Page 47 of Charmed

The spellbook that had curled itself beneath the blanket and tucked itself against Alden’s side served as an unofficial chaperone. The cast communication spell allowed me a glimpse of its smugness in satisfaction as it guessed the reason I couldn’t sleep, which only seemed to confirm its misguided notions. I never would have imagined that the spellbook who initially hadn’t taken any interest in me would have become such a determined matchmaker.

I snuggled deeper in the soft down and closed my eyes with a firm resolution to ignore Alden’s proximity, yet I could still sense his nearness, growing more acute ever since realizing the direction of my shifting feelings. I struggled to redirect my thoughts, focusing instead on the rhythmic pattering of rain against our makeshift shelter overhead or on counting the stars I could faintly see beneath the thin shroud of clouds, but nothing worked, leaving me a captive of my insomnia.

The night seemed to stretch on forever. Eventually the rain ceased, leaving behind a stillness with its blanket of raindrops against the forest, and a ribbon of soft dawn caressed the horizon. Alden stirred awake, his bleary gaze immediately shifting to where I rested a few inches away, as if to assure himself I was still there.

He sat up to stretch before giving me a gentle pat. “Good morning, Mae. I didn’t know frogs were such early risers.”

I didn’t have the heart to confess that I hadn’t slept at all; there was no use worrying him when he had far more pressing matters to which to devote his attention. “Have your powers fully recovered?” Magic felt like the safest topic to broach.

He flexed his hand experimentally and summoned a handful of magic, glowing brightly in the faded morning light. “Better, but not entirely recovered. I likely expended too much for yesterday’s potions.” Worry tugged on his frown as his mind drifted back to those failures. He cast an uncertain glance towards the cauldron set up a short distance away. “Perhaps I should have chosen a less complicated potion.”

His discouragement tugged on my heart. I yearned to explain that the problem wasn’t his abilities but that his failed potions had been the result of the follies of the frog he’d adopted battling romantic feelings for him, but embarrassment held the explanation back.

“You should trust the excitement and passion you felt when you chose this one,” I said. “Before deciding to give up, perhaps you can make one final attempt, this time without my help in case the problem isn’t your lack in ability but due to my shortcomings in assisting you.”

He seemed reluctant to try again, but in the end his determination proved stronger. I settled on a nearby log to wait as he ventured into the forest to procure the necessary ingredients, distance that did little to lessen my awareness of his presence; I obsessively followed his every footstep against the undergrowth, the rustle of the leaves as he foraged his ingredients, his adorable mutterings to himself.

He secured even more of my attention when he returned with an armful of plants and I no longer had to rely on my imagination. I found as much fascination and fondness in his every movement as he brewed the potion as I took in watching Corbin play or spending time with Mother as we worked. Without a potion to distract me, I was left at the mercy of the emotions that refused to be wrangled into submission, no matter how much I wrestled.

The time needed for him to create the potion wasn’t nearly enough for me to make much progress in bringing my feelings under control. Alden glanced at the pocket watch he’d been using to measure the brewing time. When the allotted amount had passed, he tentatively peeked into the cauldron, his shoulders stiff as he braced himself for another disappointment.

His tension relaxed. “I think I finally succeeded.” Hesitation filled the words, his lingering uncertainty before he tested the brew.

I hopped onto his shoulder to see for myself. Rather than the soft rosy hues and floral fumes of the love potion we’d created several times the day before, the potion was now the bubbly, fern-colored consistency illustrated in theA Potion to Heal All Ailmentsrecipe.

I knew I should be happy for Alden having finally succeeded, but his doing so without my interference only confirmed what the spellbook had believed to be the cause of the error. Despite my own efforts to work through my emotions and my adamant denials they were love, I felt a wave of sadness that he possessed no romantic feelings for me in return that could have tainted the potion.

Of course he doesn’t love you—you’re a frog.

Ever since my transformation, I’d striven to suppress the discouragement brought by my cursed condition. Somehow it’d been easier to suppress in the face of my determination not to allow anything to hinder my efforts to help my brother than it was now midst my escalating heartache.

With a steadying breath I locked these unproductive feelings away. They didn’t go quietly, requiring much shoving and maneuvering before I succeeded…only to be too large for the lid containing them to shut properly, let alone lock.

I managed to quiet them enough to offer Alden a tight smile. “I knew you could do it.”

He grinned bashfully. “Your belief has given me more support than you know.”

While the sentiment wasn’t the love I secretly yearned for, his words still caused my heart to swell. Whether or not he felt for me what I was beginning to feel for him, in the end we were friends, a precious relationship worth cherishing regardless of whether his emotions ever deepened.

Alden bottled up a sample of the potion before using a bit of wind magic for his supplies to pack themselves up into his enchanted trunk while he went to work deciphering where the judging would take place. Once he’d obtained the coordinates through solving a magical cryptogram, he washed off the scents lingerings from the failed potions and created a portal that would take us to where the judges awaited us.

This time he had little trouble finding the concealed tent and entered confidently, his stride faltering slightly as he realized that this stage was not judged by a single enchanter but a full panel of four judges seated in a row on cushioned stools. His eyes flew to Enchantress Ivy’s, but she gazed at him impassively, as though she did not recognize him.

With Alden’s pattern of success, I fully expected this challenge to go as smoothly as the others…but rather than the approval he’d received for the elemental challenge, Enchantress Ivy frowned at the offered flask.

“A health potion, an area that…most don’t have much experience in at your stage of training. Not to mention you chose a rather ambitious potion to attempt, rather daring for such an important event.”

This wasn’t a promising beginning. Alden wrung his hands. “I thought now would be a good time to broaden my horizons, considering most of the magic I’ve been focusing on until this point have been spells that will be of little use in helping others.”

This earned nods of satisfaction from three of the judges. They murmured among themselves before Enchantress Ivy spoke. “Evidence of your growth as a wizard. Let’s determine the quality of your potion.” She examined the flask. “The color is good, but not quite the depth it should be when the ingredients are properly blended together.” She passed the vial to the next judge and each carefully examined the liquid through the clear glass.

Alden tensed, his sense of foreboding palpable—heavy enough to crush my own shoulders, as if my growing feelings connected me to him, allowing me to empathize with him in a deeper way than I had before.

Enchantress Ivy uncorked the flask and swirled the liquid experimentally before lifting the vial to smell the contents. Her nose wrinkled. “Not quite the scent a healing tonic is supposed to possess, but not too far off as to be unrecognizable. Now for the most important test.”

She extended her arm to the enchanter next to her. Nodding, the man withdrew a small dagger from his robe and with a swift motion, slashed across her exposed forearm. Alden lurched forward. “Enchantress Ivy! Why—”

“To test its effectiveness,” she said smoothly, seeming entirely unconcerned by the blood dripping against her pale skin in unsettling splotches. The other judges likewise watched calmly, their only emotion seeming to be curiosity about the potion’s effectiveness. Enchantress Ivy tipped the flask so that just enough liquid poured onto her wound and winced. “It stings a bit. Healing tonics are supposed to be soothing, so you’ll lose some points for that. However…”

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