Page 23 of A Drop of Anguish
I head to the nullifier and tap the side a few times to loosen the tar that’s settled at the bottom. The air stiffens as Thompson moves to complete the next step of his potion.
“Wait.”
Thompson pauses, crushed hemlock in his open palm. His eyebrows rise.
“Give it a minute.”
His forehead crinkles, looking down at the potion. “Why? Also, how do you know?”
“Just do.”
His frown deepens, this time examining me, like he’s really seeing me. “You sure you’re not a witch?”
I chuckle. “Define what a witch is.”
His head bobs side to side. “A human with magic, I guess.”
“I have no magic. But I do have some very-far-removed fae blood.”
“And demon,” he says.
“Yes. I’ve tried multiple forms of magic, though, and nothing works. But I do seem to have a sense for potions. Kind of an intuition? No witch would accept me as one of them with only that, but I suppose I’m notentirelyhuman either.”
“Technically, I’m a witch,” Thompson says. “And I’d consider you a witch.”
“Thanks.” I nod to the hemlock in his open palm. “Now.”
“How do you know?” he screeches, but he obeys and drops the hemlock into the liquid. “Usingyourintuition isn’t going to helpmepass the midterm.”
“You need to be more patient and listen to the potion. The steam changes. Watch how it swirls, its speed, its thickness, its smell. It takes some time to learn it, but if you pay attention, you’ll figure out it.”
He sighs. “How do you just know what a potion is supposed to look or act like if you’ve never made it before?”
“Most people can’t. I kinda feel like—” I twist my lips, considering. “It’s like getting to know someone. You’re awkward and unsure at first. But the more you’re around them, the more you understand. I’ve been around potions my whole life. I’ve seen my parents make massive messes. I remember the smells they made before it happened. I learned that when my mother hummed it meant her potion was going well. After many years, I’ve learned all the signs and can watch for them. I don’t usually think about it but they’re there. Like—like they’re talking to me. Which obviously, they’re not but—”
“I get it. Kinda. I have to learn how potions work the way I learn how people work.”
“Each one is different, but there are patterns you can follow. Occasionally, you’ll find one that totally stumps you, but as you spend more time with it, eventually it will click.”
He stares at me like I’m the thing he can’t quite figure out.
“Salamander now,” I instruct.
Thompson shakes his head, as if breaking from a daze. He quickly grabs three scales and drops them in.
“Stir very, very slowly. Don’t disturb the magic but facilitate the transitions.”
“You know that sounded like straight mumbo jumbo, right?”
I smile. He follows my instruction and swirls the bubbling blue liquid smoothly, like he knew exactly what I meant. Thompson isn’t entirely inept with potions, or else he’d never have made it into a level-three class.
“Now, leave it alone for around ten minutes.”
He slumps onto the stone bench, shoulders hunched.
“Tired already?” I ask.
“Stressed. Starting here mid-year was a terrible idea.”
