Indigo sent me the impression of a bored manicure.
The frog shifted, making the most of his little spa while eyeing Barbie, who stared back with unwavering positivity. Where did Maggie even get the doll from?
“I want Pete back to how he was, but hopelessly in love with me.”
“It’s the golden rule. We don’t meddle in matters of the heart. You aren’t this green, Marcia.”
Her nostrils flared. “I am fully aware of the ethics. I am also aware that if Sasha so much as breathes in his direction, amphibians will be the least of her worries.”
“Charming.” I used my foot to slide the flamingo pool a touch closer in case Pete felt like making an escape attempt. He bobbed, unimpressed. “Let’s address the paralysis before discussing frogs.”
She huffed. “Fine.”
I snapped on gloves and moved to examine her. An anchoring weave hummed under her skin. It was messy, but effective. I could break it gently without tearing the dermal structure if I took my time. I murmured the softener, felt the spell threads loosen under my hands, then finished with an enchantment to reduce inflammation. The bruises would do what bruises do, but the muscles remembered how to be muscles again with a few coaxing pulses of power.
Her eyebrows twitched. An eyelid fluttered. Then, like thawing permafrost, emotions returned to her face. She sighed with operatic relief. “Bless you,” she said, then caught sight of herself in the mirror across the room. “Oh, thank the Triple Goddess. I was starting to look permanently surprised.”
“Now, let’s talk about Pete.”
Her gaze darted to the pool. The frog blinked, then kicked a lazy froggy kick that moved him in a slow circle past Barbie, his golden eye tracking her plastic smile.
“I can reverse the transformation,” I said. “I will not, however, compel his affections. That’s manipulation, not medicine.” I needed her to fully understand.
“Don’t be sanctimonious,” she snapped. “It was supposed to be a binding of tongues. Communication, Cora. We’ve been fighting. I found an old rite that said if lovers share tongues under the new moon, they will speak the same language. I didn’t—” She swallowed, and honest tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. “I didn’t mean to do this. I was… angry.”
“Love and obsession are very different emotions. I won’t help you ensnare his heart.”
The frog croaked, a sound that vibrated through its entire body like a plucked bass string. He stared at her and blew a bubble. It popped with comedic delicacy.
“That rite is archaic,” I mumbled. “In the old texts, ‘tongue’ often stands for ‘speech’ or ‘words.’ It means to share truths.” How apt a spell that could reveal all our secrets was sitting in my office. Now, how to undo it?
“Soul extraction,”Indigo suggested in my mind, smug, as if she’d been waiting to contribute.“Quick snip. He won’t feel a thing.”
“Not helping,”I told my resident soul-sucker.“We’re not harvesting anyone’s anything today.”
Marcia sucked in a sharp breath. “Can you fix him?”
“Yes,” I said as I held my hand up. “But not today.”
She huffed. “What do you mean?”
“That spell has a backlash. I need to keep him for observation, to check for magical residue, and to ward against a personal consequence of undoing a spell I didn’t cast. I needthe original one you used to make sure I don’t rip his soul out through his sternum. I’ll also need the components you used.”
She leaned back and folded her arms. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Yes, you do.“The tongue of the lover, as in the language of his heart. Three truths only Pete would know about you. You wrote them and sealed them with your blood.”
“They are private,” she snapped.
“And you’ll have doctor-patient confidentiality, but without the originals, I can’t help you.”
She tried meeting my stare with her own but only managed a few seconds before dropping her gaze. “Okay.”
“Real love isn’t a potion, Marcia. It’s the unglamorous daily choice to stay. If Pete chooses you, you’ll know it was his choice, not some cocktail of ground root and bad Latin.”
Her chin trembled. “Fine.” She stood and stared at the frog, tears slipping free. “I am sorry,” she whispered. “I’m an idiot.”
The frog blinked, then did a slow bob that looked suspiciously like a nod.
