Chapter Text
The crisp autumn breeze brushed against her legs once she stepped outside of her home, sending a shiver up her spine. Tugging at her coat tighter, she felt the chill biting at her cheeks and the tip of her nose.
Autumn had always been Penelope’s favourite season. Ever since she was a little girl, she found comfort in the cool air and the way the city transformed—colourful leaves carpeting the streets, homes adorned with autumnal wreaths, pumpkins, and Halloween decor. It was a vivid reminder of her ancestry—the long line of women on her mother’s side, their magical abilities whispered as mere fables by those who didn’t believe.
As she made her way across the square, her boots echoed softly against the damp cobblestones of Mayfair. The air carried the scent of fresh rain, mingled with the faint aroma of a nearby campfire. The city was draped in a patchwork of golden and burnt-orange leaves, swirling lazily in the wind—a gentle yet undeniable reminder of the season’s shift.
Just before reaching the gates of Bridgerton house, Penelope’s gaze fell on a small, grey bird trapped in debris on the pavement—a rare great grey shrike, native to London in the autumn. The tiny creature’s leg and wing were tangled, preventing it from taking flight. Bending down, she tried to get closer without alarming it.
“Aw, let me help you, little one,” Penelope murmured, reaching toward the entanglement. The bird chirped sharply, its distress clear. “Oh, I’m so sorry! Let me try something else.” Her voice dropped to a whisper as she glanced around, ensuring no one was watching. With a quick flick of her finger, the debris untangled itself, lifting away from the bird’s wing and leg. The shrike let out a melodic trill as if thanking her before it fluttered off into the sky. Penelope smiled, rising to her feet.
Magic had its complexities, but moments like these made it feel truly special. Nature responded to Penelope in ways most couldn’t understand—animals gravitated towards her, the wind seemed to guide her steps, and even the skies reflected her mood. It was a gift she never took lightly, though its weight was ever-present. Healing a tiny bird with a single whirl of her finger was just one of many ways her power made her feel connected to something larger than herself.
As she approached the front door of Bridgerton House, it swung open before she had the chance to knock.
“Pen!” Colin Bridgerton greeted her with a warm, surprised smile, arms outstretched for a hug. “I was hoping to see you here.”
Penelope stepped into his embrace, the scent of cedarwood and vanilla filling her senses. “Hi Colin,” she said, her voice soft as she smiled up at him.
“Let me take your coat,” he offered, releasing her from the hug and reaching for her coat. She turned, and his hands brushed against her collarbone as he lifted the fabric from her shoulders, sending a spark of warmth through her, melting the cold that lingered on her skin from the outdoors.
“Thank you,” she blushed, grateful that her back was to him. She turned just in time to see him hanging her coat in the closet. “Staying for ladies' night?” she teased.
He chuckled. “Not tonight, I’m afraid. I’m off to the pub with Anthony, Ben, and Simon.”
“Ah, lads’ night out, is it?”
“Exactly,” he grinned. His hands reached into his pockets as his eyes took in the sight of Penelope. She wore a burgundy sweater and a black skirt, paired with heeled boots to give her an extra few inches. Her cheeks were pinched pink from the October chill, providing her face natural blush.
“Pen, finally!” Eloise called, sweeping into the foyer. She threw a teasing look at her brother. “I thought you’d left already.”
“I was just about to, then Penelope arrived,” Colin replied, as though Penelope’s arrival was reason enough to delay his plans.
“Well don’t let her stop you, brother,” Eloise grinned with a mock sweetness, patting his back.
Colin shot her a mildly exasperated look before turning back to Penelope. “Have fun, Pen. And good luck with her,” he said with a playful grin, nodding towards Eloise before stepping out the door.
Linking arms with Penelope, Eloise smiled and led her further into the house. “Come on,” she urged, as the comforting scent of freshly baked biscuits and sweet cinnamon plum wafted through the air, awakening Penelope’s appetite.
In the drawing room, Penelope was welcomed by the Bridgerton women. “Penelope, my dear!” Violet Bridgerton greeted her warmly, enveloping her in a hug. “I’m so glad you could join us.”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world, Mrs. Bridgerton,” Penelope beamed.
Violet Bridgerton had always treated Penelope like she were one of her own. Despite having a house full of her own children, she had an endless supply of kindness and love, always making Penelope feel more at home in the Bridgerton household than she ever did at the Featherington House. A small part of Penelope had always wished she could have been born a Bridgerton, but another part of her knew she was destined to be a Featherington. Her magical lineage tied her to a purpose greater than herself, even if she didn’t yet know what that purpose was. At twenty-one, she still had time to discover it.
