Page 8 of Sigils & Spells

“I figured out how to fix the formula,” I say, my tone distracted as I pick up a vial from the latest batch we’ve been working with. “And if I’m right, once I have this vial ready to go, we ought to be able to use just a tiny bit of it in every other batch of the formula—like the starter sponge for sourdough bread. The stabilizing magic will spread through every batch. And if it starts to lose potency, we’ll simply have to do a new starter batch—but that shouldn’t happen very often.”

“Would other witches be able to perform the same stabilizing spell?” Ivan Cambridge asks from the door. I spin around, startled—I hadn’t realized he had entered the room.

“Will you need another witch to do it?”

Ivan laughs. “Not immediately. But we might need to increase the scale of our production line someday.”

“Oh. Right. In that case, another witch should be able to do the same thing. Especially if I write down my process.”

“Excellent,” Ivan says. “I’ll be in my office. Let me know once this batch is ready.”

* * *

An hour later,I knock on the doorjamb of Ivan’s open office door. I assume it’s not his primary business office—surely he has space in some fancy office building somewhere—but ever since I’ve been working on the formula, he’s been here every day.

“I think we have it,” I say, excitement underscoring my voice.

“Good work.” Ivan stands up. That strange aura of his crackles with excitement. I wouldn’t say I’ve actually gotten used to it—not exactly. I still can’t look at him directly without it giving me a headache. But I have figured out how to mostly ignore it.

I lead him down to the lab, explaining the transmutation properties of the new formulated version of the potion, once again likening it to the way that sourdough bread is made.

When we get to the lab, I pulled up two vials. One is the original pale green color. “This is the original formula, the one that led to your subjects having problems.” I use the phrasing I’ve heard everyone in the lab using—problems, notmadness and death.

“And this is the new formula,” I say, holding up a clear vial of bright pink liquid, the color and consistency of Pepto-Bismol. “And this is a daughter vial of the new formulation.” I hold up another container of viscous pink liquid. “Neither Fitton nor I can tell any difference, either scientifically or magically, between the two.”

“Great work,” Ivan says. “Let’s find a . . . volunteer . . . to try it out on.”

I don’t like the way he saysvolunteer—as if the word is in quotation marks.

For the first time, I wonder how voluntary these volunteer trials have truly been.

“Wait,” I say, but Ivan is already halfway out the door.

He pauses and glances back over his shoulder at me. “Yes?”

“I’m not sure it’s ready for testing yet.”

Ivan’s gaze shifts to Fitton. “I’ve run it through testing on the cellular level.” He gestures toward the Petri dishes he’s been using.

“Is there anything more you can do?” Ivan asks.

“No, sir,” Fitton replies.

“And you, Ms. Balfour?” Ivan asks pointedly. “Is there any further testing you can do on a magical level before we try it out?”

My mouth drops open. He knows the answer is no—I’m no scientist. “It seems like we should be able to test it on animals or something first,” I suggest, but Fitton openly scoffs.

“There are no viable animal tests for this serum,” he tells me.

“There you have it,” Ivan says. “The next step is human testing.”

He leaves, and I am left standing in the lab, staring at the potion I’ve created.

The silver cage in the corner draws my attention to it, and my stomach churns.

Every instinct I have screams that this is a terrible idea.

And I’m afraid I might have gotten myself involved in something dangerous.

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