Page 17 of Magic in the Woods
Annabel leaned over the pot, wafting the steam toward her face. She nodded once, turning off thestove. “This is done.” She took the pot and poured the purple liquid into a line of mason jars next to the stove on the counter. I went to work sealing the top of the jars with silver lids.
After Annabel put away the jars and washed the pot in the sink, she surprised me by setting the empty pot back on the stove. “Let me teach you another one.”
I watched as she began pulling jars from the back of the cabinet, the lids covered with dust.
“This one you might appreciate.” Annabel turned to face me, reaching out and cupping both of my cheeks in her hands. “This one creates unbridled rage.”
“Rage?” I questioned.
Annabel arranged the jars in a line on the counter, turning the labels to face outward. “Rage is one of the most powerful emotions. I felt it coming from you when Luke brought you here.” She motioned to the empty pot.
I picked it up and brought it over to the sink, filling it about halfway full.
“We’ll make a diluted version today. I think in this moment you feel enough rage as it is.”
“I don’t feel rage,” I said with my jaw clenched.
“If you’re honest with yourself, I think you’ll find that there’s rage deep down inside of you…it’s within all of us women. It tells you to do things and to say things that others might find unpleasant—but you know are right.” Annabel grabbed onto a jar and pulled at the cork. Red flakes fell to the ground as the cork came free. “We’ll start with a splash of honey-badger blood.” She poured some of the blood into the pot, and we both watched as the red liquid clouded the water.
“Should we add some asafoetida?” I asked.
Annabel glanced up at me, a wrinkle forming between her brows. “How did you know to add that?”
I smiled. I looked over the ingredients she’d pulled and began plucking the jars I’d need.
She grabbed hold of the jar of crocodile teeth I had in my palm, her hand wrapping around mine. “Only a few of those. I don’t have many left.”
I nodded as I looked through the glass at the few pointed teeth inside.
With my ingredients lined up, I began adding them to the brew, following Annabel’s direction. She communicated with me through clicks of her tongue when I’d added too much and a firm hand around my wrist when I needed to add a few more shakes.
“You’re a natural,” Annabel said as I stirred. “Who taught you?”
I remembered back to the cottage days. Grandmother next to the cauldron, talking about this and that, thinking I wasn’t listening—but I always was. Her adages about different herbs and plants had stuck in my brain, and I remembered most of what she’d said.
“My grandmother,” I said. “She was a talented potion maker.”
Annabel stared at me for a moment, then nodded softly in agreement. “She must’ve been a talented woman, a strong woman to raise a witch like you.”
The brew bubbled on the stove while Annabel and I watched in silence, letting the scent from the steam wash over our faces. I rarely thought of my grandmother. It was too painful. The way we’d parted—I didn’t like to think about it. She’d raised me the best she could, alone in that cottage, without a partner or any help. It’d been just me and her as long as I could remember. The last time I’d brewed a potion was when I’d assisted my grandmother.
All this brewing reminded me of her. She’d always knownthe right things to do, to say. She’d been the only one to stand up for me—when I’d been too small and my voice too quiet.
Annabel put her hand on my arm. Only then did I realize I was shaking.
“It’s important to feel everything,” she whispered. “Trust what your body is trying to tell you.”
I let the rage potion simmer along with my insides.
PART 2
CHAPTER EIGHT
May
Gideon
Arcana lovedto hear her own voice. It was a nice voice—don’t get me wrong. It was just when I had to listen to her talk for hours without an interruption that it started to grate at my ear drums.
