Trouble's Brewing (Stirring Up Trouble) (13 page)

She held the sandwich with both hands and was chewing a bite big enough to make her look something like a chipmunk.

“Wow, you really were hungry.”

She made some affirmative yummy sounds and continued to chew.

“Will you be tempted if I brew it tonight?”

She nodded then slumped her shoulders to convey, I guess, that she wasn’t proud to admit it.

“Okay. I’ll wait until morning.” I sat down in the arm chair. “How big a bite did you take, anyway?”

Mom tried not to laugh as she finished chewing. “They make the best turkey sandwiches.”

When I finally crawled into bed, I set my alarm for five thirty so I’d have Mom’s potion ready right on time. My intentions were good, but my hand kept sneaking over and pushing “snooze.” At six, I mustered all my will-power and forced myself out of bed and down the stairs. I opened the fridge, grabbed a can of Diet Coke with Splenda, popped the top and sucked down the caffeine. Healthy? Not so much, but I couldn’t brew a potion in this state of drowsiness.

Mom came into the kitchen wearing her rattiest robe, her hair plastered to one side of her face, and her oily forehead reflecting the overhead light. “Thank goodness it’s almost over.”

I wanted to ask her if her mirror had shattered from her reflection, but I decided that would be cruel. I held my tongue.

“You know, Zoe, some fresh fruit and water would have been a better choice for getting your brain cells moving.”

I didn’t respond. I lifted my can up as if to toast her and then chugged another gulp.

Still bleary-eyed but more alert, I walked over to the cabinet with the potion ingredients. I opened the door and rummaged for what I needed. Apparently, I wasn’t doing as well as I thought because I couldn’t find the orange rind.

“I already got out the ingredients, Zoe,” Mom said wearily from her seat at the counter, looking for all the world like she might slide off her stool.

“Oh. Go back to bed, Mom. I got this.”

“Maybe I’ll wait on the couch,” she conceded.

I glanced at the ingredients on the counter by the stove, and pulled out the cast iron pot. I added the water and then started with the ingredients. The dry ingredients went first. Then the toad slime. Barf. Toad slime first thing in the morning. Uggh. I would have preferred to work with the substitute but it wasn’t fine-tuned yet. I gritted my teeth at the reminder that they’d taken my experiment away. Stupid Council. I needed to concentrate. I had to brew the potion to the right consistency, and if I let it boil too far, I’d have to start over.

Mom hadn’t gotten out the soup, so I went to the canned foods cabinet. I pulled out the fancy soup we’d gotten, and located the can opener. Maybe I should learn how to make chicken soup from scratch. I could freeze it in containers for when I needed it. When I made it for people who didn’t know the truth, like Anya’s grandmother, I always felt like a fraud. Even though I was helping them. They all thought my mother made the best chicken soup.

Catching myself staring at the open can for who knows how long, I shook myself into action and ran back to the stove. The potion looked fine. I stood over the pot. A few more minutes should do. I was going to close my eyes for a few seconds. My mind roamed quickly to my soft, snuggly bed upstairs. Before long, I had convinced myself that I could go back to bed. Then I was in bed, and hugging my comforter to me, and Mom was calling my name.

“Zoe, wake up.”

I jerked awake to find myself standing over the stove, the potion boiling in front of me.

“Oh my gosh!”

“You could have been hurt.”

“I dozed off for a millisecond, Mom. I’m okay.”

The potion, however, almost wasn’t. I snatched up the potholders and moved the pot off the burner. I examined the brew to be sure it hadn’t passed its prime. No. It was good. I sighed with relief. The consistency was perfect.

Mom poured the soup into another pot and set it on the burner. “I’ve got it from here, Zoe. Go get ready for school.”

“Maybe a cold shower,” I mumbled.

“A warm shower will probably suffice.”

I wasn’t so sure.

Freshly showered, made up, and dressed, I ran back down the stairs to find my mother lying on the couch, her arms over her face as if to block the light.

“Seriously? You should be better by now,” I said. “Go take a shower. You’re kind of funky.”

“I should have let you brew it last night. Surely I could have behaved until morning.”

“Mom, I didn’t fall on the stove, so I really don’t think it matters.”

My mother moved her arms away from her face and sat up. She had sprouted a big, red rooster comb out the top of her head.

