Mostly Harmless Magic, Chapter 5

Rue’s arms ached as she scrubbed at the root cellar floor, each sweep of the mop collecting more of the glittering residue left behind by the silver wind. Even Granny Thorn’s magic hadn’t done the trick. Not entirely. But the chaos had settled into mere mess, something manageable, something she could fix with soap and water and sweat.

“At least I’m not see-through anymore,” she muttered to herself, watching as the brine-soaked mop head pushed a puddle of rainbow-colored liquid into a corner.

Rue worked methodically, starting from the farthest recesses of the mess and moving toward the stairs. The shelves still stood in their strange, spiral formation, jars askew and labels peeling. She righted them one by one, reading each faded name aloud as if introducing herself to old friends. “Whimsy Wine… Moondew… Brightberry Balm.” The names rolled off her tongue, familiar yet mysterious, each one a promise of magic she’d yet to understand.

A cobweb clung to the ceiling above her, its delicate structure beaded with moisture that caught the light like tiny diamonds. She reached up with the broom, careful not to disturb the drowsy spider nestled in its center. Granny Thorn had been clear about spiders: they stayed, dust went. “Nature’s balance-keepers,” she’d called them.

The pickled yodelers had knocked over a stack of empty baskets in the corner, scattering them across the floor. Rue gathered them, stacking them neatly against the wall. As she lifted the final basket, something caught her eye—a familiar gleam of dark glass, partially hidden in shadow.

Her breath caught in her throat. The Grimsap jar.

It sat innocently enough, its dark contents still and unmoving in the dim light. But the rim, Rue noticed with a jolt of alarm, was smeared with soil. Not the fresh soil of a newly dug garden, but the dried, crumbling earth that spoke of journeys made.

“You’ve been busy,” she whispered, crouching to examine it more closely. The jar seemed to absorb the light around it, the black substance inside neither liquid nor solid, existing in some in-between state that defied description. She reached out a finger, hovering just above the glass but not quite touching it.

The jar’s whispers started again; soft, insistent murmurs that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. Words just beyond understanding, meanings that slipped away like water through cupped hands.

Rue drew back. Should she tell Granny Thorn? The old woman had seemed so tired after the yesterday’s chaos.

No. This was something Rue could handle. Hadn’t she been studying the sealing charms? Hadn’t Granny Thorn shown her the words, the gestures, the intention behind the magic? This was her chance to prove herself, to show that she was worthy of the trust placed in her.

With steady hands—steadier than she actually felt—Rue lifted the jar. It was heavier than it looked, as if the darkness inside had a weight all its own. The whispers grew louder, more urgent, as if sensing her intentions.

“Hush now,” she said, surprising herself with the firmness in her voice. “Back to your cabinet you go.”

The warded cabinet stood against the far wall near the stairs. Rue approached it cautiously, the jar growing heavier with each step, the whispers more insistent.

She set the jar down carefully inside, her fingers leaving faint smudges on the glass. The hanging lanterns reflected in its surface, transforming the dark contents into a swirling galaxy of tiny, distant stars.

Rue closed her eyes, recalling Granny Thorn’s lessons. The sealing charm was simple in theory but complex in execution—a delicate balance of words and will, of intention and power. She’d watched Granny perform it numerous times, had practiced the gestures until her arms ached and the words until they flowed naturally from her lips.

Taking a deep breath, Rue raised her hands, fingers splayed toward the cabinet beginning to trace patterns in the air, careful to match each curve and line of the runes Granny Thorn had taught her precisely.

“Bind what wanders, seal what strays,” she murmured, her voice gaining strength as the magic built around her. “Return to darkness, hide from gaze.” The blue light of the runes pulsed in time with her words, a visual echo of the power she was calling. Eventually, when she was powerful like Granny Thorn, she would not have to say the words aloud, but for now it helped her to hear them.

The cabinet door swung shut of its own accord. The whispers were now a frantic chorus that she forced herself to ignore.

“By my will and by my word,” Rue continued, her fingers still tracing the patterns, “let what’s bound remain unheard.” The final gesture—a swift, decisive motion like cutting a thread—sealed the charm. The cabinet glowed brightly for a moment, the blue light washing over Rue’s face and hands.

Then, the runes faded to their usual dim pulse, the magic settling into its watchful state. The whispers were gone, cut off as completely as if they’d never existed.

Rue lowered her hands, a deep exhaustion settling into her bones. Her first solo sealing charm. She’d done it. The jar was secure, the Grimsap contained. For now, at least.

She sank to the cold cellar floor, her legs suddenly unable to support her. As the last of the adrenaline drained from her system, Rue found herself smiling, a small, tired smile, but genuine nonetheless.

