Trouble's Brewing (Stirring Up Trouble Trilogy 2)

Maybe I could skip school on Wednesday. It was only a half day, and it wasn’t like we were going to be doing anything. They usually let us watch movies in order to avoid a full-scale riot. Mom always made me go, but most kids skipped.

When I got downstairs, I found my mother sitting on the couch with a blanket wrapped around her and a two-liter bottle of Sprite in her lap.

“Uh oh.”

Mom didn’t say anything. She gave me a half-hearted wave.

“Sore throat?”

Mom nodded.

“Fever?”

She shrugged.

“I’ll find the thermometer.” I thought I’d seen it in the medicine cabinet in the upstairs bathroom. Mom and I didn’t get sick very often, so it was probably still there. Once upstairs, I found the thermometer and rinsed it off with cold water.

When I got downstairs, I put my hand on Mom’s forehead, hoping to find it cool. It wasn’t. I handed her the thermometer, touched the giant Sprite bottle to see that it was no longer cold, and went to the kitchen for a glass of ice. Mom must feel rotten if she was drinking straight from the bottle. I hadn’t seen that reckless disregard from her since the great Miller flu of 2009. I shuddered at the memory. We so did not need to experience another illness like that one.

I took the thermometer from Mom when it beeped. “102,” I read. “Not good.”

Mom frowned. I grabbed the bottle and poured the drink into the glass. Then I handed it to my mother.

She gulped half of it down, wincing at the pain.

“Can you talk at all?”

She nodded. “It just hurts,” she rasped.

I sighed and sat down on the couch too. “The Council rule is 48 hours, which makes it, what? Were you up all night?”

She shook her head. “Six a.m.”

“So you can have the chicken soup on Monday morning.” I flopped back into the couch cushions. In order to keep witches from forgetting what it was like to have the normal viruses and bacterial infections, the Council had a rule that we couldn’t use magic for forty-eight hours. The Council had lifted the punishment for this type of self-serving potion because of the increase in productivity and overall positive impact of limiting sickness. Those who were sickly or elderly, or even infants, didn’t wait the forty-eight hours. “We don’t need to cancel Milo and his family, do we? You’ll have time to get everything together.”

Mom nodded. “It will be fine.”

“What do you need from me?”

“I need you to go to the grocery and get me Popsicles and soup.”

“You know I can’t drive yet.”

“I don’t care. Just do your best.”

Open mouthed, I stared at her before asking, “Mom, you are kidding right?”

She nodded.

“I can call Dad.”

She shook her head. “Not unless I get desperate.”

I didn’t tell her she looked pretty desperate. “I’ve got an hour before Finn gets here. Is there anything you need me to do?”

“No,” she said with a rasp.

“Do you want something to eat?”

“No.”

“Not even a pancake?”

Another shake of the head.

“I can call Finn and have him pick up some Popsicles,” I suggested.

“I’d feel bad asking.” She took another sip of her drink.

“Well, I don’t feel bad asking. I’m calling him.” She didn’t have the energy to fight me on it so I reached for my phone. Which I did not have because I must have left it upstairs when I got the thermometer. I was doing an awful lot of running around this morning. I took the stairs two at a time and grabbed my cell.

I dialed Finn.

“Hello,” he said, his voice sounding deeper and somehow older than I’d realized when we spoke in person.

“F— Dr. Finnegan?”

“Good morning, Zoe. I was preparing for our session. Don’t tell me we need to reschedule?”

“Oh, uh no. Actually, I just need a favor. Mom’s sick, and I was hoping you could pick up some things on your way here. Because, you know, I can’t drive.”

“Of course, of course.” In the background, I could hear the sounds of paper rustling. “Let me find a pen. Here we go. What does your mother need?”

“Popsicles, chicken noodle soup, and some crackers. And maybe some frozen strawberries and vanilla ice cream.”

“Any preference about the Popsicle flavor?”

“Um, she likes banana.”

“Anything else?”

“No. Thanks, Finn.”

“You’re welcome, Zoe. I’ll be over shortly.”

I hung up and went to check on Mom. She was staring at the wall, and a few drops of drool were starting to trickle out of the corner of her mouth.

After a short detour into the downstairs bathroom, I grabbed the box of tissues and delivered it with my news. “Finn’s bringing Popsicles.”

“Thanks.”

“Go back to bed, Mom. You look terrible.”

She raised her glass slightly.

“Need a refill?” I grabbed the bottle, took the glass from my mother, and refilled it. After handing it back to her, I said, “I’m hungry. I’m going to make myself some breakfast.”

I didn’t expect an answer.

Chapter Eight

Since my mother could never resist pancakes, I went ahead and mixed up a batch. I may as well feed Finn too. I had the pancakes ready and on the plates when Finn arrived. I knew my mother wanted blueberry syrup, and I wanted maple, but I wasn’t sure about my tutor.

“Zoe,” Finn called from the front door.

He had stepped inside by the time I got to the living room.

&nb

sp; Mom’s head drooped and she appeared to be asleep.

Finn transferred the plastic grocery bags to one hand and then held a finger to his lips.

I nodded, and motioned for him to come to the kitchen. “Thanks for doing this,” I said, as I put away the groceries. He’d bought the biggest box of banana Popsicles I’d ever seen. He’d also brought some tea and honey. I didn’t think she’d drink hot tea, but I didn’t say so.

“You’re quite welcome,” he said.

“I made pancakes.” I motioned to the plates. “I didn’t know what kind of syrup you’d want.”

“Thanks, Zoe. They look delicious.”

“I’m going to take Mom a Popsicle. I don’t know if she’ll want her pancakes yet.”

Mom was awake, and she smiled at the sight of the frozen treat.

“Eat this and then you can have some pancakes.”

“Thanks, Zoe. Tell Finn thank you.”

“I will. Do you feel up to company, or should we eat in the kitchen?”

“Come eat with me. Then I’ll go back to bed.”

I fetched Finn and my pancakes, and we joined Mom in the living room.

I sat down in the corner of the couch in my eating without a table position, one knee bent, the other foot on the floor. Optimum stability for maneuvering food on my plate.

“Good morning, Annie,” Finn said. “I’m sorry to hear you’re under the weather.”

“I’ll survive,” Mom said. “Thanks for the supplies.”

I noticed she’d wiped some of the drool off her face and smoothed her hair. Hopefully she hadn’t tried that hard because the results weren’t impressive.

Finn finally deigned to sit and perched awkwardly on the edge of the armchair. After all those years of bachelorhood, I would have thought he’d mastered eating in the living room. Instead, he picked at the pancakes tentatively with his fork, holding his plate like an Englishman might hold an American football.

Finn caught me staring, so I mumbled, “They’re probably cold by now. Sorry.”

“They are quite delicious, Zoe. Annie, you should try yours after you finish soothing your throat.”

“I will,” she said in a weak voice.

I scrambled off the couch and set my plate on the coffee table.