Chapter Nine

“What! Why? Mom, what happened?”

“Something went wrong with the potion, Zoe.”

“No way. I’ve brewed that a billion times. You must have taken it too early. You must not have waited long enough.”

“I know I was sick by six on Saturday morning, Zoe. I was rolling around in my sleep for hours before that. I should have had plenty of time, extra time.” Her voice rose hysterically. “Zoe, not only do I have a giant thing on my head, I’m still sick. I feel like dog doo, and I can’t handle this.” She pointed to the top of her head.

Mom was seconds away from tears, and I didn’t know what to do. I never messed up simple potions. Heck, I never even messed up complicated ones.

I pulled my phone out of my pocket. “I’ll call Dr. Finnegan. We have to fix this fast because I have tests today.”

Mom stood with her hands on her hips, which only added to her rooster-look.

“I’m so sorry, Mom.”

I dialed Finn. He was an old man, well on the inside. Old people got up really early. Please be awake. Please answer. “Zoe,” Finn answered in a sleepy voice. “Is something amiss?”

“Uh, yeah. We need your help. Mom’s health potion didn’t work. It’s bad. She has a rooster comb on top of her head.” I turned my back to my mother. “It’s big, Finn. Really big.”

“I can still hear you,” Mom said.

“I’ll be right there,” Finn said. “Don’t do anything.”

“I won’t.”

I hit end and turned to Mom. “Finn’s on his way.”

She sat back on the couch, or more accurately, fell back onto the couch.

“I’m sorry, Mom. I don’t know what happened. Finn will fix it. He’s brilliant.”

She didn’t answer.

“I’ll get you a cold drink.”

I had no idea if she wanted a cold drink, but I needed to escape the room and the waves of agony emanating from her.

What had gone wrong?

Sure, I’d dozed for a minute, but the consistency was right. I had made sure of it.

I didn’t make mistakes. I didn’t! But if I were going to mess up, this morning would have been the time.

I walked over to where the measuring spoons and ingredients littered the counter. I reached for the bottle of orange peel and replaced the cork. Then I picked up the bottle of toad slime. I’d capped that immediately because of the odor. The tiny plastic bag of gum-myrtle root. The jar of— Wait. That wasn’t the gum-myrtle root. It was plain old black oak root. Oh my God!

Mom had messed up. Not me. What a huge relief! I didn’t want to be the one responsibility for the atrocity on top of her head. I hadn’t done it. It wasn’t my fault.

I took a deep breath. Finn wouldn’t think I was a total moron after all. The bottom line was that I should have verified everything, but that failure was way better than the epic fail I thought I’d earned this morning.

Now to fix this problem. I took another breath. I can do this. I need to think.

I heard Finn’s agitated knock all the way from the kitchen. I rushed to the door, but he had already flung it open.

Mom sat frozen on the couch. Eyes closed. Waiting for the reaction.

“Oh my dear Lord!” Finn exclaimed. “Annie, you poor dear.”

A quick glance told me Mom was about to collapse in sobs. “Finn,” I called. “In the kitchen. We need to talk.”

“Oh dear,” he said again with a last look at my mother.

Once inside the kitchen, I closed the door.

“You don’t want Annie to hear?”

“No, I don’t think she wants us to hear her crying.”

“Oh. Poor Annie.”

“I know what happened.”

“She didn’t wait long enough?”

“No. I mean she did. I mean that’s not it. Mom set the ingredients out for me, and I came down at six and brewed the potion.”

He waited.

“She gave me the wrong tree root.”

His face lit with understanding. “Instead of the gum-myrtle root, she used what? Oh dear, not palm root?”

“No!” I assured him. “Nothing that awful. Black oak.”

Finn sighed with relief. “Let’s get to work.”

“Um, Dr. Finnegan,” I said. “I need to go to school. I have a test first period.”

“Right,” he said, distracted as he searched through my potion cabinet. “School. Inconvenient, but unavoidable. Before you go, tell me what you have already prepared.”

“I’ve got a list in the library. I’ll go grab it.”

Finn didn’t answer. He kept pulling out potion ingredients and muttering to himself.

On the way to the library, I stopped at the couch. Mom had resumed her hands over her head position.

“Mom. Finn’s got this. Don’t worry. We know what happened, and he’s already working on it.”

“Really?”

