Page 42 of Beyond the Cottage

“I don’t deal witchcraft, I occasionally purchase it for experimentation.”

She shook her hand out. “What does petracero potion do? Am I about to grow a monkey paw or something?”

“Hardly. It makes kerosene taste like maple syrup.” He opened a glass-fronted cabinet full of random objects and tucked the purple bottle inside.

Uncanny energy radiated from the cabinet, making Gretta’s insides lurch. Each of the objects inside obviously had some kind of power. She frequently came across enchanted odds and ends in her line of work, but she’d never felt such a concentration of energy outside the homes of the witches she hunted.

She backed away, putting a workbench between herself and the cabinet. “Why would you want kerosene to taste like maple syrup?”

“I wouldn’t. But magic like that is cheap, and I don’t need anything elaborate to test what I’m working on.”

“What are you working on?”

He thought for a moment and returned to the cabinet. “It’s easiest if I just show you.”

Gretta leaned against a table, careful not to touch anything.

“You know,” she said as he rummaged through the cabinet, “just possessing witchcraft is illegal. My boss is the one who got the legislation passed.”

He set a jar of yellow powder on the table and looked at her. “Who do you work for?”

“Senator Nathaniel Grey.”

His head tilted like he was trying to recall.

“You don’t know who he is, do you?” she sighed. “I realize you’re a hermit, Ansel, but you could pick up a newspaper from time to time.”

“I pay as much attention to politicians as they pay to people from the swamps—none whatsoever.” He opened a padlocked wooden cupboard filled with clear glass bottles. He set one next to the yellow jar and returned his attention to her. “If you work for the government, when do you find time to hunt witches?”

“I don’t work for the government, I work for the senator. He’s the one who wants me to find an illusion witch.”

“Why?”

He must not have read a newspaper in his life. Not her problem, though. “Are you going to show me your invention or not?”

Ansel set a potted plant on the table and put on gloves. Gretta stood beside him.

“This is germina powder,” he said, carefully opening the yellow jar. “From a green witch. It increases the growth rate of vegetation.” He dipped a tiny spoon into the powder and sprinkled some over the plant. An inaudible hum passed through the room as the plant unfurled new leaves, quickly growing several inches in height.

Gretta held her elbows, waiting for the sickening hum to pass. When the leaves stopped growing, Ansel screwed an atomizer on the glass bottle from the cupboard.

“This is my product.” He squeezed the rubber ball and sprayed a fine, stringent-smelling mist on the plant. The leaves trembled with each spray, but they didn’t grow.

“I don’t understand,” she said.

“Watch.” He sprinkled more powder on the plant. It remained unchanged. Ansel looked at her expectantly, proud.

She gave him a blank stare.

Then…

“Oh my god!” She rushed to the plant, edging him out. Inspecting each leaf, she searched for the slightest sign of growth, finding none. “Ansel, is thisspell repellent?”

He nodded, and one side of his mouth kicked up. Gretta suddenly had trouble catching air.

Was this real?If so, it would change the goddamnworld. No species would need to fear witches and the danger they posed.Instead of punishing the wielding of magic, it could be prevented in the first place.

No more children lured to cottages by sadistic cannibals, no more eyeballs in jars. People could finallydefendthemselves from those capricious hags. And despite all indications that witches were like spiders, incapable of cooperating with each other, Gretta had always feared what might happen if they banded together. They were severely outnumbered, but the advantage spells gave them was indescribable.

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