Page 95 of The Black Witch

In a huff, I pull my book open for guidance and am instantly disheartened by the complexity of the preparation. Clearly, Guild Mage Lorel believes in forcing us to learn on our feet, the elixir involving a cold-water maceration, a complicated distillation and a decoction involving eight different powder ingredients.Pertussis Negriis a nasty illness, afflicting mostly infants, and often fatal. It’s called the Black Cough because of the dark sputum it produces, and the elixir we’re preparing today is its only known cure.

I grab at some nigella tree bark and feel its familiar tingle on my fingers—winding black limbs graced with deep purple leaves sputter into view toward the back of my mind. It can lull you, this tree, its sap rich and slow as warm molasses.

Instinctively aware of its grain, I slice the nigella into strips and began mashing each line into a fine, dark powder. Tierney glances over at my work and I see her do a quick double take. I notice her own nigella powder is badly prepared, lumpy and mottled with strings of gummed-up bark.

Tierney grabs up my fine powder and pours it into a pot of water she has brought to an even boil. Then she pours her berry liquid into the first of a series of bulbous glass retorts. Eager to keep up with her, I light the flame below the first retort, fiddling with its intensity as the berry juice begins to boil unevenly.

“I know about you and Lukas Grey,” Tierney says as she stirs the concoction, watching as the roiling water turns deep purple. The scent of hot, ripe plums fills the air.

“Not surprising, if you live with Fallon,” I snipe as I jiggle the distillation flame, increasingly frustrated by everything, hitting at the burner when I can’t get the steam to flow in the right direction.

Tierney takes it from me, inches the flame higher and effortlessly positions it in just the right spot. A strong, steady jet of steam bursts through the entire series of retorts.

I slump back, defeated. It’s no use. Everyone in the room is more advanced than me. Most have the advantage of magic at their disposal, and everyone seems to be friends with or afraid of Fallon Bane.

I sit there, demoralized, watching Tierney as she works.

“I hope you fast to Lukas,” Tierney says as she stirs at the purple liquid, adjusting the flame by a fraction. She speaks so low, I’m sure I’ve heard her incorrectly.

I lean in toward her, mystified. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

Tierney measures out some thistle oil and adds it to the liquid, the deep purple quickly morphing to indigo and sending up a sour, lemony scent. “I hope Fallon sees you two together,” she whispers as she stirs, “and I hope it rips out whatever shred of a heart she has left in her vile body.”

I blink at her, thrown and at a loss for words.

Ignoring me, she keeps working, methodically and efficiently measuring out ingredients and monitoring the flames.

“I never properly introduced myself, and it was rude of me,” I tell her, extending my hand, feeling dazed with surprise. “I’m Elloren Gardner. Which, of course, you already know.”

She glances over, shooting me an incredulous look. She does not take my hand, but she does move over a fraction, as if deciding to share an edge of her web after all.

“You prepare the powders,” she says grudgingly. “I’ll keep an eye on the distillate.”

I go to work, grinding up burdock root with a stone pestle, quickly and effortlessly rendering it to fine powder.

After class ends, I remain behind, scouring out glass retorts with a thin wire brush, my aching hands quickly caked with oily residue. My stomach rumbles and clenches, adding to the thick knots of tension already there, fatigue beginning to drag me down. I’ve never gotten so little sleep, and it’s making me brittle and edgy.

I look up as a small, corked jar sealed with wax is slid in front of me.

“Goldenseal liniment,” Tierney says, pointing to the jar then gesturing along her hollowed-out cheek with a frown. “It will clear up the bruising on your face.”

I blink up at her, surprised. “Thank you.”

She spits out a laugh, her homely face scrunching up into a grim frown. “It’s not because Ilikeyou,” she scoffs. “I just want you to bepretty.Prettier thanher.” Tierney’s expression grows darker. “I want her to lose. Ihateher. And I wantyouto win Lukas Grey.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Shards of Ice

After I finish my lab scut work, I leave with a small box of medicinal vials tucked under one arm, under orders from the Lead Apprentice to deliver them to the University infirmary.

As I approach the Physicians’ Guildhall, I slow, finding myself transfixed by the sight of the Astronomy Guildhall’s domed observatory. It dawns on me that here, at University, I might get the chance to see the moon and constellations close-up. It’s enough to lift my bedraggled spirit.

I glance down at the box of vials and back up at the dome, making a split-second decision.

What harm can it do just to have a peek?

* * *

---