Chapter 61.3

“Lycanthropy is a curse, and one we know shockingly little about. We don’t know where it came from, for one thing. It might be a natural part of our world, or it might have been created by some vengeful god or faerie in ages long past. It grows stronger in the presence of moons, and with too much lunar energy, it becomes impossible to ignore. However, up until that point, it’s surprisingly easy to converse with.”Vee looked over at Tadghán. “You can talk with your curse?”

“I’m not being entirely literal, dear,” Saoirse said. “The process is instinctual; it happens on a level that’s hard to understand unless you bear the curse yourself. The end result, however, is that most shifters in our world are able to safely harness the power of this curse without any ill effects, other than the rare occasions where all our moons are full at the same time. Tadghán can shift into his lycanthrope form at will and maintain complete control at nearly all times. Of course, sometimes it’s fun to let him run a little wild…”

Saoirse and Tadghán both blushed as they looked at each other, only to shake their heads a moment later and return to their work. “Anyways, all I’m trying to say is that this curse isn’t a single, monolithic entity. The idea behind the cure is that, with the right ingredients, we can form a connection with the curse and convince it to leave its host body altogether. In the past, I’ve tried to use particular arguments to power the magic; once I tried to convince the curse that its new host was already dead, and another I tried to convince it that the host was cursed by lycanthropy. Those attempts were unsuccessful, I’m afraid, but they led me to believe that we need to approach this with a more flexible mindset. Tadghán, finger.”

After grabbing the large knife from her belt, Saoirse grabbed Tadghán’s outstretched hand and pricked the end of his pointer finger. She angled the blood into the cauldron, where it landed with a dull sizzle that filled the room with a thin crimson haze. This seemed to be the catalyst for something, as Saoirse immediately started adding her other prepared ingredients to the cauldron as she talked.

“If I do this correctly—which I always do—this cure should be able to adapt itself not only to your friend, but also to the specific way this curse is trying to alter him. Like you’ve noticed with our kids, lycanthropy presents differently in everyone. However, in order to give the cure this flexibility, I’m going to need something from you.” As she finished her last sentence, she looked at Vee and Amara, currently holding hands as they stood opposite Tadghán.

“We’ll give you whatever you need, you just tell us what that is,” Amara said. “Blood? Magic? Hellfire? We’ve got a lot of options.”

Saoirse shook her head. “I’m afraid that’s all a bit too practical for my tastes. I’ve got all the physical ingredients I need—they form the base, after all—but the true power of this world’s magic comes from something deeper. It comes from promises.”

“Promises?” Vee asked. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“Promises, willpower, conviction, intent; emotions powerful enough to imbue this potion with the correct form of magic. Your heart needs to sing in tune with the intended effect, it needs to guide the way for the magic and lead by example. If you truly want to return your friend to a humanoid form, you must prove that you’re willing to do the same. The stronger that conviction, the better your chance at curing your friend.”

“Woah, hold on,” Amara muttered. “It almost sounds like you’re asking us to give up our powers and become human again.”

“Don’t worry, it won’t be permanent,” Saoirse said. She sprinkled a handful of sparkling moss into the cauldron, then continued. “As soon as your friend drinks the potion, you’ll no longer need to power it with your intent. It also doesn’t need to be both of you.”

Vee sighed with relief as she squeezed Amara’s hand. “I’ll do it.”

As Vee spoke, Saoirse’s nose wrinkled. She narrowed her eyes at Vee, then skirted around the cauldron and stepped directly in front of Vee. She sniffed again, then grabbed Vee’s shirt and pulled her down so they could look each other in the eye. Unsure what to expect, Vee held her ground and stared back.

“No. It can’t be you,” the faun said, releasing Vee and moving back to her original spot.

“What? Why?” Vee asked.

“For one thing, you volunteered far too quickly. For another, I can smell the turmoil within you. Whatever inhuman abilities you have, you don’t view them as a part of you. If you try to power the magic of this cure by giving up something that’s not truly yours, you might as well give up now.”

Next to Vee, Amara took a deep breath and spoke up. “It has to be me, doesn’t it?” Her voice shook slightly, and Vee rubbed her back to try and comfort her.

“It does. I get the feeling you know this friend of yours the best, and it’s more than obvious how heavily integrated you are with your inhuman aspects. I can’t even begin to try and understand how you—a demon, of all things—fit into this, but the magic doesn’t lie.”

