Phony Potions

Chapter 34

The echoes of our footsteps doubled back on us in the narrow hallways, my bare feet softer and Winsor's stiff boot soles sharper against the cold stone. There were no remaining carpets or decor on the walls to absorb the noise. Although it was a tower, it was very different from the weather tower I'd climbed earlier with Bernard.

That had been a narrow climb straight up, meant to elevate, not occupy. This tower was built to house many people. Rooms hosted rotting bunk bed frames pressed tight together, mold filled basins that once held water for bathing and small water closets. Most of the outer rooms of the ruin had long since been looted, only broken and dilapidated skeletons of furniture that would have been too much trouble to steal remained. We reached the kitchen, identified by its distinctive multitude of hearths, with cabinets hanging open, their shelves empty. Not even mice scurried anymore.

While we were poking around, I remembered my previous conversation outside.

"So why would it be for your own well-being if you didn't have to heal Flatchert? You wouldn't be feeling the injury," I asked.

Winsor leaned against one of the old heavy wooden tables, its surface worn by centuries of preparing vegetables and other foodstuffs by the chefs' knives. One of his fingers worried a ridge in it.

"Casting spells isn't equivalent to using magical creatures to craft enchantment. A spell can change the way something is for a while, maybe a very long while, but the second the magic stops being cast, the affected object or element reverts to its natural state."

"But you healed me and I'm still fine. You're not chanting that spell anymore," I said, pointing at my formerly bruised eye.

"Yes, that's because I've allocated some magic to be continuously used to maintain your healing. Of course, one day, probably in a few weeks, judging by the severity of your injuries, you'll be actually recovered. I can drop the spell, and you won't notice any difference."

"So if Flatchert injured herself and you healed her..."

"Yes, I'd have to set aside even more magic that I couldn't touch until she had naturally recovered. Same thing with the weather. It rained when Sir Osoro, who is liable for the weather this week, dropped the spell when he lost his powers," Winsor said. "The only way to make a change permanent is to use the life and bodies of magical creatures, like fairies, hexasteers—"

"Moon Giants," I said.

"That is true, if you used Moon Giant blood you actually do heal right away. It's them trading something physical, tangible... a sacrifice of sorts," Winsor giggled. "Of course, you know that. Too bad she wasn't with you when you got injured. Or now. She is so very fetching."

"Yes." Act smug now. Soon I'd make my move and Winsor would be confessing where Mallow was. "Too bad."

Silence filled the room. Winsor scanned the dusty, looted kitchen, Then he fake coughed. "Doesn't seem to be anything on the first floor," Winsor said, pushing away from the table and clapping his hands together. "Let us ascend to the second floor."

"Second floor?" I hadn't seen a stairwell.

"Yes, second floor." Winsor moved back out to the main meeting room. He pointed up at the ceiling. Above us, instead of a chandelier, was a large wooden door, circular shaped. An iron gate held glass panes that moonlight filtered through. Wait? How was moon light filtering through, this ruin was at least five floors tall...

"Make the two of us light as a feather,

ascend both no fuss, no earthly tether,

rise toward that door,