"You're going to have to show her what she needs," Bell says to the Starks. "I don't know which locations or objects are relevant. Or which of you is going to be her someone-he-met focus."
"I'll do it," says Tony.
"I have to cast in the place where he's been, so choose accordingly, I doubt you want me working in the middle of the street even if's he's walked down it a hundred times," says Isabella. Path on her shoulder keeps swiveling his head around, taking in the new world.
"Okay," he says, and leads her to his bedroom.
Isabella doesn't think much of the location. She just follows and waits for more specific pointers.
(Shell Bell does think much of the location. She doesn't say anything, just shivers and fixes her attention on her witch killer alternate who's going to fix this problem.)
"Right there," he says, pointing at a spot on the floor a few feet in from the door and slightly off to one side. "He stands there a lot."
"Bottle of wine," she says, and she casts the thickening spell on it and begins pouring her diagram around where Tony pointed.
Rune, rune, rune, line - "stand there, please" - curvy stylized arrow, rune, rune, rune, line, rune rune rune.
"Bottle of black peppercorns." (She places one in the center of each rune.) "Bottle of nutmeg." (She dusts it over the whole thing.) "Bayleaves." She puts them in Tony's clothes, tucked here and there, and has him hold one in each palm. "Marjoram." (A little heap in the middle.) "Spring onion." (It goes on the arrow, curved to match.)
The cornucopia won't do a live animal. "I need something to sacrifice - an animal. What sort of pests am I likely to be able to summon from here? A rat's good if there's one within calling distance, I can use a pigeon or a squirrel."
"I know there's pigeons," he says. "Not so sure about the other two."
She gets a rat on her first try! While it's still docile, she snatches it up with a practiced grip. It can't bite her, although it starts struggling.
She pulls her dagger out with her free hand.
"Last chance to decide you do not want this man to die. Or, you know, decide you want him to spend more or less than twenty-four hours being deathly ill," she says.
"Go for it," says Tony.
She didn't compose this poem. It doesn't rhyme. It crackles.
"Yambe Akka's knife is mercy
Suffer not such pain to live
Yambe Akka's knife is deadly
Yambe Akka's knife I twist
Suffer not this one, I say
Yambe Akka's knife I need
Suffer not his breath to draw
Still and calm I need him brought
Stillness, calmness, bring them down
Yambe Akka's knife I call
Yambe Akka's knife is sharp
Still and calm will kill in silence
Stillness, calmness, listen close
Yambe Akka's knife in heart
Suffer not that heart to beat
Suffer not his eyes to see
Suffer not his soul to fly
Suffer not his hand to harm
Yambe Akka's knife is mine
Yambe Akka's knife I wield
Yambe Akka's knife strikes home!"
And on the final syllable the rat is pierced through with her blade, and it dies.
Even though he doesn't know it worked, even though he probably won't know it worked for a good long while, Tony exhales with relief.
The herbs - including the bayleaves - are all gone. The thickened wine is gone. The rat and the wristwatch - and the rat blood - are still there. "I recommend burning the rat, which I can do if you can provide me with a safe place in which to burn a thing. You can do whatever you like with the wristwatch," says Isabella, unconcerned with the blood on her hands as she disentangles the two objects. She does conscientiously murmur a spell to clean her dagger before she tucks it away into its sheath in her silks.
"I can provide such a place," says Sherlock.
She just killed some living things. She feels pretty okay, considering. It's more sheer power than she's ever channeled. Kind of heady. She can see why some witches would be enthusiastic about this kind of magic. Not enough that she's going to start killing people any less discriminately, but. She's going to ride the high as long as she has it anyway.
Perhaps, along the way, she will notice the way Kas is looking at her. You could describe it as 'slightly stunned admiration, with a component of lust'.
Path does, looking directly backwards.
Petaal, as a rattlesnake coiled around Kas's shoulders, flicks her tongue at him.
She shivers, a little, and the hand that isn't holding the rat clenches against the side of her thigh.
Eventually they get to a suitable incineration place. Isabella dumps the rat unceremoniously, murmurs a spell to set it alight, and then helps it along by asking the cornucopia for some paprika and sprinkling it over the carcass. Before long there's nothing more left but thin, dry ashes.
"Thank you," says Sherlock.
"You're welcome," says Isabella, not exactly cheerful, but with a sharp happiness in her voice. "Anyone else you want killed or cursed and can provide the stuff for?"
"Any other miscellaneous magic that you guys would find helpful?"
"I cannot think of any just now. You might like to ask Bell."
And she cannot resist, as she passes Kas on the way out of the room, one teasing, dark-magic-is-lovely smirk.
Because she's going to get an alethiometer right when she gets home, right?