NINETY-EIGHT | FOOL'S GOLD

Grandma Rosie came bustling in moments later with an overflowing tray. It was stacked high with biscuits and mugs, and there was a huge patterned teapot in its centre. She wobbled beneath its weight, and Skye leapt up to steady her.

“Thank you, dear,” she muttered, patting his arm as he took it from her. “It’s a herbal blend, of course – basil, black pepper, rosemary, dill – oh! And some salt, and a squirt of lime juice, too. All of which are potent protectors against dark forces, forces of evil.”

I wrinkled my nose. “It’s a shame Kathrena and I can’t have any,” I said, half-jokingly. 

“Not to worry, dear,” Grandma Rosie said, pushing aside the mugs and the biscuits, rummaging around, I assumed, for something else. “I’ve made you both a sachet to carry with you – at all times.”

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