Magic Lessons (Practical Magic #0.1)(35)
Love Potion #9
9 oz. red wine
9 basil leaves
9 rose petals
9 cloves
9 apple seeds
9 anise seeds
9 drops of vinegar
Combine all ingredients on the 9th hour of the 9th day of the month. The effect is strongest when performed on the 9th month of the year.
Stir nine times.
Let the one who drinks this wine grant me true love divine.
The Tenth Love Potion, the one Rebecca had cast upon Lockland, was written down in Maria’s Grimoire, but she had made an oath never to use it, not for any woman who came calling, no matter how desperate, and certainly never for herself. It was a spell written in blood, able to turn a person inside out with raw emotion, and it could not be reversed without grave consequences. The Tenth was a dangerous spell, as much of ancient magic was; it called on elemental powers that could turn one’s beloved’s heart to stone if the slightest error was made in its creation, and the ingredients could cause complete havoc if not used correctly. Hannah had done her best to correct these effects for Maria’s mother, but in the end she had merely reversed it. The opposite of love was hate, and Thomas Lockland had that emotion in his heart when he burned down the cottage. The Tenth was said to be unbreakable, and nothing in this world should be so, for all that is and ever will be must change.
* * *
The winter of 1680 in Boston was one that consisted of hard work and days that grew dark at four in the afternoon. The temperatures were so cold that bread rattled on the plate and people wore every item of clothing they owned at the same time, one layer over the other. It was a bad time to search Essex County for John, and Maria decided to stay at the boardinghouse until the weather turned. During her time of employment she and the proprietor, Mrs. Henry, had grown quite close. Both were women on their own in the world, after all, and both were willing to open the door to anyone in need. Maria’s talents were evident, and the line outside their door grew to be surprisingly long. There were those who must set two eggs, never to be eaten, beneath their beds to clean a tainted atmosphere, and those who were to use black mustard seed to repel nightmares, those who were told to use vinegar for husbands who could not perform in bed and were told to feed their men chestnuts and oysters to inflame desire, those who asked for Be True to Me Tea, for straying husbands. Still others came for a remedy of garlic, salt, and rosemary, the most ancient spell to cast away evil. Many wanted Maria’s teas, concocted late at night by lantern light. Fever Tea was composed of bayberry, ginger, cinnamon, thyme, and marjoram. Frustration Tea was made of chamomile, hyssop, raspberry leaf, and rosemary. Courage Tea was the great favorite, Hannah’s old recipe, and pots of it were served day after day.
When Mrs. Henry looked at Maria, she saw a healer, not a witch, and she would always be grateful for the lily-of-the-valley tea Maria had used to stop the older woman’s heart from fluttering one night when she fell faint. Mrs. Henry swore she would surely be in her grave if not for that curative; she opened her heart to Maria and her charming little girl, and was happy to share her own cures.
Boston Remedies
Honey and milk for worms.
Salt and molasses for cuts.
Huckleberries boiled for stomachaches.
Balm of Gilead buds boiled into a paste for wounds.
Dark blue violets as a tincture for mouth sores.
Chickweed prevents toothaches.
Table salt and vinegar, fermented, for colic.
Castor oil, milk, and sugar for a children’s tonic.
Maria had confided that she was in search of a man, like so many women who had been forsaken by husbands and fathers who had come to the New World promising to send for them, then disappearing into cities or the wilderness. This came as no surprise to Mrs. Henry. Women in search of men were nothing new in Boston. There were signs tacked to lampposts and on market stalls with descriptions of lost husbands, which sometimes included the image of a face, drawn to the best of the bereaved’s abilities. Maria could often see where the missing were when she set out a pan of water for scrying, and she gave out the addresses of lost men, many of whom didn’t wish to be found; she warned her clients that sometimes it was best to let the lost remain so, for they might not be pleased once their loved ones were located.
Try as she might, Maria could not see John, not in the water and not in the black mirror, which she kept carefully stored in a piece of blue flannel so that it would not break. Hannah had told her that when a person looked in the mirror she would see what she must, not what she wished to see. John was never there. She could only see him in her daughter’s features—the high cheekbones, the lanky arms and legs, the particular way she laughed with her head thrown back, exactly as her father had when he stepped into the turquoise water and found the world to be a miracle.
* * *
It was Mrs. Henry who directed Maria to Salem. By then it was early spring and Faith had passed her first birthday. The ice was melting in the streets, and as always at this time of year the harbor was filled with ships. A customer returning from London mentioned he was on his way home to Essex County.
“How many people can there be in one county?” Mrs. Henry said to Maria. “Perhaps he’ll know your man.”
Maria brought the gentleman a bowl of her apple pandowdy, apples baked in a crust, a delicious end to his dinner, and when he thanked her, she asked if perhaps he might have heard of a man named John Hathorne. Indeed, there was a well-known magistrate in Salem by that name, a man of wealth. “It’s a strict village with Puritans setting down their rules not just for themselves, but for everyone.”