Page 13 of Potion Sickness

The party dwindles. Ms. Pelham leaves first, then Mayor Blackwood and his wife, then Dorcas, who presses three rolls on Rupert ‘for the drive, they keep.’ Moonbeam attempts a group grounding exercise and is politely declined. Bert shakes Rupert’s hand for a long time at the door, and neither of them says anything I can hear, and both of them nod, and that’s that.

Rupert finds me on his way out. “The folder’s with Bert,” he says. “And Mari. Thank you. To you, and to Pru. For everything.”

“Of course,” I say. “Publish your boring book, Rupert. I can’t wait to read it.”

“You’ll be the first to know,” he promises.

Then it’s down to the stragglers and the staff stacking chairs, and Gabe and I are somehow the last two at a table.

“So,” Gabe says. “Two different lists?”

Before I can answer, Englebert launches himself onto the table and sits directly on top of Gabe’s napkin.

“Marigold,” he says. “It is past eleven. I have notes to prepare, a company in crisis, and a call at nine in the morning tomorrow. We are leaving.”

“You have a call?”

“With Vivian. She just doesn’t know it yet. Gabriel.” He gives Gabe a long look and one slow blink. “Always a pleasure. Do give my regards to the child.”

Gabe hands me my bag, and our hands are briefly in the same place at the same time. Neither of us hurries.

Outside, the night is warm underneath and cold at the edges, the first hint that the year has started making other plans.

“That poor woman,” Englebert says, settling into the passenger seat.

“Which one?”

“Dana.” He tucks his paws under his chest. “The article is a fabrication, obviously. It has the smell of malice about it. Local malice.”

“I know.”

“Of course you know.” He closes his eyes.

CHAPTER 4

“Attempt twelve,” Englebert announces from the windowsill.

“Nobody asked you to keep count.”

“Somebody must. You certainly aren’t. That’s half your problem, Marigold. You’ve no rigor, no record, no respect for the data.”

“You’ve been spending too much time with Emma.”

“I am quoting a respected colleague.”

Annabel came by this morning with a shoebox full of candles under her arm.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” she said.

“I’ve been busy. I have a deadline.”

“You’ve been avoiding the kindling charm.”

“The kindling charm and I have agreed to see other people.”

“Twelve attempts is hardly a lot,” she says, sitting across from me, arms folded like we have all morning, which, unfortunately for me, we do. “I’ve had students take hundreds of tries at this charm.”

“Your students are typically under the age of ten.”