A waft of nutmeg drifted into the room, and shortly after, Aunt Laurel swept around the corner. “Savannah, you’re up! And good, I see you’ve gotten breakfast. Count Chocula. You and Casey are so alike.”
My stomach churned in protest, and I slowly set my spoon down.
Casey limped into the room seconds later, and Laurel looked from one of us to the other. “What have you done?”
“Nothing!” Casey protested.
Aunt Laurel rested her fists on the heavy wooden table in a gesture that reminded me of a silverback gorilla. “Are the cops involved?”
“I don’t think so,” he mumbled.
Her eyebrows rose. “Are we going to get sued?”
“Maybe? Probably not, actually.”
“Did anyone die?”
I trained my eyes on my cereal. Technically, yes.
“Hey!” Casey exclaimed. “What’s with the third degree? Everything is okay. And also, don’t ask any more questions.”
Laurel whipped out of the room in a rage.
“Uh-oh,” I muttered.
She came back moments later and slammed a little glass vial full of red liquid down in front of him. “Drink.”
“Ah, no, Mom. I’m gonna go to a doctor, and they’ll heal me in—”
“You are not going to a doctor. We have perfectly fine healing potions here.” She shoved the vial toward him.
“Oh, gods,” he moaned.
“That potion will heal your ankle?” I asked.
“Well, it’ll get most of the work done, though he’ll have a bit of a limp for a while,” Laurel said. “They’re expensive and time-consuming to make, which I hope Casey and you will keep in mind on your next extracurricular adventure.”
Casey looked at the potion with a dubious expression.
“Drink it,” she ordered.
“Won’t it make you better?” I asked, not understanding his hesitation.
“It’s one of Dad’s. He believes the worse a potion tastes, the better it works. His are legendary.”
My uncle’s low voice resonated from behind me. “It’s true. The flavor is how you know it’s going to work.” I turned, and he beamed. “You ready to cook, Savannah? I’ve got everything ready.”
“Absolutely.” I leapt from my chair, leaving Casey to his fate, and poured the last of the cereal down the disposal, vowing never to eat it again. Then I followed my uncle to the back door with an eager bounce in my step.
Casey’s gagging echoed off the hallway walls. “Oh, gods, it’s so bad! The broken ankle was better!”
We headed out through the backyard to a shed. My uncle turned the key in the lock and did something with his hand like Casey had last night…perhaps disabling a spell?
“It’s good to have the workshop away from the house,” he said as he worked. “That way, if something goes wrong, the house will be left standing.”
Holy crap.
I followed my uncle into the interior of the workshop, my stomach churning. My parents had died when the house burned down. Had one of them been making potions? Was that what had happened?