Chapter Seven
A pink cloud popped into existence over the worktable, dusting everything in a faint shimmer. Tani appeared in the middle of it, grinning like she’d photobombed reality.
“I’m back!” she announced.
I jumped, nearly dropping the mortar. “You are going to give me a heart attack one of these days.”
“Please. Your arteries are fine.” Tani planted her tiny fists on her hips. “All right, hit me. What do you need, oh mighty Guardian?”
I shoved the red folder toward her. “You. Reading. Me. Doing. That’s the division of labor tonight.”
Tani hovered over the pages, eyes skimming the neat type. “Okay, okay. This is the gate-warding blend. Starter-level apocalypse prevention. You got this, chica.” She traced a line with one fingertip. “First, you need the daisy, the lily, and the gladiolus. Got that?”
I turned to the shelves, scanning the rows of jars until I found the Latin labels that now meant something thanks to Tani’s crash course. Thymophylla tenuiloba. Gladiolus callianthus. Lilium stargazer.
“Got ‘em,” I murmured, pulling each jar down and lining them up along the counter, glass clinking softly.
“How many?” I asked without looking up.
“Let’s see…” Paper rustled as Tani skimmed. “Four daisies, six lilies, and four gladiolus. And it says flowers, not petals. So full blooms, sunshine.”
“Excellent.” I unscrewed lids one by one, the faint ghosts of scent rising up—dry floral and something green and dusty. I counted the blooms out onto a clean ceramic plate. “Next?”
“Two bay leaves, a pinch of St. John’s wort, and a teaspoon of vervain.” Tani’s voice took on a mock-authoritative tone. “Add all that to the mortar with the flowers and crush until it looks like you murdered a garden.”
“Comforting,” I muttered.
I dug out measuring spoons from a drawer, found the right jars, and measured carefully.
Bay leaves. St. John’s wort. Vervain. My hands moved on autopilot, but my brain hummed with every choice.
This wasn’t an aromatherapy experiment. This was the difference between “demon barges in” and “demon stays on its side of the fence.”
I tipped the herbs and flowers into the mortar and lifted the pestle, rolling it through the ingredients. Stems snapped. Petals crumbled. The air filled with a heady, electric scent—sharp, clean, faintly citrusy under the floral.
I inhaled and, for a second, felt something loosen in my chest. “Okay. Pulverized garden achieved. Now what?”
“Now you need six drops of lime oil, two drops of patchouli, and twelve drops of yarrow.” Tani’s wings buzzed as she hovered lower, nose pressing close to the page. “Add to the dry ingredients and mix. Then pour into a vial.”
I put three small bottles on the table, hands steady despite the late hour. I counted each drop into the mortar like it was holy water. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. A bright, sharp citrus note cut through the earthier smells. Patchouli next—deep and grounding—then yarrow, grassy and strange.
I stirred slowly with the pestle, watching oil slick through the powdered herbs until everything darkened and clumped together. The mixture looked like something between mud and moss and smelled… weirdly comforting. Like a garden at midnight.
I grabbed a clean glass vial, wedged a tiny funnel into its mouth, and coaxed the mixture inside. When it was full, I pressed a cork into place and held the little bottle up to the bare bulb overhead.
My first real potion.
“Okay,” I breathed. “Moment of truth. Now I pour this on the tree and chant, right?”
Tani kept reading. “When finished, pour the mixture at the base of the hickory tree. Take three deep breaths and say—ugh, Alice, you cheeseball—‘Protect and save us from harm. Let these oils now work their charm.’”
I snorted. “That sounds like something out of a children’s book.”
“Yeah, well, children’s books usually get the magic right,” Tani said. “Don’t knock the rhyme, doll. The gate listens.”
I studied the vial again, trying to imagine that giant sacred tree, the invisible lines of power Dougal and Owen kept talking about, the way Hickory Hollow sat in the middle of some supernatural superhighway. A Crossroads. A place where worlds brushed too close.
“Still,” I said. “That wasn’t so hard.”
Tani’s brows knit. “Hold up. Not so fast, sister.” She bent lower over the page, lips moving as she reread a section. “Uh. Whoops.”
My stomach dropped. “Whoops? What do you mean whoops? There can be no whoops in demon-prevention magic.”
“Relax. You’re not about to blow up Texas.” Tani winced. “We made the wrong potion.”
I stared at her. “The wrong—what does that even mean? Wrong how? Like, now it summons raccoons instead of demons?”
“It’s a house protection blend.” Tani tapped the page. “Still useful. But not the one that keeps the gate from turning into a revolving door for nightmares.”
I clamped my lips together, counted to five, and pinched the bridge of my nose. “Okay. Fine. We’ll call this… Practice Potion.”
