Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 90630 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90630 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Xavier is speaking again, and I’ve already declined to comment. And by that, I mean someone from the VC is acting as my PR agent. I can stand next to Xavier and keep my cool, but actually talking to someone on the news would be a totally different story, and I’m guessing a reason why Theo doesn’t give interviews.
He has the same learned control as Xavier when it comes to resisting blood lust, but the guy is moody and impulsive. I don’t think he’d know good bedside manner if it bit him in the ass, and even when he’s not talking, it’s as if his face is giving subtitles of his inner thoughts.
After the VC meeting, Xavier and Theo are meeting with the coalition. Only the leaders of each prospective group are going, which means I’m staying home—which is fine by me. I overheard Theo talking to Xavier about doing some sort of internal surveillance to try and snuff out the mole.
“Hey,” Mabel calls from inside the dining room when I enter the house, coming in the side door off the breakfast area. “Must be hot out.”
“Oh, uh, yeah,” I say, realizing how sweaty I actually am. “The sun is brutal.” I wince right after I say it, knowing she misses feeling the sun on her face. “It’s pretty awful, actually.”
“Hah, sure it is.”
I go into the kitchen and set all my stuff down. Mabel zooms in, inhaling so she can smell the sunlight in my hair. If it were anyone else, it’d be creepy. But Mabel gets a free pass.
“Are you making a potion?”
“I’m going to try something new.”
“Can I help?”
“Sure,” I tell her. “A lot of this is just crushing up herbs. I’ll add them with the intention.”
She beams. “I’ve always wanted to make a potion.”
We get out a large simmer pot and jars of herbs. I write down the spell on a piece of paper, fold it three times away from me, and drop it inside the pot.
“Ignis,” I whisper, and the paper lights on fire.
“Wow,” Mabel says quietly, looking over my shoulder. “Now what?”
“Those ashes are the base of the potion. There’s a list of herbs we need to add in a certain order all while charging them as they go into the potion. We get to work, and having someone help with the prep makes it a breeze.
“This is a lot like making soup,” Mabel notes, putting her hands on her hips. “Wouldn’t it be funny to have a soup or potion challenge? Make people taste them and guess.”
I laugh. “It really is just the same as making soup. And depending on the potion, it could be hilarious. I’ve never made a truth potion, but can you imagine people saying exactly what they think?”
“Wouldn’t life be easier that way?”
“You’d think so.”
We add a few more ingredients to the pot and I hold my hands over it, concentrating on the intention. “Vis, surge. Incantationem meam ale,” I chant. “Vis, surge. Incantationem meam ale. Vis, surge. Incantationem meam ale.”
“Crazy how just a few words work, right?” Devon appears in the kitchen, standing apprehensively to the side. He’s dressed in dark jeans and a black t-shirt, looking like his normal self once again.
I remind myself not to be fooled.
“Magic can seem so simple yet so complicated at the same time.” I lower my hands, and turn down the burner. I stir the potion thirteen times clockwise, repeat the incantation three more times, and then stir it counter clockwise.
“It’s done,” I say and turn the burner off.
“That’s it?” Mabel asks.
“Yeah. We can strain it and put it in the vials once it’s cool,” I tell her, motioning to the little glass vials I have on the counter next to my book.
“How does it work?”
“If a demon is inside a body, typically you get the potion inside. Usually by pouring it into their mouth. I guess it works like a supernatural antidote and the demon either leaves or dies if we’re lucky.”
“Have you ever not been lucky?” Mabel asks, making a face.
“Oh yeah, and then you gotta think on your feet pretty fast to figure out what to do. And pouring a potion inside someone’s mouth is easier said than done.”
Devon chuckles. “You just said you have to get it inside the body.”
Turning to look at him, I laugh too. “True, but the alternative isn’t any better. Or easier.”
His face lights up with a smile, and it’s like the old Devon is back. He picks up a potion bottle, seemingly ready to make another joke, but then goes sullen.
“Devon?” I ask.
“I remembered something.” Devon rolls the potion vial between his hand, tipping his head to the side. “From the night I died.”
I put the spoon down and turn, eyes latched to his as I sharply inhaled. “About what you found out and were coming to tell me?”