When Bryony -- herbalist extraordinaire -- goes missing, Bella knows one suspect stands above the rest. The village's aspiring second witch, Daphne, comes from a family that's tried to take Bryony down before, and Daphne seems determined to carry on...
"Oh, but Bryony can." It was Bella's turn to click her beak, feathers lifted menacingly. "Do you really want to mess with a Witch of her caliber? If she's up to such dangerous magic, I'm sure she can spare a bottle for two underhanded sneaks attempting to threaten both her and her familiar."
Titus said nothing—just watched her for a long, silent moment. Slowly, his fur lowered.
"I'd hoped you at least would see sense," he said. "That incident, Bella? A young villager with a minor infection, staying overnight with Bryony for treatment. That should have been an easy cure, with Bryony's skill level. But that girl died. She died, and her lips were blue when they took her body away in the morning. Bryony blamed her herbs, but I never saw her checking samples or uprooting those plants in her garden. You investigated, didn't you? And I bet you found something, too. You just don't want to admit to yourself what it was."
Bella's confidence, so fierce a moment ago, had begin to slip away like water through a berry basket. She had investigated. She hadn't wanted to, but Titus had gotten so far under her skin that she'd needed to prove to herself that Bryony did nothing wrong. She would have slept much easier that night had the residue in Bryony's potion bottle not smelled so acrid.
"What do you want, Titus?" she said. Confrontation was easier.
"To protect whatever she's after now. We don't know what it is yet, but I'm guessing you do."
"She's trying to find her mother's body, okay? And she didn't tell us because she wanted to do it in private. People tend to prefer privacy when they're grieving. But I guess you wouldn't know how it feels to care about someone."
"You have no idea what she's doing, do you."
"Oh, can the great descendent of D'Czernobog lineage detect lies now? Tell me, what other powers has your ancestry granted you, that I should listen to you when you do the barest minimum—if even—for the Witch you claim familiarity to? Do you have the power to liaise with street cats without getting eaten, perhaps? Or maybe the ability to lie, too, to show such pride in your apparent aristocracy. You've never had a keeper before Bryony, have you. You never answer questions about that because if you did, everyone would know you're as worthless as you prove yourself daily. Tell me, Titus, do you have anything better to do with your life than backstab Bryony and warm her potted plants?"
A shadow overhead. Bella dove forward. Daphne's coat missed her by a feather. The young Witch grabbed it and slung it at her again. Bella shot skyward.
"You are never setting a paw in Bryony's house again," she snapped at Titus. "Good luck on the street."
She beat her aching wings, soaring back towards the bog. It didn't take long to track down Bryony again.
"They're coming," said Bella when she landed on her keeper's shoulder. "Daphne stole the notebook from you. She claims to have decoded it, and she says you're dangerous."
Bryony's jaw clenched. The bog filled her silence, its warm, still, humid air singing with insects and the soft chirps of birds.
"We have time," said Bryony at last. "After tonight, I'll be done here. Then we can deal with Daphne and Titus."
"Is there anything I can help with?"
"Will you stay with me?"
"Unless something drags me away."
"Thank you," said Bryony with a smile so full of thanks, Bella's worries nearly melted all over again. She would stand by her keeper. No cat or Witch could break the bond that she and Bryony shared, nor understand what it meant to both of them.
"Can you keep watch?" continued Bryony.
"Of course."
"Thank you."
Bella took off, though her wings cried to rest. Below her, Bryony withdrew her hand from her pocket, a potion-bottle in her palm. Bella recognized the smell that wafted off of it immediately: this was the potion Bryony had hidden in her back wall to spare the house its stink. The bottle was fitted with a perforated cork now. Bryony pulled her walking stick from the peat and resumed the work she'd been doing all day, probing ahead for loose spots in the peat as she walked, boots squelching, sprinkling the bog with potion as she went.
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