Pet Psychic Mysteries Boxset Books 5-8 (Magic Market Mysteries Book 2) Erin Johnson (good books for 8th graders .txt) 📖

Peter gave me a tight smile. “Let’s talk later tonight, okay? We’ll make sure they’re cared for. For now, I’ve got to escort Quincy up to the station and turn in all the evidence. You want to come?”

I hesitated, then nodded. “Normally, yes, but—I’ve got to run home for something. I’ll meet up with you at your place right after!”

Daisy gave a noncommittal growl. You’re up to something.

Peter looked unconvinced for a moment, then pulled me in for a tight hug and kissed my forehead. “You were amazing tonight.”

I grinned against his chest. “You can tell me more soon.” I winked and dashed off, leaving Peter and the other cops to book Quincy.

32

Records

I followed the twists and turns of the sewer, feeling slightly guilty that I hadn’t told Peter what I was up to. But if I’d told him I was going to sneak into Ludolf’s potion making lair and try to steal his files, he’d have insisted on going with me and then we’d both have probably ended up dead and there was no point in that.

I’d worn my old boots, and my footsteps splashed along the dirty water pooled at the bottom of the round stone tunnels. Torches set into brackets on the curved wall at uneven intervals lit my way in flickering orange light. The tunnels grew narrower and darker, the stones crumbling away. While the rest of the shifter underground had surprised me with how lively it was—there were bars, restaurants, and housing developments down here—Ludolf had hidden his potion makers in an ancient, unfrequented part of the sewers.

A red, flickering glow up ahead let me know I was close. I reached back and tightened my high ponytail, then squared my shoulders. I’d been summoned down here several times to have potions tested on me.

My plan was a loose one, at best, but I planned to bluff my way in. I hoped the three creepy old potion makers bought it and were so distracted by their work, as they had been every other time I’d been dragged down here, that they wouldn’t notice me snooping around.

My heart pounded in my chest with nerves, but I plastered on a bright smile and ducked through the half-collapsed doorway into a large, round room. I gave a half wave. “Hey, ladies.”

Three hunched old women, who could’ve been triplets, worked around the room at various stations. One stood beside the huge cauldron, stirring a wooden paddle through a bubbling green liquid, red flames licking the side of the black iron pot. Another sat on a tall stool using a black blade to chop something that looked a lot like frog legs. The third stood at the top of a tall rolling ladder, organizing glass vials on one of the top shelves that ringed the room.

The shelves were formed from stones and rocks that either jutted out or were set back into the wall to form alcoves. Every inch of wall was littered with glass vials, jars of glowing potions in all colors, and strange specimens. Super homey.

The women focused on their work, their stringy gray hair half covering their faces. None of them so much as glanced my way. Ludolf was thankfully absent.

I sucked in a breath, my chest tight and voice unnaturally high. “So, Ludolf asked me to come down here? He might want to test something on me or just… I don’t know… talk?”

My excuse for being down there seemed incredibly thin, but the women made no comment, didn’t even hesitate in their work.

I nodded and ran my tongue over my teeth. “Cool cool cool. Don’t mind me.”

I threaded through the grouping of stone tables in the center of the round room, past the woman on the stool. She picked up a mortar and pestle and began to grind up something that hissed and sizzled. A pungent, acidic smell like burning hair filled the room, and I fought to keep my ramen down.

I sidled past her and snuck to the large wooden cabinet at the far side of the room beside the second entrance. I’d never been past this point and assumed the other door led to a private area for Ludolf.

The wooden cabinet had several wide, deep drawers in the bottom with a lattice of small cubbies above it, all bursting with rolls of parchment. Ludolf had told me before that he knew which potion had been used to curse me and could work from that to create a cure. That told me that not only was he a stinking sea slug, but he must keep detailed records if he still knew which ingredients had been used to create the potion years ago.

I glanced to my left at the working women, but they paid me no attention. I considered some fib about Ludolf wanting me to check on some record or other, but they seemed so disinterested, I didn’t bother. The one nearest me, on the ladder, began to hum to herself. After a moment, the other two picked up the tune. Creepy—but I turned back to the wooden cabinet and yanked a heavy drawer open.

Manila file folders, hundreds of them, lined the drawer, each labeled with a name. My breath caught and I fished a random one out—Martin Scant. I opened the file and found several scraps of parchment with a list of ingredients—recipes.

Little notes had been added, suggesting four thumb whorls instead of three for the next try, two cups of spider juice instead of crushed insect wing. I flipped through a couple similar pages, then frowned and looked up. The three witches were humming louder, so that their raspy, almost childish, taunting song echoed around the chamber. My chest tightened with unease, but I’d come this far—no turning back now.

I looked back down and examined the inside of the folder itself. Dates, from the ’80s, had been scribbled down in a shaky