Chapter 16
The greenhouse smelled like rosewater and Caesar salad.
Magda stood with her hands on her hips, surveying the bizarre new setup that had invaded her sanctuary.
Her beloved cauldron bubbled on one side of the worktable while, on the other, a sleek gray laptop blinked awake beside a humming centrifuge.
It looked like Hogwarts had merged with a pharmaceutical lab, and nobody had filed any zoning paperwork.
Sebastian Voss adjusted his glasses, already setting up a spreadsheet. “If we’re testing cross-reactivity, we’ll need at least eight sample sets. I’ve labeled the beakers A through H for clarity.”
Magda plucked the first label off and replaced it with another one that read Hope. “There. Now it’s clearer.”
He blinked. “You renamed them?”
“Just the boring ones. You can keep your alphabet if it makes you feel safe. I’ll use real names.”
“Real?”
She pointed down the line of glass. “Hope, Passion, Serendipity, Disaster, Oops, Maybe, Lust, and Don’t Sniff That One.” She smirked, despite trying not to.
Sebastian exhaled like a man calculating the half-life of patience. “This is supposed to be controlled science.”
“Then control me, Professor,” she said sweetly. “Or you can try to…”
He nearly swallowed his tongue. “Wait. You’re just kidding around, right?”
“Um… Yes?”
Wally hopped onto the table and grabbed Sebastian’s laser pointer before either of them noticed. A red dot danced across the far wall. The wallaby chirped and pounced, then aimed the beam directly at a row of hanging ferns.
“Wally, no!” Magda lunged. “Not the—”
Too late. The fern fronds exploded in a shower of spores, coating Sebastian’s lab coat in sparkly green dust.
He froze, blinking through the glitter storm. “Is this safe?”
“Depends. Do you have any allergies to whimsy?”
He groaned and brushed off his sleeves.
“I take it that’s a yes.”
She caught the hint of a grin tugging at his mouth. Not much, but enough to make her stomach perform a small interpretive dance.
They fell into an uneasy rhythm. She stirred; he measured.
She whispered invocations; he adjusted temperature settings.
Whenever she leaned too close, he cleared his throat and backed up.
Whenever he got that distant, data-drunk look, she clattered something noisy to make him notice she still existed.
After an hour, the cauldron’s contents shimmered pale pink, releasing a faint, floral mist. Magda leaned in, inhaling. “There it is… the first spark of affection.”
Sebastian bent over the sample, his tone clinical. “Or chemical luminescence.”
“Heart-chakra resonance,” she countered.
He adjusted his glasses. “It’s reacting to heat.”
“It’s reacting to hope.”
For a moment, neither spoke. The liquid pulsed softly, as if it were listening to them argue.
Wally squeaked and dropped the laser pointer into the cauldron. A tiny burst of light shot up, briefly painting their faces in rose and gold.
“Wally!” Magda scooped him up and set him on the floor. “Bad familiar. No electronic sacrifices to Venus.”
Sebastian peered at the glowing mixture. “Actually, that increased luminescence by eighteen percent.”
Magda arched an eyebrow. “So, the magic worked.”
“I said luminescence, not magic.”
She smirked. “You keep saying that word. I don’t think it means what you think it means.”
They both watched the potion swirl, light dancing in its depths like slow fireworks. Then she reached for a small pipette and dipped it in. “Moment of truth.”
“Wait! Protocol requires dilution first—”
She touched a drop to her wrist. A gentle warmth spread up her arm. “Mmm. Feels like first crushes and impending stomach butterflies.”
“Magda!” He snatched her hand and checked her pulse. “You can’t just apply untested compounds to living tissue.”
She smiled at him. “Relax. I’m still breathing, aren’t I?”
His fingers lingered against her skin longer than necessary. The warmth wasn’t all chemical or magical.
For a heartbeat, the world shrank to the space between them. The hum of the centrifuge faded, the cauldron’s glow softened, and even Wally stilled, sensing something more interesting than a red dot.
“Your concern is touching, but I know only harmless botanicals are in it.”
Sebastian released her hand abruptly and took a step back. “We’ll, uh… need a full compositional analysis.”
“Of course.” She pretended to jot a note, though her pen trembled slightly. “And maybe a follow-up test. For consistency.”
He nodded too quickly. “Reproducibility is essential.”
“Absolutely. Science demands reproduction.”
Their eyes met again, and the air went hot enough to steam the greenhouse windows.
