Serpent's Embrace | A Sebastian Sallow Story

Chapter Five: Moonlit Rendezvous

Anne just shrugged. "It seemed it would be in their best interest not to fight. Or at least, for Solomon not to drink."

Anne's hand clutched at her side lightly, and Madeline tensed, unsure how to help ease the pain Anne was no doubt hiding.

"What did the healers say?" Madeline asked, moving towards Anne's tea.

"If they can't find a cure, a counter-curse, whatever it is, then I have a year."

Madeline's hand, which had just picked up the dainty tea cup, opened in shock, causing the china to fall and roll away, lost amongst the wild flowers. "A year?"

"Sebastian wants me to go to London. To St. Mungo's. But Solomon..."

"He doesn't?"

"No."

"Why?" Her voice shook with barely contained anger, though it was small and timid, as Madeline tried to suppress the urge to barge into the shack of Solomon Sallow and smack him around the head.

"I'd rather not re-hash it right now," Anne sighed, softly, following Madeline's gaze towards the rolled away tea cup. "It's been a long enough day as it is."

"Anne," Madeline said, a little surprised. "You can't be serious- I can't just-"

"Tomorrow, Maddie, please. I just... Not tonight."

Madeline nodded, a brave attempt at understanding. How could she though, when she just needed to know her best and only friend would be okay? How could Anne just drop something like that on her and expect her not to talk about it?

"Tell me about Fig," Anne inquired, her gaze back up at the stars.

In truth, Madeline didn't know where to start. The professor had trekked her all over the highlands over the course of the afternoon, insisting that she use the borrowed wand to practice a handful of simple spells. That had been the most normal part of the day.

What hadn't been normal, was Madeline seeing wisps of a form of ancient magic that had been long thought lost to the world.

She didn't even know where to start with that tale. It all seemed so inconsequential with Anne's curse. So instead, she'd let Anne guide her though the conversation and feelings, as Madeline often relied on her to do.

"What about Fig?"

"Don't give me that!" Anne laughed, her eyebrows raised bumping Madeline's shoulder playfully. "You're telling me he didn't tell you anything worth mentioning while you were with him today?"

Madeline smiled softly, and held up the borrowed wand.

"It's not mine. It's borrowed. But, something about this one responds better to me than either mother or fathers."

She twirled the wand between her fingers clumsily. She'd seen Anne do the exact movement again and again, and longing to be like her friend, had been attempting the easy twirl all day. It was much harder than she'd expected, knowing now it only looked so easy because of years of practice, forming the muscle memory, the perhaps unconscious tick. Still, Madeline twirled it.

It was too long for her hand, that she could tell. Thirteen and three quarters inches, where Madeline suspected a wand closer to ten or eleven inches would feel more comfortable, more natural in her grasp. But the core felt warm beneath the supple wood, and it made Madeline excited.

"What is it?"

"Dragon heartstring core, made of yew," she answered immediately, having asked Fig this very question the second he'd gifted it to her. "Fig says we'll be going to Hogsmead in the coming days. He just wanted to see how I responded to a borrowed wand first."