I raised the bag. “How about some pho instead?”
She sniffed at the brown paper and scowled. “What she needs is a bowl of my mama’s homemade chicken soup.”
“This will have to do until you can kill a chicken on the full moon, Baba.” I was too damned tired to bother trying to disguise the sarcasm from my tone.
She took the bag by the corner and started for the kitchen. “Pen’s in the living room.”
I shed my coat and turned left to the tiny den. The instant I walked into the room, I got a noseful of lavender’s soft purple scent and vetiver’s earthy green musk. I looked around until I spotted a small ceramic container of the oils sitting over a tea light on the coffee table. Definitely Baba’s handiwork. She was always spouting the virtues of aromatherapy for everything from anxiety to headaches to PMS.
Dismissing the oil diffuser, I focused on the mound of yellow blankets huddled on the denim-covered couch. “Pen?” I whispered, not wanting to disturb her if she was asleep.
The blankets moved and a groan emerged. When her face popped out, I saw that her complexion was gray and dark shadows weighed down her lower lids. “Kate?”
I lowered myself onto the foot of the couch, careful not to jostle her too much. “Hi,” I whispered. “How you doing?”
Behind me, Danny was telling Baba about a test he’d had that day. Why hadn’t he told me about it on our way over? Maybe because I was so busy seething about the traffic and the frustrating meeting with Harry Bane. Tuning them out, I leaned forward to help Pen sit up. When she moved, her hand went protectively to the right side of her rib cage. A thick brace cupped her neck, and a bandage wrapped around her sprained wrist. Her right eye wasn’t as swollen as it had been the last time I saw her, but the bruises had mellowed into a sickly green-yellow color.
“Owowow,” she panted through clenched teeth.
I grimaced in sympathy. “Sorry, honey. Do you need anything?”
She opened her mouth, but behind me Baba rushed in bearing a tray. “Time for her arnica pellets!” The old woman used her hip to nudge me out of the way. Arnica was a common homeopathic pain remedy and a cheaper alternative to aspirin now that big pharmaceutical companies had all focused on magical therapies. “Poor dove,” she said to the patient. Pen’s eyes were glazed over with pain. “We’ll have you fixed up in no time.”
I backed up and joined Danny by the coffee table. Together we watched Baba hand the arnica to Pen, who placed the tablets under her tongue to dissolve. While that happened, Baba turned back to ready the tea. A small brown bottle with a dropper lid sat next to the teacup. The old woman carefully measured out three drops of orange liquid into the tea she’d already poured.
“What’s that?” I asked.
Baba’s eyes shot to me and then away. She turned to hand the tea to Pen and watched to make sure she downed it before answering. “Bergamot and birch bark tea.” Her eyes wouldn’t quite meet mine.
“And the stuff you added to it?”
Baba sighed deep, like she’d been expecting the question but hoped I’d forget to ask it. “It’s tea, Detective, not poison.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Why don’t you make yourself useful and dish out supper.”
Rather than take the bait, I retreated into the kitchen.
“ ‘It’s tea, Detective,’ ” I echoed mockingly to the stovetop. “My ass.” I’d bet my Glock the witch put some sort of Spagyric compound or philtre in that tea.
“Kate?” Danny called from the den.
“What?” I snapped.
“When are we gonna eat?”
When I’d arrived I couldn’t wait to eat the delicious beef soup from the Vietnamese restaurant, but now I would have traded my left ovary for four fingers of bourbon.
I blew out a deep breath. I knew I was being overly touchy, but I was having a harder time than usual lately tamping down my annoyance. Opening the cabinet above Pen’s sink, I sorted through the bottles until I found what I wanted. Shoved behind the coconut rum and peach liqueur and vanilla vodka for the fruity cocktails Pen preferred was a fifth of Bulleit rye whiskey I’d given her for Christmas the year before in the hopes her taste in hooch would improve.
I broke the seal on the lip and tipped the bottle back to my mouth. The wood smoke and sweet fire flavor hit my tongue. The sliding burn was a baptism of sorts, cleansing stress and fear and guilt from my throat.
Rufus would have called this behavior self-medicating. But shit, if Pen could use suspicious tinctures to deal with her pain, then why couldn’t I experience the delicious sorcery of rye whiskey?
“Kate?” Danny called. I heard Baba say in a low tone that she’d check on me.
I shoved the cap on the bottle and stowed it in the oven. By the time the old woman made it into the cramped kitchen, I was unloading soup.
She pursed her lips and cocked her head to the side, as if she was measuring up my mood. “It wasn’t any of your dirty magic.”
I raised a brow. “Then what was it?”
“Before I tell you, I need you to understand how hard the last few days have been on her.”
“What did you do?” I lowered my voice instead of raising it, despite the panic welling in my chest.
“It’s the broken ribs,” she said, as if I hadn’t spoken. “Terrible pain. And the whiplash is causing migraines.”
I closed my eyes. “What. Did. You. Give. Her?”
Baba’s chin lowered and she looked up at me through her graying lashes. “It’s kind of like sun tea.” She wouldn’t meet my narrowed gaze.
“Sun tea?”
“Calendula, Saint-John’s-wort, chamomile, and a few juniper berries.”
“And what did you use to brew this sun tea? A chalice? Or a cauldron?”
She made an offended face. “One of my mama’s crystal pitchers.”
“So you’re telling me it wasn’t a philtre?”
Her eyes shot to mine. “Maybe? But even if it was a philtre, that’s not really magic.”
I crossed my arms. “Did you chant over the herbs? Did you let it steep in the sun’s rays from dawn to dusk?”
She nodded reluctantly.
“Then it’s magic.” Mundane magical energy was weak compared with the kind wielded by a trained Adept, sure. Baba’s kind of kitchen witchery was powered by intention and wishes. But it was still magic. And to an addict like Pen, it could be a gateway back to the personal hell of dependency.