Dear Snump,

There are two moments in my life I cannot describe without being blinded by memories. One was when I first tasted my very own potion at the age of eight. Brewed in secret and consumed in a locked wardrobe, I still remember how the stars shattered in my eyes with the first sip.

Meeting Master Mikaere was my second. I spotted my new mentor in the crowd. The short black hair and dark skin I’ve seen in the pictures. I felt like a halo formed behind his magnificent head and a hush fell over the wave of people. He spotted us and his smile broke over his round face. Without hesitation he shot his hand up into the air and waved with such energy he earned sharp glares from the men in front of him. He sheepishly grinned at them and I’m certain he melted their hearts. He wasn’t a towering rugby player like I’d seen on the screens of the airplane, but he was a head taller than many and his broad shoulders swayed as he strode forward.

“Haere mai Lottie, welcome to New Zealand.” He smiled like the sun. His voice was warm and soft, capable of lulling a lion into sleep.

“Haere mai,” he said and shook Dad’s hand. He shook powerfully and released my dad and came towards me to reach for my luggage, but I stepped back and bowed.

“I am perfectly capable of carrying my own luggage, Master.” I performed the perfect curtsy and smiled like a child beauty pageant queen. The luggage was heavy and my hand was getting clammy, but I was determined not to appear like a useless child.

“That’s cool, let me know if you want to rest, though,” he said, and as expected didn’t pursue the matter further.

Dad and I climbed into Master’s car and we drove for an hour in a car that smelled of spring. He had his radio humming a slow guitar melody and he introduced the streets and small buildings like a tour guide. Soon the paved road turned into dirt and pebbles and the car bumped so much I was being tossed from one side to another, the stones rattling like popcorn, pinging off the metal underneath my feet.

Before too long, we came to his house.

His two-storey house had a blue roof complete with a kiwi weathervane. Blue became my favourite colour. What I immediately took a liking to was his wild yet perfectly tame garden. The herbs he grew! The smells! The insects! Every inch was devoured by the green, the hairy and the beautiful. Rosemary grew between rustic bricks; liverworts hugged the walls; and oh so many types of ferns!

His smile I approved of.

His garden I loved.

And he says the most curious things! After I exited the round tunnel of arbour complete with daphne, raspberry, snapdragon, jasmine and hops, my eyes held the beautiful sight of she, clad in purple and death, resting gingerly among the treachery of green.

I crouched and was a moment from caressing the soft petals of purple when a black shape blocked the sun. I looked up and saw a hauntingly beautiful woman dressed head to toe in black and purple. Her black eyes met mine.

Master’s voice came from behind me and I turned around. “Hey, student, don’t touch the belladonna,” he said. When I turned back to the belladonna, the woman had disappeared as if she never existed.

I thought it was perhaps a trick of the light, a mirage or even lack of sleep.

“You can touch the nightshade, but not the belladonna,” Master said again and approached the garden.

After staring at the empty spot, I registered his words. “Are they not the same, Master?”

“Kind of. I’ll tell you later. I believe the belladonna will change to nightshade tomorrow."

How could this be? Those names are just different names for the same plant. Before I could question further, I stopped. I was a foreigner in his house, his country. I was here to learn, not force my knowledge on others. I nodded.

“Come in and unpack first. I’ll serve you my best tea.”

He flashed his perfect teeth, and I decided to hold my judgement until tea was served.

I’m sitting at his kauri dining table that looks like it was a slab of the magnificent tree cut vertically. I can see the lines and the swirls and even the cracks! There is also a cat without a collar sitting on the table, sleeping contentedly in the sun. I am sure I saw another cat in the garden so I am left wondering if Master Mikaere owns multiple cats. I’ll ask him when he gets back. Dad and Master are now touring the greenhouse and the potion room, but I know that they are actually having the ‘talk’ that the parent has with the new Master: of rules and thinly veiled threats related to my safety and wellbeing. I’m happy to play the innocent child of course. It gives me time to write to you and report my findings. Ah, I see them returning. I will write again soon.

I’ll also send you a copy of the apprenticeship letter he sent me when I get the chance.

Your Smitten Soul Sister