“Can I smell it?” I ask.
Professor Broome nods. “It has a very distinct scent, unlike anything else, though very few witches and mages have the ability to detect it.”
I swirl the jar beneath my nose, taking a gentle whiff.
I’m almost immediately overcome by the intensity of the scent, and I wrinkle my nose, trying to get used to it. It’s not bad, per se. But it’s definitely earthy and pungent—a bit like rotting leaves and mushrooms.
“Ah!” Professor Broome smiles, imitating my wrinkled nose. “I see you’re one of the precious few. Perhaps your empathic abilities amplify your sense for this as well.”
“Can you smell it?” I ask.
“No. And I’m told that’s a blessing.”
I’ve never worked with Fairy’s Breath before, so I’m not surprised I didn’t recognize it by sight. But the scent triggers something inside me. I’ve definitely smelled it before, but where? It’s not an herb used in teas or baking, and I don’t recall ever seeing anything like this in Mom’s garden or kitchen.
“Are you going to try it?” Isla asks gently. “To get in touch with your mom?”
It’s tempting. And considering my mother has already made contact through my dreams and visions a few times, I wouldn’t be surprised if this enhanced our connection even more.
But instinct tells me that spirit communication is not where I need dream practice. Mom will come to me when the time is right—she always has.
“Not this time.” I replace the lid and slide the jar back into place. Turning to Professor Broome, I lower my voice and ask, “What would you recommend for communicating with Dark Arcana energies?”
Professor Broome narrows her eyes, but if she thinks my request is odd—or dangerous, for that matter—she doesn’t judge.
“Well, what wouldyourecommend?” she asks. “What are your goals with that particular communication? Start there.”
“I… I think I’d like to learn more about the old legends. Try to understand my roots. Magick’s roots.”
“Dreamwork is an excellent approach, since so much of our magick is connected to our subconscious. Tell me… Have you dreamed of the Arcana energies before?”
“Yes,” I say, then rush to add, “At least, I think so. Dreams are so weird. It’s hard to say for sure. But I’m hoping if I can open myself up to their messages, I can figure it out.”
She hesitates another beat, then finally nods. “Okay. How would you feel about silversword root and witch’s cauldron?”
I find the respective jars and pull them off the shelves, setting them on the counter behind us. “Silversword root for clear communication and seeing through the haze,” I muse, inspecting the silvery powder through the glass.
“Very good. And this?” Professor Broome picks up the jar of witch’s cauldron—round, black seed pods. They’re about the size of marbles, but so light and delicate, they’re almost sheer.
My cheeks flame, and I lower my voice further. “Honestly, I thought witch’s cauldron was for enhancing certain… things.”
“Potency,” she announces, and I crack up.
“Yes,” she says. “That’s precisely what you want. Crush two or three of them into your mix for added potency. In this case, the pods should help sharpen your dream images and bring additional clarity about its messages.”
I grab a pair of tongs and gently remove three pods, grateful that Baz isn’t in this class, because I’m pretty sure he’d have a field day with this one.
“Stevie,” Professor Broome asks, concern replacing the usual mirth in her eyes. “Are you sure about this? Working with this sort of energy is very dangerous, and very advanced. Not that you’re not capable, but…” She closes her eyes, then opens them again, the concern fading. “No, you’re ready. If a witch is called to explore her magick, it’s not for me to question her methods. Just to politely inquire.”
I give her a reassuring smile. “I appreciate that. I’ll be careful, though. It’s just… I feel like this is something I need to do. I can’t explain it.”
I know there are risks—I was already injured in last night’s dream, and Doc confirmed that I could be killed. But instinct says the Dark Magician doesn’t want me dead. If he did, it would’ve happened already.
Call it the twisted ego of a supervillain, but something tells me he wants me to listen. To see him. To know exactly what he’s planning for us. And yes, maybe those plans are already set, and there’s nothing we can do to stop them, like Doc said. But wecanprepare. And maybe—if I can show him I’m ready to listen—the Dark Magician will make a mistake and reveal something useful.
“You don’t need to explain,” Professor Broome says. “Just know that I’m here for any questions, day or night.”
“Thanks, Professor.”
