Carolyn chuckled; the laughter was muffled against Minerva’s skin. She tossed her head, tried to shove the woman off. Her body was a limp, useless mess, and the more she struggled the more tired she became. Minerva had drunk almost the entire contents of her thermos before venturing into Joyce House, the potion her great-grandmother had told her about. Poison for witches. It ought to work. Then again, it was simply a story she’d heard late at night. It might have been made up. It might not work on someone like Carolyn.
