Page 7 of Potions & Prejudice
“Come to town with me,” Elm said to Adelaide, taking her small hands in his large ones. “Thistlegrove has a talented woodsmith who can get your cart fixed.”
My pulse jumped at the suggestion. I didn’t want to go into town. Towns were full of people, of gossip, of prying eyes.
“Does Thistlegrove have a bookstore?” Prue asked, eyeing Elm.
A slow smile spread across his face. “It does.”
“I’m in,” she said and hopped off the cart, a huge splat of mud spraying everywhere as her boots sank into the ground. She pushed her spectacles farther up her nose.
“Watch it!” Auggie raised her hands up to shield herself from the onslaught of mud.
I crossed my arms. “How are we even going to get our cart to town?”
“I happen to be very strong.” Elm shot me a confident smile.
Right. Werewolves had enormous strength.
“I can pull it to town for you, and then we’ll find the local woodsmith. Everyone in Thistlegrove is very welcoming.”
I’d heard that before, and it never stayed true for long.
“I bet you have a dress shop too.” Auggie pressed her hands together.
“We do,” Elm replied. “With many beautiful silks and a talented dressmaker.”
“Can we please go to town?” Auggie said, but she wasn’t asking Mama. She was asking me.
I looked from the cart to the road to the sky above, where clouds were gathering and darkening. It would rain soon, and we didn’t want to be stuck in this field when it happened.
“Where are we going to stay?” I asked helplessly, knowing we wouldn’t have enough gold to pay for an inn for more than a few nights.
Elm stroked his jaw. “I have an idea about that.”
I sighed heavily. “It doesn’t look like we have much choice.”
“Perfect,” Elm said. “You’re going to love Thistlegrove and all the people in it. I promise.”
Four
DRAVEN
The tavern was full, everyone here to get a drink and some food before the storm rolled in. Thunder rumbled threateningly outside as I stood behind the bar top, polishing a few glasses. A mug floated behind me and dipped down toward the barrel full of ale. The spout on the barrel turned, and amber liquid filled the mug, a creamy foam forming on top. The mug floated up and toward the patron who’d ordered it.
It landed on the old man’s table, liquid sloshing over the sides and splashing onto his shirt. He harrumphed and shot me a glare. The spell did need some perfecting. I’d work on it later. These types of spells were complicated, and unlike so many others, I didn’t buy pre-spelled items. I created all the spells myself.
It took finessing and time.
Veldar was now stomping over, the mug in his hand as he approached, scowling at me.
“What is it?” I asked, planting my hands on the bar.
He pinched the part of his shirt where ale had splattered. “You owe me a new shirt!”
I sighed, looking pointedly at the worn beige tunic, which hadseveral holes and was yellowing near the collar. “Veldar, I’m not buying you a new shirt.”
“Well, then you’re losing a valuable customer,” the old man said.
“Sounds like a personal problem.” I leaned closer. “For you.”
