Trouble's Brewing (Stirring Up Trouble) Read online

  I had three sidewalk chalks, and I was going to get a handle on only one thing today. Was I on the right track with the sidewalk chalk? I still thought the recipe might call for some sort of bone, and I wasn’t sure which bone would work best or be the best choice for me to try to make work.

  Focus, Zoe. Right now, it’s about the chalk. Hardening it would be a priority. I had to find a way. Even if I used a one to one ratio of chalk and bone, I knew I needed the chalk mixture hardened. I knew this the way Anya’s mother knew that the chicken at The Tea Room had a touch of lemon peel in the seasoning. I had no idea what was in that chicken dish, but I had the same kind of instincts about my potion substitutions. The ideas just came to me, and the good ones felt right. I couldn’t describe it, but I could certainly do it.

  I wasn’t sure who had discovered margarine as a substitution for dead man’s toe, or how witches had managed to handle the toes of dead men for potions in the preceding centuries. The whole thing about dead man’s toe was kind of weird. There was no biography of the potion master who had found it. No one even knew his name or where he lived or how it had come to him. Maybe he was like me. He wanted to help people and cure disease and didn’t want the attention or fame. Of course, I had no idea how he’d managed to convince the Council and the hundreds of people who must have known his identity to keep it a secret. For all I knew, it could have been Finn who’d done it.

  The mere thought of Finn being even more impressive than I already thought he was nearly sent me running to hide under the bed. Surely, he hadn’t found the margarine substitution. If he had, his anonymity had to make him the most noble person I’d ever met. Had he done that for humankind? Had he found the substitution and kept his role in the discovery from everyone? If so, would he tell me? Would he share his deepest secret if I proved myself worthy? If I found the substitute for unicorn horn?

  He might. Maybe the toad slime hadn’t been enough for him. Maybe he wanted to see more from me.

  If Dr. Finnegan had discovered the margarine, wouldn’t he have continued his research? That had happened a long time ago. Decades. And nothing since. Well, not nothing. He’d done a lot of work in the field, taught, published scholarly texts and made breakthroughs in many areas, including environment disaster aversion. But could he have turned his back on the chance for finding a better way to brew potions using unicorn horn, toad slime, and eye of newt? I wasn’t sure I would ever be able to stop. I wasn’t sure I would even want to stop.

  After dressing in comfy jeans and a tee shirt, I went downstairs to see if Mom was up. She had said she needed a lot of time to work on her next design. As long as she stayed out of the kitchen, we’d be fine.

  I found my mother, perched on her favorite kitchen stool, with her colored pencils and sketchpad, a ruler, a color wheel and some fabric spread out over the kitchen island. The smell of brewing coffee filled the air, and I could see that my mother had almost finished her first cup of the day.

  “Good morning, sweetie,” she said, not looking up from her sketch until she finished the last few strokes of her idea.

  “You’re up early,” I replied, and yanked open the door to the fridge. I withdrew the orange juice and set it on the counter.

  “I couldn’t get back to sleep. I meant to sleep in. Since you and Dr. Finnegan are going to get started on the unicorn horn today, I knew you wouldn’t need me for anything. Then I started thinking about the playroom I’m working on, and I couldn’t resist grabbing my drawing pad and getting some ideas down on paper.”

  After pouring myself a glass of the juice, I replaced the carton in the fridge and walked over to sit opposite Mom. “Mom, can I ask you something?”

  “Oh, Zoe, I’m going to move all this to the dining room table when he gets here. You don’t have to worry.”

  “No, I mean, thanks. But that isn’t it. I think I might need to add bone to the chalk.”

  “Bone?”

  “Yeah. Like animal bone.”

  “Not unicorn bone?”

  “That would kind of defeat the purpose.”

  “Yeah, I guess it would.”

  “Chicken doesn’t sound right. Maybe something from a cow. What other bones could we get?”

  She cocked her head to one side as she considered my question. Then she said, “Fish, pig, lamb, probably deer, small animals like squirrel, rabbit, turtle, certainly possum, possibly horse, turkey, duck, any rodent but that’s not much bone per animal.”

