A Potion to Die For: A Magic Potion Mystery Read Online Free PDF Page B

Grammy Fowl would have called a tramp.
    I just called it sad.
    Angelea was a loyal customer. In fact, I’d just seen her on Wednesday morning when she came in for a sleeping potion to fight her insomnia. We talked about a lot of things but never her husband—she knew how I felt about him and how he felt about me. He despised me so much that she had to keep her potion habit secret from him, hiding her bottles in her car, her yard, and at her friends’ houses.
    The more I thought about Coach, the more my witchy senses tingled. Something was off with him. Way off—I could feel it in my witchy bones. And if my witchy senses were involved, that meant he was either in danger . . . or he
was
the danger. Could he have had something to do with what happened to Nelson? It wasn’t a possibility I could rule out at this point.
    Standing, I grabbed the wig from the desk and put it back on.
    “What’s with the wig?” Caleb asked.
    “It’s my mama’s.”
    “Enough said.”
    “I’ve got to go. I have potions to make.”
    “I heard about the forecast.” He eagerly rubbed his hands together. “Can’t you skip the potions this once? Or give them fakes or something?”
    Technically that’s what I was going to have to do, since I couldn’t use the Leilara. I hoped the potions would have a placebo effect and no one would be the wiser about the concoctions missing the secret ingredient.
    Rolling my eyes, I said, “You get enough business on your own.” Divorces were more common here than one would think.
    “You’re no fun.”
    I strode to the door and turned back to look at him. “When are you going to let me set you up with someone?”
    “Let me think.” He tapped his chin. “Never? Save your matchmaking for someone else, Carly Hartwell.”
    He was a confirmed bachelor—a hazard of his job. Not because of the long hours he worked, but because of all the marriages he’d dissolved.
    But . . . I knew he craved love like I craved peanut butter. He just wasn’t as open to it as he could be. That’s where I could help—if he’d let me.
    “One of these days,” I said, “I might make a special love potion just for you. You’ll never know what hit you. Head over heels in love. Married, babies, picket fence, even a dog.”
    He turned a bit green, shifted uncomfortably, then snapped, “Don’t people have to be receptive for the potion to work?”
    He had me there. There were a couple of glitches with my magic potions. First, a rule called the Backbone Effect. The recipient of a potion had to
want
the change it would bring about, consciously or unconsciously. It was named that way because the force of a person’s willpower, their backbone, trumped magic every time. The rule was the only protection against using potions to trick unsuspecting intendeds, which wouldn’t be fair to anyone involved, and was especially important when love potions were concerned. Whoever drank the potion had to
want
to fall in love, something I made very clear when creating an elixir so no one would expect miracles.
    The second rule was the Curatio Principle. My potions couldn’t fully heal chronic or terminal illnesses. They, however, could lessen the side effects and slow the progression of certain diseases. Again, warnings were given so no one would expect miracles.
    “I think you’re more receptive to love than you think, Caleb.”
    He laughed. And kept laughing.
    Crossing my arms, I narrowed my gaze on him. “You know, I have been thinking about brushing up on my hexes. If getting married is such a curse to you, a hex might be just the thing to find you a wife. . . .” I raised an eyebrow. “Since hexing has no rules at all.”
    His eyes narrowed, and I saw a hint of the shark he was in the courtroom. “You wouldn’t dare.”
    Fortunately, I wasn’t all that scared of him. I wiggled my eyebrows and adjusted my wig. “You never know. . . .”
    I smiled as I walked out into the spring sunshine. But as I turned toward home, I