Bewitched (Bewitched, #1)(35)

I rub my temples.

“You’re still here?” Sybil’s voice rings out.

I glance up as she enters the kitchen. She came in here with me a couple of hours ago to work on an assignment for a different class, but she long since left to get some reading done.

Apparently, she finished reading.

She crinkles her nose. “What is that ungodly smell?” she says, wandering closer to me.

“That’s the smell of protection,” I say smoothly.

“Whatever concoction you’re brewing, I don’t think it’s supposed to smell like that.” When she gets to my side, Sybil peers into my bowl. “Or look like that.”

I gaze down at the lumpy charred paste. According to my textbook, it’s supposed to settle into a milky green liquid.

“What are you making anyway?” Sybil asks.

I grimace. “It’s supposed to be a protective potion. Once it’s done, I just dip a piece of jewelry into it…and it should come out an amulet.”

At that, she laughs. “Dude, that’s more likely to attract bad shit than it is to scare it off.”

I make a face at her. “It’s not done yet.”

“Babe, scrap it and call it a night. You can try again tomorrow.”

I grab my wooden spoon and stir the grayish sludge. “Does my best friend really have that little faith in my abilities?”

Sybil raises her eyebrows at me. “Uh, when it comes to this particular spell—yeah, I do.”

“Pfft.” I wave her away. “I’m almost done here.”

“All right, Selene, you do you.” Sybil pushes away from the counter. “I’m heading off to bed. Want to join me for a run before class?”

I make a face at the thought. “Do I really like running?” I ask her.

For a moment Sybil hesitates, like she doesn’t know if I’ve truly forgotten.

“It’s a rhetorical question,” I say. “Of course I hate running. But I’m a masochist, so yeah, I’ll join you.”

She shakes her head. “You have the worst humor, you know that, right?”

I point the wooden spoon I’m holding at her. “I…yeah, I might.”

She gives me an amused look. “Night, babe. Don’t accidently curse anything with that…potion.” With that, she breezes back out of the kitchen.

“Night!” I call out after her.

Once it’s quiet, I return my attention to my goop.

Now, where was I?

I glance down the list of steps I’ve meticulously checked off. All that’s left is the final step.

Take the object you wish to coat with your protective mixture and submerge it into the potion.

There’s an incantation that goes along with this step, and supposedly, invoking this spell will cause the potion to burn away and leave only the magic-coated amulet behind.

Simple enough.

I add more water to my mixture, whispering the incantation under my breath as I do so. And then I stir and stir until my sludge turns into a lumpy liquid. It looks a little greener as a liquid too, so that’s a win.

It’ll have to do.

I grab a small clay pendant with swirls stamped onto the front. It was a cheap knickknack I bought at a street fair in Berkeley, but it’s unusual and pretty. And if this all goes well, it will be an amulet.

I worry my lower lip as I look at my concoction. After a moment, I drop the pendant into the mixture.

This is going to work, I tell myself.

Taking a deep breath, I hold my hand over the bowl and begin. “I call on earth and air…” My power rises, called by my intent and the incantation. “Wash away weakness”—the soft orange magic flows down my arm and out from my palm before settling over the liquid—“from beings wicked and intent unkind…”

As I watch, my power sinks into the potion, making the liquid luminesce.

I finish the incantation with “keep me safe; keep me whole.”

BANG!

The potion explodes like a shot, liquid splattering everywhere.

Shit.

I cough, waving away the odious hazy smoke. Once it clears, I peek inside the cauldron. Then I groan.

Sitting at the bottom is a lump of what looks like fossilized poop.

Do I have to touch it?

After a moment’s hesitation, I reach in and scoop the amulet from the cauldron. On a positive note, at least my clumpy concoction is all gone. I mean, the rest of the kitchen is now covered with it, but we’re not going to focus on that.

At the sight of the amulet in my hand, Nero curls his lips back.

“Oh, come on, it’s not that bad,” I say, dropping my smoldering pendant back onto the counter.

But it is. It really is.





I’m at the kitchen’s industrial sink, humming while I wash the last of the utensils I used. I try not to notice the heavy disappointment settled in the bottom of my stomach, sitting there like a stone.

This was simply a first try.

I’ll get it next time.

“Cleaning cookware, my queen? This is what you gave me up for?”

I scream and spin, throwing the wooden spoon reflexively at the voice.

Memnon leans against the doorway to the kitchen, his frame taking up most of the space. He catches the utensil in his fist, but his eyes remain fixed on me.