“One problem solved,” she whispered to the empty cellar. “A hundred more to go.”

⋆.ೃ࿔* :･༶𓆸✩°𓏲⋆🌿. ⋆⸜ 🍃✮˚❀𖧧༶･: *.ೃ࿔⋆

The stairs creaked beneath her feet as she climbed, each step a small victory. It had taken all day, but the cellar looked better than before, and her chest warmed with pride. Evening had fallen while she worked, and the room was lit by the gentle glow of candles. Their flames danced in the drafts, casting long shadows that stretched and receded like tides.

The herb bundles hanging from the rafters rustled in the breeze from the open window, releasing their soothing scents—lavender, sage, rosemary—into the air. Rue breathed deeply, drawing strength from the familiar smells.

Rue had barely settled herself at the kitchen table, her legs still wobbly from the effort of the sealing spell, when the back door of the cottage burst open with enough force to rattle the herb bundles hanging from the ceiling. Mayor Thistle Merrimere stood in the doorway, her substantial frame blocking most of the evening light, an ornate leather ledger clutched protectively against her chest like a shield. The woman’s perfume arrived before she did—a cloud of floral scent so intense that Rue felt her nose crinkle in protest.

“Goodness gracious, doesn’t anyone answer the door anymore?” The mayor muttered under her breath. Her curly chestnut hair had partially escaped its pins, giving her the look of someone who had hurried through a windstorm. “I’ve been knocking at the front door for ages.”

“Oh, no! I’m sorry! I didn’t hear,” Rua said, instinctively reaching for the teapot to offer hospitality. But the Mayor wasn’t interested in pleasantries.

“This cottage,” Mayor Merrimere announced, her voice as flustered as her appearance, “is becoming a public nuisance!” She sniffled dramatically, the sound somehow both delicate and accusatory.

Rue froze, teapot in hand, watching as the Mayor strode into the kitchen with the determined air of someone who had rehearsed their grievances all the way from the village square. She slammed the ledger down onto the table with enough force to make the jars of dried herbs on the shelves tremble in sympathy.

“Public nuisance?” Rue repeated, her voice small but curious. “What do you mean?”

The Mayor began pacing the small kitchen, her colorful skirts swishing with each turn.

“What do I mean? What do I mean?” She threw her hands up in exasperation. “I mean the strange smells drifting through the village that turn hair purple and make chickens lay square eggs! I mean the ghostly apparitions in the attic that frightened poor Tobbin’s delivery boy so badly he dropped an entire day’s worth of bread in the village pond!” Her voice rose with each grievance, gathering steam like a kettle left too long on the fire.

“And the screams! The unholy screams in the night that had Mrs. Withers convinced we were being invaded by banshees!” Mayor Merrimere paused to catch her breath, her hazel eyes wide with the enormity of it all.

Rue bit her lip, fighting the urge to smile. The screams had likely been the pickled yodelers making their escape. And the ghostly apparitions? Probably her own transparent self wandering past a window. As for the smells and transformations… well, magical mishaps did tend to have interesting side effects.

The sound of a door closing firmly brought Rue’s attention to the hallway, where Granny Thorn emerged from her workroom. Her face was set in a scowl that could have curdled fresh milk, but Rue caught the slight twitch at the corner of her mouth that suggested she wasn’t quite as annoyed as she appeared.

“This,” Granny Thorn announced, waving a gnarled finger in Rue’s direction, “is what happens when you let your new apprentice poke around in the cellar.” But there was no real heat in the accusation, and Rue detected a hint of pride beneath the gruffness.

The Mayor turned to face Granny Thorn, her expression a mixture of relief and indignation. “Ethelwyn, I’ve got six—six!—formal complaints on my desk this week alone. The village council is in an uproar!”

Granny Thorn walked into the kitchen, her movements unhurried despite the Mayor’s agitation. “Sit down, Thistle. Have a scone.”

From a covered plate on the counter, Granny Thorn produced several pastries. She set them on a plate and then pushed the plate toward the Mayor. “Good for cooling hot tempers.”

Mayor Merrimere eyed the scones with obvious suspicion, as if they might leap up and attack her at any moment. “The last time I ate something from your kitchen, my tongue turned blue for a week.”

“That was thirty years ago,” Granny Thorn replied dryly. “And as I recall, you’d been spreading rumors about my garden gnomes.”

The Mayor sniffed indignantly but picked up her scone nonetheless. “They were moving positions every night. It was suspicious.”

“They were dancing. Garden gnomes do that when they’re happy.”

Rue watched this exchange with fascination, her gaze darting between the two older women. There was history here, decades of it, layered and complex. She edged closer to the table, drawn not just by the conversation but by the ledger that lay open between them.

