Page 39 of Potion Sickness

“Of course she would.” Pru takes a bite. “So,” she says, “I ran into Annabel.”

“Where?”

“Her shop this morning.”

“Why were you at Annabel’s shop this morning?”

“She made some progress on figuring things out and wanted to tell me in person before she told anyone else.”

“That’s thoughtful.”

“That’s Annabel.”

“So she figured out what was in your cup?”

“Yeah. She identified it, sort of. It’s what they call a ‘croak tonic’. It gives you a sore throat, essentially. A voice suppressant. You can buy it in a catalog for about twelve dollars. Off-the-shelf garbage. Any witch with an internet connection could source one.”

“A voice suppressant?”

“Yeah. So whoever it was didn’t want to kill me. Or really even hurt me. If I’d drunk it, I’d have woken up the next morning sounding like I gargled gravel, but that’s about it.”

“Well,” I say. “That’s clearly extremely targeted. It’s petty and theatrical and probably has nothing to do with Damien.”

“Yeah. She’s positive there’s no trace of it on Damien. She still can’t pull the individual signatures apart because they’ve had so long to cook together, but there was definitely no croak tonic.”

“So, they’re definitely separate crimes, then,” I say. “So, who tried to dose you?”

“Well, we have our suspects. We’ve got Skye, and we’ve got Tiffany.”

“Hm,” I say. “The croak tonic is petty. Skye isn’t petty. Skye is young and scared and out of her depth.”

“Tiffany is petty.”

“Tiffany is professionally petty,” I concur. “If you lose your voice, the understudy goes on. The understudy has been telling everyone who will listen about how she’s ready to go on.”

“Exactly.”

“But she’s also been planting seeds in Skye’s ear. Feeding her doubts about Damien and Vivian, and she told her she looked tired.”

“Tiffany tells everyone they look tired. It’s how she sells facials.”

“She told Skye to come by the salon. On the house. She was cultivating her.”

Pru considers this. “Tiffany could have dosed the cup herself. Or she could have wound Skye up and let Skye do it for her. Either way, the croak tonic points at someone who wanted Lady Macbeth to fail, and we have exactly two candidates.”

“Unless it was someone we haven’t considered.”

“In a production of a couple dozen people in a town where half of them have known me since I was born? Sure. I’m open to suggestions.”

I don’t have one.

“How are you doing with this?” I ask.

“With what?”

“With the fact that someone tried to sabotage you?”

“I spent most of my adult life as a corporate lawyer. Someone’s always trying to sabotage me.” She shrugs. “It’s a croak tonic. It would’ve made me hoarse for a couple days. It’s the magical equivalent of putting sugar in someone’s gas tank. I’m not going to give whoever did it the satisfaction of being upset.”