“Love that for you,” Tani said. “We’ll label it later. Next one is the real gate-warding mix.”
I exhaled slowly. “All right. One more round. Then I’m turning into a pumpkin.”
Tani flicked to the next page. “Okay then. Round two…”
I woke to the shrill buzz of my phone screaming directly into my ear.
I fumbled for it, knocking something off the nightstand—maybe a hair tie, maybe my dignity—before finally managing to press it to my head. “Hello?” My voice came out rough, like I’d swallowed sandpaper and regret.
“Good morning,” Owen said, sounding disgustingly chipper. “Or maybe I should say afternoon.”
I squinted at the digital clock beside my bed. 1:07 p.m.
“Oh no,” I groaned. Everything hurt. My head. My shoulders. My thighs from charging up and down stairs all night. “What time is it? Please tell me your watch is wrong.”
“Sadly, my watch tells only the brutal truth. Thought you might need a ride to the shop, since you left your car there.”
I groaned and put a hand to my head. “Oh, yeah. I forgot. I’m not dressed. When can you be here?”
He chuckled. “Already am. I’m standing on your front porch with a latte and a bag of donuts.”
My stomach growled at the mention of coffee and food. “You’re officially my hero. I’ll be right down.”
I rolled out of bed and realized with horror I’d gone to sleep in a tank top and tiny Juicy shorts. Perfect. Nothing like greeting the town heartthrob half-dressed and hungover on potion fumes. Excellent life choices, Piper.
I considered changing. Really did.
But he was already there. The coffee was already cooling. And the idea of making him wait while I spiraled over wardrobe choices felt… worse.
I padded downstairs instead, fingers combing through my hair in a useless attempt to make it look less like I’d lost a fight with a pillow.
When I opened the door, Owen stood on the porch in his usual rumpled button-down and jeans, looking like he’d stepped out of some small-town book boyfriend mood board. Latte in one hand, white paper bag in the other.
His gaze slid over me and stalled for the briefest second on my bare legs.
Heat prickled up my neck.
“I—uh.” I snatched the coffee like it was a life raft. “Thanks.”
“Long night?” he asked, stepping inside when I moved aside.
“You have no idea.” I took a gulp of latte so enormous it was probably illegal in several states. Heavenly caffeine hit my bloodstream. “Owen, I found something.”
His mouth curved as he stared at me a long moment. “You said my name. I like hearing it.”
I swallowed. Then—
I gave him a look. “Do you want to see the thing that might keep our town from being overrun by demon cow-things, or flirt with me on my front porch?”
“Why not both?” he said easily, a lazy grin tugging at his mouth. “But yes—show me.”
I grabbed his free hand before I could think better of it and tugged him through the kitchen toward the basement door. His palm was warm, callused, unnervingly nice to hold. I pretended not to notice. He pretended not to notice me pretending.
“Warning,” I said as I flipped on the basement light. “It’s a disaster zone.”
He let out a low whistle when we reached the bottom. Glassware, bowls, and vials were scattered across the worktable. Herbs and petals dusted the surface like confetti from some unhinged botanical party. The only thing neat was the wall of labeled jars.
“Look, I put everything back in its place,” I said defensively. “Mostly.”
“It’s… impressive,” he said. And there was no sarcasm in it. Just honest surprise. “Like Harry Potter’s Potions class got organized.”
“I’m choosing to take that as a compliment.” I set the bag of donuts on the edge of the table and snatched up the red folder, holding it aloft. “Behold. The Holy Grail.”
He deadpanned, “It’s a red folder.”
“Check what’s inside the red folder, McAllister.”
He took it, balancing the latte in one hand as he flipped it open with the other. Pages crackled. His expression shifted from skeptical to intent to faintly stunned.
“This is…” He turned another page. “These are Alice’s recipes. Full lists. Instructions. It’s her entire potion book.”
“Yup.” I popped open the donut bag and pulled out a chocolate-glazed one. “I found it in a locked drawer in the basement lab. Willow and Tani helped.”
He looked up at me. “You made the gate potion?”
I nodded, suddenly a little shy. “Took a couple tries. The first one was apparently a ‘protect the house, not the world’ blend. But we got it right.”
He stepped closer without seeming to notice he was doing it. He was so near I could see the faint stubble along his jaw, the little flecks of darker gray in his irises.
“You’ve been busy,” he said softly.
“Some of us were up all night saving Hickory Hollow,” I said. Then ruined the moment by taking a giant bite of donut.
He smiled and reached up, thumb brushing the corner of my mouth to swipe away a smear of chocolate. The touch sent a bolt of electricity down my spine.
“There,” he murmured. “You missed a little.”