The Mayor took a tentative bite of the scone, and her eyes widened in surprise. “Oh,” she murmured, surprise evident in her voice. “That’s actually quite good.”

While the Mayor was distracted by the unexpected pleasure of the scone, Rue inched closer to the ledger, curiosity overriding caution. The pages were filled with neat columns and rows, each line a different complaint or issue brought to the Mayor’s attention. Rue’s eyes skimmed the entries, most of them mundane village matters; disputed property lines, wayward livestock, arguments over fruit tree branches that extended over fences.

Then she saw it. In alarming red ink, standing out from the black script around it, was a single word that made her heart skip: “Grimsap.”

The entry was brief but ominous: “M. Nibbin reports dangerous magical item in Thornecroft cellar—’Grimsap.’ Urgent investigation required.”

How did Marta Nibbin know about the Grimsap? And why was she reporting it to the Mayor?

“Something interesting in my records, young lady?” The Mayor’s voice cut through Rue’s thoughts, sharp with suspicion.

Rue straightened up quickly, nearly knocking over her teacup. “No, ma’am. Just curious about village governance.”

Mayor Merrimere made a sound that clearly communicated her disbelief, but before she could press further, Granny Thorn intervened. “The girl’s learning,” she said, pushing another scone toward the Mayor. “Part of her education.”

The Mayor’s eyes narrowed, flicking between the ledger and what Rue hoped was her innocent expression. “Education is all well and good, Ethelwyn, but when magical accidents start affecting the entire village, it becomes my concern.” She took another bite of the scone, a bit of frosting sticking to her lips. “The council expects me to take action.”

Rue frowned. The Mayor’s ledger was proof that their private troubles were becoming very public indeed. And it was her fault… wasn’t it?

Granny Thorn met Rue’s anxious gaze with a steady look of her own, a silent message passing between them: Say nothing. Let me handle this.

Rue nodded slightly, reaching for a scone to occupy her hands and mouth, but she barely noticed the flavor. Her mind was too busy racing ahead, wondering what the red ink in the Mayor’s ledger might mean for the Grimsap, for Granny Thorn, and for her own place in Bramblehook.

Mayor Merrimere dabbed at the corners of her mouth with an embroidered handkerchief, then flipped to a fresh page in her ledger with the practiced efficiency of someone who lived and breathed bureaucracy. The crisp sound of turning paper seemed to reset her composure. “Now then,” she said, her voice regaining its official cadence, “let’s address the matter of Marta Nibbin’s complaint.” Her finger traced down the page to a precisely written entry. “She specifically mentions, and I quote, ‘Dangerous magical item in cellar—Grimsap.'” The Mayor’s eyes flicked up to Granny Thorn, then to Rue. “Care to explain that?”

Rue’s stomach tightened into a knot. Had Whittle the pine marten told her? No, he barely gave Rue a straight answer… It must have been that raven of hers, Buttercup. She had caught it peeking in windows on several occasions, only to learn from Granny Thorn that it was Ms. Nibbin’s and that she believes it carried messages back to its mistress.

Granny Thorn remained motionless by the stove, her expression unreadable. The silence stretched between them.

Rue cleared her throat, her hand reaching for her teacup as a shield. “Define ‘dangerous,'” she said, surprised by the steadiness in her voice. “Is a knife dangerous? Or only in certain hands?”

The Mayor’s eyebrows shot up, clearly taken aback by the directness of the question. “I beg your pardon?”

“It’s a fair question,” Rue continued, warming to her argument. “A knife in the kitchen is a tool. A knife in a fight is a weapon. Context matters, doesn’t it?”

Mayor Merrimere’s nostrils flared as she inhaled sharply, preparing what was surely a withering retort—but instead, she let out an explosive sneeze. Then another. And a third.

“Goodness gracious,” she managed between sneezes, fumbling for her handkerchief. “What in the world—” Another sneeze interrupted her, this one powerful enough to dislodge several more hairpins.

Granny Thorn moved swiftly, opening the kitchen window wider to let in more cool evening air. “Magical residue,” she explained, her tone matter-of-fact. “Still clearing out from yesterday’s… incident.”

The Mayor pressed the handkerchief to her nose, her eyes watering above it. “This is exactly—” she sneezed again, “—exactly what I’m talking about! When Marta’s raven refuses to fly over this cottage, that’s dangerous enough for me!”

Rue blinked, surprised. “Buttercup won’t fly over the cottage?” It had been a few weeks since she’d seen the bird.

“Circles around it!” the Mayor exclaimed, her voice muffled by the handkerchief. “And that bird delivers messages all over the village, rain or shine. Nothing stops it—except whatever’s going on here.”

