Potion Sickness

by Samantha Silver

  I didn’t really have the skills to do anything with this information – I could make potions like any good earth coven witch, but I wasn’t a scientist and couldn’t do much transformation with potions.

  But with this information, I could at least tell Grandma Rosie what she was up against.

  Gloria returned a minute later, as I crept back to the far end of the living room and watched, standing against the wall.

  “Here are the extra ingredients,” Gloria said, and Livinia nodded.

  “Good. Please leave them on the table.”

  Gloria peered into the cauldron. “You know, when I was a young witch, I was quite well-known for my potion-making abilities.”

  Really? Gloria was trying to tell Livinia of all people how skilled she was at making potions?

  “I’m sure you were,” Livinia replied politely, without any of the snark I would have totally added to that sentence if it were me.

  “Can I have a look at the potion recipe?” Gloria asked, sneaking toward the notebook, but Livinia immediately slammed it closed.

  “This is private,” she replied. “If I cannot trust you to be near my recipes, I will be unable to make the potion for you.”

  “Alright, alright, I’ll leave it alone,” Gloria said, holding up her hands. That was too bad; that could have solved all of Grandma Rosie’s problems if Livinia decided to take her secret notebook and go home.

  Gloria stood to the side, about as far from the notebook as she could possibly manage, apparently having learned her lesson and not wanting Livinia to think she had any designs on peeking at the notebook again.

  Livinia continued to work, and I was amazed at her stamina. Potion-making was difficult at the best of times, and this was a potion that had so many ingredients and steps involved in the making that it took over ninety minutes before she was finally finished. I was exhausted just watching her.

  Livinia finished by adding the pine needles and the rose Gloria brought back, then cast one final spell over the cauldron.

  “Good, it is finished,” Livinia said to Gloria with a satisfied nod. A thin plume of blue smoke rose up from the cauldron, but I was too far away to see what the liquid actually looked like.

  “Do we add it to the batter?” Gloria asked, and Livinia nodded.

  “Si, but the dosage is important. If you put too much potion into the batter you will overpower it and the judges will become uncontrollable around the pie. It could lead to disaster. If you don’t put enough in, the effect will not be strong enough. Bring me the batter for the pie.”

  Gloria did as Livinia asked, taking the bowl from the fridge.

  “This is enough for one pie?”

  “Two,” Gloria said. “We need to make two pies for the competition.”

  Livinia nodded and went back to her notebook, her finger scrolling through the lines until she found what she was looking for. She took a tablespoon and scooped out one spoonful of the liquid. It looked like orange juice mixed with glitter, and she dropped it into the batter. Repeating the process seven more times, Livinia carefully folded the potion into the pie mix.

  “There you are,” she said to Gloria. “It is ready. You are paying cash, are you not?”

  “Yes,” Gloria replied. “I can’t have any sort of paper trail. Nobody can know what I’m doing. I have it in the bedroom for you.” She walked off and returned a moment later with a black duffel bag filled with abras. My mouth dropped open. This was the sort of thing you saw in the movies, but it was generally young paranormals with a few days’ worth of stubble swapping duffel bags full of cash for illicit goods, not elderly witches trading cash for a potion.

  “It’s all here, you can count it if you want.”

  “That won’t be necessary.”

  “You’ll leave here without being seen?”

  “Of course,” Livinia said. “I have an invisibility potion here, and I’ll take the secret portal back to Italy.”

  “Good,” Gloria said. “Thank you for this. I’m going to be crowned winner of the pie competition, mark my words.”

  “Yes, you will,” Livinia replied with a nod. She took a vial from inside her cloak, drank it in a single gulp, and immediately disappeared.

  The door opened a moment later, closed behind Livinia, and Gloria came back into the kitchen and let out a squeal so high-pitched I was surprised the windows didn’t shatter.

  “It’s happening! It’s really happening! Suck it, Rosie. You’re going to lose this contest, you stupid witch. I’m going to be declared the winner, and I can’t wait to see the stupid look on your stupid face.”