  Fish bones would splinter. The turkey and duck weren’t likely to be much different from chicken bone. Pig, cow, and horse sounded more likely.

  “Okay. Thanks. You kind of know how to cook, right?”

  Mom just gave me the glare.

  “I didn’t mean to offend you. I know you can cook. I love your lasagna.”

  “Can we skip ahead to the part where you needed to know something about cooking?”

  “Um, yeah. If you are trying to make something harder, how do you do it?”

  “I let you help.”

  “No, not that kind of harder. Harder like,” I knocked on the counter, “that.”

  “I guess you might try egg whites… or a sugar glaze.”

  “Is that all you’ve got?”

  “I’ll think about it for a while.”

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  I ate some cereal, helped move my mother’s stuff into the other room, and got set up for Dr. Finnegan.

  Dr. Finnegan arrived exactly ten minutes early with his new, navy backpack hanging from his shoulder. Today, he wore running shorts and a Nike T-shirt. My tutor had gone uber casual today.

  “Good morning, Zoe,” he said as he walked past me to the kitchen.

  “Morning,” I answered. I followed him to the kitchen, unable to stop myself from glancing at his pale naked legs as he walked ahead of me. Dressed like this, he could have been my age. He looked like any hot guy from my school.

  Dr. Finnegan removed his backpack from his back and carefully placed it on the counter. Then he moved it until it was squarely in front of him, and with more care than anyone had ever before shown a backpack, he unzipped the largest compartment and removed a large notebook. Not so much like a hot guy from my school after all.

  “So, my dear. Where do we start the search for the elusive unicorn horn substitution?”

  I jumped up and fetched the three glass bowls from last night.

  “Some sort of pastel powder,” he said.

  “Sidewalk chalk.”

  “Chalk designed for drawing on sidewalks?”

  “Yes.”

  Dr. Finnegan frowned.

  “Not what you expected?”

  “Not exactly,” he admitted. “I would have thought the search might begin with another type of horn. Rhinoceros for example.”

  “I think the substitution probably can be found by starting with an animal horn as a base. I don’t want to spend all this time and have the ingredients be expensive and hard to find. I have a good feeling about this approach. It may not work, but I feel like I’m close with the chalk.”

  “An inexpensive and readily attainable ingredient would certainly be the ideal,” Dr. Finnegan said. “I wonder though, if you can explain your good feeling. How did you arrive at the sidewalk chalk?”

  “I wanted something that seemed the right texture. I want something gritty, something hard that breaks down into smaller bits.” I told him about my theory that I may need bone as well.

  “What will your initial testing involve?”

  “I’m going to do a series of basic tests using the chalk and three cat’s meows. Once I have documented any reactions, I’ll work on hardening the chalk itself. Then I’ll go to the bone mixture. I’ll repeat the basic testing to see if I am getting anywhere.”

  “And what responses will you consider to be positive?”

  “The function of the potion of course. And then any color change, movement, change in consistency. Any sort of reaction by the mixture will mean something.”

>   “You did this with the toad slime experimentation?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you nosed your way through it? Trial and error and a sense of feeling like something might work?”

  “Yes. Pretty much.”

  “All right then. Can I assume you have an ample supply of cat’s meow?”

  “I have some. I need to order more.”

  “Thankfully cat’s meow is affordable.”

  I removed the plastic wrap from the first bowl of powdered chalk. “I thought the first potion I would brew is the anti-radiation potion. It’s pretty simple, even though it’s expensive. I’m going to brew the real one first with the actual unicorn horn. Then I’m going to use the substitution ingredients to see if it reacts in any way like the real potion does. I’ll look at the change in the cauldron in order to see if I made any progress.”

  “You won’t approach a radioactive site will you?”

  “Oh no. One of the online Witch’s boards has a request out for the potion for a cleanup in North Carolina. I was going to give the potion to a friend who will deliver it there.”

  “Solid thinking as always.”

