She laughs, the sound wispy; it makes me think of corn husks for some odd reason.
“There is a lot you cannot remember, but do not fool yourself into thinking you do not understand, Selene Bowers.” She gives me a meaningful look with those all-seeing eyes of hers, and for a moment, I think she must know about Memnon.
“Make your amulet,” Mistress Gestalt says. “Protect yourself against harm.”
Harm?
“And Selene?” she says. “The villains are coming for you. Ready yourself.”
CHAPTER 16
Moldy toadstools.
I scrape the charred, flaky goop from the bottom of the cauldron, grimacing as I go.
I’ve been working on this freaking amulet all evening, and all I have to show for it is this sludge. My hair is singed, I smell like smoke, and the other witches who’ve entered and exited the spellcasting kitchen have kept their distance.
I was hoping that if I got started on an amulet for myself tonight, I’d manage to both finish my first big class project and wrangle some extra protection against the ominous threat Mistress Gestalt warned me about.
This kitchen has an old cast-iron stove as well as several cauldrons hanging over open flames, one of which is mine. On the opposite side of the room, there are shelves of jars holding all manner of rare ingredients.
I scoop the charred paste from the cauldron and place it into a bowl, ignoring the way Nero’s ears go back at the sight of it.
I set the bowl down on the kitchen’s butcher-block counter and make a face at my creation. My creation cannot be right. After moving over to my textbook, A Practitioner’s Guide to Apotropaic Magic, I read through the spell recipe once more.
“Where did I go wrong…？” I ask Nero.
Nero blinks at me, and I swear he’s saying, How am I supposed to know? You’re the witch.
But maybe I’m just anthropomorphizing my panther.
I turn back to my textbook. Could it have been the alyssum? The recipe called for a handful, but that’s such a loose measurement. Or maybe I need fresh mugwort and not the dried version.
But then, maybe it’s not the mugwort?
I rub my temples.
“You’re still here?” Sybil’s voice rings out.
I glance up as she enters the kitchen. She came in here with me a couple of hours ago to work on an assignment for a different class, but she long since left to get some reading done.
Apparently, she finished reading.
She crinkles her nose. “What is that ungodly smell?” she says, wandering closer to me.
“That’s the smell of protection,” I say smoothly.
“Whatever concoction you’re brewing, I don’t think it’s supposed to smell like that.” When she gets to my side, Sybil peers into my bowl. “Or look like that.”
I gaze down at the lumpy charred paste. According to my textbook, it’s supposed to settle into a milky green liquid.
“What are you making anyway?” Sybil asks.
I grimace. “It’s supposed to be a protective potion. Once it’s done, I just dip a piece of jewelry into it…and it should come out an amulet.”
At that, she laughs. “Dude, that’s more likely to attract bad shit than it is to scare it off.”
I make a face at her. “It’s not done yet.”
“Babe, scrap it and call it a night. You can try again tomorrow.”
I grab my wooden spoon and stir the grayish sludge. “Does my best friend really have that little faith in my abilities?”
Sybil raises her eyebrows at me. “Uh, when it comes to this particular spell—yeah, I do.”
“Pfft.” I wave her away. “I’m almost done here.”
“All right, Selene, you do you.” Sybil pushes away from the counter. “I’m heading off to bed. Want to join me for a run before class?”
I make a face at the thought. “Do I really like running?” I ask her.
For a moment Sybil hesitates, like she doesn’t know if I’ve truly forgotten.
“It’s a rhetorical question,” I say. “Of course I hate running. But I’m a masochist, so yeah, I’ll join you.”
She shakes her head. “You have the worst humor, you know that, right?”
I point the wooden spoon I’m holding at her. “I…yeah, I might.”
She gives me an amused look. “Night, babe. Don’t accidently curse anything with that…potion.” With that, she breezes back out of the kitchen.
“Night!” I call out after her.
Once it’s quiet, I return my attention to my goop.