  I grinned as I watched Gloria gloating to herself in her living room. It was going to be amazing when she actually lost.

  “I hope that idiot Ali cries,” Gloria was saying to herself. “She always thought she was so good. No respect for her elders at all. She still has no respect for her elders. I’m going to throw this pie right into her face when it’s declared the winning one. That’s all that witch deserves. That whole family is scum. I can’t wait to destroy them.”

  Wow, Gloria had absolutely misjudged us. I mean, maybe we were scum. But I was definitely not going to cry. Up until I learned that Gloria wanted to beat Grandma Rosie out of spite, I frankly couldn’t have cared less about who won the pie competition; if I wasn’t eating the pie then I didn’t understand the point of it.

  I wasn’t exactly the sort of person who followed all the rules, but all-out cheating was not acceptable, and I was going to do whatever it took to make sure she didn’t get away with this.

  While Gloria continued to gloat to herself I snuck out the front door, careful not to make a sound as I opened and closed it, and headed back out.

  Chapter 17

  I made my way straight to the cottage, where I knocked on the door and mom answered.

  “Oh good,” she said. “You’re just in time for dinner. I made lasagna, and you can explain to your mother why you’ve taken on an assignment as a vigilante.”

  “I’m not a vigilante, mom,” I replied as I stepped inside. “Where’s Grandma Rosie?”

  “Out getting things for her pie,” mom replied. “She should be back soon. And from what I’ve heard, you’re now out there solving this crime for money. That’s being a vigilante.”

  “No, a vigilante would be me going around in a superhero costume, finding the killer, and bringing them to justice. There’s a significant difference. I don’t have a costume. And I’m not doing it out of the goodness of my heart, I’m being paid for it.”

  “Oh, so you’re a mercenary. Much better.”

  “I thought you wanted me to get a job.”

  “I wanted you to get a job that’s not going to end with you being murdered.”

  “Well, maybe you should have been more specific, then,” I replied, making my way to the oven and peering through the glass to have a look at the lasagna.

  “I can’t believe you. So it’s true. You are investigating this murder.”

  “Yeah, it’s true. I needed a job, and I figure this will help me hone up my skills for when Keith lets me take the test to become a Magical Fixer again.”

  “Sometimes I worry about you, you know,” Mom replied. “Leda is a manager at Spells and Smells now, which she did the old-fashioned way, by getting a decent entry-level job and working her way up the ladder.”

  “Yeah, but Leda is better than me in every way,” I replied. “We both know that.”

  “Oh she is not. You’re both wonderful young women. You’re just… a little bit more wayward.”

  “Thanks, Mom,” I said with a laugh. It was nice of her to say that.

  “Now, get out of the way so I can get the lasagna out of the oven. If your grandmother isn’t going to be back here by six like I told her, well, it’s her loss.”

  Right on cue, the front door opened then, with Grandma Rosie standing in the doorway. At least, I thought it was Grandma Rosie. It also could have been a giant snowball. Nope, there were her two ey
es and a nose sticking out from above the giant scarf.

  “How many layers are you wearing?” I asked with a grin as she dropped the grocery bag on the ground.

  “Hey, it’s cold out there.”

  “It’s not that cold out there. Antarctica isn’t that cold.”

  “Speak for yourself. Wait until you get to my age. These old bones can’t handle freezing temperatures for so long. Why do you think so many witches and wizards retire to Florida?”

  “At least let me help you get all this stuff off so we can eat dinner sometime this century,” I said, making my way over to Grandma Rosie and helping her take off the multiple layers of jackets, scarves, pants and socks she had on.

  Eventually, with Grandma Rosie wearing a normal amount of clothes again, and having thrown another log on the fire, the three of us sat down to eat.

  “So I have some news about what Gloria is doing,” I said to Grandma Rosie, looking over at Mom, who was determinedly staring super hard at the lasagna on her plate.

