The woman’s face burned, and she gripped the pestle tightly. What was she thinking?! Cute? That street rat? No, no, no–she wasn’t admiring them, she was angry! She ground the root with a little more force than was necessary.
“Inconsiderate…Stupid…Selfish…” She growled, adding an insult with each press of the pestle, until the root was turned to a liquidy mush. A musky aroma of spice filled the air. She reached into another drawer and grabbed a handful of dried, dull purple petals and tossed them into the mortar, grinding those down to a paste, too. A slight scent of mint rose in the air–spice and mint, searing the nose. A few minutes and a lot of quick, measured mixing and measuring later, the woman produced a brown glass bottle with a cork stopper, the root-petal substance settled inside. She set it out on the clerk counter, crossing her arms crossly.
At that moment, the door swung open, and the little brass bell dinged. The woman looked up, unphased.
“Mrs. Sithigh, your healing medicine. That will be three silver.”
The short, roundly-set woman who shuffled through the door picked up the little brown bottle and pressed four silver coins to the clerk counter. “Thank you, darling, Misoon. Always three steps ahead! Keep the extra silver.”
Misoon nodded curtly, and the woman shuffled out of the store. The door closed, and Misoon was alone again. She slid the silver into the register. As though going through mechanical motions practiced a thousand times over, she pulled open a drawer and picked a thick navy deep red and silver book from it, slamming it down on the clerk counter. She brushed the titled off:
One Thousand Magical Spells for Budding Witches by Fuxi Dayan.
Half of the title was too burnt to read. It was on purpose; of course Misoon couldn’t keep a spellbook only in Hibernia, the world capital of witch-hunting. That was asking for a torture sentence–especially because she already owned an apothecary, which tied her vaguely to witchcraft. So she’d burned out the key words in the title: One Thousand Magic Spells for Budding Witches by Fuxi Dayan, an ancient expert in base medicinal and divinatory witchcraft. Misoon unbound the book from the many bindings holding it closed and flipped to page 884.
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Spell of fire resistance (Active Connection Spell)
Prewarning: As with all active connection spells that protect from certain damage types, this fire resistance spell will usurp your energy if too much damage is absorbed. Spell only for minor fire contact.
Ingredients:
- aloe paste
- barbary fig, crushed
- hibiscus, ground
- phellodendron bark, powdered
Ratio: 2:4:1:1
Vial type does not matter.
Leave mixture open beneath the sun for three days.
Slather on chest of target for fire resistance.
Begin energy connection with target by method of choice. Do not sever the connection for the spell duration. Continued connection t is necessary for maintaining the spell’s activity.
Spell should last a minimum of one hour and a maximum of 24 hours depending on strength of witchcraft.
Misoon was already crushing and powdering and grinding ingredients like a machine. Soon enough, she’d mixed up an opaque paste that smelled faintly sweet and earthy. She scooped it into a funnel and scraped it all into a glass vial, then slapped on a label with scribbled writing: ‘Fire Resistance. Active Connection. 1 Hour Expected Duration.’
It was getting to be late afternoon now. The sun was beginning to set. Misoon scooped up her things, which consisted of a small, worn leather bound book, a stained herb-cutting knife, and two vials of medicine–one labeled Aghna’s Pain Meds and the other labeled Shadow Repulsor. She stuffed everything into a crossbody pouch, slung it over her shoulder, and clipped on a long, purple cloak, pulling the hood up over her face. Then, she headed out. Upon exiting the store, she made sure to turn the “open” sign over to “come back tomorrow”.
Down the streets of Elyria she went, hooded like a figure of death.