  “If you’ll measure the cornstarch and the yeast, I’ll start on the other ingredients.”

  “How big of a batch are we making?”

  “A gallon.”

  Dr. Finnegan pulled up the potion recipe on his iPad. I had printed mine out already, so I consulted the paper. For the comparison potion, I wanted to be precise in the mixing. First, I needed it to work for the radiation clean-up, and second, I knew that the potion had been extensively tested and that this particular mixture had the maximum effect. When I got to my experimentation with the substitution ingredients, I’d carefully document what I did, but I would go by instinct in the amounts.

  We had the potion mixed and simmering in the cauldron in minutes. This particular potion had to cook for twenty minutes. While it was cooking, I got three cans of cat’s meow. Witches had found that these were best packaged in the little cans used for cat food. They were the perfect size for the meow, and the meow was not able to escape.

  As the radiation potion cooked, it flashed from purple to green to pink. The mixture then reduced to half its size, my cue that it was ready. I removed it from the heat, because this could only be packaged in glass, and only when cool.

  Flashes of color plus the reduction. It was something to go on. Of course, I could come close to a completely wrong potion and think I was on the right trail. But in science, and in magic, one learned something even from heading down the wrong path.

  At the last second, I decided to add four egg whites to the chalk, brown it in a frying pan, and then add the chalk and egg mixture to the cauldron. Getting the cat’s meows in was going to be tricky, but I’d used them a couple of hundred times.

  “Let me know if and when to assist,” Dr. Finnegan said, standing close like a spotter for a tumbler.

  “I will. I think I got it,” I said. I held the can just above the line of the mixture in the cauldron. Then I popped the top and peeled it back, carefully to submerge the can slightly as the sound of the “meow” escaped the can. A loud meow would mean too much had escaped. This one had been okay. Not my best, but acceptable. The two that followed went in as easily.

  I had turned to share a smile with Dr. Finnegan when I felt the brief sensation of fur against my skin and turned back. Then I saw Jasmine on the counter by the stove. She was in motion, rapidly approaching the cauldron.

  “Oh my,” Dr. Finnegan said. “The cat’s meow must have—”

  I grabbed the cat with both hands and turned, swinging her around to keep her from ruining the potion. I didn’t realize I was going to impact Dr. Finnegan until I saw him duck as I swung her over him.

  I ran to the back door, opened it with my elbow, and tossed her outside.

  Jasmine was not happy.

  I shut the door, and bracing myself, turned to see what damage I had done to my tutor.

  Dr. Finnegan stood by the stove, an expression of disbelief on his face.

  His laughter started deep in his chest and rumbled up and out into the room. I laughed so hard that I had to gasp for air.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said. Gasp. “I nearly killed you.” Gasp.

  Dr. Finnegan had nearly been sliced to bits by Jasmine’s claws. Yet he’d doubled over laughing.

  Mom’s form appeared in the doorway to the living room. She opened her mouth and then closed it.

  The confused, slightly fearful look in her eyes struck me as fiercely comical, and I pointed at her as my laughter gained steam.

  Dr. Finnegan saw Mom and collapsed into a second fit.

  Mom stood taking us in, and she smiled. “Clearly the session is going well.”

  Our laughter wound down, only moments before totally incapacitating us, and Dr. Finnegan finally answered her.

  “If I hadn’t made this selfish decision,” he said, motioning to his younger body, “you’d have a bloody, feeble ninety-five-year-old man teetering around your kitchen on weak legs right about now.”

  “Your reflexes were impressive,” I said. “You ducked before I knew what I was doing.” A couple more giggles escaped.

  When we finally explained the situation to my mother, she shook her head. “We didn’t even think about Jasmine’s reaction to the cat’s meow. She’s never done it before.”

  “I’ve never used three in a row before either,” I said.

  My mother eyed the discarded cans on the counter. “Can you continue with the potion? Or has it been sitting too long?”

  “It’s fine,” Dr. Finnegan and I said in unison.

  “I’ll let you get back to it then,” she said.