As the night carried on, the women exchanged stories—some embarrassing, others dramatic, and many downright hilarious—snacking on the delicious treats Kate and Daphne had prepared, while refilling their glasses of wine. Sophie reached for the bottle to pour herself another glass, only to be greeted by a single drop.
“Looks like we’re out,” Sophie chuckled, setting the bottle back down on the table.
“El and I can go grab a few more from the cellar,” Penelope offered, rising to her feet. Eloise, not entirely thrilled by this offer, reluctantly followed.
“That would be great, thank you. I’ll fetch some more snacks,” Kate added, heading off to the kitchen.
As Penelope and Eloise walked down the corridors of Bridgerton House, they heard a second set of footsteps behind them. Eloise spun on her heel. There, wide-eyed and grinning, stood Hyacinth.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Eloise asked, raising an eyebrow.
“I’m coming with you two to get more wine,” Hyacinth replied with a defiant grin.
“Mum said you’re not allowed in the cellar.”
“She said I can’t go in there alone. So, technically, I can go with you,” the fourteen-year-old pointed out smugly.
“You’re not coming with us,” Eloise retorted, turning and resuming their journey.
Penelope noted Hyacinth’s crestfallen expression and gave her a sympathetic smile. “We’ll be quick. Go on back,” she reassured her gently before continuing towards the cellar.
The moment they opened the door, they were hit by the scent of fermenting fruit and wood. Shelves lined the walls, packed with wine bottles and expensive spirits. Barrels of bourbon and cognac were aging in the far corner, enough to stock an entire liquor store. Eloise and Penelope set about their task of finding the next few bottles of wine.
“So… what happened with your mother? Did the council decide?” Eloise asked, rummaging through one of the wine racks.
Since Penelope had revealed her secret to Eloise at age fifteen—that she and her family were witches—Eloise had become deeply interested in the world of magic, especially its politics.
Last year, when Portia Featherington had been caught practising dark magic, it cast a shadow over the family. The Coven Council had summoned her to answer for her actions. Penelope, along with Great Aunt Petunia, had warned Portia repeatedly about the dangers of using dark magic for personal gain, but she hadn’t listened. Prudence and Phillipa had always kept their magic to mundane tasks—doing the dishes and tidying up, since they didn’t have an interest in learning about their capabilities—while Portia used hers to bring wealth to the Featherington estate, violating coven rules.
“They found her guilty,” Penelope murmured, trying to suppress the sting of her mother’s misdeeds.
The wine bottles clinked as Eloise turned towards her best friend. “Pen, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s her powers that are being taken away, not mine,” Penelope sighed. “She knew the risks and did it anyway. Great Aunt Petunia and I warned her, and she still lied to us. Now she’s paying the price.”
“Still,” Eloise began cautiously, “it must be hard knowing your mother used dark magic—”
“Penelope is a witch?!”
Penelope dropped the bottle of wine in her hand, the glass shattering on the floor as red wine seeped across the light stone. “Shit!”
“Hyacinth, what are you doing?! We told you to stay upstairs!” Eloise yelled, rushing over to Penelope. “Did it cut you?”
Penelope shook her head, eyes fixated on the spilled wine. “No, but this is going to stain the floor.”
Hyacinth took a step forward, but Eloise held up a hand to stop her. “Don’t. There’s glass everywhere. Go grab some paper towels and a broom.”
“Or…” the young girl began with a sly grin, “Penelope could use her magic. She is a witch, after all.”
Penelope and Eloise exchanged worried glances. Having Eloise know her secret was already risky enough; coven law strictly prohibited mortals from knowing about magic. While Eloise had stumbled upon Penelope’s secret—thanks to her curiosity leading her to a hidden lair in the Featherington house—Hyacinth was a whole different challenge. She was young, excitable, and more than capable of telling everyone what she’d just seen, which could easily lead to Penelope losing her powers or, if this were the 1690s, worse.
Thank God it’s not 1690’s Salem.
“It’s your call,” Eloise murmured, only for Penelope’s ears, though her tone clearly urged caution.
Don’t do it, she seemed to say.
Penelope hesitated, her eyes flicking to the spreading wine. With a small, reluctant sigh, she raised her hand, tracing a gentle circle in the air. Instantly, the glass shards vanished, the wine evaporated, and the bottle reappeared, intact, on the floor.
