Wonder drove the intrusive thoughts away. My uncle’s workshop was everything I’d imagined and more. The long workbenches that ran along the walls were covered with a bizarre assemblage of glass apparatuses—yellow curlicue tubes, beakers, flasks, and all assortments of devices. Potions—I assumed—bubbled on a few low burners at the back, slowly distilling into vials. Thousands of jars, boxes, and tins sat in racks on the wall, alongside dusty cupboards with long drawers and a couple of mini fridges. One was labeled Beer, the other Not Beer.
I’d wandered into the lab of a mad scientist. Or mad sorcerer. Or madman. I hadn’t really asked my uncle what he was, and I needed to rectify that. “Are you a sorcerer like Casey and Aunt Laurel?”
“Yes, ma’am. We tend to stick together. Other people don’t understand our magic.” He started organizing a few trays on the table.
“How so? What’s the difference between a sorcerer and, I don’t know, a witch?”
He handed me a pair of heavy rubber gloves, and I put them on.
“Magic Side has every kind of spellcaster you can imagine,” he explained in his low, earthy voice. “Witches, mages, druids, demons—you name it. What makes us all different is where we draw our power from. Mages are scholars. They cast spells using scrolls and books and formulas and learn their craft through intense study. Witches, on the other hand, draw power from their covens—from each other.”
“What about sorcerers?”
“We draw power from ourselves, from within.”
“Like our souls?
“Our bodies, our blood, our souls, all of it. It’s a very personal art. A witch might make you a spell to go—you can carry it around and cast it later. We don’t because we’re not about to let people go waltzing around with a little bit of our soul in their
pocket. I’d never sell one of my healing draughts, but I’d let Casey drink it. He’s all the soul I’ve got.”
I nodded, wondering if that’s how my parents had felt about me. “So how do potions work? I don’t know much about casting spells.”
“Spells are one thing, and your aunt can teach you those. Potions are another. They’re like a spell in suspension. You drink it, and it goes off. The ingredients don’t entirely make the spell— they just hold it there, ready to be consumed.”
My uncle lifted a tiny iron cauldron and set it on a burner, added a little clear liquid from a tin, and set the flames on high. Then he motioned to a tray of plants and boxes of powder. “I’ve got most of the ingredients here so you can look at them.”
He listed them off. Some names I recognized—ginseng, ginkgo, amanita, cinnabar. Most, I did not.
Step by step, we measured each ingredient precisely with a scale, and dumped it into the cauldron. “You’ve got steady hands,” he commented as I dusted some powder off a slip of paper into the brew.
“I shoot. And draw.”
“That’s good for making potions.” He checked a list. “Always remember that the order of ingredients is important. If you add the amanita first instead of last, you make a hell of a potion. Instead of seeing whomever you’re thinking about, they’ll see you,” he explained, and chuckled.
“We didn’t mess up the order, right?” I hedged.
“I don’t think so.”
My trepidation checked in to see if I was going to need it again, but I shooed it away. Uncle Pete knew what he was doing.
I hoped.
Soon, the cauldron was frothing, and the workshop smelled like so many repulsive things that it made my head spin. Sardines. Old rotting grass. Foot fungus.
“Just one more ingredient,” said Uncle Pete. “Your blood.”
I tensed. Jaxson had mentioned it, so I’d guessed it was coming, but the request made my stomach lurch. “Why?” I asked.
“A scrying potion has to be attuned to one person only. That requires a bit of blood.”
Shit. Blood magic. Aunt Laurel had warned me about giving out my blood. Her first lesson. But Uncle Pete would be okay, right?
“Here.” He pulled a knife out of a beaker with blue liquid. “Cut your palm a bit and fill up this vial.”
I looked up with my trepidation suddenly in overdrive.
He smiled. “You’re smart to be cautious. Always be careful with your blood. It’s one of the most powerful components in spellcasting. Never give it out, or at least, never give it to someone you don’t trust with your life.”