This is good. Or terribly bad. Fingers crossed it suggests we’re on the right track.
Even Cristina notices. “What? No flickering lights?”
“I guess not.”
“Which means we’ll probably call Lucifer himself with this spell.”
“Stop it.”
We locate the counter potion and begin creating it. The bloom’s petals have to be ground, so we dry them in the oven and then I pulverize them in an old coffee grinder. We boil the rest of the flower until it becomes a thick syrup, add the petals to it, along with some nutmeg and cotton. The last thing we need is something of Stone’s, and I find his hairbrush, pulling out a hair.
This feels like a betrayal. It shouldn’t. This should feel right, like I’m doing the best possible thing for him.
If that’s the case, then why does my stomach churn? Why does it bubble and boil like the pot of ingredients?
I shove the worry aside and drop the hair in the pot. The ingredients hiss, and steam curls from the very center.
“Well, at least that part was similar to before,” Cristina mutters.
I stir for ten minutes, until the potion resembles a light-purple solution. It’s pretty, this one, and it looks a thousand times more appetizing than the green goop we made the first time.
“It needs to cool,” Cristina says. “Let’s sit outside on the front porch for a while.”
After taking the pot off the burner and placing it over a cloth on the kitchen table, I pour Cristina and I each glasses of sweet tea and head to the porch to enjoy the sunshine.
“What are you going to putthispotion in?” she asks when we’re rocking back and forth like old ladies on a lazy Sunday afternoon.
“Maybe a cheeseburger? No. Wait. I’ll grab some barbecue from Unicorn Tails and put it in that. He likes that place. It’s where we shared our first meal, and it’s how I’d like to have our last one together.”
Cristina scoots closer to me on the porch swing and drops her head on my shoulder. “It’s going to be okay.”
“I know,” I reply, my voice sounding weak even to me.
It’s been a great run, but it must end, and however Stone feels when it’s over will be how he feels. If he hates me, I deserve it. If he doesn’t—then it’s a miracle.
Cristina and I swing for a bit, and then she leaves. I walk down to Unicorn Tails and get the food, making sure to order extra corn bread because Stone adores it. Can’t say I blame him—add a little honey and butter to moisten it up or crumble it into a bowl of beans, and you’ve got magic!
I don’t order much for myself, just a sandwich because my appetite’s gone kaput.
No surprise there.
The sack feels as heavy as a boulder as I return to the cottage. I unlock the front door and sigh. Ready or not, here I come.
The door swings open and I stop in my tracks. The pot full of potion isn’t on the table where I left it. My gaze swishes around until it lands on the floor.
The pot is tipped onto its side, and Hercules hunches in front of it. The sound of slopping comes from him.
Oh my God. The lamb is eating the potion.
“No, no, no, no, no!”
I drop the bag of food and rush to the pot. I yank it away from Hercules, hoping that some is left, but when I look in, there’s nothing.
Not even one drop. I collapse to my knees. “No!”
Hercules looks up at me. Blinks. Runs a tongue over his lips.
My stomach falls. All that waiting. All that work. All that worry. All for nothing.
