Chapter 17
The mansion had gone still. Dinner was over, the laughter had faded, and the truth mist had long since dissolved into harmless glitter somewhere in the air ducts.
Back in the greenhouse, the night was soft and silver. Moonlight filtered through the glass panes, catching the shimmer of scattered herbs and empty beakers. The faint scent of rosehips lingered under the sharper tang of scorched thyme.
Magda crouched by a bench, carefully plucking singed leaves from a tray of basil. “You know,” she said, voice low, “next time I try a vapor-based potion, remind me to close the vents.”
Sebastian looked up from his laptop, where his fingers danced across the keys with the weary determination of a man processing chaos into data. “Already noted under ‘environmental variables.’ Along with ‘unanticipated mass honesty event.’”
She snorted. “Sounds like a bureaucratic way of saying oops.”
“Oops, doesn’t hold up well in peer review.”
He finished typing and stretched. His back cracked. “You realize, of course, that what happened tonight defies every known model of chemical behavior.”
“Good,” she said. “Maybe the universe needed a little chaos.”
He considered that, tapping his pen against his notebook. “The universe’s chaos I can handle. Spontaneous confessions, less so.”
She smirked. “Still embarrassed?”
He adjusted his glasses, which was as close as he came to admitting yes. “Let’s just say, as data points go, that one was… uncomfortable.”
Magda grinned and turned another leaf over. “For what it’s worth, I thought your confession was very interesting.”
He glanced up sharply, then relaxed when he saw her teasing expression. “Well, you did say the potion encourages honesty.”
“Mm-hmm. But I’m pretty sure the potion didn’t make you blush.”
Sebastian ducked his head. “I was under the influence of airborne particulates.”
She laughed softly. “Sure, let’s call it that.”
For a while, they worked in companionable silence. The cauldron sat cool and empty between them. A candle guttered low, its wax pooling like melted gold.
Finally, Sebastian broke the quiet. “You know,” he said slowly, “I used to think magic was just a metaphor. A colorful language for things science hadn’t explained yet.”
“And now?”
He hesitated. His eyes stayed on his notes. “Now I think maybe the two aren’t enemies. Just different dialects.”
Magda smiled, tracing a finger through a streak of spilled glitter on the tabletop. “Exactly. You measure; I intuit. You predict; I provoke. Same goal, different experiments.”
He looked at her then, really looked, and something softened in his face. “I think your worldview is unexpectedly coherent.”
“Careful,” she said, lips curving. “You’re starting to sound like a believer.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
She stood, brushing soil from her hands. “Still, I appreciate your help. Most people would’ve run screaming after the first glitter explosion.”
Sebastian shut his laptop with a decisive click. “You don’t need my help, Magda.”
That caught her off guard. “Oh?”
He leaned back in his chair, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. “You just need better lab ventilation.”
For a beat, she stared at him, then burst out laughing. It was genuine, rich, the kind of laugh that filled the whole space and knocked the last of the tension from the air.
And for the first time, he laughed too. Not politely, not under his breath— He really laughed, the sound surprising them both.
When it finally faded, Wally hopped up onto the table, pouch rustling, and settled neatly between them like a furry punctuation mark. His tail flicked lazily against Sebastian’s notebook.
Sebastian arched a brow. “Is he guarding your research?”
“Probably judging it,” Magda said. “He’s a terrible peer reviewer.”
Wally tilted his head and squeaked in mock offense.
Magda looked at the row of emptied flasks, at the faint traces of glitter still clinging to the glass. “You know, for all its chaos, that was one of the most successful days I’ve had in a long time.”
Sebastian cocked his head. “Define success.”
“No one died. Everyone told the truth. And I think you almost smiled before dessert.”
“I smiled,” he said defensively.
“You smirked.”
“That counts.”
She grinned again, softer now. “You’re not as bad at this as I thought.”
“Science?”
“Life.”
The candle had burned down another inch. The greenhouse hummed faintly, the mansion settled into its nocturnal rhythm. Outside, night insects trilled in the garden.
Sebastian gathered his notes into a tidy stack. “So, what comes next?”
Magda leaned over her own journal, smudged with fingerprints and faint traces of gold dust. She flipped to a clean page, uncapped her pen, and wrote neatly at the top: Potion #4 – Bonding Agent.
He raised an eyebrow. “That sounds ominous.”
She tapped the page. “It’s research, not romance. Probably.”
“Probably,” he echoed, unconvinced. “But I agree the potion needs a bonding agent to keep the results consistent.”
Wally lifted his head, eyes gleaming in the candlelight, and tilted it just enough to say what they were both thinking: What could possibly go wrong?
