Page 93 of Summer L.A.W.

Derek practically salivated.

“There it is. The prototype. The culmination of all their ridiculous folk-science.” He lifted his chin. “Good thing someone with actual ambition is here.”

He approached the cauldron.

Inside, a shallow pool of blue potion residue glimmered like a tranquil lagoon. Soft, serene light pulsed on the surface—calling to morons.

“This is it,” Derek breathed. “The breakthrough. Who needs field mice? I can test it myself. Direct data acquisition. Pioneering. Bold. Then I’ll grab a couple of vials of the stuff for those co-eds who wouldn’t give me the time of day.”

He dipped two fingers into the residue, sniffed, and, because the universe loves poetic justice, he licked them.

For a moment, bliss washed over his face, smoothing every potential wrinkle.

“Ohhhh… Wow…” he sighed. “I am… incredible. I am… limitless. My brain feels like warm pudding.” He swayed. “I should have some more!”

He found a beaker and filled it. “I should tell someone. I should tell… the moon! The moon loves me. The moon has always loved me.”

Derek stumbled toward the greenhouse door, giggling.

“Gravity is so… relative,” he whispered, floating across the grass like he was wearing invisible roller skates. “Everything is beautiful. I should compliment that hydrangea. She’s stunning.”

He approached the hydrangea bush and bowed deeply.

“You,” he told the shrub with reverence, “are the queen of horticulture. I toast to your beauty.” He took a big swig from the beaker.

Then he dropped dead at her roots, smiling beatifically, as if he’d just been graded on a cosmic curve and gotten an A+.

The mansion exhaled, long and exasperated.

Somewhere upstairs, Wally snorted in his sleep, sensing something deeply stupid had occurred. He hopped down the stairs and into the conservatory. He pressed his paws to the glass and froze at the sight of the body on the lawn.

This time, the mansion didn’t groan. It just locked the door with a firm, you-have-got-to-be-kidding-me click.

Wally just knew that in the morning, the witches were going to be pissed. And somewhere in the future, Rayna would take one look at the scene and mutter, “Well… natural selection works fast.”

The mansion woke the witches first. Every lantern crackled awake in a nervous flutter, as if the house tried whispering but then accidentally hit “shout.” Floorboards vibrated in a staccato rhythm.

Rayna shot upright. “Okay, that is not a normal hum. That is a ‘brace yourself’ hum.”

Down the hall, Joell groaned, “If this is about the laundry chute again, I swear⁠—”

Before she could finish, Wally scrambled into Magda’s room in full panic. His eyes were wide, ears pitched forward, fur fluffed as he jumped up and down.

Magda pushed off her blankets. “What is it, sweetheart?”

Wally gave her a tush push with frantic insistence.

“Okay, okay! You go first, and I’ll follow.” It’s safer.

Rayna poked her head in. “Wally’s lost his mind, the house is having heart palpitations. Either the coffee machine died, or something even worse happened.”

They followed Wally through the halls, half awake, half braced for impact. The mansion’s lanterns flickered faster the closer they got to the greenhouse.

When they reached the door, it unlocked itself hesitantly. Then relocked. Then unlocked again with the resigned sigh of a building that wished it had eyes to roll.

“That’s not comforting,” Joell whispered.

Rayna pushed the door open. Wally hopped ahead and led them to the other end of the conservatory, pawing at the outside door to the garden.