Mist-Torn Witches 02:Witches in Red Read Free

apothecary’s shop were facing some kind of difficulty, and she always kept this in mind.
    “Come in,” she said from behind the table where sheworked. “I’m out of cough syrup at the moment, but I can save you some from this next batch.”
    The young woman said nothing and finally took a few steps inside. She was thin, with unwashed brown hair coming loose from a single braid. Her dress was threadbare.
    “No . . . I don’t need syrup,” she said.
    Céline was a good enough judge of character to see that her visitor was facing more than a family back home suffering from a summer cough, and that whatever was wrong, she was nearing the end of her rope. Most young women who looked and sounded like this tended to be unmarried and pregnant—with a violent father they feared.
    “How can I help?” Céline asked, coming around the table. “Would you like some tea? I have hot water in the kettle.”
    Her visitor answered neither question, and instead looked at Céline’s mass of dark blond hair. “You’re the seer? The one who can look into the future?”
    Céline’s stomach lurched, and she tried to keep her expression still. “Not at present,” she answered firmly, wondering how fast she could get this woman out of the shop. She had no intention of reading anyone’s future. Though it had been several months since her experiences up at the castle, she wasn’t ready to practice her other profession again. For now, she chose to be only an apothecary.
    “I’m Irmina,” the young woman said. “You might have seen my husband, Hugo, out in the village? He’s a thatcher, and he’s often to be seen working on this roof or that.”
    “No, I do not think I have—”
    “Yesterday morning, he fell off a roof and hit his head,” Irmina interrupted, “and he’s not woken up.”
    In spite of her own rising discomfort, Céline couldn’t help but feel a stab of sympathy. “Oh, I am sorry. Do you wish me to come and look at him?”
    “No. He’ll either wake or he won’t. The thing is . . . I need to know if he will or he won’t.”
    Céline tried to speak but was again cut off.
    “We bought ourselves a little house from Evrard, the wine merchant,” Irmina rushed on, “on payments, and we’ve fallen a bit behind. Then Hugo got himself a job putting a new roof on the smithy, for enough of a wage that once he finished and was paid, we could get caught up, but then . . . he fell.”
    “You bought a house from Evrard?” Céline repeated. Everyone knew him. He was one of the wealthiest villagers in Sèone, and he’d not become so through any acts of kindness. As a side business, he bought up small dwellings and sold them for a profit—often on payments—and he was merciless to anyone who fell on hard times and could no longer pay.
    “Yes.” Irmina nodded. “My parents think that I should just give up on the house, have some of the men carry Hugo to their shack, and move back in with them . . . but I can barely face the thought. He and I worked so hard to get our own little place.” She pulled something from her pocket. It was a silver ring with a small blue stone of some kind.
    “This was passed down from Hugo’s grandmother,” Irmina went on. “It’s the only thing of value we own. IfI know that he’s going to wake up, I’ll sell this and give the money to Evrard. The ring should fetch enough to buy us a little more time. We can stay in the house, and Hugo can go back to work when he’s healed. But if”—for the first time, her voice broke—“if he isn’t going to wake up, then I’ll be selling his grandmother’s ring for nothing more than a few months at best, and I’ll lose the house anyway.” Reaching out, she touched Céline’s wrist. “Do you see? Do you see why I
have
to know?”
    Céline did see. She saw only too well.
    With her hands shaking slightly, she motioned to a chair. “Come and sit down.” She didn’t want to do this, but at the same time, she couldn’t