Spiral Path (Night Calls Series Book 3) (21 page)

The stories say he decided he wanted the most beautiful
woman, and so gave the apple to Aphrodite, Goddess of Love. Remembering all the
other stories I’ve read about Aphrodite, I wonder if she was simply the most
beautiful goddess, at least to mortal eyes. But apparently he didn’t turn down
the woman, even if she was a daughter of Zeus and the wife of a very powerful
king. So Helen of Troy went down in history as the face that launched a
thousand ships, and Paris as the man who destroyed his people over his desire
for a woman.

Would Troy have done better if Paris had chosen Hera or
Athena instead? Or had sensibly said no bribes are necessary, or even told them
that a mere mortal could not choose among such beauty?

That wasn’t the story Homer chose to tell. And when the
winner tells the story, we rarely know what the loser would have said.

Peppermint propagates through root runners, so I separated
out the root clumps, making four and in one case six new plants from the
original mass. I kept all the seed heads in a saucer, and the long, straggling
legs were pinched back to allow the plants to become bushy.

All the while Cousin Esme questioned me about gods and
goddesses (Greek, Norse and Roman) as well as curious tidbits of folklore. Most
of what she asked about was things from my great-grandmother’s book,
Denizens of the Night
,
like black dogs, varieties of ghosts, and how to set up a
ritual circle. We talked about Beowulf; about Greek tragedies; about
Bean-Sidhes
and boggarts; and whether
black cats are lucky or unlucky (the British think they are unlucky, and
Americans think they are lucky . . . but that opinion changes depending on where you
live).

And we talked about herbs. Common herbs, rare herbs,
dangerous herbs, herbs that can fool even experts. I made horehound gargle and
red raspberry leaf gargle, a digestive tea for gas from fennel seeds, and a moderately-priced
cleansing and moisturizing cream my mother had taught me. Olive oil and rose
water can be substituted for oil of roses and still make a fine cream, although
I prefer peppermint oil. But I don’t use face cream yet. I don’t like too much
flower scent in things. It is overwhelming.

The light was fading and my mind whirling before Cousin Esme
said we’d done enough for the day. “Tomorrow you will finish the cough drops.
Then you will see several of the other instructors of magic.”

“
Most
of what I know is herbs—and delivering babies,” I admitted.

“
As
your instructors have been of Earth, that makes complete sense,” she replied,
gesturing for me to rise from before the fireplace. “As I have said, Alfreda, I
do not expect you to know everything. You have done fine so far. These tests
are to place you in your studies. If all goes well tomorrow, you will receive
your books and start classes on Wednesday.”

Before we left, my cousin paused and said: “Ah!
Parlez-vous
français?”

“
Oui,
je parle un peu français,”
I replied. “There are French families near
Sun-Return, and trappers passed through our region, so I got to practice what I
knew.”

“
Good.
We will expand on that knowledge while you are here,” Cousin Esme said as she
pulled the door to her solar firmly shut. “You may go to supper now, Alfreda. I
will prepare a schedule for your activities tomorrow.”

I knew a dismissal when I heard one, and with a quick curtsy
was on my way to the dining hall. It was a noisier place for supper than for
dinner, perhaps because the meal was less formal: big bowls of beef and
vegetable stew full of carrots, potatoes, and turnips, and a sourdough bread
with rosemary in it that was very nice. Dessert was one fat cookie for each of
us, something mild and creamy with a lot of cinnamon and other spices in it.

I sat down at a vacant place, glad to be out from under
anyone’s eye. If you had told me last year that what I’d done today would make
me feel so tired, I would have laughed at you. Was it from that vaccine thing,
or a different kind of tired? I had talked to men who went to college, and they
said that their studies were often exhausting. I felt like the day had been
truly one long test.

“
Miss
Sorensson!” Margaret and Catherin sat down next to me. “How was the afternoon?”

“
Tiring,”
I admitted, smearing butter on my fresh bread.