  Even though I hadn’t expected my first try to yield any positive results, I found myself disappointed when the mixture burned up rather than changing colors and reducing. A girl could hope.

  “Sorry it wasn’t more exciting to watch,” I told Dr. Finnegan.

  “I found your process intriguing, Zoe. Experimentation is about trying, not all about succeeding.”

  True.

  “Besides, I suspect that I’d have broken a few ribs laughing that hard in my old body. It’s nice to have the reminder of the positives from my selfish move. And you know what they say about laughter?”

  “It’s the best medicine?”

  “Indeed.”

  We cleaned up the mess, neutralized the pots, and poured the radiation potion into the jar.

  “You must have known you’d be performing acrobatics today,” I said, motioning toward his running shoes and shorts.

  “I do apologize for my informal dress. I need to go shopping later today for some appropriate cold weather wear. Jeans, I suppose.”

  “You have to buy a whole winter wardrobe? You are so lucky.”

  “I don’t feel lucky,” he grumbled. “When I purchased the clothing for warm weather, I ended up following a group of teens around the store and grabbing everything that they looked at.” He signed. “Unless they laughed. If they picked it up and laughed, I left it be.”

  “Good call,” I said.

  Finn chuckled. “I guess you love to shop.”

  “Not exactly. At least, nowhere near as much as my mother does.”

  “I despise the entire endeavor. Shopping is another reminder of the gravity of my error and of my inadequate adaptation to my new form.”

  I interpreted that as “Life’s a bitch and shopping sucks.” An idea hit me like a truckload of frogs. Mom could help. “Hang on a second,” I said. Then I slipped off the stool and ran for the dining room.

  Mom looked up from her work as I skidded to a stop. “What’s the crisis?”

  “No crisis,” I said in a rush. “It’s just that Dr. Finnegan needs to go shopping for a winter wardrobe this afternoon, and he doesn’t seem real confident about it.”

  My mother leaned forward, her eyes shining with excitement. “I’m in.”

  “He didn’t exactly ask for h
elp, so he might take some convincing.”

  Pushing back from the table, she stood. “I got this,” she said.

  Mom led the way to the kitchen. “Zoe tells me you’ve got some shopping to do,” Mom said to Finn.

  “I do indeed,” he said as he finished zipping his backpack.

  “I can help if you’d like,” she said. “It’s actually one of my favorite hobbies, and you have done so much for us by helping Zoe.”

  “On a professional level, I certainly feel that I should refuse your offer. However, facing the reality of a shopping spree on my own, I find myself…” He stopped and shook his head. “Yes, please.”

  When my mother got home five hours later, she was squarely in the afterglow of a shopping binge. I, on the other hand, was fighting the frustration of a full afternoon of failure. Zero progress. I’d added varying amounts of the chalkboard chalk and tried different combinations of eggs to no avail. I’d gotten annoyed with my hair falling in my face and sweaty from the humidity of constantly boiling pots as I tried to harden the chalk to the right consistency. I’d finally put my hair up in a ponytail holder as high on my head as I could get it, and I knew from experience that my hair had taken on a grotesque appearance which could land me the lead role in any B-grade horror movie. Finally I’d cleaned up and taken a notebook to the couch to brainstorm. The brain activity was minimal.

  “Ewww,” she said before she could stop herself. “I see that you had a rough day.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Right.” Her eyes kept shifting from my face to my hair. “Then we won’t.”

  “Did you find Dr. Finnegan some clothes?”

  “We had the best time. He listened to my advice. It was so refreshing to take a man and dress him from top to bottom. Your father never let me shop for him, and we both know he had the worst taste in clothes. Not that shopping with Finn was anything like shopping for a real adult. Finn is an adult, of course, but dressing him is more like dressing a young person.” She sat down on the couch next to me and propped her designer shoe-clad feet on the coffee table. “Honestly, it was like dressing a male model. Everything fit him to perfection. If you could have seen him in that bomber jacket and those Levi’s.” Then she sighed, like she was sighing about a hot guy.