“I don’t have this recipe. Are you sure this is right?” Winter frowned as she seeped magic into the thickening crimson liquid while she stirred with her focus object, a graceful oaken spoon thickly engraved with spell glyphs inherited from her great-grandmother. The nascent potion—poison?—had little odor, but the color just looked… malevolent.
“Yes. Just keep pouring in power. It’s just about there.” Elspeth picked up her own focus object, a large silver spoon with glyphs elegantly engraved over the handle following the art deco pattern of polished and unpolished metal and began tapping it in a rapid pattern on the counter edge. Again. Winter set her teeth and kept to her work. She could tell that Elspeth was nervous about this brewing, but she would not tell her why. She also would not tell her why she insisted on this potion over the several other abortifacients Winter had recipes for, only saying that she had experience with it.
That one sentence brought on so much pain that Winter nearly soul-read the other wizard woman out of reflex.
But Winter respected her privacy and kept to herself. If Elspeth wanted to share, she would. But Winter got the strong impression that Elspeth did not like her, so she doubted that they would have any heart-to-heart talks this afternoon.
Elspeth leaned in, staring at the potion as it came together. “There. That’s it. We’re there.”
Winter turned off the heat on her low casting stove and kept stirring, stabilizing and cooling the brew. “Are you sure about this? Once you drink it, there’s no going back.” It was her standard line, and the answer to which was probably none of her business, but she hated to see irrevocable choices made in the heat of the moment. She knew, pregnant as she was, that it would be a very hard choice for her to make, but that was her.
Elspeth stared off into the space over the small cauldron, struggling, before nodding once. “It’s a monster here to consume the world. I don’t want it.”
Winter hesitated.
Elspeth fixed her with her sharp gaze. “You heard me. I don’t want it.”
“This is hurting you,” Winter blurted out, wanting to know the source of such pain. Wanting to soothe it.
Elspeth snarled and struck out, whipping her large silver spoon against Winter’s face. “Don’t soul-read me, you angel-eyed bitch!”
Winter cried out, her hand finding blood seeping from her temple, and she staggered backwards.
“The hell is going on?” Etienne emerged from the kitchen stairs, rage and confusion playing on his face.
Elspeth shrank back, and then tried to dart past the faerie knight.
Etienne took in the blood seeping between Winter’s fingers and grabbed Elspeth by one arm, shoving her against the wall. “What did you do to Winter?” He gave her a small shake for emphasis.
Alerich entered the kitchen from the hallway, Cian right behind him. “Etienne, what are you doing? Let go of my sister.”
Etienne pointed at Winter, who wove a little in place. “She struck Winter with her spoon.”
Cian was at Winter’s side in a blur of speed, steadying her before she sunk to the floor. “Her orbit is cracked,” he said in his soft tenor voice.
Elspeth jerked against Etienne’s hold, eyes wide with fear. “Let me go!”
Winter moved her hand for Cian to heal her. “Just let her go. I think we had a misunderstanding.”
Etienne’s mouth tightened, and he glared at Alerich. “Another one? They seem to run in the family.” But he let Elspeth go.
Alerich frowned at his twin. “We’re going to talk, later.”
Elspeth ignored him. Instead she grabbed up the small cauldron by its handle and dashed upstairs, Winter’s spoon falling to the floor.
Alerich brought Winter a wet cloth and wiped at her face as Cian healed over the damage his sister had done. “Why did she hit you?”
Winter shook her head. “I think I stumbled onto something intensely personal. Just leave her alone. She’s in a lot of pain and I think she needs time to cope.”
Alerich nodded slowly, agreeing.
Etienne muttered in Faerie Gaelic with a mulish expression on his face, but made no move to follow the wizard woman.
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