Chapter Three

Suddenly, a quiet day went from being agonizing to being an opportunity.

I studied the Memento Mori recipe, going over it step by step, before copying it out in my own handwriting and adding it to my grandmother’s potion recipe book.

It had been a while since I’d introduced a new potion to the shop, and I was excited to get to work. Of course, there was always a chance that the recipe wouldn’t turn out. Niamh had certainly seemed sweet enough, but I had no idea how with-it she still was, and she’d already admitted to not having the greatest memory in the world. So, yes, there was a chance I’d follow the instructions perfectly, and the potion would fizzle. Especially if Niamh hadn’t remembered the proper order of ingredients or she might have left one out altogether. And there were also those recipes that were safeguarded—meaning the person who created it would only allow the recipe to be duplicated by themselves or those of their bloodline. There was such a thing as gatekeeping when it came to potions.

But, if the potion hadn’t been gatekept and I followed it to a T and it did work exactly as Niamh said it would, it could really help people. That made it more than worth a try.

Finn had a study group after his last class, so I picked him up after work. He dragged himself to the car, dumping his backpack in the foot well, and the trip home was almost silent. It wasn’t the sullen kind of silent when one-word answers were clipped and angry, but it was the exhausted, gray-shrouded kind of silence. Like he just couldn’t scrape together the energy for a conversation. I didn’t want to add to his stress, so I just let the quiet lie.

I could understand, at least a little, that the performance of the students on aptitude tests decided the kind of funding the schools got. So, of course, it was important to the schools. But I wasn’t sure I agreed with it—as far as I was concerned, all kids deserved the best education they could get. Furthermore, this seemed like a lot of stress to lump on them. Sleepless nights, poor eating habits. It wasn’t worth it. The more I thought about it, the more I decided I’d have a conversation with the principal to tell him just as much.

All I could do now was be supportive, and make sure Finn not only ate all his dinner (which, coincidentally was one of his favorites), but that he also got an extra baked potato with his chicken and broccoli before he dragged himself back upstairs with a groan for more studying.

Poor kid.

With Finn occupied, I was left with most of the evening to myself, and that meant I was able to try out the recipe Niamh had given me.

According to the notes, the potion needed to be brewed outside in a graveyard or cemetery, on a night when the moon wasn’t waning. Luckily for me, I had a graveyard right in my backyard, and the moon was waxing and ready to be full in just three days. It seemed like an auspicious time to make an attempt at the potion.

I gathered up everything I’d need and stepped out my kitchen door and into the yard.

Yes, it had been a little strange when I first moved into the farmhouse—having a cemetery right in my backyard. I actually hadn’t realized it was there when I’d bought the farmhouse sight unseen on auction. Upon realizing what I’d gotten myself into, I hadn’t been thrilled, certainly. And considering all the problems Finn and I had had with ghosts back in Los Angeles (a poltergeist had been haunting our house), Finn had been even less than thrilled. But the graveyard had proven to be nothing other than a really quiet neighbor. The stones were old, the space was peaceful. The cemetery minded its business, and I returned the favor.

Long grass swished against my legs as I carried my basket of equipment and gear out among the gravestones. Most of the graves were old and overgrown, their stones worn with time and the elements. I set my basket down on the plinth beneath an angel statue. Rain had worn the statue’s face into a gentle anonymity, smoothing out the fine details that had been there once upon a time. I arranged my bottles of oils along the edge of the stone and set out the candle powered burner.

Normally, I was a little more modern with my brewing. I used a Bunsen burner and lab glassware for the most part. But since the potion needed to be done outside, I’d gone with a more old-school approach, rather than trying to lug an extension cord through and around the gravestones. A candle might not be as powerful, but it was also less likely to start a fire than a gas-powered burner.

The moon was heavy and swollen overhead, so close to full that there was only a crescent of shadow hugging its edge. The wind rustled the grass and hissed through the leaves of the wooded lot only a few feet from the edge of my property. It felt a little bit like getting back to my roots, which seemed appropriate for a memory potion. In fact, I couldn’t help but think as I carefully measured out my ingredients, that I felt almost a little… well, witchy. Before Wanda had approached me, I’d never even dreamed of being part of a coven. Witches tended to be extremely territorial, and didn’t accept any other magic users in their space. But Circle Scapegrace delighted in breaking all the rules, and when the coven had cast its binding ritual to weave our magic together, I’d been right there, shoulder to shoulder, with the other members.

I’d thought it was just a formality, something to point to when other witches objected to my presence, but lately, I’d started to wonder if the ritual hadn’t had some other effect on me. I just… well, felt different.

Standing there in the cemetery, with the silver light of the moon spilling over my shoulders like a raiment made of light, I could feel something wild and powerful bubbling up inside me from the place where my magic sat. It felt like a brewing storm, which was really saying something because all my life my magic had felt more like a gentle brook. I wasn’t quite sure what to do about this newly brewing storm, or even if it was just my mind playing tricks on me. The power of suggestion, that kind of thing. It made me hesitant to bring it up to Wanda. She was my friend, the best I’d ever had, and I knew I could depend on her for anything, but Wanda wasn’t exactly great when it came to problems. She was the stress out first and ask questions later type.

