
His frown deepens. “You—you really need those things?”
“No.” I roll my eyes. “I just wanted to see ifyouthought I’d really need those things. Schiesse, jäger, what do you know about real witches?”
“Not enough,” he offers. His eyes go furrowed and considering. “I don’t understand your powers, but if I did—perhaps we could find a better potion or spell for the situation. Can you explain it to me?”
My brows vault up. “You want me to explain potion making to you.”
“Yes.”
“My entire life’s work. In one evening?”
His cheeks go a little red. The sight is more charming than it should be.
“Ah.” He clears his throat. “Then what about—are there any particularly powerful potions? One that we could focus on that would make the largest impact? Something that would make us both more powerful?”
I stare at him for a long moment.
He has no idea what powers he’s asking to meddle with. Potions and spells aren’t things that can be toyed with in a panic, frantically pieced together without forethought and planning.
And even if he is trying to undo the horrors the hexenjägers have wrought, I can’t forgive him entirely for what he represents, and I want to remind him of whatIam, too, of the fact that he should be a little afraid of me.
“Oh, yes, jäger,” I say, sickly sweet. “There is one such potion. If we had time to brew it, that is—it uses a simple beer base, common enough. At the end of the brewing, you add a few more harmless herbs—but you also add belladonna and henbane, and then I’d speak the spell to complete it as it all bubbles and boils. You know what those ingredients are, don’t you, jäger? Even non-witches know poisons that drive the takers mad before killing them.”
The kapitän’s interest turns to hesitation. “The resulting potion is a poison, then?”
“Not if I do it correctly. My spell would turn it into what’s known as a bonding potion. It would allow someone like you to connect with a witch.”
Mentioning the bonding potion is a jab in my throat. A seizure of muscle. I fight down any flinch at memory, any whiff of thought, and focus only on terrorizing this jäger.
He blinks. “It would give me some of your powers?”
I nod. “I would act like a vessel, funneling my power into you. But if it goes poorly, it could sever my connection to the Well entirely. Or so I’ve heard. No one I know has ever used such a potion. Who would risk it? Besides.” I give a demonic smile. “It would first requireyoudrinking the potion under your own will, trusting that I brewed it correctly. The risk is not only on my end with the magic—it is first onyou, that the magic transformed the poison into potion at all.”
The kapitän’s narrow confusion goes to a slow building awareness that grows as I step closer to him. He can tell I’m playing a game, even if he might not yet see the reason, but to his credit, he doesn’t back down. His gaze holds on mine.
“Now tell me, jäger,” I whisper. “Do you trust me enough that you would take a potion like that? Do you trust that I wouldn’t try to kill you? It only works if you take it willingly. Could you?”
His jaw works. I watch that tension flutter down his neck as he swallows.
“Would you even let me take it,” he pushes back, the same whisper, what with how close I’ve let us stand, “knowing it would possibly link you to me?”
I smile. It bursts across my face so quickly that it surprises him, and he flinches, recovers, only to give a cautious, questioning grin in return.
“Then we’re at an impasse, it would seem,” I say. “Even if we had time to make this potion, which we don’t, neither of us would see it worth the risk. So maybe you should stop asking questions about things we also don’t have time to teach you, and just let me do what I do best? You have your escape plan. Let me have my potions.”
With a disgruntled sigh, the kapitän bats his hand in surrender. “So what ingredientsdoyou need? Give me a list.”
“Ha! No. You think I’d trust you to be able to pick out thegoodmyrrh from the bad? I doubt you could even tell the difference between nettle and nutmeg.”
His lips twitch again. “I know what nutmeg is.”
I step around him, aiming for the door, and I pat his shoulder as I go. “I don’t doubt that you are very skilled at identifying nutmeg.” My grin is feral. “But I’m going to the market.”
He seems to trip on my touch, or maybe my joke—either way, there’s a full beat before he flips a glare at me. “You arenotgoing to the market. I told you, the city is flooded with hexenjägers looking for you. The kommandant himself wants you. If you get caught before we prepare, then a hundred people willdie.”
