Page 26 of Song of the Hell Witch
“We’re wondering if you have any fireroot.” Marigold kept her voice monotonous and dull, an attempt to halt any horseshit sales tactics in their tracks. “One of our travel companions has a pretty nasty infection, and we’ve been told braceberry and fireroot tea might help.”
The shopkeeper’s eyes went wide. She looked at the door, checking to see if anyone else was coming in, then leaned closer and dropped her voice to a whisper. “Are you from Stormlash? Is it a case of Subversal?”
“You know about Subversal?” Prudence asked, genuinely surprised. Most people in Leora had probably never even heard the word, or if they had, it had been in the context of horror stories, tales meant to terrify people about the “curse” of becoming a Hell Witch.
The shopkeeper nodded, her eyes clear and dewy. “In truth, I owe my life to the Ladies of Leora. To Hetty Jones in particular. Whatever you need, I’m here to help.”
Prudence wasn’t sure if they should trust her. More than that, giving her even a dash of information could put her in danger should the Zeraph or Paris or the Watch come knocking. But if she was a Stormlash ally, perhaps her loyalty would win out over intimidation.
“It’s a case of Subversal, yes,” Prudence said, rather than admitting she was a Hell Witch herself. “We’ve been charged with taking a young girl to the Wild Fangs, and she doesn’t have much time left. We’re hoping your herbs can stave off what’s happening until we get her to the coven.”
“The poor dear. Nasty business, Subversal.” The woman twirled, her bright-pink skirts fanning out as she moved.
She ran her hands along the shelves until she found the braceberry jar and grabbed it, then shuffled along to the jar on the end, marked Fireroot .
Setting the jars down beside a mortar and pestle on the countertop, she opened one of the drawers beneath the shelves and plucked out a small, burlap pouch.
She hummed as she poured first the braceberries, then the fireroot, then the braceberries again, layering the herbs in the mortar before crushing them into a powder.
“This should be enough for five days’ worth of travel.” The woman funneled the powder into the pouch. “That should at least get you to the Great Borealis in Welling.”
“The Great Borealis?” Marigold asked.
“A grand hotel; a lot of Silks stay there on holiday. But most women in these parts know that if they’re in trouble, if they need the Ladies of Leora, they’ll find help there.”
“What kind of trouble?” Prudence asked.
The shopkeeper handed the pouch over the counter. “Brew the tea twice a day, once in the morning, once at night. The fireroot can cause hallucinations even in healthy people, so keep the girl under careful supervision.”
Prudence wanted to press her about this Borealis hotel, about what the Ladies had done for her in particular, but it was clear from the apothecary’s face and stiff shoulders that she’d given them all she could. She took the ruby pendant out of her pocket, heart sinking as she held it out to her.
To her tremendous relief, the shopkeeper shook her head. “I owe the Ladies a debt. And while this girl might not be an official Lady just yet, she’s still blessed by the Dark Mother.” She gave both Mari and Prudence a satisfying wink. “Keep your payment.”
Tiny wings fluttered in Prudence’s stomach. “You, um … you believe Hell Witches are blessed?”
“What else would you call them?”
“Some call them monsters.”
“ Men call them monsters. You ask me, the men are the real beasts.”
“Not all of them,” Marigold said, probably thinking of Puck.
The shopkeeper’s frown deepened. “Just ’cause a rotten tree gives you a few good starpeaches doesn’t mean the tree’s not rotten. The men in my life only ever tried to kill my spirits. The Ladies are the only reason I’m still here.”
Prudence’s heart beat faster, like a weight had been lifted off her chest and the muscle finally remembered what it was like to beat unencumbered.
“Right. Well. Thank you.” Marigold took Prudence’s free hand, leading her toward the door. “We appreciate it.”
The shopkeeper leaned in one more time. “Be careful out there, you hear me? The further north you go, it’s not only the men you got to watch out for.
The Faithful women are the real danger around these parts.
Think they’re gonna save the ‘untamable Northerners’ by turning us into the Apostles around town.
Just mind who you speak to, what you say. ”
“We’ll do our best,” Mari said, pulling the door closed behind her.
Prudence’s steps were less burdened as they headed back the way they came. The thought that she might be able to bring peace to other women, that she might be joining a sisterhood that did such good in the world …
Beside her, Marigold’s face was creased with worry.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“I don’t like the way that woman was talking.”
“About the women in the north or Stormlash?” Prudence asked.
“Stormlash.”
“Why not? It sounds like the coven can help us!”
“Us, maybe. But we’ve got a man with us too.”
Prudence waved her off. “Puck’s different.”
“How many extremists have you met that care about different ?”
“We don’t know they’re extremists.”
Though Imogen had killed that Watchman back in Talonsbury with ease—a man who was simply following orders.
Marigold sighed, hugging her arms in close. “Ignore me. I’m probably just tired. And Welling’s a good way’s off. I just want to get some sleep, get off the street.”
“Hopefully, Puck’s managed to get us some rooms.” She thought of the sounds that used to dominate Madame Sybil’s and the brothel in Belacanto, sounds she herself had made on more than one occasion. “Let’s just pray this brothel has thick walls.”
But as they walked toward the Honey Pot House, something began to writhe in her center. It was a sibling of that voice that whispered survive, survive, survive in the moments when she was alone—and the new whisper murderess, murderess, murderess that had started to find her in her nightmares.
Cold, black dread stopped her dead in her tracks. Mari turned around, brows knitting in concern. “You all right?”
“Fine. Just …” Prudence took the pendant out of her pocket and held it up to Mari. She wasn’t sure it would help. All she knew was that she felt naked without it. “Would you mind?”
Mari’s satisfied grin helped chase out some of the dread, if only for a second. “Not sure my ass.”