Wally sneezed. The spell, if it was one, broke.
They returned to work with forced professionalism. He adjusted his spreadsheets; she cleaned her tools with exaggerated care. Every movement said, I’m totally fine, and every stolen glance said, you’re wrong.
An hour later, Sebastian leaned over the laptop. “Preliminary data suggests an unstable compound. It keeps polarizing toward the positive spectrum, which shouldn’t happen.”
Magda tipped her head. “Positive energy. I told you… hope.”
“Or contamination.”
She smirked. “Could be the same thing, depending on who you ask.”
He sighed but didn’t argue. In fact, he looked almost impressed.
“Your methodology is unconventional,” he admitted.
“Translation: you like it.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Your eyebrows did.”
“My eyebrows are neutral.”
She laughed softly. “Nothing about you is neutral, Dr. Voss.”
Wally hopped between them again, carrying a petri dish like a peace offering. He set it on the table, then pointed to the cauldron and chirped twice. Magda swore it sounded like he said, “Kiss Cam.”
She wagged a finger at him. “Don’t you start.”
Sebastian cleared his throat again, suddenly fascinated by his notes. “So… Tomorrow, we repeat the trial?”
“Tomorrow, we perfect it.”
They packed up in silence, the faint perfume of the potion clinging to the air.
It smelled like rosehips and something else.
Musk, maybe? As Magda capped the last flask, she caught his reflection in the glass: serious face, mussed hair, faint shimmer of fern glitter still clinging to his collar.
The kind of man who didn’t believe in magic but might, if she gave him reason enough.
She smiled. “Hybrid experiment, then?”
He glanced up. “What?”
“Just wondering what happens when science and sorcery share a lab bench.”
Sebastian hesitated, then allowed himself a small, crooked grin. “Explosions, probably.”
“Then we’re doing it right.”
Wally hopped onto the bench again, triumphant, the laser pointer now blinking from inside his pouch. Red dots danced across his abdomen as the greenhouse lights dimmed.
“Um, tomorrow I teach classes until 3. I can meet you back here at 4 or after dinner, if you prefer.
Magda reached over, brushing a speck of fern glitter from Sebastian’s cheek. “Careful, Professor. Magic’s contagious.”
He didn’t flinch this time. “So is curiosity.”
Sebastian showed up at four sharp, still wearing his university ID badge and the faint look of a man who’d spent all day explaining spirochetes.
Magda met him in the greenhouse with a smile and a cup of coffee. “Rough day, Professor?”
He glanced around the shimmering space where the last of their sample vials sat in labeled rows—Hope, Passion, and the rest. “You could say that. My students have learned that bacteria is not optional.”
“Then you’ll fit right in.” She handed him the tea and gestured toward the cauldron. “I was thinking we’d try something different this time. Not another love potion. Something honest.”
“Honest?” He adjusted his glasses. “You mean chemically verifiable?”
“I mean ethically sound.” She twirled her spoon through the steaming mixture. “No more manipulating hearts. I simply want to make sure any feelings that come out of these experiments are real.”
Sebastian tilted his head, genuinely intrigued. “An integrity brew?”
She grinned. “Potion Number Three: the Honesty Enhancement. Harmless. Just encourages openness and truth. You know, so no one falls in love with people they don’t even like.”
He chuckled. “A noble cause. And I agree.” Partly because I don’t expect it to work.
They rolled up their sleeves. Sebastian placed a row of glass vials in the wooden holder while Magda added drops of clear liquid that shimmered like melted silver. He noted temperatures; she whispered incantations. Steam curled from the cauldron, golden flecks swirling upward.
“Chemical luminescence again,” he murmured, fascinated.
“Magic luminescence,” she corrected. “This one targets the throat chakra.”
“The throat chakra?”
“Communication, Professor.” She winked. “You might even start saying what you really think.” As the potion reached a soft boil, Magda fanned away the rising vapor. “It’s supposed to release a truth mist. It should be mild, temporary, harmless.”
“Harmless,” he echoed dubiously, turning a dial on his equipment. “Let’s test vapor density.”
The cauldron gave a happy pop and belched out a puff of glittering pink-gold smoke. It rose like champagne bubbles, drifted lazily upward, and vanished into the overhead vent.
Sebastian frowned. “Is your ventilation system standard?”
“Mostly. The mansion has its own ideas about airflow sometimes.”
“That doesn’t sound reassuring.”
