Journey of a Girl

The Purple House: Chapter Two

"Before you think to best me with magic, you need to learn the basics."

In the days after Credence's arrival, Lilith's demeanor shifted from unkind host to stern teacher.

They were in a repulsive-smelling chamber deep within the purple house, the room Lilith used most frequently to create her potions. Surrounding them were old books and a vast array of bottles and charms, and a fireplace above which dangled a chipped pot that was perpetually brewing some nasty liquid. 

This was not Credence's first lesson, but still early in her education.

"The basics," Lilith repeated. "There are a few vital blooms and herbs that serve as the core of many spells."

I will never use these spells, Credence told herself over and over, which always pulled a cackle from Lilith, as if the witch knew some sinister secret. She could still read Credence's thoughts, and it was never revealed when that ability would wear off—if ever.

Lilith took her seat next to Credence, plopping down so swiftly that the force of her backside hitting the seat sent a spider, who'd made the unfortunate mistake of beginning its web there, flying through the air with every last leg splayed out in surprise.

"What is this?" Lilith demanded, holding up a batch of green stems that ended in clusters of small white blooms.

"Hemlock," Credence replied automatically.

"Its main use?"

"Confusion. Stronger doses can seize the brain and turn a scholar into a fool. Does not work on cows."

"What else?"

"It's the base for a potion called Death's Feign."

Lilith grunted. "Good for skinning living meat," she added. "Good for keeping things in this realm, should you need to lengthen their agony and stay death's hand for a time."

Credence grinned. "Small doses can be used in oil to relieve pain."

Lilith hated when Credence offered any helpful features of a plant, information that was shockingly found in Lilith's books right alongside their deadly attributes. Lilith's sole concentration was on the various ways a plant could cause torment or death, and while Credence learned to let the crone have her fun without argument, she was secretly adamant in studying their healing aspects when she had a moment unchaperoned. 

Nightshade, for instance, was so deadly that even touching its berries could cause harm, but if gathered in bunches with gloved hands and left hanging to dry, it would ward off changelings and keep an infant safe in their crib.

Wolfsbane, with its highly toxic properties, could poison animals as big as a house, but was also the only herb that could stop a werewolf transformation.

When inhaled, the smoke of lavender could cause terror and madness, but when crushed to a paste or oil it had a wide range of curative uses for infections and muscle aches.

For all the terrible ways a plant could be utilized, there was always something helpful or restorative.

Balance, Credence often mused to herself.

At night in bed, Credence would recite the positives of a plant until she had them memorized.

For the most part, she kept this knowledge to herself, and if Lilith heard her thoughts she ignored them. But sometimes Credence couldn't help herself, for it amused her greatly to watch the witch's smug expression turned sour.

"Hemlock can also dry a mother's milk," Lilith bit back sharply, "and starve a newborn."

"That's foul."