Page 62 of The Filigree Key

“Thistle thorns,” I hissed, lurching upright even as I continued to stir. “It’s not done yet.”

“Gerty,” Flora hissed the robin’s name like it was a curse. “Quick! Hide everything! If they find this map, we’re done for.”

Why hadn’t the faithful little bird warned us?

“And release that robin at once,” the mare trumpeted. “You are not the game warden—I am. You overstep!”

“I oversee this castle when Cernunnos is away. It is you who overstep, horse.”

We all froze at the sound of that familiar voice. It belonged to the most vicious man we’d ever met. Alec.

“He’ll turn this place upside down out of spite if I don’t get out there,” I whispered.

There was nothing for it; I had to stop working on this potion or Alec would throw his magical weight—and Ossian’s name—around to do whatever he pleased. At least the first half of the layering spell I needed for the Mabian bindings was done. I abandoned the stirring stick and plucked up the snail and its jar of supplement sludge—three-quarters gone—and secured them away in my foraging bag.

“What do I do?” Sawyer snatched up the mountain ash stick with his teeth and gripped the handle of the metal cup between his paws. He nodded back and forth, continuing to mix. “Eesh! Is ’ike pe-nuh buh’her.” It certainly had the color of peanut butter too.

“Is the witch in there?” Alec demanded.

“Keep stalling, Daph,” Flora whispered, heaving herself off the cot. “Keep stitching, Shari. Nothing’s amiss.”

“Everything’s amiss!” But the porcupine sucked in a steadying breath and continued to sew, muttering to herself.

Daphne stamped a hoof and told the magic hunter, “Maybe she is, maybe she isn’t.”

“Meadow Hawthorne!” Alec shouted. “Come out here.”

“I’m not decent,” I shouted back. “Trying on my dress!”

“Meah-oh!” Sawyer yowled at me as he continued to stir.

The brave little cat never ceased to amaze me. Quickly, I unloaded the vial of yarrow tincture and a single white stinkhorn mushroom from the foraging bag. “When that turns brown like the floor, add six drops of tincture. Then pulverize the mushroom. Slicing it won’t work. It has to be mush before you add it in.”

“We’ll do it together,” Flora said. “Start pulverizing, Stripes.” Her map and makeshift paperweights stored away, she took over the stirring, her thicker muscles and brute strength making her better suited to the task.

“Move, mare,” the magic hunter snarled. “To deny me is to deny Cernunnos himself.”

“That’s a bit of a stretch,” the honey badger muttered under her breath.

“You have to finish the potion,” I told Sawyer. “It needs an incantation to set it and only you have magic. When it starts bubbling after the mushroom mush, say: ‘Heal the hurts of skin and bone. Make flesh new and strong as stone.’”

“Heal the hurts of skin and bone. Make flesh new and strong as stone,” he repeated, giving a stout nod when he’d finished. “Why does this sound like a healing spell? I thought this was supposed to open the grate?”

“It’s a botched healing spell that dissolves metal. Just sprinkle it over anything metal and it’ll eat away at it like acid.”

“Enough!” Alec roared.

Daphne screamed.

Whirling away from the fire, I caught sight of bluish-green ivy coiling tight around the white mare’s belly, flanks, and hocks before lifting her bodily off the ground and yanking her out of the doorway.

The red curtain fell flat, shuttering us within the hut in darkness save for the weak glow from the two windows and the muted radiance of the firepit.

Then the stick hut exploded with light as snarling green flames erupted from my hands.

Shari screeched, abandoning the dress to clutch an armful of yarn skeins to her chest and impale more on her quills, but my flames didn’t consume anything nor replace the air with infernal heat.

Not yet.