Page 56 of Group Studies
The MA agent’s uncomfortably close search of Beryl and the subsequent toss of his room made my stomach sink. They’d search my Shell. My scales couldn’t stay here. What would happen to my scales if I tried to eat them? Would they absorb back into my body or come out the other end? Although I now had a new appreciation for the capabilities of my asshole, my scales had sharp edges, unlike Ashe’s yummy dick.
What you can’t see can’t hurt you, Beryl had told me. Despite my panic, I snorted at the memory.
I suddenly had the urge to hide my scales in Mercedes’ stuff, but again, that would be too transparent. I’d lose them in the end.
My gaze flicked to my phone. I had to be in Abe’s office in thirty minutes. Time trickled out of my control. I looked around my Shell once more, but it hadn’t occurred to me to build a place to hide anything. Even my chest holding my clothing didn’t have a solid top. My towel draped over the top served as a makeshift lid.
With nothing else for it, I wrapped the two scales in a clean sock and shoved them into my pocket. I grabbed the potion I’d made, refusing to get anyone else involved in my troubles. Head down, I made my way to Abe’s office. Without giving myself time to hesitate, I rapped my knuckles against the warn, ornately carved door of the old kings bed chambers.
The door swung open.
“You’re twenty minutes early,” Abe snapped.
Without waiting for an invite, I shuffled in. Abe’s office looked nothing like Professor Garnet’s. The sound of bubbling liquids surrounded me, bouncing off the hard surfaces of the room’s vaulted ceilings. Bronze stills, clear tubes, and silver pots stood out against dark chalkboards, covered in Abe’s neat compact writing, in the cold lighting Like the metal work stations around the outside, a chunky square metal desk sat in the middle of the room. Two tables glowed next to a massive bowl of pasta.
Abe’s narrow gaze scrutinized me. “You’re pale, your hair looks like a bird has attempted to make a nest in it, and your uniform’s wrinkled, again. You’re fortunate we’re not in class. Put the potion you made on my desk.”
I did, unbelievably grateful to be following directions, even if they doom me in the end.
The moment my potion sat on her desk, she narrowed her eyes. “I’m not yet ready for you,” she snapped. “Turn around and stir Bessy as if you were making butter. You’re aware of the technique, yes?”
“Yes,” I said, turning to a massive black and silver cauldron almost two-thirds my height. A sizable wooden dash moved up and down in a steady pattern.
Once I understood the speed, I grabbed the handle. The magic beating the thick liquid into submission stopped as I took over. My arms burned, but I focused on the thump, thump, thump of wood against metal. The repetitive motion soothed my panic as my heart rate slowed.
I didn’t realized I zoned out until something popped on my right hand. Pain flared. I immediately pulled away before any fluids from my blister could drip into Abe’s potion.
Abe cleared her throat.
I released the dash and turned, the pot once again stirring itself.
She wiped her mouth and set the now empty pasta bowl off to the side. “I’ve never seen someone stir that mechanically for so long.”
A box of bandages appeared in her thin fingers, she beckoned me forward. Taking my hand in hers, she efficiently cleaned both my palms. The almost maternal gesture scared me more than the woman herself.
“I like patterns,” I said. “I find repetition soothing.” I started to add, ‘especially when someone else tells me to do it,’ but I stopped myself. Even if it was true, I didn’t want that to be me anymore.
“I do too, Aphrodite,” Abe said softly, before her voice gained a harsh edge. “What I don’t find soothing is the potion you put on my desk.”
I bit my bottom lip, glancing over at the testing kit now opened in its center. A white strip of linen had little squares full of hazy colors where she’d poured what I made onto it. The base components of my potions reacted with chemicals already on the cloth. It wouldn’t tell her precisely what I made, but it would give her a good idea.
“I don’t believe Professor Garnet has any knowledge of what you’re doing,” Abe continued. “He thanked me in passing today for giving you time outside of class to remake your protection potions.”
I studied the clean stone floor.
“That’s not a protection potion,” Abe said flatly.
I didn’t look up.
“And it’s only half of what it needs to be if you truly intend to bind an inanimate object to you.”
I peeked at Abe.
“You must make them both at the same time,” she continued. “I teach two to six classes seven days a week.” She arched an eyebrow. “The volume of supplies I go through is unfathomable. Two of the components you used in the first potion have already been restocked with herbs from a different batch.” She scowled. “Their potency will no longer match.”
I looked back at the ground. I had no idea.
“Look at me,” Abe snapped.