Peter looks down at the cauldron, bowl, jars, spoons, and book that appear on his desk. He doesn’t recognize any of the ground herbs in front of him, picking up a small jar of yellow powder. Opening the cork top, he sniffs. Jerking away, he squeezes his eyes shut, putting the jar down, and holds his nose; cork still between his fingers and palm. The stench of rotten eggs overpowers his senses, burning his throat and eyes. He slams the cork back into the jar. What the hell is that? He studies the other jars, afraid to open another one.
Giggling comes from beside him.
Peter cuts his eyes to his left.
The petite auburn-haired girl cuts her white eyes at him, still giggling through her hand.
Peter leans to his left, propping on his elbow, and whispers. “Something funny?” Arching an eyebrow