“I-I… I understand,” Amara whispered, her voice shaking. “What do I need to do?”

By this point, Saoirse had crafted a thin, shimmering blue liquid that filled roughly half the pot. It roiled and bubbled as the faun stirred it, a plume of colorful smoke rising towards the ceiling before billowing out and vanishing near the edges of the room. Saoirse leaned forward, grabbing the edges of the cauldron and sticking her head into that plume of smoke, then took a deep breath. She paused, smiled to herself, then released her breath before smiling at Amara. “It’s ready. I’ll hand you some of this elixir, and you need to drink it after swearing your intent to the magic of the potion. I can guide your words, but if even a trace of doubt hides in your heart, know that the magic will fail your friend.”

With one last flourish, Saoirse dipped a small jar into the cauldron. The glass seemed to barely disturb the liquid inside, almost as if it didn’t truly exist, and soon it was full to the brim. “Repeat after me, Amara,” Saoirse whispered, “then drink deep, with utmost reverence and fealty to your friend.”

“Of course,” Amara said. She took one last look at Vee, leaned in for a kiss, then grabbed the jar and steeled herself.

“What is his name?” Saoirse asked, a kindly warmth filling her voice.

“Nicholas,” Amara said, returning Saoirse’s kind smile. “We call him Nick.”

“For Nick, then. Let us begin.”

Saoirse’s voice filled the chamber as she began leading Amara through the incantation. The dim candles present in the chamber flared, casting ominous shadows across the stone walls that seemed to dance and frolic in celebration of the magic being cast. Shivers ran down Vee’s spine, and she watched Amara repeat the words while trying to bury the knot of dread forming in her stomach.

Amara’s words surged with incredible power, the magic borne both from her own hellfire and the inherent magic of The Wilds that sprang up around her. She raised the jar to her lips and began to drink the shimmering liquid. Vee watched in fear as the smoke from the remaining elixir bent towards Amara, moving with uncomfortably precise movements as if it had a mind of its own. It swirled around her, pulling countless embers and sparks of hellfire from her being as she drank ever deeper. With a burst of hellfire, her horns vanished, and seconds later her tail followed suit.

The smoke clung tighter, reaching deep inside her, and Amara struggled to finish the last few drops of the potion. Her hair lost some of its luster, its curls falling flat, while her eyes dimmed to a more mundane shade of amber. The ambient warmth she exuded at all times retreated, and once the last trace of elixir passed her lips, her illusory clothes vanished with a puff of smoke.

The final traces of Amara’s hellfire, as well as the plume of the elixir’s smoke, rushed back towards the cauldron with surprising speed. Amara gasped and fell backwards, dropping the now empty jar. Vee managed to grab her before she hit the floor, and just as the jar shattered on the ground beneath them, the cauldron began shaking with violent rage. It was a temper Vee had seen before; anger she’d once been the target of herself, anger that had once driven Amara to try and slay the headmistress of Tessa’s coven. It shook with rage, loosing bolts of hellfire that shattered jars across the room, and Saoirse leapt into action.

She grabbed the iron lid of the cauldron, slammed it down, and threw her entire body into finishing this ritual. Powerful magic dripped from her lips as she began to speak once more, her words now foreign to Vee as she struggled to split her attention between Saoirse’s efforts and holding Amara up.

Nearly a minute passed before the cauldron showed signs of tempering. Its incessant shaking lessened, the demonic screech of Amara’s defiant magic quieted down, and soon Saoirse believed it safe enough to uncover. She lifted the lid, beholding one last plume of hellish smoke that dispersed against the ceiling as everyone present looked inside the cauldron.

Instead of a peaceful, shimmering blue, the potion was now red with the blood and fury of Amara’s magic. Its bubbles burst not with delightful puffs of smoke, but with the noxious stench of sulfur. Saoirse took a deep breath, shuddered slightly, then looked at Amara.

“It is done.”

Shaking, tired, and exhausted, Amara barely managed to stand up, even with Vee’s help. They held each other tight, thrilled that the process was over, and pressed their lips together in celebration. In that embrace, while Amara was still warm with love and conviction, it was impossible not to notice the distinct lack of her prior presence. It wasn’t just her hair, her skin, her eyes; every part of her seemed smaller.

She was completely human.