She stares at him for a long moment. “Ready when you are.”
The silent ride to her cottage is tense, but his hand on her knee stops her mind from flying everywhere. Veda stands in the middle of the living room, rocking back on her heels.
Hiram takes the lead. “What do you want me to do first?”
“Wash your hands. We both should.”
Afterward, Hiram dries his hands and rolls up his sleeves one at a time. Veda watches with interest she doesn’t have to deny. His brow lifts, smirk sharpening like glass when he catches her. She turns away too fast, bumps into the table, and curses under her breath. “I should finish preparing.”
His chuckle follows her.
For the next fifteen minutes, Hiram observes her every moment likehe’sthe meticulous brewer, but she ignores it, slipping into routine as easily as putting one foot before the other. Veda checks whether Peter’s sterilizing spell worked. The small cauldron is dry, the cutting boards clean. She rebalances the scale, wipes the knives, and ensures the mortar and pestle are spotless. The vents are open and the windows are properly cracked. Nothing escapes her scrutiny. Not even him. Veda gives Hiram a brewing apron and puts on the other one.
“To avoid contamination,” she murmurs as he lets her tie his.
Hiram doesn’t let her go without tying hers in return, securing it snugly. Gloves on, they approach the table. Together, they move like cogs in a well-oiled clock. Veda only has to give instructions once. He starts mincing the moss first while she brings distilled river water to a boil.
“Do you know why Seers can’t brew?” she asks, hushed. “Their power is like using a blowtorch to light a candle. They put out too much magic when potions only take a light touch. Costs nothing but a twitch.”
She realizes Hiram’s Sensitivity should make it easier to feel magic’s slow ascent, to smell the precise moment she needs to begin. Maybe that’s why she needs him. More than a sous-chef, he’s a partner.
“Do you want to take the lead?”
He pauses while cutting the fresh ivy, a stabilizing agent. “What do you mean?”
“I’ll walk you through it, but I need you to cast while I add the ingredients.”
“You trust me?”
Veda hesitates only because the truth is so willing to break free. “I do.”
When he casts the first spell, his amulet ring flashes blue. In perfect tune, the cauldron hums. They follow the potion book step-by-step. He casts as she adds each ingredient, maintaining the rhythm while watching him for any sign of strain.
“What’s it like to smell magic?” Veda asks after watching his reaction to the ingredients blending.
“Hard to say. I don’t know anything else.”
She hums quietly, then it’s time to brew in earnest. No stops. No pauses. Hiram’s ring glows with each turning point as he recites the incantation. Everything flows. The work is almost silent, broken only by his recitation and bits of quiet conversation that dwindle as their concentration deepens. By the time they finish, it’s nearly four in the morning. Veda uses a dropper to sample the clear liquid, smiling before sealing it into the vial.
“Is that good?” Hiram asks.
“Tentatively, yes. But the next two days will confirm.”
He leaves first while Veda stays to stir the potion until it cools. When she joins him in the solarium, only dim solar lights glow in the room. The sun will be rising soon, but the world is still cloaked in darkness. He hands her the glass of water on the table.
“How did you know I’d want water?”
“I pay attention.” Hiram looks at her. The softness provided by the dim light shifts, casting part of his face in shadow. “I’m observant of everything in my line of sight.” He says it so easily, and it should ease the tension, but it does the opposite.
“Is that so?”
“I’m not complicated. I’m just particular about where I invest my time and energy. I prefer quality over quantity, and I won’t entertain anything that isn’t real.”
Tonight, his words hold more depth. Fascinated, Veda rises to her feet. Her voice is soft but pointed. “You think this is real.”
“I know it is.” His eyes don’t leave hers. “I told you before. I’ve figured out what you don’t think you can say, which is why I’m patient. You’ll come to me in your own time.”
“Like some obedient animal—”