Saturday morning sunlight streamed through the greenhouse glass, catching on dewdrops and making the whole place feel like a cathedral of plants.
Magda swept in carrying a tray of fresh herbs, muttering to them as if they were coworkers.
Sebastian, meanwhile, had turned the opposite bench into a mobile laboratory.
He had his microscope, laptop, precision scales, and rows of vials labeled with clinical professionalism.
“You set up fast,” Magda said, sliding her tray onto her side of the bench.
“Not quite ready,” he replied, adjusting a pH probe. “Your wallaby stole my timer.”
As if summoned, Wally bounced between them, pouch suspiciously lumpy. Sebastian narrowed his eyes. “Give it back.”
Wally blinked slowly, then produced a beaker instead, dropping it like a mic. Thankfully, Sebastian caught it. The timer was nowhere to be found.
Sebastian sighed. “He reminds me of my grad student assistant, Derek Hollis.”
“How so?”
“He’s impulsive, but sometimes I swear he’s trying to sabotage me.”
Magda tapped a sprig of rosemary against her palm. “He’s contributing.”
“He’s a menace,” Sebastian said, placing the beaker out of reach before Wally reclaimed it.
They began to work in a strangely effective rhythm.
Magda opened jars and sniffed for emotional resonance while Sebastian calibrated instruments with millimeter precision.
She murmured to basil leaves; he logged measurements.
She always seemed to reach for the tool he had just finished using, and he kept handing her things before she had to ask.
“You really name your samples after emotions?” he asked, eyeing her vials: Hope, Ease, and Something Reckless?
“It’s easier than A through H,” she said. “And the universe appreciates honesty.”
“You’d hate my dissertation. Nothing but facts and graphs to back them up.”
“Everyone needs a hobby,” she said.
Despite themselves, they kept drifting closer. Magda crushed rosehips in a mortar while Sebastian adjusted the burner under her cauldron, leaning past her shoulder to check the temperature. His sleeve brushed her arm. She didn’t move it.
Wally hopped back onto Magda’s bench, clearly bored. He nudged a beaker toward the edge. Magda caught it, Sebastian caught her wrist, and suddenly their faces were much too close.
“Reflexes,” he said, not letting go.
“Teamwork,” she answered, also not letting go.
They separated a beat later than strictly necessary.
“Let’s try a basic control,” Sebastian said, voice a shade higher than before. “Neutral solution. No variables. No emotions.”
Magda sprinkled chamomile into the cauldron. “Everything has emotions. Even your beakers get moody.”
“They do not get—” He stopped when the cauldron bubbles shimmered violet. “Fine. Your way first. My way second.”
The montage of the day unfolded: Magda selecting herbs by intuition; Sebastian weighing ingredients to the tenth of a gram; Wally attempting to type on Sebastian’s laptop and being diplomatically blocked by a notebook.
They moved around each other in an orbit that grew steadily, dangerously, comfortable.
Magda filled a bowl with the potion from her cauldron. “Hydrometer,” she said.
Sebastian passed it immediately.
“Spatula.”
Instantly in her hand.
“Pencil.”
She plucked it from behind his ear before she could second-guess the impulse. He startled slightly, watching her with a look that said he wasn’t used to people reaching into his personal space, much less being okay with it.
“Thanks,” she said softly.
He cleared his throat. “Anytime.”
Wally chose that moment to knock a thin trail of potion from the rim of the bowl. The shimmering liquid slid down the side and puddled. Magda grabbed a cloth; Sebastian grabbed the bowl. Their hands collided in the spilled liquid and adhered.
“Oh,” Magda said.
“Do not panic,” Sebastian said, instantly panicking.
The potion stretched like warm mozzarella when they tried to pull apart.
Wally sniffed, got too close, and the potion latched onto his whiskers. He shook his head violently, which nearly yanked the bowl from Sebastian’s grip.
“Don’t you dare break my bowl,” Magda told the wallaby.
“Don’t you dare make me explain this to Chad,” Sebastian muttered, trying to free his fingers from Magda’s wrist. The potion had other plans. It clung, gleaming, the perfect mix of chemistry and mischief.
They pulled hard, but accidentally ricocheted chest to chest, tied together by glossy strands of experimental adhesion.
“For the record,” Sebastian said tightly, “your binder appears to be effective.”
“For the record,” Magda said, breath brushing his collarbone, “so does your control.”
The door slid open. Joell took one look and sighed through her nose. “Should I get the chisel or the camera?”
“Chisel,” they said in unison.
“Dinner in twenty,” Joell added, backing out. “Try not to become a permanent art installation.”