The witch seems so very happy to see me, which I guess is a good thing considering how much money is on the line.
“I knew I could count on you,” Morena Moriarty says.
“My reputation precedes me, huh?”
“Something like that.”
I scowl, not liking her tone. She definitely doesn't mean anything good by her remark. How did she know she could trust me to get the job done if not for my reputation? Hmm. She did read my palm. Just what did she discover about me?
“You haven’t even seen the items yet,” I remind her. “What if I only brought back two of the three?”
“I know you better than that, Rebel. You do not walk away from jobs you’ve accepted, and you do not ever concede failure. You would not have returned yet if you had not acquired what I desired.”
“Why do you desire them?”
I flinch as soon as I ask the question. That’s not my normal policy, but there’s something about the witch that sets me on edge. I don’t know why.
‘That business is my own unless I decide to share.” Her lips purse and then relax into a smug little smile. “I do not wish to share at the present time. Now, may I see my items?”
“May I see my cash?” I counter.
"You do not trust me, and yet you went and collected my items." Morena shakes her head. "That is what is wrong with the world. No one trusts one another."
“Considering humans can be walking alongside a witch and not realize it, I don’t think witches should be considered the most trustworthy.”
“Ah, but there are some witches who do not operate in secret and all because humans are not willing to believe in the possibility that magic is very real.”
"I guess it helps because there are a lot of charlatans too, scammers, con artists who profess to have magic but really don't. You know, fake witches who can't be trusted," I point out.
“Always seeking the negative, aren’t you? Tell me, how did you get your eye of cyclops?”
"I'm not here for storytime."
She nods slowly.
I scowl. “Don’t think you can just grab my hand and read my palm again. If you want trust, you have to earn it, and I’m afraid you’re already in the red.”
“Again, you still collected my items. The allure of money is high with you. Why is that? What do you need the money for? Not to retire, no.”
I say nothing. For one thing, it’s none of her business. For another, she might very well know already. I don’t know if reading palms is like reading minds or not, but I have no idea what info she has already gleaned from me.
"You want something," she says, "something that can be bought but at a high price, and I'm guessing that price will demand far more than just significant money."
“Right now, what I want is my money and for you to stop pretending you’re a psychiatrist, or maybe I’ll find another witch to sell these items to. I might be able to make more from someone else.”
The witch scowls. “I am doing you a favor.”
I scoff a laugh. “How do you gather that? You hired me, yes, and the price tag is high, but not just anyone will go up against a dragon.”
Unnerved, I swallow hard. The dragon's fires all drew to his body when he died, burning him, charring him until nothing was left. The wind took the ashes. By the time the firefighters arrived because someone must've reported the fire, all signs of the dragon's presence were long gone, and I retreated to my car to avoid any questions. Is that the way all dragons go? Does their magic help to preserve their species' anonymity even after they've died? What a way to evolve. That and other depressing thoughts plagued me the entire ride back.
Without another word, I hold up the bag I’m carrying. The eye and the stomach are both far too large to fit into the small pouch I carry on me at all times. I stroll forward and place the bag on the table. Carefully, I open it and remove the vial and the cooler. Inside rests the stomach and the eye.
She moves forward, and my hand falls to my dagger’s hilt. If she even thinks about touching them before she’s paid me…
“Well done,” she says, clasping her hands behind her back as if to say, relax. You can trust me.
My hand falls away. “Your turn to show the goods.”
“Very well.”
She bends down and straightens. The witch places a briefcase on the table, and I roll my eyes at the absurdity as she opens it. There are five stacks of twenties. The briefcase has so much empty space in it I want to laugh.
I close the briefcase. “A pleasure—”
“Do not leave yet.”
“Excuse me?”
“I want to make certain the ingredients work.”
“Look, if they work, great. If they don’t, that’s on you.” I pick up the briefcase and head toward the door.
“If the ingredients do not work, I will want to hire you again,” she says.
Ignoring her, I stroll to the door. I’m out of here.
But the doorknob won’t turn.
I glower at her. “I do not appreciate being kept against my will.”
“I would rather not have to hunt you down,” she says. “When word spreads that you killed a dragon, people are going to want to hire you more and more, and I do not want you to be too busy to get the ingredients.”
I cross my arms, the briefcase banging against my hip as a result. “You really think you’ll need something else?”
"It's possible. Hopefully not, but I may need a dragon's heart instead of one's stomach."
I narrow my eyes and stalk toward her. “I could have gotten the heart when I got the stomach!”
“Yes, but then the cost would have been so much more.”
“If you need a heart or any other part of a dragon, the price is going to be so high you aren’t going to be able to afford it,” I spit out.
“I understand your anger. As I said, this is just a precaution.”
I grit my teeth, but I can’t help being intrigued and watch her. She doesn’t duck into the back to make the potion. She’s slicing the dragon’s stomach into tiny pieces and adding them into various vials, some empty but others filled with various liquids. In one, the piece of stomach floats. In another, the piece turns solid, and yet another, it instantly turns a dazzling white color.
With a sickening sound, the witch cuts into the eye. I wince, my stomach churning. I can handle most everything, but anything to the eye gets under my skin. It looks like she’s taking out the pupil.
Morena adds some other ingredients to a large cauldron. Then, she adds the pupil and some of the dragon pieces, the ones that aren’t in solutions. A few other ingredients and then the rest of the stomach, some with the liquids in the vials, the rest just the stomach pieces. Finally, she adds the mermaid’s tear.
A flame bursts out of the cauldron, the fire a bright purple, the smoke a deep red. Once the smoke turns white, Morena blows it out. She lifts the cauldron and pours a blue liquid into a vial.
Her lips move, but she doesn’t speak aloud. The liquid takes on a golden hue, and the witch smiles.
“Come here.”
I comply, only stopping when I can peek into the cauldron. It's empty. The fire burned everything off, so only this tiny amount in the vial remains of the potion despite so much going into its creation.
“Go ahead and take it,” Morena says warmly.
Instantly, I’m wary. She’s trying to trap me, to force my hand. I have no idea what this potion is or why she would want to create it and then give it to me. Her using her magic to keep me here makes me all the more alarmed.
I shake my head but refuse to show any sign of being suspicious of her motives. “But I didn’t—”
“Take and drink.”
“No,” I refuse.
No way am I going to just drink some random potion I didn’t ask for. Who knows what it’ll do to me, especially with such potent items comprising it.
“I did not think someone with the name Rebel would be such a coward,” Morena says calmly, still holding out the potion.
“I’m not the kind to do what I’m told,” I inform her dryly.
The witch narrows her eyes, her features contorting with slightly repressed anger. “Do it, Tiffany Rose.”