He leans a little closer. “Any word on when you’ll reopen the diner side? Folks are missing those potion lattes.”
I give a small shrug. “Soon, I think. I’ll let you know.”
I’ve missed the potion lattes, too.
Between June, August, and me, we’ve been too swamped to run the diner. That’s why it has been closed for the last month so we could focus on the apothecary side of the business. Hopefully with the new apprentice coming in, we’ll be able to reopen the diner side.
Satisfied with his morsel of gossip, he hefts the boxes onto the counter and tips his cap. “Ladies.”
I balance the boxes in my arms and carry them carefully toward the back, only for Thistle to dart across my path, tail high and smug. I stumble, nearly tripping, but manage to set the boxes down without disaster.
“Really?” I whisper to him. “Must you?”
He purrs.
When I stack the jars and bottles neatly onto their shelves, June’s voice drifts back from the counter. “Don’t forget to finish those potions. They’re already late.”
"On it," I call back. Thistle hops onto the counter beside me, curling his tail neatly around his paws.
I set the vial of love potion on the drying rack and watch the light shimmer inside it. One order down, a dozen more to go.
By the time I finish labeling the last potion, my shoulders ache, and the clock on the wall blinks 7:58. The rain hasn’t started yet, but the clouds outside the apothecary window have sunk low and heavy, pressing down on the rooftops like a warning.
June and August have already gone, leaving me to lock up. I douse the lamps, flip the sign toclosed,and tuck Thistle into the crook of my arm.
The air outside smells like wet earth and ozone, the kind of thick, charged scent that promises a storm. A gust of windpicks up the aroma of rosemary from the herb beds and whips it around me.
I shiver and pull my jacket tighter. I’m halfway to the lamppost when a voice cuts through the dusk.
“Caroline!”
I blink and turn, and there she is—Amara Wilder, striding down the cobblestone walk like she owns it. Her long black hair tumbles loose over her shoulders, dark curls glinting with the first hint of rain.
Her skirts sway around her boots, each layer more dramatic than the last, and there’s jewelry on nearly every finger, silver flashing at her throat and wrists. She smells like wild jasmine and spiced wine, and even from a distance, the scent wraps around me, rich and intoxicating.
I let out a delighted squeal before I can stop myself and run straight into her arms. “When did you get back?”
“Two hours ago.” She laughs, squeezing me hard enough to make my ribs creak. “You look exhausted, sweetheart. Brewing yourself into the ground again?”
I grin against her shoulder. “Maybe a little. What about you? I thought you were buried in finals.”
Her face twists, and she groans. “Don’t remind me. I failed one of my law papers—contracts, of all things—and now I have to repeat it next semester. I just needed a day off from pretending I’m fine.”
Thistle wriggles in my arms, glaring at her like she’s an intruder. Amara leans in to greet him, holding out her hand with mock solemnity. “Hello, Prince of Darkness.”
He gives her a single disdainful blink and flicks his tail right in her face before slipping from my arms and trotting off toward a puddle.
“Still hates me,” she mutters. “I don’t know why. I bring him treats.”
“He’s discerning,” I tease. “You’re too glittery for his taste.”
She straightens and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “You think it’s weird that I still don’t have a familiar? Every charm witch I know met their own familiar before they were twenty.”
“It’ll happen when it happens.” I give her a soft smile. “Familiars are like men—they only show up when you least expect them and usually make a mess.”
Her laugh spills out, quick and musical. “Don’t remind me.”
“Heading home to the manor?”