Hyacinth’s jaw dropped. “Oh… my… God… Did you see that?!” she exclaimed, eyes wide with awe. “Eloise, did you see that? That was insane!” Hyacinth’s excited rambling blurred into background noise as Penelope and Eloise grabbed their selected wine bottles and headed for the stairs.
“Walk and talk,” Penelope instructed, knowing Hyacinth wouldn’t stop until she’d let it all out.
“Are you in a cult? If you’re in a cult, did they give you a cloak? How did you find out you could do that? Were you born with it or did you learn it? Oh! Can I learn? I thought witches were old, but you don’t look old. Unless you actually are old, but have a spell that keeps you young. Hey! Kind of like that old woman from Tangled! Wait did you get your powers from eating a magical flower? I wanna eat a magical flower!” Hyacinth spitfired the questions as she followed Penelope and Eloise up the stairs.
“Enough!” Eloise snapped once they neared the drawing room. “You’re not to speak of this, understand? Or she’ll take your voice away.” It was an empty threat, but effective. Penelope couldn’t help but smirk as Hyacinth’s eyes went wide with fear.
“Like Ursula?”
“Enough with the references!” Eloise shot back, turning on her heel and marching back into the drawing room, leaving Penelope alone with Hyacinth.
Penelope sighed, glancing after her friend, grateful for the reprieve but also irritated that Eloise had left her to deal with Hyacinth. “No, I’m not in a cult. Yes, I was born with it. And no, I really am twenty-one,” she said, attempting to remain calm. “This has to stay our secret, Hyacinth. No one else can know. Just between you, me, and Eloise, alright?”
Hyacinth nodded fervently. “I like talking, so I’d rather keep my voice.”
Penelope blinked, surprised at Hyacinth’s gullibility but thankful nonetheless. She couldn’t very well explain that using magic to steal someone’s voice would fall under dark magic, which would lead Hyacinth to more questions, and she wanted nothing to do with that. “Perfect,” she said, managing a small smile as she carried the wine back into the drawing room, trying to push down the panic building inside her.
—
The remainder of Penelope’s time at Bridgerton House had been consumed by the latest gossip Kate and Daphne had conjured up from the mamas of their children’s friends. But she couldn’t shake the feeling of Hyacinth’s curious eyes burning into her skin. If she had the ability to read minds, Penelope would bet that Hyacinth was already imagining all kinds of magical powers she might possess, including the very one she was currently wishing for.
Violet Bridgerton swirled the wine in her glass absentmindedly before bringing it to her lips. “Penelope, dearest, how is your mother? I haven’t seen her in quite some time.”
Penelope’s stomach tightened. Eloise, seated beside her, tensed too, well aware of the truth behind Portia’s absence from society. Under normal circumstances, Penelope could deftly change the subject, but with every Bridgerton eye now on her, no amount of magic could deflect the question.
“She hasn’t been feeling too well,” Penelope replied, forcing her voice to remain calm. “I think it might be a change in the weather.”
“I for one love the change of weather,” Hyacinth interjected, her voice too bright and pointed. “Something about it just feels so… magical, don’t you think?” Eloise shot a sharp look to the youngest Bridgerton, though Hyacinth’s attitude remained unwavering.
“There is nothing magical about this,” Anthony declared from the doorway, his arm slung around Benedict’s shoulder, steadying him. Colin mirrored his brother’s stance on the other side, propping up a drunken Benedict.
Sophie stood, walking over to her husband with a bemused smile. “Oh, Ben. What have you done?” She brushed a hand through his tousled hair.
“I’d like to go to bed now,” Benedict slurred, smiling sleepily at her.
“Looks like we’re staying the night,” Sophie laughed. “Could you two take him to his old room?” she asked Anthony and Colin, who nodded as they maneuvered Benedict upstairs.
Penelope, standing from the couch, began gathering empty wine glasses and bottles, eager to help.
“Penelope, don’t worry about that. We’ll take care of it,” Daphne insisted, reaching for the bottles in her hand.
“Please, Daph, it’s the least I could do,” Penelope replied, offering a polite smile as she headed toward the kitchen.
Once the drawing room was tidy again, Penelope thanked the Bridgerton women for their hospitality and moved toward the front door, Eloise close behind.
“Pen, wait,” Eloise grabbed her hand gently. “I’m really sorry about Hyacinth. I didn’t realise she was eavesdropping. You’ve been distant lately, and with everything happening with your mum, I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
Penelope sighed, touched by Eloise’s concern but weary of the burden her secret carried. “El, it’s okay. I’m not thrilled that Hyacinth knows, but it’s not your fault.”