“
You
must come tell us all about it,” Catherin said as she reached for her cup of
tea. “Since you do not have homework yet, and Margaret and I have finished our
papers, you can tell us of your adventures, and I will read you the passage
from
Robinson Crusoe
that you missed.”

“
We
won’t have sewing circle tonight?” I asked as we settled into our meal.

“
Only
on the weekends,” Margaret said quietly. “Otherwise we should be studying,
practicing spells, writing letters home, or mending our clothing or books.”

Oh, Lord and Lady, did I have letters to write. I’d tell
Marta about the portal in the stable, and how my Good Friend came to help, but
Momma did not need to hear that tale. I would tell my parents about Margaret’s
compliment on my sewing, and the sewing circle, and maybe a few things about my
examinations. Josh could hear about the school from momma.

The only other people I would send a letter to would be my
good friend Idelia, and to Shaw and to Cousin Cory. The idea of writing to Shaw
and Cory made me feel a little shy, but Cory was kin and Shaw was going to be
Marta’s student in Earth and Water mysteries, so we both had the same teacher.
I had to get used to discussing magic with other practitioners.

I might as well start the conversation with people who liked
me.

Sometimes I thought that Marta and Shaw were the only people
I could really talk to about everything that happened to me. ‘Course, Shaw was
so shy, I was never positive what he really thought.

But he always listened. And that was a blessing.

o0o

For one of the few times in my life, I sat and just listened
to Catherin read from
Robinson Crusoe
that night. My hands did not miss doing needlework. Both Margaret and Catherin
seemed impressed that Cousin Esme let me start preparations that needed a
second day to finish.

“
I
would not have known that business about peppermint seed when I came here,”
Catherin admitted. “And your knowledge of dyes is formidable. Professor
Livingston seems to be refining your placement in classes. I imagine you will
be in an advanced herbal class. Have you started using herbs in spells yet?”

“
Only
a few of them. My family’s book
Denizens
of the Night
has some recipes that I have tried.” The book had only
recently shown me magical recipes; before that, only a few family medical
recipes were visible.

I was resigned to the fact that my book was a different book
every time I looked at it, but I hadn’t admitted it to anyone yet.

“
I
think Professor Livingston will want you to practice with a quill pen, but you
have really finished with the classes for younger students, Miss Sorensson. You
have even read stories, like
Oedipus Rex
,
that girls are usually not allowed
to read! You are ready to enter Oxford!”

“
My
Latin is not good enough for Oxford,” I said, smiling, “and I need to practice
more French.”

“
Oh!
Trés bien!”
Margaret immediately began to chatter in French, so swiftly
that I caught only one word in three. I started laughing and held up my hands
to silence her.

“
I
will need your help for that. I can understand some French when I am visiting
at meals and know what people are talking about, but I haven’t learned very
many French names for herbs or magical items.”

“
You
will! And possibly some Italian or Spanish as well. It is much easier to learn
more than one language at once, I found. If you have spoken only English, it
takes time to tune your ear for other words,” Margaret assured me.

“
Oh,
I can speak with people from other lands,” I replied. “I can speak to people
from Norway, and Ireland. Those were family languages. I know enough German to
follow a conversation, if people aren’t mad and in a hurry. And once I hear
French for a while, I am better at it. I just need to retune my ear. It’s like
playing music, in a way.”

“
That
is very true,” Catherin said. “I understand a great deal of Welsh, but it is
discouraged in England, so my parents spoke it only at home, privately.”

“
It
is your family’s secret language,” I suggested.

A slow smile unfurled across Catherin’s face. “Yes, I
suppose it is,” she answered.

Not long after that we bade each other goodnight and agreed
to meet for breakfast in the morning. Both Catherin and Margaret promised to
wait until evening to wash their hair with me, since I might feel need of that
after my day of magical testing.

