Page 46 of Unveiled

Connor and Adrian exchanged a look of pity and braced themselves before stepping forward. The scene inside the workshop courtyard was chaos bordering on theatre.

Luciana and the Apothecarist stood on opposite sides of a worktable, jabbing fingers at one another with the enthusiasm of two people who truly enjoyed arguing. Potion vials bubbled angrily between them. A diagram floated overhead, spinning in circles as if it too wished to flee.

Laird sat miserably on an overturned bucket, his cheeks already pink from the attention. At the sight of Connor and Adrian, Laird gave a weak, pleading wave. “Please. Help.”

Adrian winced. “Oh no.”

Connor clapped him on the shoulder. “We’ve got you, lad. I think.”

Luciana pounced. “Perfect timing. Tell the Apothecarist that sautéed mandrake is the only reasonable stabiliser for a non-blush potion.”

“Sautéed?” Connor repeated, horrified.

“For the last time.” Luciana threw her hands up. “Cooking it reduces blood flow reactivity.”

“It absolutely does not,” the Apothecarist snapped. “It increases it. He’ll glow like a lantern.”

Laird whimpered softly. “Please don’t make me glow.”

“We won’t,” Adrian assured him quickly, but questioned his certainty.

The Apothecarist rounded on them. “Indulge me. How much mandrake do you believe is too much mandrake?”

“Any,” Connor said.

“That is incorrect.”

Luciana spun to Adrian. “And you, you have a brain. Tell him the herb of emotional fortitude is essential.”

Adrian held up both hands. “I’m not a potion brewer.”

“You don’t need to be,” Luciana insisted. “You need to answer correctly.”

The Apothecarist sniffed. “The herb of emotional fortitude is volatile, unstable, and worst of all—”

“It smells like tragedy,” Laird mumbled miserably into his hands.

Adrian blinked. “Tragedy?”

“Like someone boiled sadness with wet socks,” Laird said, his face flushing even redder at the thought.

Luciana pointed dramatically. “See? Proof it’s effective.”

Connor rubbed his face. “No, that’s proof it’s awful.”

Laird let out a strangled groan and buried his face deeper in his palms. “I don’t even blush that much.”

Everyone turned and stared at him, then he turned a deeper shade of crimson.

Adrian crouched in front of him. “Laird. You’re literally blushing right now.”

“I know,” Laird wailed.

Luciana patted him on the back nearly toppling him off the bucket. “That’s why we’re helping.”

“You’re experimenting,” Laird corrected miserably. “On me.”

“Same thing,” the Apothecarist muttered.