So, I pushed down the power surging inside my chest and turned to my work.

Lemon was the first note, a sharp burst of brightness for clarity, but it would fade quickly. The nose only really notices citrus scents for about an hour. I carefully measured out drops of rosemary oil to follow on the lemon’s heels, to reduce mental fatigue and strain. The peppermint was just a single drop, for repairing memory pathways, but not enough that it would drown out every other scent. Seven drops of lavender followed, for calm and clarity. The lovely floral smell also helped keep memories pleasant. After all, no one needed the memory of bad times lingering.

The candle guttered in the breeze, smoke spiraling up like a thin gray ribbon into the sky as the oils warmed and blended, releasing their heady scent. Only one ingredient left.

I picked up the bottle of vetiver and measured out only a couple of drops. The oil had a smoky, earthy scent that would help to balance out the lavender’s sweetness and keep it from becoming cloying. I watched each drip land in the tiny pot over my candle warmed brazier, swirling to mix with the others. The oils had to simmer for a little while, but that just gave me time to work my magic. At least the nights in Haven Hollow hadn’t turned too chilly, so it wasn’t a hardship to wait.

I had really high hopes for this potion. How wonderful would it be to be able to offer it to people to help them stay sharp and allow them to relive their fondest memories. The scent of lavender with an earthy undertone swirled around my head, making me think of spring forests and fresh greenery.

The wind whispered through the leaves at the edge of the woods, and the moon shone down, painting every blade of grass with silvery light. I pulled a deep lungful of fresh night air into my chest, and the place where my magic sat, nestled up behind my heart, flared to life. I brought my hands forward, cupping them over the little ceramic dish where the oils continued to swirl together, and I let the gentle motes of my magic drift down onto the surface, like pollen alighting on a still pond. The magic soaked in, little rainbow-colored sparkles soaked up, absorbed, turning fire and herbs and oils into something… more.

It happened between one breath and the next—so fast that I didn’t realize it until it was done. The magic inside me flared, wild and strange. It surged through my body, spilling from my hands, leaking through my skin like I’d just swallowed the moon. Just one burst of power that reared and then fell away almost as quickly.

And just like that, I was lying on my back in the grass with dew soaking through my shirt and gasping for air like I’d just run a marathon. The moon stared down at me like a huge, unblinking eye, and my heart thundered inside the delicate cage of my ribs. The tip of my nose and the ends of my fingers were tingling, feeling like how mint tasted.

What in the world had just happened?

I wanted to lie there for another moment, to try and catch my breath and figure out what had just occurred, but the grass was damp and the ground was cold from the night air, so I got to my hands and feet. Still panting for breath, I tried to stand up, but when my knees wobbled, the angel statue nearby was nice enough to allow me to lean against it as I hauled myself upright.

At least I hadn’t managed to knock over my potion or my little brazier. That would have been annoying because it would have meant I’d have to start all over again. There was a soft light in the mixture that faded as the power settled into place. It didn’t seem to be any the worse for wear after… whatever that had been.

I patted my hair down, feeling frazzled and a little embarrassed. I doubted anyone had seen me fall, so I wasn’t sure what I was so embarrassed about. There was a duplex just on the other side of the cemetery, where Wanda had lived for a short time, but now it was home to Libby, the nineteen-fifties housewife zombie that Wanda had brought back to life. And Libby was usually too busy baking all kinds of treats for everyone in Haven Hollow to notice whatever I was doing out in the cemetery. And Finn was busy studying in his room.

I plucked a stray leaf out of my braid and awkwardly brushed the grass from my sweater. I wasn’t sure what to think about the explosion of power I’d just experienced, but at least my work wasn’t wasted. Right—back to work. I blew out the candle and stood there for a few seconds, waiting for the night air to cool the potion. Then, with the help of a funnel, I transferred the liquid to a few pretty purple glass bottles and attached the tag with a bit of ribbon. Then I quickly packed everything up, awkwardly thanked the angel statue, and headed back inside, all the while feeling a little wrong-footed.

It was probably nothing. But just to be sure, I dabbed a tiny bit of the potion onto my temples before I turned in for bed. Why anoint myself? I wanted to double check that the potion was safe and worked the way it was supposed to before I gave it to Niamh. Even without the little accident in the cemetery, there was no way I’d hand over a brand new, never-before-tested potion to a customer without making absolutely sure of what it did. And who better to test it on than myself?

The scent of smoky lavender was soothing at least as I brushed out my hair and got changed into my pajamas, which was just shorts and an oversized T-shirt. I was glad I’d gone easy on the lemon, though. Putting a citrus based potion on just before bed was normally asking for a sleepless night. That was why orange was such a major component for my zest potions, or as Finn called them, ‘coffee on crack’.

I kissed Finn goodnight and made him promise he wouldn’t stay up too late studying. He gave me a nod and a smile and after he promised not to forget to brush his teeth, I closed his bedroom door and returned to mine. Whatever had happened in the cemetery—whatever that blast to my magic had been, it had drained away fast. Like water from a cracked jug. I found my eyelids drooping as I pulled down my comforter and slid between the sheets. I didn’t even remember my head touching the pillow before I was out like a snuffed candle, dreams dancing across the backs of my eyelids.