“Wasn’t meant to.”
A soft whoosh passed through the ductwork, carrying their glittering truth serum into the mansion’s lungs.
“Can you stay for dinner?” Magda asked brightly. “You can take notes on behavioral responses. Natural environment. Minimal supervision.”
He hesitated, then nodded. “All right. Observation phase. Should we tell the others what we’re up to?”
Magda tipped her head. “This may sound hypocritical, and usually I don’t do this, but let’s not tell them about the truth spell. Then they won’t be influenced by the knowledge.”
“Very wise,” he said. “You’re beginning to sound more like a scientist.”
She let out a snort.
By the time they entered the dining room, the table gleamed under floating candles, and half the witches were already seated. Joell poured cider, Lioness doodled a glowing sigil on her napkin, and Sahara scrolled through ancient hieroglyphic photos on her tablet.
“Look who finally joined us,” Joell teased. “How’s your cauldron courtship going?”
Sebastian choked on air. Magda patted his arm. “Scientific partnership,” she said sweetly. “It’s going well.”
The first wave of pink mist wafted in through the ceiling vents. A subtle sparkle drifted downward, like fairy dust. Barely perceptible.
Joell noticed first. “Is it getting sparkly in here?”
“Probably just condensation,” Sebastian said, eyes on his notepad.
“Condensation doesn’t glitter.”
“I’m recording that observation,” he muttered.
Joell suddenly slammed her cider down. “Fine! I’ll admit it. I wrote myself into my novel’s love scene. Twice. And the second time was better.”
The table went silent. Then Brianna, halfway through her mashed potatoes, asked, “Did you at least change the name?”
Joell shrugged. “Nope. But I gave myself better dialogue.”
Lioness grinned. “Bold choice. I’d write myself taller.”
Sahara sighed dreamily. “I would simply write myself into early retirement.”
Chad appeared in the doorway, clipboard in hand. “Hey, how’s the research—”
Before he finished his sentence, the mist hit. His eyes went wide. “I once submitted a student’s paper as a conference talk.”
Joell gasped. “Chad!”
He grimaced. “It fit the theme! Gaaa! I can’t stop talking!”
Sebastian looked alarmed. “Fascinating. Gas inhalation appears to trigger compulsive disclosure.”
“Translation?” Magda asked.
“It works.”
Then his own throat tightened. He tried to focus on the data, but the words spilled out anyway. “Magda’s smile disrupts my cognitive function.”
The silence that followed was absolute. Even the chandelier flickered uncertainly.
Magda blinked. “That’s… odd.”
“And sweet,” Brianna said.
Lioness leaned back, grinning. “Ooh, the scientist’s got a crush.”
Sahara added without looking up, “In Egypt, that’s called fieldwork.”
Chad cocked his head. “What did you two do?”
“Just a tiny honesty spell. It’s so people who are getting to know each other don’t hide anything important.”
Rayna fanned herself. “I’m just glad honesty’s not contagious. Does anyone else feel warm?”
Chad groaned into his clipboard. “I’m filing this under ‘Magical Occupational Hazards.’”
Wally hopped onto the table, eyes bright, and squeaked so loudly the candles trembled. A few stray sparks shot from his fur, sprinkling glitter over the breadbasket.
Sebastian rubbed his forehead. “I should’ve brought safety goggles.”
“You should’ve brought a sense of humor,” Magda teased.
He met her gaze again, red-faced but smiling now. “Working on it.”
Laughter broke over the table like a wave—unfiltered, unrestrained, cathartic. The glittering mist hung above them, soft as dawn light. Magda felt it stir something deep and sweet inside her, the realization that maybe truth was its own kind of magic.
As the last sparkles faded, Sahara murmured, “Well. That was enlightening.”
Lioness twirled her glowing napkin art. “And entertaining. Ten out of ten, would inhale again.”
Joell raised her cider. “To accidental honesty.”
Magda lifted her glass, meeting Sebastian’s eyes. “And to experiments worth repeating.”
His forehead wrinkled. “Preferably under controlled conditions.”
“Or over dinner,” she countered.
“Dinner’s a variable I can live with.”
Wally chose that moment to hop onto Sebastian’s lap, drop a glittery bread roll into his hand, and chirp what sounded suspiciously like “You’re welcome.”
Magda laughed, feeling lighter than she had in months. Maybe she hadn’t perfected love in a bottle, but she’d brewed something just as wonderful.