Page 72 of Rewitched

“To understand the power that it holds in a curled-up fist.” Bonnie spoke loudly, reclaiming their attention. “And more importantly, remaining grounded in ‘what will be, will be’ and trusting that said ground carries us forwards. Remembering what really matters.”

She picked at invisible lint on the sleeves of her top and cleared her throat nervously.

“Did you make a presentation for this?” Belle asked, amused by her mother adopting such uncharacteristic formality.

Bonnie shot her daughter a look. “As you know, because you are…well, my daughter”—she coughed nervously—“I specialise and always have specialised in herbalist magic. If you ask me, there is no greater power than that of the earth beneath us. The changing of seasons, volcanos, tsunamis, vast oak trees, the way the sky holds the weather in the palm of its hand…Nothing compares.”

It was reassuring to be in the hands of someone so passionate as well as familiar. And now she had two of these figures in her life, the other one sitting next to her, listening in rapture like a proud grandfather. Gratitude sung loudly inside Belle.

“It’s been a while, love, since we practiced the craft together. These days I’m more solitary than ever, got used to my own company when it comes to casting. So I’m sorry in advance if I’m a bit set in my ways,” Bonnie rambled nervously.

Belle nodded over to the dregs within her cauldron reluctantly, and her mum edged over towards it. “Don’t worry. Have you seen what I attempted earlier?”

“Heck.” Bonnie glanced inside with a look of concern. “What on earth is that?”

“Not sure anymore. I think drinking from the Thames would be more appealing than this,” Belle admitted glumly.

With a quick flourish of her hand, Bonnie vanished the remaining dregs. “Sweetheart, we can’t all be good at everything the first time. Potion making is all about practice, practice, practice, which will probably make it your least favourite branch. But Earth Sorcery is the keystone to it, understanding your ingredients first and foremost. You wouldn’t make lemonade without checking your lemons were all right. And this is your standard-issue individual cauldron, as you know. Tell me what you notice about the shape of it,” Bonnie asked her daughter.

Belle looked at her blankly. “What do you mean?”

“What do you mean, what do I mean?”

“What about the shape of it? It’s cauldron-shaped, isn’t it?”

Both witches turned to shoot daggers as Rune snorted from across the room. He was listening in while investigating a selection of the jars in Artorius’s collection. “Sorry,” he muttered.

“If you’re going to be like this, Belle…”

“I’m not being like anything! You’re asking me stupid questions, Mum. It’s the shape of a cauldron.”

“It’s round, Belle! Round, feminine, womb-like…”

“Womb-like? What are you on about?”

“Will you listen, please? Its curves and roundness are astutely feminine. It’s symbolic of the vessel where life itself begins,” Bonnie enthused.

“That is…actually very cool,” Belle admitted, picking up a smaller cauldron in her hands from a cardboard box on the floor. The nicks and scrapes, the imperfections in the metal, the marks of the past, telling a story. She tried not to think about her own neglected cauldron back at the flat, currently holding the fittings for her juicer. “Message received. Respect the cauldron. But if I’m ever caught short, if I want to whip up a quick potion, and I haven’t got access to an actual cauldron, can I use anything? A saucepan, a colander…”

“A colander? Really? A cauldron full of holes is just what you need,” Rune scoffed.

Belle shrugged indignantly.

“Belle, will you please be serious?”

“I am! That was a serious question. Living with Ari makes it tricky to have bloody cauldrons lying around the flat. I’m not sure I can convince her again that they’re candle holders.”

“Actually, saucepans are fine,” Bonnie relented. “A lot of witches favour them, in all honesty, for kitchen magic at least. No washing-up bowls, though. There’s been some melting-based disasters that have not been pretty.”

Bonnie emptied the contents of her handbag onto a nearby table. Mary Poppins sprang to mind as everything toppled out of the lining in a jumble. Among the chaotic debris, Belle saw a bunch of basil tied up with brown twine. A small jar of what looked like elderflower beside brittle stems of dried lavender, a scattering of squashed juniper berries, and a slightly droopy selection of rosemary, hellebore and gardenias. All of these, of course, were alongside endless receipts, two glasses cases without any glasses in them, some mints mixed in with a handful of loose dog treats and a couple of emergency poo bags.

“If they cart you off to an asylum one day after seeing what you carry around inside your handbag, I can’t say I’ll blame them,” Belle said.

“This is just what I like to keep on me. You never know when the time might strike to put something together while you’re on the move, so keep a stash of your favourites close to hand for emergencies. I’ve been known to brew up a potion in a department shop loo when needed,” Bonnie said proudly.

“What? In the actual loo? Like the—”

“No, in the sink, you daft…Look, tell me what you recognise. Group them together by their qualities, we can begin to identify some purposes.”