Page 22 of The Filigree Key

“If Mrs. Bilberry’s remembering that,” Daphne said, “you can assume the town is remembering things too. Good gracious! How confusing that must be.”

“I can attest to that,” Shari said, waddling out of her hut. She had her mug and the steaming kettle. “I, um, heard you crying. Here’s something hot to drink.”

I accepted the mug with a grateful smile. Blackberry-scented steam rose from the dark liquid.

“So what I’m hearing is Redbud’s ripe for the influencing,” Flora concluded, rubbing her paws together. “I wonder if I can convince Cohen to give me free spinach-pineapple smoothies for life.”

“None of that.” I flicked the honey badger in her belly. “People will be confused and scared and even angry. They won’t know what’s going on. Since I have a key to charge, and him watching nearly every move I make, I can’t be the one to give them answers or assuage their fears.”

“Or sow dissent,” Flora added.

“Exactly. I need you three for that. Or rather, just Daphne and Flora. Shari will be our go-between, as I will play the fickle bride who keeps changing her mind about what kind of wedding dress she wants.”

The porcupine heaved a sigh of relief.

Lifting the mug, I slammed back the rest of the tea. “Can I turn this into a makeshift cauldron real quick?”

Shari’s bulbous nose twitched as she thought. “Just make sure there’s no funky aftertaste when you’re done.”

The five of us trooped back into the hut (Daphne only stuck her head in), and I got to mixing the moss and black fungus into the mug, along with the dead crickets Sawyer had found. A regretful whine slipped free of the porcupine—it smelled truly awfully—as I mashed it all with some water and set it over the grate to bubble. It was no hearth bound to a hearth witch, so the process would be slow. But still effective.

As I rooted around in my foraging bag for my dwindling potion ingredients, I continued with the plan. “Sawyer, I really need you to reconsider not leaving my side and take this potion to the farmhouse and release my family.”

The tabby tomcat immediately flattened his ears against his skull and tucked himself into a tight ball. If he was attempting to turn himself into an immovable lead weight, he was doing a pretty good job.

“Now wait just a daisy-pickin’ minute,” Flora snapped. “Release your family? So they can muck up Redbud some more?”

“They’re powerful witches who can help. Although, I expect them to be weak. He might’ve made a bargain not to hurt them, but that doesn’t mean the Brotherhood can’t. I suspect it was them who placed the wards around the farmhouse that are keeping my family confined. They have the power of the hearth now, for a little while anyway, and this should help disrupt the wards enough so they can break through and escape.” I gave the potion another stir, mashing it up with the end of a mountain ash stick.

The black fungus I’d collected was known as witch’s butter. It was a prolific little thing and quite the weed suppressant. All one had to do was drizzle the potion around the perimeter and the potion would cover the entire lawn in a matter of hours. The carpet moss would ensure a tight and clinging fit, and the crickets—particularly their legs—would aid in the speediness of its working.

“Sawyer,” I tried again, “please—”

“I’m not going!” His tail lashed. “I just got you back, and you need me, whether you want to admit it or not!”

“Of course I need you. But we need this more.”

“I can take the potion, dear,” Daphne offered. “I know the way.”

“But you’re not small and sneaky like he is. And you don’t have an arsenal of spells at your disposal to use if something goes sideways.” I abandoned the cauldron-mug and crouched down by the tomcat. “Please, little cat. It must be you. You know how Ame is always explaining away phenomena with ‘because I’m a cat?’ I think there’s a little more truth in that statement than she lets on. How else can you explain how you two slipped past Ossian’s wards? You’re immune to some magics simply because you’re a cat.”

Finally I reached out to him, palm up—an invitation for affection. For an alliance.

“I know this isn’t ideal; nothing about this situation is. But we have to do whatever we can to defeat him. To free Arthur.”

Sawyer huffed. He didn’t care one whit for the Hawthorne coven, but Arthur . . .. Sawyer had come to respect, even love, the lumberjack simply because Arthur loved me as much as the tomcat did. And he knew how much the bear shifter meant to me.

“Fiiine,” the cat growled. “Gimme the potion.”

“Thank you.” I gave him a little scratch behind his ears before turning back to the cauldron-mug. “I’ll make it concentrated so it’ll be easier to travel with. You’ll have to use the spigot by the barn to dilute it so there’s enough to encircle the perimeter of the farmhouse.”

“And how am I to use the spigot when I have no thumbs?”

“Find a way, Stripes,” Flora told him, giving him a swat on the rump. “You’ve got magic and a brain; use them.”

Suppressing a smile, I stirred the bubbling liquid and chanted a variant of the Cleansing Spell:

“Remove these spells, these pestilent sores.