Bergamot & Sulphur
Chapter 16: Peppermint
One scorching cup of tea after another. The crisp, curt flavor of peppermint bites at Crowley's tongue. Irritates, rather than soothes. The kitchen of the little farmhouse is meant to be a place of security and assurances. Bunches of dried herbs hanging from the rafters. A well-stocked pantry of glass jars filled with medicinal spell components. A sturdy wooden table on which to work, a wooden recipe box with edges worn down through the centuries. The solid oak door set into the far wall remains latched. The taste of peppermint is caustic. Crowley chokes down another cup.
A scattering of chickens pecking contently on the road. The open, urgent embrace of the branch-woven gates. A woman wrapped in a woolen shawl, waiting on her porch. There was a moment, bundled in muffled dread and bracing for loss, Juliet laying limp in his arms, Crowley was without words. Without the wherewithal to ask – to beg – for help. Throat dry, knees about to buckle. He bore Juliet through the cozy kitten, through the oak door. To the metallic gleam, the operating table, the sterilized veterinary tools aligned in tidy assurance. Brushed her once-gossamer fur as he laid her down. She's beautiful, the woman remarked softly. She's beautiful, Crowley agreed silently, and visible to the human eye, and on the cusp of death. On the verge of leaving him, forever. The veterinarian curled his fingers around that first cup of peppermint tea. Tied up her hair and tied on her apron. And commenced with her work behind the solid oak door.
Another scalding cup of tea, cauterizing the ache inside. Crowley concentrates. The coven. Whatever the intent of their spell, whatever curse it was meant to cast, it hadn't worked as intended. Whatever rite interrupted in that otherwise barren, frost-covered field. Incantations scattered into the wind, then fluttering down to roost on the pair of interlopers. Contempt and something worse curling with the vestige of steam from countless cups of tea, curling within him. A long-latent craving, summoned by the suffering of his hound. Dark and twisted. Thirsty. There is the very real concern the tea will not be enough.
Behind the oak door, Juliet whimpers in pain. The handle on Crowley's cup breaks.
Peppermint is meant to be soothing, but I find that under certain circumstances it can be especially astringent. As an herbal tea with an occasionally unpleasant bite, it felt appropriate for a chapter that should be soothing, with its cottagecore aesthetic, but it entirely anxiety and dread.
Juliet being perpetually invisible to the human eye would eventually be difficult, considering Crowley's demonic abilities continue to fade throughout this series. Crowley's own journey away from Hell began with the epiphenomenal effects of the demon trials, to close the Gates of Hell. In trying to figure out something that would make her visible by accident, it felt appropriate that Juliet also experiences a spell with unexpected, beneficial side effects.