Eloise gave a nod, looking more relieved. “I’ll keep an eye on her. I promise.”
“Thank you,” Penelope whispered, embracing her friend. As she pulled away, her eyes caught sight of Colin descending the stairs.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?” Eloise reassured her before retreating upstairs.
Penelope barely nodded, her attention locked on Colin as he approached. His smile was wide and easy, those dark curls perfectly tousled. The temptation to run her fingers through them was overwhelming.
“Pen! You’re still here,” he grinned.
“I am,” she smiled back, feeling her cheeks flush. “But I was just about to leave.”
“Let me walk you home,” he offered, already retrieving her coat from the closet.
“Oh, you don’t need to,” she protested, though she wasn’t quite sure why. “I’m just across the square.”
“All the more reason I should. It’s late, and no one should be walking alone, even if you are just across the square,” he said with mock seriousness, draping her coat over her shoulders and resting his hands there for just a moment longer than necessary.
Penelope’s skin prickled under his touch, her heartbeat quickening as the heat from his hands seeped through the fabric. It felt far too warm inside the house suddenly. She muttered her thanks and stepped outside into the cool night air, grateful for the chill that calmed her racing pulse.
As they walked through a serene Grosvenor Square, their hands brushed together occasionally, sending little jolts of warmth through her. Each time, Penelope felt a pang of regret when their fingers didn’t linger longer. The tension between them was subtle but undeniable, filling the quiet moments between their steps.
“Did you have fun tonight?” Colin finally broke the silence, his voice low and soft, cutting through the quiet night like a gentle breeze.
Penelope glanced up at him, a small smile playing on her lips. “I did. I love spending time with your family. What about you?”
“It was a good night,” he admitted, glancing at her with a smile that felt just a little too genuine. “Though I would’ve enjoyed it more if I hadn’t been helping Anthony carry Benedict up the stairs.”
Penelope laughed softly, looking down at the cobblestones to avoid his gaze. They continued walking until they reached her doorstep. She slowed, feeling the reluctance to say goodbye. Colin stood just a little closer than he had before, his posture relaxed, yet there was a subtle tension in his shoulders, as though he had something he wanted to say but didn’t quite know how.
“Well, this is me,” she said quietly, turning to face him.
Colin nodded, his eyes lingering on hers for a beat longer than necessary, his casual and carefree smile washing over his face. “I know.”
“Thank you for walking me home,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.
“Anytime,” he replied, his voice soft, the corners of his lips tugging upward into a small, warm smile. “Goodnight, Pen,” he spoke, his voice sweet like honey.
“Goodnight, Colin,” she replied, her eyes taking him in one last time before she turned and slipped inside.
—
The following evening, Penelope sat at her desk, absentmindedly flipping through the yellowed pages of an ancient spell book, when a rapid knock echoed through her quiet room. Before she could respond, the door creaked open, revealing Eloise and, much to her surprise, Hyacinth.
“Penelope! Hope we’re not intruding,” Hyacinth chirped brightly, dragging a reluctant Eloise in behind her.
Penelope blinked in surprise. Eloise had always been one to barge into the Featherington household, especially with the knowledge of their family secret. But Hyacinth? That was new. It was obvious the young girl had insisted on this visit, while Eloise looked less than thrilled. Sensing there was something Hyacinth wanted, Penelope put on a welcoming smile. “Not at all,” she said, standing to greet them. “To what do I owe this... unexpected pleasure?”
Hyacinth fidgeted, her usual bravado replaced with nervous energy. Her eyes darted around the room, and she twisted a lock of hair around her finger. “I, um, need your help with something.”
Penelope quirked an eyebrow, eyes darting between the two sisters. “What sort of help?”
“Um… magical help,” she murmured.
Eloise, arms crossed and a knowing smirk playing on her lips, interjected. “Oh, this should be good. Go on, Hyacinth, tell Penelope what you want.”
Hyacinth shot Eloise a warning look but, with a deep breath, blurted out, “I need a love potion.”
Penelope froze, the request hanging heavy in the air. “A... love potion?”
“Yes!” Hyacinth's face lit up with determination. “There’s this boy—Agatha Danbury’s grandson, Gareth—and I really like him. I just need him to like me back, so… magic.”
Both Penelope and Eloise chuckled softly at the simplicity of the request. “Hyacinth, I can’t help you with that,” Penelope replied gently.
“Told you,” Eloise muttered under her breath, amused by the predictable outcome.
