The next morning, when Lillian was putting the eggs in the cold storage, she paused in the doorway and listened hard. She could hear Mother Manan in the parlor with her friend Sebastian—not what they were saying, exactly, but the steady ebb and flow of conversation.
Stepping into the cold storage, she set the basket of eggs on a shelf, then stood on a stool and reached way back to the tray of tincture bottles. Were they really a magic potion that would let a body understand the language of the animals?