“I promise.” I left her and went for the list. Then returned to Dr. Finnegan. “I have 27 potions brewed,” I told him as I handed him the paper.

“Excellent,” he said, studying my carefully compiled list. “And expiration dates as well. Good job.”

“You are going to fix her, right?” I asked. “She’s still sick on top of everything else.”

“I’ll handle it,” Finn said.

“There’s one more problem,” I said.

“Another problem?”

“I need a ride to school. I’ve already missed the bus.”

“It’s becoming quite apparent that you need a driver’s license.”

“I can’t get one until my next birthday.”

“I’ll take you to school. Are you ready now?”

“Yes. My backpack is in the living room.”

After saying goodbye to my mother, I trailed Finn to his car. I’d never paid it any attention before, but now I saw that it was a smart car.

“It’s tiny,” I said.

“Fuel efficient,” he answered.

“Is it safe?”

“Very,” he assured me. “And splendid for tight parking. I park on the street in Fort Sanders, and this little car can squeeze in anywhere.”

My school was only a few miles away. “Okay,” I said.

Finn opened the door for me, and I scrunched in.

He had the reflexes of a young person, I reminded myself. I wasn’t riding with a ninety-five-year-old man in a sardine can.

I was torn between yelling boo to check his reflexes and being as quiet as possible so as not to stress him in any way.

“Relax, Zoe. I wouldn’t endanger your life.”

“Of course not. I didn’t, um…”

“There’s always a healing potion,” he quipped.

“Har-dee har har.”

“You’re safe.”

I had a car about this size when I was four, but they didn’t let me drive it on the street. “I’m sorry I can’t help you with Mom.”

“Not a problem. I’ll have her back in action in no time.”

“I hope so,” I said.

Finn whipped into the school and dropped me right at the front door.

“Thanks,” I said. I grabbed my backpack and emerged from the car, not unlike a sea snail from its conch shell.

“I suppose your mother will pick you up?”

“I can take the bus.”

I slammed the door hard enough to shake the whole car, and Finn drove away.

“Your tutor drove you to school?” Jake’s voice reached me before I saw him.

“Uh, yeah,” I said scrambling for an excuse.

“Is your mother still sick?”

“Yes. That’s right. She is.” Perfect excuse. “So Finn offered.”

“Shouldn’t a college guy have something better to do?”

“I’m sure Mom paid him.”

“Oh. Okay.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Your mother’s pretty sick?”

“I think she’s getting better.” At pretending she’s a rooster. Not my fault. Well, a little my fault.

“Are you okay?”

Nice of him to notice that something wasn’t right with me. I was glad he didn’t know exactly what. “I’m kind of worried about the test.”

He took my hand in his. “You’ll be fine.”

I gave his hand a squeeze. Having a boyfriend totally rocked!

My hand felt like it was going to fall off when I finished the lit exam. I had written out my essay answers in the blue book as fast as I could. Maybe I’d get lucky and get some extra points for writing more than anyone else. Otherwise, I could be in trouble. I didn’t have any deep or impressive thoughts on “man’s inhumanity to man” since I was distracted by the image of my mother, sick as a dog, lying there with a rooster comb.

My other hope was that all the other kids were too antsy for Thanksgiving to perform well. I know. I’m not exactly a good person when it comes to academic competition. I’m okay with that.

Before I went to lunch, I sneaked a look at my phone to see if Mom or Finn had texted. Mom had. She said that she was back to normal but still sick.

Thank goodness she had lost her new appendage, but why was she still sick? There must be a waiting period. That made sense. Two powerful potions within a few hours. Trying the health potion right away might be dangerous. I was so glad Finn was around to help.

I was tempted to text Dad and have him check on Mom. If Finn was working on the potions, who was making sure Mom has enough cold liquids for her throat? Who was making sure she was eating? But I stopped myself. My father was at work, and he’d only call and annoy her. She could call him if she needed him. I only had a few more hours before I could catch the bus home.

When I got off the bus, I saw that Finn’s car was gone. I hoped that was a good sign. I opened the door and went in to find Mom on the couch. She had brought down, not only her blanket, but her pillow from her bed. A tissue box, three glasses, a bag of throat lozenges, a bottle of Sprite, some sliced apples and cheese, and the remote for the TV cluttered the coffee table.