"What can the alethiometer tell you about making humans as immortal as witches are?"
The alethiometer talks to him for a while about this one.
"There's a spell for it," he says, watching the needle. "Or there... could be? It's never been done but it's possible. It'll take... everything. Everyone. Sacrifice, herbs, runes, verse, every goddess, and... you said that part already," he tells the alethiometer in fond exasperation, "nobody's ever done this before, I get it—oh. And something nobody's ever done before. A new kind of spell. A way of doing magic that's new. On top of all that other shit."
He looks up at Isabella and smiles crookedly.
"Have fun with that."
He fiddles with the dials.
"I don't know why you'd choose to sass an omniscient artifact that deigns to talk to you, but it's very cute," smirks Isabella.
"Okay... movement," he says. "Like dance, but not dance. Structured movement. Your daemon does some too."
"Can you get any tips out of it on what, exactly, we do, or will I get to do lots of painstaking research?" laughs Isabella.
"Compass directions," he reports. "'Act as you feel'—that means either you're going to naturally tend to do the right thing, or there's enough leeway that you mostly won't fuck things up anyway."
"Okay. And otherwise lots of painstaking research. I'd probably better start with something smaller than immortality. Don't you die anytime in the next - well, ever, but especially not before I figure this out at least as well as I know how to do verse and herbs and runes and sacrifice."
"Awwwww," he says. Petaal turns viscacha again and scurries around into his lap, where he snuggles her extreme fluffiness. "I'd be sad if you died too," he adds. "It'd fuck me right up. I love you."
"I love you too, and I think you ought to live forever, so please don't thwart my plans," says Isabella.
"I think living forever would be pretty cool, but I don't think I'm gonna get there because way too many of the things I like doing are things that'll probably get me killed someday."
"...Like what? Because even without knowing how to incorporate killer dance moves, I can protect you some," says Isabella.
"Well. That could require some slightly heavier duty protections than if what you had in mind was the possibility of being hit by a cement truck while jaywalking," muses Isabella. "I think the gold standard for witches who want to protect mortals who are, say, soldiers, involves a tattoo. Of a bayleaf, with bayleaf-infused ink, ideally one on you and one on Petaal, with a verse said over it. And when I say a tattoo I don't mean one with needles, I mean the relevant verse makes the ink sink in all by itself after it's painted on. It does still hurt about like getting a regular tattoo, though. And that'll let you last through serious injuries longer before you get medical attention, although not forever, and I can't think of anything that would help if someone's priority were to make you dead and they actually checked. The tattoo would be obviously a witch tattoo to anyone who saw it and was the least bit magically sensitive, though, they'd know they'd piss me off if you died and it was their fault."
The ink contains many dubious ingredients - the cornucopia doesn't care about processing time and is able to save her awhile by producing powdered bayleaf and the other requisite herbs, and the rest of the ink is vinegar, ash retrieved from the firepit, and one of Isabella's tears (she produces this with the expedient of Path biting her ear).
She fetches a paintbrush, and murmurs her animal-summon to get ahold of a seagull, which she holds in her left hand, ready to snap its neck, while brandishing the brush with her right. "Where do you want it?" she asks.
Petaal turns witch-shaped and drags her finger along his left hipbone. "Right there," she says.
"Nice," says Isabella, peering at him speculatively. "You'll have to lie down, then. Do you want yours to match, Petaal? It'll be easiest to paint yours if you're in this or human shape, although it'll persist however you change, it's adapted to work on children just fine."
"Should I lie down somewhere in particular?" asks Kas.