“But why not?” Hyacinth’s face fell, her voice rising with frustration. “I know you can! You’re a witch!”
Penelope’s expression softened as she approached Hyacinth, taking the girl’s hands in her own. “It’s not about whether I can do it, Hyacinth. Love potions aren’t what you think. They take away someone’s free will, forcing them to feel something that isn’t real.”
Hyacinth frowned, clearly frustrated. “I just need to know if he likes me too.”
“I know,” Penelope said softly, “but real love can’t be conjured up with a spell. It has to grow naturally. That kind of love is the only one worth having.”
Hyacinth paused, looking up at her. “Have you ever been in love, Penelope?”
The question hit Penelope like a bolt of lightning. Her secret love for Colin had been her most closely guarded truth, something even Eloise knew nothing about. For a moment, she stood speechless, the weight of that hidden affection pressing down on her. She swallowed hard, preparing to deflect.
But Eloise, ever the saviour in awkward situations, jumped in. “Hya, I told you—forcing someone to like you with a potion isn’t the answer. Besides, Penelope has better things to do than indulge this little fantasy.”
“That’s not quite true,” Penelope interrupted gently. “I’d love to help you, Hyacinth, but I cannot make him fall in love with you.”
Hyacinth let out an exasperated huff, crossing her arms.
“However,” Penelope added, a glimmer of hope in her voice, “there is something I can offer. It’s not a love potion, but a temporary truth serum. It won’t make him love you, but it will compel him to be honest. You’ll know exactly how he feels.”
Hyacinth considered the offer, her eyes narrowing in thought. “So… he’ll tell me if he likes me or not?”
“Exactly,” Penelope nodded. “But you have to be prepared for whatever the truth may be. It’s not always easy to hear.”
Hyacinth’s shoulders relaxed slightly. “Okay,” she agreed. “That sounds fair.”
Penelope smiled gently, relieved. “Follow me,” she said, motioning for the Bridgerton sisters to follow as she led them out of her bedroom and into the grand Featherington drawing room.
In a practiced motion, Penelope pulled a single dusty book from the shelf, and with a low creak, the massive, ornate bookcase swung inward, revealing a hidden entrance. Behind it, a narrow, spiraling staircase descended into the shadows below. The air grew cooler as they ventured downward, the scent of damp stone and old magic thickening with each step.
As Penelope, Eloise, and Hyacinth descended, the lair came into view—a cavernous room illuminated by the soft glow of flickering candles hovering midair. The walls were lined with shelves, filled with ancient tomes, jars of mysterious herbs, and bottles of shimmering liquids that pulsed with faint, ethereal light. The room had an almost timeless quality, as though it existed outside the constraints of the ordinary world.
The center of the lair housed a large, circular wooden table, intricately carved with magical symbols and runes that glowed faintly. The surface was strewn with more books, handwritten notes, and quills, along with an assortment of magical tools—silver bowls, mortar and pestles, crystals, and a cauldron that sat at one end, bubbling quietly with a deep purple liquid.
The walls of the lair were made of dark, polished stone, their rough edges softened by the warm golden light of the candles. Every so often, the walls shimmered as though the magic within them was alive, shifting and breathing along with the space. Hanging above the shelves were various artifacts—amulets, talismans, and ancient witch relics, each one humming faintly with its own magical energy.
A large, floor-to-ceiling window, enchanted to remain hidden from the outside world, offered a breathtaking view of the London sky, the stars twinkling like scattered diamonds. A faint breeze stirred the air, carrying with it the faint smell of sage and lavender, giving the lair an otherworldly calm despite the potency of the magic that filled the space.
"This is... incredible," Hyacinth whispered, wide-eyed, as her gaze swept over the room. Eloise, though far more familiar with Penelope’s magic, seemed equally in awe, taking in the sights with a curious smile as if it were the first time in the lair.
Penelope smiled softly as she glided toward the center table, her fingers brushing over the ancient wood, as if reconnecting with centuries of power. “Welcome to my family’s lair," she said, her voice low, almost reverent. "This is where the real magic happens.”
Without another word, she began working, her movements precise and deliberate as she measured out herbs and liquids, pouring them into a small cauldron. A faint, ethereal glow hovered over the potion. Hyacinth, standing just behind her, was utterly fascinated, leaning over her shoulder, pointing at each ingredient with an eagerness that only a young mind could possess. She bombarded Penelope with questions—What’s this? Why that?—as though she’d be quizzed later. Meanwhile, Eloise wandered the lair, distracted by the wealth of enchanted spell books and ancient witch history lining the shelves.
