Page 27 of Wolf's Return
For most—for the inexperienced—deadly nightshade berries promised death. Her grimoire spoke only of their potential. In small quantities, in salves, they could ease pain and relax a patient. Mixed with henbane and mandrake root, it was a powerful potion. Powerful enough to relax a werewolf so he would shift? It might well be. If she raised the quantities.
She would have to be careful. The potion had some complications. Fantastic visions and sexual arousal. Tales of witches imbibing the potion and believing they could fly abounded, not forgetting the uninhibited sexual couplings of covens who used the combination for group gatherings.
Would it affect Monsieur D’Artagnon, a werewolf, in such a way? The memory of her dream surfaced, and she fidgeted in her seat. The black wolf raised his head and sniffed the air. Heat crept up her neck. Something shimmered in his eye. Then he blinked, and his lip curled. Perhaps not. And his werewolf blood would be sure to soften some of its effects. But would it work as she intended?
She would have to search for the plants she needed from the forest, make them into a potion and somehow slip it into Monsieur D’Artagnon’s food, but… The old cook might know where she could find some.
She snapped her grimoire shut. “I have to see Anne. Kathryn, Erin, I will speak to her about some herbs for you, and…” Her gaze dropped to Monsieur D’Artagnon.
Erin grinned. “You’ve thought of something to help D’Artagnon, haven’t you?”
“I…”
“Get back to us.” Erin tapped the desk. “I’ll be right here when you’re done in the kitchen with Anne.”
Constance rose. Yes, she might well have her answer to getting Monsieur D’Artagnon to shift.
Chapter Fifteen
Constance rushed from the library and D’Artagnon, swift on his paws, followed her. A plan was afoot, involving him, herbs and perhaps a spell from her book. A plan to make him shift. Uncontrolled shifts in his sleep were disturbing enough. Having Constance force him to shift sent ice slicing through his veins.
If she were going to attempt some sorcery on him, if she was going to solicit the aid of the canny old cook, he was going to do everything in his power to stop her. To stop them.
As soon as they entered the kitchen, memories and familiar smells assaulted D’Artagnon—smoke from the large wood fire, fresh baked bread wrapped on the shelves, herbs, cooking meat, laughter, squeals of pretend fright. Anne’s bellowed curses as she chased him and his brother from the room, stolen treats clutched in their hands. The fond memories of his childhood before tragedy had struck. Before his life and its purpose had changed forever. Some of the tension eased from his body as he soaked in the warmth of the room and his memories.
“Constance?” Anne looked up from the pot over the fire. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” She raised an eyebrow at him. “I see you still have your faithful shadow.”
“I have need of some assistance with some preparations, Anne. If you would be so kind as to assist me.”
“Of course, child. My kitchen is at your disposable.”
“To begin with, Erin’s ginger brew—add lemon to it, and substitute some of them with either a peppermint or raspberry leaf brew. That should help with her nausea a little. And I needto make one for Kathryn, and…” She cleared her throat. “And another I think could prove useful.”
D’Artagnon snorted. Did she think he did not catch her side glances in his direction? That he could not smell the subtle hint of deceit in the air?
Wickedness glinted in the old cook’s eyes. “What do you need?”
Constance flipped through the pages of her book until she found the one she was looking for. “I would like to create something to assist Kathryn with her forgotten memories.” She smoothed the page. “It uses rosemary and balm, but some of the herbs I need come from a region further south. As Seigneur Gaharet is quite…um…wealthy, I had hoped you might have some savior plant in your larder. I will also need a particular root known for calming”—she caught his eye, before her gaze skittered away—“henbane and”— another side-eyed glance in his direction—“there is a little black berry. Perhaps you have seen it growing around here?”
“The herb garden here is quite extensive. I have some of the ingredients right here in the kitchen. The others you speak of can be found nearby in the forest.” Anne pointed to the bunches of hanging herbs. “Do you need them fresh or will dried herbs suffice?”
Herbs that were used for cooking? How could they have any effect on a werewolf?
“Fresh is best.”
“Then I will send out one of the kitchen hands to fetchallthe ingredients you need.”
Anne beckoned a young girl over, handed her a basket, gave her the list of what she needed, describing the items the girl was not familiar with.
“Do not mind if the root screams as you yank it from the soil,” cautioned Anne.
Screams?Mandrake root. He had heard the tales. Mandrake root was not for a memory potion. He narrowed his eye on the little healer. And henbane. Plants used by witches. And what of these berries she was loath to name?
“You will not hear it scream,” placated Constance. “I assure you. No human… It is a scream of the spirit. Human ears are not attuned to it.”
The girl, wide eyed, turned to leave.
“Wait,” Constance called out. “You will need to wear gloves when handling the berries.”
