Almost midnight, and the living room on the third floor had taken on some of the familiarity of the kitchen. The polished oak table had been covered with a thick cloth to protect its surface from the chopping boards, knives, jars, bowls, and assorted roots and berries. The frigid air bit into Rosalie’s back despite the thick woollen coat she’d put on and the scarf wrapped around her neck. Anastasia stirred the cauldron that contained the mandrake, juniper, and mint potion, no coat or scarf needed so close to the only heat source in the room.
Rosalie worked on regardless, washing and slicing the mandrake, pulping berries, and shredding more mint leaves. She’d already pulverised some dried linden leaves and had only to de-stem the remaining sprigs of lavender.
With a pencil in his hand, Al