They certainly had my curiosity up about the magic tests. I
had gotten bloody from magic, but not that dirty. I had a feeling this was a
whole new order of knowledge coming up.

o0o

I was up before the sun the next morning. I wore the same
clothing as the day before, since I hadn’t gotten it dirty, and put on my
leather pouch with my knife and wooden cup and fire tinder, among other things.
I also dug out my wand and ritual knife and sheath, and slipped them into their
long pockets. So I was sitting quietly in a chair when Elizabeth arrived with
the hot water and basket of wood.

Elizabeth left me with just the water, saying she’d light a
fire for me in the evening. I freshened up and hurried down to my cousin’s
solar. If the fire was already burning there, I could finish the cough drops
and have that out of the way before other “testing.”

Someone had built up the fire in her solar, and the door was
not locked. I closed it carefully behind me, to keep the heat within.

The infused thyme smelled delightful. I found a small,
square pan on a shelf that would do well for the drops, and coated the inside
with butter. Then I took a good-sized iron pot with a heavy bottom and a tight
lid, buttered the inside and strained the thyme water through a piece of loose
muslin into it.

I paused to see if there was water cold enough for what I needed,
and found a corner of the room where a large ceramic jar touched the stone wall
and the window glass.

Ice sheeted the water within. I broke the ice plug and
scooped water with a clean dipper, pouring it into a small metal bowl and
setting it next to the stone wall to keep cold. The ice shards went into my
bowl as well.

Returning to my pot of infused water, I hung the pot on one
of the hooks over the fire. It had a tight lid, so in no time at all I could
hear the water boil.

There was no lack of ingredients on my cousin’s shelves; I
measured out sugar, oil of orange, and cream of tartar while I waited. Carefully
I swung the pot away from the heat and added my ingredients to the infused
water. I stirred the mixture to dissolve the sugar, and then added a drop of
honey, since the family recipe always worked better with a touch of liquid
sweetener. Schell practitioners did not give honey to babies, not even boiled
honey, but this recipe was made for adult tastes.

Setting the lid down, I pushed the pot back over the fire
where it was quickly boiling again. Now I had to wait for the steam to wash the
sugar crystals on the sides of the pan into the mixture. When the pot strained
to push off the lid, I used a thick pad to remove the cover. My mixture boiled
merrily within.

I hunted up a clean wooden spoon, and placed the ice water on
the firebrick before the fire. When the heaving mass looked right, I moved it
away from the heat, dipped the clean spoon into the pot, and dribbled some
syrup into the ice water.

The drop of syrup separated into threads. I tried to dip
them out with the handle of the spoon, but there was no bend to them; they slid
away from the polished wood.

Perfect. Using the quilted pads and the wire handle, I
carefully poured the mixture into the pan I had prepared. While the cough drops
began to set, I gathered up everything I’d used that needed to be washed,
loaded it into the pot, and set it aside to take to the kitchen. Cousin Esme’s
solar did not look as if she cleaned pots in it.

Several knives hung near the fireplace. I took one that
looked heavy enough and sharp enough, and scored the cooling mixture into
squares no larger than a half-inch to a side. It would need a half hour or so
to harden to the point where I could turn it out onto Cousin Esme’s marble
tabletop. But there would be no need to butter the table; the drops would set
before then.

Turning, I placed the knife into the empty cooking pot to
make its way to the kitchen as a voice said: “Well, you have indeed learned
much of the trade.”

I jumped, but managed not to cut myself or leap back into
the fireplace. It was Cousin Esme, dressed in her indigo gown, already
immaculate for the morning.

“
Oh,
ma’am, I’m sorry, but you startled me!” I said quickly, dipping into a curtsy. “I
did not hear you!” And how did she get that heavy door open without my hearing
her enter?

Smiling, Esme said: “I was very quiet. I did not want to
break your concentration.”

I felt my right eyebrow rise.

Her smile wider, Esme continued: “When you have your own workroom,
Alfreda, you will set a spell to tell you if anyone enters it. You will also
learn how to cast a spell of silence.”

“
Oh,
I pulled you from your breakfast! I’m sorry!” It didn’t occur to me that she’d
set wards inside her own house. But after I found that portal in the stable, if
she hadn’t set such wards before, she would do so now.