  “Oh?” she replied, leaning forward. “Do tell.”

  I recounted my adventure that afternoon, watching as mom’s face went more and more pale.

  “Althea Everwood, do you have no shame?” she finally asked when I finished. “That’s a crime! That’s breaking and entering!”

  “It’s not a crime if you don’t get caught,” I replied.

  “That’s not at all how it works,” Mom replied.

  “Can you wait until later to scold her?” Grandma Rosie asked. “We need to brainstorm how we’re going to beat this.”

  Mom looked over at her mother, exasperated. “Seriously? Way to set a great example for your granddaughter.”

  “What? I’m teaching her to stand up to bullies. Now that we know what Gloria is doing, we can come up with ways to stop her.”

  “I have the recipe Livinia used, if that helps,” I said, waving my phone to Grandma Rosie. “It’s in Italian, though.”

  “Well, that’s why Google Translate was invented,” Grandma Rosie said, and this time Mom looked like she was going to pass out.

  “You are absolutely not going to use a recipe whose ingredients and instructions you have gotten from Google Translate,” she replied. “I forbid it.”

  “I’ll remind you that I am, in fact, your mother.”

  “Yes, well, as obviously the most mature person at this table, I’m putting my foot down. There are so many bad things that could come from that. Get someone who actually speaks Italian to translate for you, for goodness’ sake.”

  “Fine,” Grandma Rosie replied. “I guess you’re right. I’ll find someone who can read Italian to translate it for me.”

  “And what are you going to do then?”

  “It’s a good question,” Grandma Rosie replied. “I could simply try to replicate the potion, but the one made by Livinia would be stronger, as she’s a better potion-maker than me. I think I’m going to have to come up with something else.”

  “Alright, well, try not to do anything that will get you arrested,” I said, standing up from the table. “Thanks for dinner, Mom. I have to go feed Vinnie, and then I’ve got a night of investigating in front of me.”

  Mom shook her head. “I still can’t believe you took that job. It’s completely ridiculous. You’re going to get yourself killed.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I said with a grin. “Love you both.”

  I made my way out to the shed, grabbing the grocery bags that had been left outside the door, to find Vinnie standing in the middle of the room, waiting for me.

  “And where exactly have you been, young witch?” he asked.

  “What are you, my guardian now? Making sure I haven’t been out kissing boys?”

  “No, I’m here making sure you haven’t been eating something delicious without me. I see a red stain on your shirt. Is that tomato sauce?”

  I groaned as I looked down. I hadn’t realized I’d spilled. “Yes, it’s tomato sauce. I had dinner at Mom’s.”

  “And I wasn’t invited?”

  “Don’t be offended, Mom just isn’t a huge fan of goats eating at the table.”

  “Don’t be offended? That’s hugely offensive! What’s wrong with goats?”

  “Nothing,” I said. “Mom’s just weird. We had lasagna. Are you happy?”

  “Lasagna! And she doesn’t even bring me back a piece. How did I end up with the least considerate witch in the entire paranormal world?”

  I reached into one of the grocery bags and pulled out a bag of pears, wiggling it in front of my goat. “Will this make things better, by any chance?”

  “Are those pears?”

  “They certainly are.”

  “Well, consider everything forgiven. Are they Bartletts?”

  I glanced at the label on the bag. Telling the differences between species of fruits and vegetables wasn’t exactly one of my strong suits. “Looks like it.”

  “Even better. Alright, I guess this makes up for the lasagna. Although I wouldn’t say no if you went and got leftovers from your mother tomorrow for me.”

  “We’ll see,” I said with a smile. “Mom’s not exactly thrilled with my career choices right now.”

  “She sounds like a smart woman. You’re spending too much time with vampires. They’re terrifying.”

  “And speaking of, I have to head out again,” I said. “I need to go see a vampire named George.”

  “Well, you’ll be doing it without me,” Vinnie said.

