Page 54 of Summer L.A.W.

Something for myself? When would I even⁠—

Her brain started whirring before she could stop it. Ingredients flickered through her mind like fireflies: rose petals for affection, cinnamon for warmth, and a drop of High John the Conqueror for courage—for the woman who never asks for what she wants.

Bas watched her go quiet, and her smile softened. “There it is. That spark I love. I don’t need to know what you’re plotting. Just promise it won’t turn anyone into a toad.”

“No promises,” Magda said, lips twitching.

Bas’s laugh filled the greenhouse like a wind chime. “Good girl. Now go put that beautiful mind of yours to work. And Magda…” Her voice gentled. “Whatever you make, make it with intent. The universe always knows what’s in your heart.”

The light dimmed, leaving Magda alone with the moonlight and her thoughts.

She let out a long breath. “Well, that was subtle,” she muttered. “Start a storm. Brew something for myself. Sure, why not a love potion while I’m at it?”

Her sarcasm echoed softly among the vines. But even as she said it, the idea rooted itself and began to bloom.

It wouldn’t be over the top, of course. Just a little magical experiment. A confidence booster in a bottle.

Magda smiled to herself, already reaching for her notebook.

Wally gave a questioning chirp.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she said, flipping open to a blank page. “It’s for research.”

The moonlight glinted off her glasses as she bent to write again, unaware that somewhere deep in the mansion’s rafters the sconces flickered as if amused.

The greenhouse shimmered with moonlight, each leaf catching the glow. Magda crouched at her bench, pencil flying across her leather-bound notebook. She tapped the page with the eraser. “Chamomile for calm, rosehips for romance, and just a whisper of Venus powder.” She laid down the notebook and added the ingredients to a small beaker of thrice-blessed water.

From the far end of the bench came the rustling sound of her wallaby familiar, Wally, hopping smugly from tray to tray like an over caffeinated botanist.

“Don’t touch that,” she warned without looking up.

He ignored her, naturally. A quick snatch, a crunch, and half a rosehip vanished into his pouch.

“Fine,” she sighed. “But if you start batting your eyelashes at the ferns, I’m cutting you off.”

She poured the shimmering mixture into a crystal flask, a few droplets hitting the floor. “I’m starting small. A simple enhancement of affection.” The potion fizzed faintly, a blush-colored cloud blooming from the mouth of the flask. Magda smiled, enchanted by her own cleverness.

Then the plants started cuddling.

It began with a fern shyly leaning toward its neighbor. Then the moonflower vines curled together, heart-shaped leaves pressing close. Within seconds, the entire greenhouse was a tangle of amorous foliage.

“Oh, that’s… interesting.”

The vines painted misty hearts across the glass panes, pollen drifting in lazy golden spirals. The air smelled like roses and trouble.

Wally sneezed a glitter bomb of fairy dust. The bottle he’d been perched beside toppled, spilling glittering essence over the workbench, the plants, and Magda herself.

“Great,” she muttered, flicking a sparkly leaf off her sleeve. “Now it’s a Disney forest.”

She wrote in her notebook with a satisfied flourish: Love Potion #1 – Promising Start.

The word promising was still drying when the heart-shaped pollen floated through the air vent, heading straight into the mansion.

15

By morning, the scent of romance had spread to the breakfast table. The witches gathered in the dining room, mugs steaming and plates piled high. Magda sat demurely, radiating smug serenity. That lasted all of eight seconds, until her teapot floated past her head.

Rayna blinked. “Um. Did the caffeine just achieve liftoff?”