Page 130 of Whisper of Nightmares

She opens the journal.

The pages flutter beneath her fingers, as if taken by the wind.

They stop on the very entry she’s searching for, the one Dagfinn described to her. She only knows it’s the correct one because of his helpful nearly lifelike sketches on the pages of the herbs and flowers required.

But Euphemia can hardly admire them as the breeze twists around her unseen.

Euphemia glances around the room, confused. If there is a spirit in the manor as Kelda suggested, why is it that sometimes the ghost seems to be helpful and other times it is erratic and frightening?

Unless, perhaps, there is more than one.

“Thank you,” she says stiffly, just in case the ghosts require respect.

Then, Euphemia takes the journal to the shelves and starts pulling down the ingredients. Dagfinn already told her what she would need to find, most of which she is already familiar with: yarrow, nettle, oak bark, black tea, and sugar.

But there are a few ingredients that even Euphemia found questionable.

When Dagfinn mentioned henbane, Euphemia all but gasped. The pale-yellow flower was one of the first plants her father taught Euphemia and her sisters to recognize because of how deadly ingesting them can be.

“Ah,” Dagfinn had said at her shock. “Yes, the flowers are toxic, but the seeds are safe. And their effects are required for this draught. Do not leave them out.”

Against her better judgment, Euphemia retrieves the vial of henbane seeds, the cracks in her palm soothed against the cool glass, and adds it to the pile of ingredients she’s started on the worktable.

When she thinks she’s ready, she reviews the list in her head one more time and realizes she’s missing one thing.

Roseroot.

She had never heard of such a plant before, so he had described it to her.

“A hearty herb with a yellow flower atop a tall stem with leaves sprouting throughout the entire stalk,” Dagfinn had said. “I keep some petals in a jar on the bottom right of the shelf. You won’t miss it. But, just in case, look for the label with this.”

He had traced a shape in the dust by the windowsill then and said it was the letter R.

Euphemia returns to the shelves. She finds the bottom right cubby. Retrieves the jar marked with an R.

But the jar is empty.

Euphemia blinks furiously.

She scans the shelves again, searching the bottom left corner in case she misheard him. Then the top right and top left. Then every single jar on the shelf. But none resemble the roseroot he’s described to her.

Frustration mangles itself inside her like tangled rope.

This can’t be happening.

Not when they are so close.

Sighing, Euphemia closes her eyes and tilts her head to the sky.

Without familiar knowledge of the plant, Euphemia can’t do anything but wait for another night to pass, so she can ask Dagfinn in the dream realm again. Perhaps he can tell her where to find it in town, or where she might be able to forage some herself.

Feeling slightly dejected, Euphemia leaves the rest of the ingredients on the table, and quietly slips out of the room, gently closing the door behind her. She rotates the fourth ring on the lock for good measure.

But as the lock shifts, Euphemia hears a knock coming from the downstairs.

She makes her way through the corridor to peer down from the upper landing as Asvald emerges from the sitting room and opens the door. Maryam stands on the other side, a burlap sack in hand. Euphemia starts inching down the steps as Asvald calls to Kelda in the parlor. She practically runs to door, enveloping Maryam in a hearty embrace that makes Euphemia wonder if perhaps they won’t have to wait for her tincture at all.

“Oh, Maryam, I owe you a great deal,” Kelda says.