Page 71 of Potion Sickness

I take Addie’s shoulder and steer her back a step, partially because Englebert has begun to describe, in some detail, what the theatre does to those who interfere with its instruments, and partially because I want to ask her something.

“Did you know?” I ask, quietly. “About the stash?”

“No.” She’s watching him talk. “He’s been weird since July.”

“Weird how?”

“He follows me to the shop and then he sits outside and doesn’t say anything. He says he’s fine. But I can tell something is wrong.”

“I can hear you,” Bandit says.

“I know,” Addie says.

“I’m not lonely.”

“I didn’t say you were lonely.”

“I’m bored. There’s a difference.”

“Okay,” Addie says, and goes and crouches next to him.

* * *

Vivian gets the company inside, only twenty or so minutes late. The dagger goes back in its outline on the props table, the candlestick rejoins its mate, and the saltshaker returns to the kitchen. The hairpins go up on the call board with a note, and by the end of the night two of them are claimed.

The bottle goes to Annabel.

We don’t make it until after after ten. The shop is closed and the front room is dark, but there are five of us in the back — me, Annabel, Gabe, Addie, and Bandit, perched on the workbench. Annabel permitted his presence on grounds that despite being a criminal, he’s also a witness.

“It’s a heart philter,” she says, analyzing the bottle. Commercial. Their house blend.”

“Glamoury?” I say.

“Glamoury. It’s the same floor as Tiffany’s croak tonic. That’s the sourness Addie caught. The sweet on top of it is rose and honey, and under the honey there’s the copper.”

“Flowers that are also pennies,” Addie recalls.

Gabe has his arms folded. “And is it in Damien?”

“It could be,” Annabel says. “I read him this morning with Tiffany’s bottle for comparison and I could hear the Glamoury floor under everything. Usually I can spot a heart philter no problem, but the base threw me off. Now that I have this for reference, I can go back and pick it out.”

Bandit clears his throat.

“Do you want the rest of it,” he says, “or not?”

“The rest of what?” I ask.

“The rest of what I know, of course.”

Annabel turns to face him. “Go ahead?”

“First, context.” He sits up. “The Carters have the best garbage in town. That’s not an opinion. Ms. Carter throws out entire loaves of bread. Entire loaves, wrapped, uncut.”

“Bandit—”

“I’m establishing why I was there,” he says. “That’s how it’s done. You have to establish the witness.”

“Why were you at the Carter place?” Annabel asks.