The Blood Spell (Ravenspire, #4)(69)
Belatedly, she realized that Grand-mère was waiting for a response. Quickly, she sat up and reached for the mug. “We’ve become friends. Or maybe we were always friends, but now we’ve come to understand and appreciate one another.”
“Well, it’s about time. I’m going to get started on those fried apple cakes. You can wear one of your mother’s old dresses until you get to the farmhouse. The dress you wore last night needs washing. Sleeping on the porch.” She tsked. “What were you doing out there?”
It was on the tip of Blue’s tongue to tell her grandmother about being forced to go down into the root cellar. How the panic had become an all-consuming beast beneath her skin, and how she hadn’t been able to bear the thought of having walls around her again.
But if Grand-mère had been angry enough to nearly pull her wand in front of the magistrate at the thought of Dinah having guardianship over Blue, how would she respond to knowing that Dinah had forced Blue into the root cellar? Or the knowledge that Dinah wanted to steal some of Mama’s old, rare spells and sell them or use them for herself? Or worse, the fact that Dinah sometimes slapped or pushed Blue in a fit of temper?
Swallowing the words she’d been about to say, Blue took a sip of the chicory root and then said, “I just wanted some fresh air, and then I guess I fell asleep.”
It was the truth, just not all of it. She hadn’t seen Grand-mère for more than a few minutes at a time for weeks. She wasn’t going to ruin this perfect morning with talk about Dinah.
Grand-mère nodded briskly, sending her halo of tight graying-black curls dancing. “The faster we get that snake out of your house, the better. Come down for breakfast soon. Apple cakes are best when they’re fresh.”
Blue set the mug on the bedside table, nudged Pepperell off her knees, and slipped out of bed. Grand-mère’s words rang in her head as she opened the closet her mother had used when she was a girl.
The faster we get that snake out of your house, the better.
Dinah wanted old potions with rare ingredients. Blue’s mind raced as she reached for a dress in faded yellow cotton with tiny sprigs of purple pansies dotting its surface.
Dinah didn’t have a specific potion in mind since she hadn’t given Blue a list of ingredients she expected to see on the recipe parchment. She’d simply turned down any potion that didn’t have a rare, hard-to-procure ingredient on its list.
Blue donned the yellow dress, tied its sash behind her, and considered her alternatives. She could keep cowering under Dinah, required to account for her every moment to a woman who treated her harshly. She could be forced to return to the root cellar to go through the chests that lay where Mama had died. She could endure the Chauveaus’ interference with her life for the foreseeable future.
Or.
She could create a fake potion, write it on some of the old parchment sheets Grand-mère had kept in the closet for Blue to scribble on when she was little, and pretend she’d found it in some of Mama’s old things. Dinah wouldn’t know the difference, and hopefully it would get her out of Blue’s life for good.
Energized by her plan, Blue hurried to splash cold water on her face, rub some of the oil Grand-mère kept on the dressing table into her curls, and brush her teeth. When she was finished, she sat on the floor in front of the closet and began pulling out the wooden boxes that lined its floor.
Quilting squares, yarn, and pieces of muslin with designs half stitched onto them filled the first box. Neatly organized headscarves filled the second. Blue pulled out a purple scarf with silver beaded fringe and tied it around her head before reaching for the next box. That one contained a collection of books, their spines cracked with age.
“Apple cakes are ready!” Grand-mère called.
“I’ll be right there.” Blue pulled out another box and took off the lid. A heavy velvet cloth in shimmering blue covered the contents of the box. Blue lifted the cloth and gasped. Nestled in the folds of more velvet lay the most beautiful pair of shoes she’d ever seen. The heels were thin spikes encrusted with gold filigree embedded with blue sapphires. The body of the shoe was a delicate swoop of fabric dusted with real gold and laced at the ankle with a golden chain encrusted with tiny diamonds. A large purple-blue feronghe jewel rested above the tiny opening that would allow the wearer’s toes to peek out.
They were extravagant. Feronghe jewels were a rare find on Llorenyae, prized by witches and alchemists alike for their ability to accept protective enchantments, and the other jewels on the dancing slippers would bring more coin than the alchemy shop saw in profit for six months.
“Blue, these cakes aren’t going to eat themselves!”
“Coming!”
Blue put the shoes back into the box and slid them into the closet. She’d ask Grand-mère about them later. Pulling out the final box, she found the old, yellowed sheets of parchment she needed. Taking several, she hurried to the kitchen where fresh apple cakes were flipping themselves in the skillet, the sea breeze was tangling with the row of chimes hanging by the open window, and just outside the window, Dinah Chauveau was striding up to the cottage.
Grand-mère whipped around to face the front door, her wand already raised. “Thinks she can come to my house and tell me what’s what, does she? I’ll turn her into a real snake.”
“You can’t turn her into a snake.” Blue snatched a handful of apple cakes from a platter on the table, hastily shoved the folded pieces of parchment into her dress pocket, and ran to get between Grand-mère and the door.