Granny Thorn’s eyes narrowed slightly, a detail Rue might have missed if she hadn’t been watching the old woman so carefully. Something about the raven’s behavior concerned her.

“Marta says the bird gets agitated every time she tries to send it this way. Flaps around in circles, squawking something awful. Started about a two weeks ago.” The Mayor sniffled loudly, then added, “Right after your apprentice arrived, if I’m not mistaken.”

Rue felt heat rise to her cheeks. Was she somehow responsible for the raven’s behavior? Had her explorations of the cellar triggered something?

Granny looked like she was about to reply when the Mayor squared her shoulders, seeming to draw dignity around herself like a cloak despite her reddened nose. “As Mayor of Bramblehook, I must insist on a certified magical inspection of these premises, particularly the cellar.”

Granny Thorn’s expression darkened. “A magical inspection? Conducted by whom, exactly?”

“The regional magical safety officer, of course.”

“Phineas Bogworth?” Granny Thorn scoffed. “That puffed-up pretender couldn’t tell a potion from a pudding. He’d be more likely to cause an incident than prevent one.”

The Mayor’s mouth thinned to a disapproving line. “He is the properly appointed authority for magical safety in this region.”

“He’s a bureaucrat with a fancy hat and not enough sense to fill a thimble,” Granny Thorn retorted.

Rue watched the exchange with growing concern, her gaze flicking between the two women. An inspection would surely uncover the Grimsap—and who knew what else lurked in the depths of the cellar? She thought of the jar with her name etched on it, the humming melody that it had somehow sung to her. There were too many mysteries down there, too many questions without answers.

Granny Thorn’s fingers tapped against the table, a rare sign of agitation. “Roots deep, troubles sleep,” she muttered, the words carrying the weight of an old proverb. She sighed deeply, her shoulders slumping slightly in resignation. “Fine. Arrange your inspection.”

Rue’s heart sank. The defeat in Granny’s voice was something she’d never heard before, and it frightened her more than any magical mishap could.

“But—” Rue started, then hesitated as an idea sparked in her mind. It was risky, possibly foolish, but it might just work. “What if we did something different?”

Both older women turned to her, their expressions a mix of surprise and curiosity.

“What if,” Rue continued, her confidence growing with each word, “instead of a formal inspection, we organized a village root cellar tour?”

The Mayor’s brow furrowed. “A what?”

“A root cellar tour,” Rue repeated, warming to her idea. “Show everyone that there’s nothing to fear. Make it educational—Granny Thorn could explain the proper storage of magical herbs, demonstrate some basic preservation skills. The children would love it.”

She could see the wheels turning in the Mayor’s mind, the political calculus evident in her expression. A public event would allow her to address the concerns without the formality of an official inspection. It would satisfy the villagers’ curiosity while giving the appearance of action.

The Mayor tapped her chin thoughtfully. “That’s… not a terrible idea.”

Granny Thorn’s eyes met Rue’s, a flicker of approval in their green depths. “The girl has her moments.”

Mayor Merrimere reached into her pocket and withdrew a small, silver pen. She flipped to yet another page in her ledger and drew a perfect circle around a date three days hence. The ink was a bright vermilion that seemed to shimmer slightly on the page.

“It’s settled then,” she declared, her tone making it clear that no further discussion would be entertained. “The Bramblehook Root Cellar Educational Tour will take place this Friday at noon.”

She closed the ledger with a decisive snap and rose from her chair, brushing crumbs from her colorful skirts. The crisis averted—or at least postponed—the Mayor seemed eager to make her exit before any new magical mishap could occur.

“I’ll handle the announcements,” she said, already moving toward the door. “You two just make sure that cellar is presentable and—more importantly—safe.”

As the door closed behind the Mayor’s substantial frame, Granny Thorn let out a long, slow breath. “Deep magic and deeper messes,” she grumbled, but there was something like relief in her voice. “That was quick thinking, girl.”

Rue’s semi-transparent fingers drummed lightly on the table. “We have three days to hide anything that shouldn’t be seen.”

“And to figure out why that infernal raven won’t fly over our roof,” Granny Thorn added, her gaze drifting toward the cellar door.

Rue followed her gaze. “Do you think it’s because of the Grimsap?”

Granny Thorn was silent for a long moment, her weathered hands clasping and unclasping in her lap. “Ravens are clever creatures,” she said finally. “They remember things—good and bad. They carry stories in their wings.” She rose slowly, moving to close the window for the night. “And some stories are better left untold.”

Rue watched as Granny secured the latch, her movements careful and deliberate. Whatever secrets the Grimsap held, whatever history lay buried in the cellar’s shadows, they had three days to ensure it remained hidden from Bramblehook’s prying eyes.