Page 92 of Summer L.A.W.

The last one out, Wally, paused to give the fish-shaped watering can a gentle forehead kiss before wobbling after them.

Magda dropped to her hands and knees on the grass. The other witches followed suit. “Goddess, take this foreign energy and neutralize it. Restore us to our bitchy selves.”

“Wait a minute…” Chad said. “Can we lose the word ‘bitchy’?”

Magda looked at him cockeyed. “I said witchy, not bitchy. Didn’t I?”

“I heard bitchy,” Joell said.

“Oh. My mistake, Goddess. I meant to say, ‘Please restore us to ourselves.’ Our intelligent, irreverent, creative, loveable, witchy selves.”

The witches all pushed their energies into the earth beneath the grass, giving the Goddess the energy from their failed experiment. As soon as their moods and personalities reset, they rose.

“Ready for a do-over?” Chad asked.

“No!” All of the witches said in unison. All except Magda, that is.

Sebastian noticed her reticence. “Maybe we should make one more attempt and agree that if we haven’t managed to create a harmless love potion that can be replicated and controlled, we should give up.”

Magda looked up at him with deep sadness in her eyes. “I guess you’re right. I need a couple of days to study some of our obscure occult books and see if I can find something new and promising.”

He smiled. “Take all the time you need. I’ll be catching up on some academic work. Besides,” he added, rubbing the back of his neck, “after everything I accidentally inhaled in that greenhouse this week, I’m probably immune to whatever we brewed. Let me know when you’re ready to go again.”

“If ever…” she replied under her breath.

That night, the mansion gave a soft groan. Not enough to wake the witches, but it sensed something slightly off. The mansion groaned again, louder this time, as if trying to clear its throat. No one heard it. The witches were out cold, sprawled across their beds like magical crime-scene outlines.

But someone else was awake.

A slender shadow darted along the mansion’s eastern wall, muttering to itself like a man arguing with his own conscience and losing.

Derek Hollis, Sebastian’s chronically dissatisfied and questionably ethical graduate assistant, skulked across the dewy lawn wearing all black, except for the bright white university lanyard he forgot he was still wearing.

“Sebastian thinks he’s so brilliant,” Derek hissed to the hedges. “Ooh, look at me, I got a grant. I was just published in the New England Journal of Medicine. I have a magical girlfriend. Please. Anyone can date a witch if they have access to a coven.”

He held up the tablet he’d stolen from the lab hours earlier.

“Password one-two-three-four. Honestly, he deserves to be hacked for that alone.”

He tapped the corner of the screen.

“And look at that… The gate code, courtesy of his little magical side project. Idiot never encrypts anything. I should be running that lab. I’m the future of biochemical innovation. Not Dr. Botching Botany.”

The mansion’s side door clicked open for him because, technically, he had the code.

Derek puffed up as if he’d personally conquered national security.

“See? Easy. Even the creepy house knows I’m supposed to be here.”

The house dimmed its lights in disgust.

He strutted inside, whispering an ongoing TED Talk to no one.

“Imagine the accolades when I publish the first peer-reviewed study on magical love compounds. ‘Derek Hollis: Bridging the Gap Between Biochemistry and Enchantment.’ Netflix will call. I’ll get a miniseries. Sebastian can fetch my coffee for once.”

He reached the greenhouse door, pushed it open, and gasped as if he’d stepped into Eden.

The moonlight reflected off the glass walls in silver ribbons. Leaves shimmered. Something glowed faintly from the workbench.