The Tales and Tellings of Hallows' Grove (MLM)

CHAPTER EIGHT.

                "I've been thinking," Henry said over breakfast the next morning. "We should go to City Hall. It's small and the computers don't get the best internet signal, but it's decent enough for a name search."

Edward looked up from his many books. "You think you'll find Mary Jones in there?"

"She's not who she says she is," Henry said. "I'm sure of that."

"How can you be?"

"I'm good at that," Henry said matter-of-factly. "Details. I can always spot the missing piece, no matter how small."

"Modest," Edward smirked.

"You don't come to be a witch by ignoring your surroundings." He took a long, contemplative sip of his tea. "But if you recognize the name, it's definitely worth looking into."

Edward shook his head. "I've tried remembering. Honest, I have, but—"

"I'll figure it out," Henry told him. He saw Edward was staring at his mug of tea intently, longing. He supposed Edward would miss the taste, the desire to eat or drink at all. "Do you want to . . ." he trailed off. He'd just been about to offer Edward a mug, to hold his hand again as he drank.

He could hear his grandfather's voice, warning him against this foolishness. He shook the thought from his head. Edward was watching him, waiting.

"Er—do you want to get going? The earlier the better."

Edward looked down. Henry wondered if he might've imagined the disappointment in his voice when he said, "Right. Of course."

"I think your cat is starting to like me better," Edward voiced on the drive through town. Nox hissed when he reached over to the backseat to pet his head.

Henry laughed.

Henry had warned Edward that the computers were slow, but as he sat there in a row of swivelling chairs, Edward seated in the vacant one beside him, turning in circles and groaning at the ceiling as they waited for the search engine to come up on the screen ("Don't mind me," Henry laughed nervously at a confused secretary, "just playing with the chair!"), he'd forgotten just how slow.

"This is taking ages!" Edward complained.

"So impatient," Henry sighed, turning the page of his potion book. There were more than a few ingredients in here—wormwood, burnt daffodil, raven feathers—that he could obtain easily. He decided to save those for last. "I'll start on the amethyst dust tonight, by the way. It'll take the longest to finish."

"I saw plenty of amethyst in your apothecary," Edward noted.

Henry shook his head. "Amethyst is usually made with certain kinds of metals; cobalt, gold, copper. This one will require a magically synthesized metal."

Edward sat up eagerly, clearly all too happy to be thinking of something other than the slow computer. "What's that made of?"

"Oh, it's just a bit of silver fermented in witch's brew," Henry said, "which is really just a fancy way of saying soup for a bat with a bit of a kick. It's not a difficult process, but a long and precise one."

"Can I watch you do it?" Edward asked, still excited.

Henry thought of Edward watching him in awe, his large eyes focused on him. He cleared his throat. "If you insist. Ah, there's the public records page."