  “Leave some space for me on the bed tonight,” I asked before pulling out a couple of pears and leaving them for Vinnie on the kitchen floor. He rushed over to them and began nibbling on his treat. I was completely forgotten.

  “Sure thing,” he replied through bites of pear as I headed back out into the night. I still had a murder to solve.

  Chapter 18

  I headed to the address for George that I was given. He was the last of the major suspects I had, and he was a good one. I knew politics could be divisive, and if there was anything I had learned about the vampire world, it was that this was a very touchy subject, and the vampires had very strong opinions about them.

  The address I was given for George was that of a rather large house near the lake, with views from the balcony. This place had to cost a ton of money. Hopefully George wasn’t at work; I didn’t know where he worked.

  I knocked on the front door and it was answered by a vampire in a full three-piece suit, complete with a gold watch. The suit was baby blue, which actually looked surprisingly good on the old vampire wearing it. He pursed his lips as he looked at me.

  “Yes?”

  “George?”

  “Who’s asking?”

  “Ali Everwood. I’ve been hired to look into the death of Luca Sadoveanu.”

  “Sorry, I’m not interested.”

  “Yeah, that makes you look super innocent. I won’t be looking into you any further at all if you shut that door on me,” I said.

  George paused, the door half closed. He narrowed his eyes at me. “Who hired you?”

  “Luca’s parents.”

  “I didn’t kill him.”

  “Sorry, I can’t just take your word for it. Seriously, just give me five minutes and I’ll get out of your hair.”

  George paused for a minute, then sighed. “Fine. But only because you seem like you’d be more annoying if I didn’t speak to you.”

  “Good instincts,” I replied as I walked through the door. “So let me get right to the point. You and Luca disagreed about whether humans should be turned.”

  “Darn straight. These young vampires, they don’t respect the old ways. They don’t respect the old blood that made them. They don’t keep to our history, and they want to dilute our blood with turned humans, who always make far inferior vampires than purebreds.”

  “How very enlightened of you.”

  “You don’t understand. You’re not a vampire. We have a culture that needs to be preserved, and turning huma
ns goes against keeping that culture. The vampires who say we will die out if we don’t go back to turning humans are fear-mongering. Plain and simple.”

  “You obviously have strong opinions on the topic. Strong enough to try and silence your vocal opponent permanently?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” George scoffed. “I didn’t kill Luca. One of the most important parts of vampire culture is the idea that we don’t kill our own kind. Especially purebloods.”

  Right. It sounded like George would have been ok with the murder if Luca hadn’t been born into the vampire life. What a great guy.

  “So prove it. Where were you when he was killed?”

  “I was here,” George said with a shrug. “I’m retired now, have been for seventy-seven years.”

  “Alone?”

  “I’m not married.”

  I supposed that was a ‘yes’.

  “I have to be honest with you, George. That’s not a great alibi, and I’ve been told you and Luca went at it quite a bit.”

  “Yes, we did. I will not deny that. We went at it the way two professionals with differing opinions went about things: by using our words. If I were to murder every vampire who had the wrong opinion about turning humans, well frankly, that wouldn’t leave very many around, would it?”

  “You tell me. Is your side winning this fight, or losing it?”

  George shrugged. “Frankly, I think my side may be fighting a losing battle over the long term. There are too many young vampires with these new-fangled ideas. They’re beginning to outnumber those of us who remember the old country, those of us who know what life as a vampire could be like, those of us who remember all of the customs and the ways of the vampire. And I did respect Luca, despite his incorrect opinion. He was articulate, he made his arguments well, and he had even been invited to speak at the annual Symposium of Vampire Elders in Transylvania in a few weeks.”

  “Was he?” I asked. I hadn’t heard a thing about that. George nodded.

  “Yes. I begrudgingly admit that it was a very good outlet for him. There are not many vampires who are invited to speak at the Symposium, and I suspected that his involvement would lead to a law change. As much as I fight for the other side, I do think eventually we will lose.”