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Delphine moved towards the old iron stove. “Drink it, Emily, so we can begin. That takes time to hit your system.”
She picked up a wooden spoon and began stirring the simmering pot.
Suddenly, the room filled with a new wave of tantalizing scents, strong enough to cut through the pungent aroma of herbs.
I sniffed. “What’s that in the pot?”
“Sautéed onions, bell peppers, and celery—the holy trinity of Creole cooking.” She tossed something else into the pot. “Now you’ll catch the scent of garlic.”
A comforting warmth enveloped the kitchen as Delphine added chunks of smoked sausage to the sizzling medley.
My mouth began to water.
Then, she grabbed bowls of tomatoes, shrimp, and crab.
The scent was intoxicating yet exotic.
Maxwell kept his voice low. “Damn. . .that does smell tasty.”
Delphine chuckled. “I’m making this special pot of gumbo for you, grandnephew.”
Max shook his head. “Naw. I’m good.”
“Doesn’t mean you can’t eat.”
“I ate a lot on the plane ride.”
“Boy, you are going to try a nice bowl of my gumbo.”
“No, I’m not.”
Delphine glared at him. “Why not?”
Max stirred in his chair. “I’m not hungry.”
Delphine placed her hands on her hips and turned to me. “I bet that Baba Yaga you brought here said something about my gumbo.”
I quirked my brows. “Baba Yaga?”
She pointed to the glass. “Drink or you’ll be here all night. When the Lion returns with that Eye, you will want to be awake.”
“This is going to make me go to sleep?”
“Are you going to ask me questions through the whole process?”
“I sure am.”
“And I won’t be answering them.” She scowled. “You came here to heal. If you know better about this process, then you can go back to Moscow and do it yourself.”
I tensed.
“Drink.”
Jesus Christ.
I reached for the glass of blue liquid and picked it up. Minuscule bubbles floated on the top. The color of the liquid appeared more shimmery sapphire than a typical blue.
I sniffed and didn’t smell anything.
