Iris held the jar of lemon, looking at her own, familiar handwriting on the label, and felt the world shift back into place. She chopped a small amount of peel and placed half into a burner. Setting light to it with a long kitchen match, Iris stated her intention: that people would speak the truth, out loud and in full and in the English language. It wasn’t very pithy, as incantations went, but Iris had learned the hard way; you had to get specific with these things.
The smell of burning lemon peel wasn’t the worst smell that the work room had ever encountered, but Iris opened the window anyway. The scent of lavender and grass and peashoots flooded inside and the chirrups and peeps of the birds were suddenly much louder. The sky, which had been palest blue a moment before, was deepening before Iris’s eyes, providing a dramatic contrast with the sculpted white clouds.
She ground the burned lemon with the mortar and pestle, focusing on her intention and the recipients of the spell. The Farriers. Specifically Mr Farrier. It would affect anybody who drank the potion, of course, but you could influence the relative strength with intention. At least, Iris hoped so. She wanted him to be helpless with truth, wanted him flooded and uncontrolled. She wanted his secrets to spill onto the floor from his lips and for everybody to see him for the man he really was, see any and all evil which lurked inside.
Iris had missed her chance to expose the monster James Farrier kept hidden from society and she felt she had been given a second chance. Those gold cufflinks, spat out by her own mother years ago, had given her the chance to make amends. Somewhere, far at the back of her mind, there was a lone voice which pointed out that Alistair Farrier was not the same man, that there could be no second chances as James Farrier was no longer a part of the physical world. The voice pointed out, not entirely unreasonably, that James Farrier only existed now in the memories of those he loved or hurt, but Iris didn’t pay it any attention. Sometimes, you had to take what you could get.
Iris avoided looking at her garden as she walked back to the house, carrying the mixing bowl with the small amount of precious powder. She didn’t want to see the curling blackberry vines or stinging nettles, the knotweed which had sprung up overnight to choke her vegetables and flowers. Iris needed to feel strong, so she ignored the signs of weakness. Her garden was the closest thing she had to a relationship and her companion sensed that she was failing. Her powers, her body, her mind; they were all breaking down. She was coming to the end and her garden knew it.
But you’re not at the end. Not yet.
Still enough energy for tonight. With a spring moon low in the sky and the birds singing out and the sap running through the world.
Iris fetched a bottle of her good elderflower wine from the pantry. It was a swingtop with a ceramic stopper and she popped the lid and took a slug straight from the bottle. It was delicious so she had another nip and then added the powder to the bottle, tipping it carefully with the aid of a small plastic funnel, and fixing the stopper. She swirled the liquid in the bottle until the powder disappeared and put the bottle and a few plastic cups into a bag. The less you had to ask people to provide, the better, and Iris was always well prepared. If she hadn’t been a witch, she’d have made a marvellous girl scout.
***
Bex was still standing on the street outside Jon’s house, unable to walk away. She took a deep breath. Maybe she should just tell him how she felt? She could knock on the door and, when he opened it, say: ‘I want to be more than friends and it’s killing me.’
No.
Bex’s insides had gone liquid at the thought. Besides, it would only cause heartache and embarrassment. Bex wasn’t a fool and she’d had boyfriends in the past. You could tell when there was a spark, when someone was attracted to you. If Jon felt the same way, he’d have shown some sign by now. Bex imagined Jon’s expression if she declared her feelings; horror, quickly followed by deep discomfort. Pity.
‘Are you going to stand there all night?’
The voice seemed to be right next to Bex’s ear and she jumped, looking around the previously deserted road.
Iris Harper was standing a few feet away, leaning on a stick. She had a bulky bag slung across her body and her coat was buttoned up to the neck, even though it was a warm night.
‘You startled me.’
‘You’re a very nervous person,’ Iris said. ‘I’ve got a good tonic for that.’
‘Were you looking for me?’ Frankly, Bex