“What is the meaning of this?” A sharp voice echoed through the lair, freezing all three women in place.
Portia Featherington’s entrance was like an ice storm sweeping through the room. Her gaze sliced between Eloise, Hyacinth, and finally rested on Penelope. She knew Eloise was privy to their family secret, though not entirely pleased, but discovering that yet another mortal, and a Bridgerton at that, was now aware of their lineage left her visibly shaken.
“Mama,” Penelope’s voice wavered as she slowly made her way toward her mother, a sense of dread building with each step.
“Penelope, upstairs. Now.” Portia’s voice cracked like a whip, cold and authoritative.
Casting a furtive glance at Eloise, Penelope gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, her eyes pleading for her friend to watch over Hyacinth. She then followed her mother upstairs, the silence between them heavier than any words.
The second they were out of earshot, Portia erupted. “Did I not make myself clear, Penelope? No one was to know! Yet now, not one, but two Bridgertons are aware of our secret!”
“Mama, I swear it was an accident!” Penelope’s voice trembled, her usual confidence vanishing under her mother’s fierce gaze. She had always been strong, outspoken, yet when it came to her mother, the fire in her chest flickered and dimmed.
“You said that the last time.”
“They were accidents, both times. I didn’t plan for either of them to find out.”
Portia crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing as she sized up her daughter. “You scold me for what I did, yet what you’ve done is no better. I may have made a mistake, but you’ve endangered everything.”
Penelope felt a surge of anger rise within her, something she’d kept bottled up for far too long. “Yes, I made mistakes. But how dare you compare the two! What you did wasn’t a mistake, it was a crime! You used magic for personal financial gain!” The words tore from her mouth, louder and more forceful than she had ever spoken to her mother before.
For the first time, Portia Featherington was silent, stunned. The two women stood there, locked in a battle of unspoken words, anger, and regret. Penelope knew her mother had tried her best, but the warnings from Great Aunt Petunia and the rest of their coven had been clear. Portia had betrayed them, severing the trust not just with Penelope, but with their entire family.
“I hope you know what you’re doing, Penelope,” Portia muttered, her voice cold. “If anyone finds out, and you lose your powers, you’ll only have yourself to blame.” With that, she turned and left the drawing room, the echo of her footsteps lingering in the air.
Penelope stood there, her heart pounding. She knew her mother was right in some ways. The risk of losing her powers was very real—two mortals knowing their secret could ruin everything. But what was done was done. Eloise was trustworthy, she was sure of that. Hyacinth, on the other hand, was a wild card. She could be reckless, impulsive, and Penelope knew that if she slipped, it wouldn’t be long before all of London knew about the Featherington witches.
Penelope inhaled deeply, steeling herself, and made her way back down into the lair. Hyacinth was bent over the center table, reading Penelope’s notes, while Eloise lounged on the chaise, immersed in a history of witches.
“Sorry about that,” Penelope murmured, returning to her work.
“Is everything alright?” Eloise asked, concern evident in her tone.
Penelope nodded, though she avoided eye contact. “It’s fine. Let’s just finish this.”
She added the final ingredients to the potion, her fingers weaving the magic spell that would complete it. The liquid in the vial began to glow faintly, casting a soft light over the room. When the spell was finished, the potion mellowed into a soft pink hue.
The liquid began glowing in the vile, showing the three women that the spell she’d casted was working. The second she was finished, the liquid mellowed out to a soft pink hue.
“All done,” she announced, holding up the vial for Eloise and Hyacinth to see.
Hyacinth’s eyes lit up, and she eagerly reached out for the vial. But Penelope instinctively pulled it closer. “No, no. Don’t touch it.”
“Well then how am I supposed to give it to him?” Hyacinth huffed.
“I’ll be the one to give it to him,” Penelope said, her voice firm. “I need to make sure he doesn’t get too much.”
“I can pour a little into his drink, you know,” Hyacinth grumbled, crossing her arms.
Behind her, Eloise let out a snicker. “Yeah, not happening.”
Hyacinth rolled her eyes. “So what then? You can’t just walk into the school and give it to him because… well, you’re old.”
Penelope raised an eyebrow. “First of all, ouch. Second… just invite some friends over tomorrow. I’ll be there. I’ll pour it into his drink, and you’ll have an hour to find out if he likes you. Then the spell will wear off, and you’ll know the truth.”
Hyacinth hesitated, considering the plan.
“It’s foolproof, Hya,” Eloise said, nudging her. “You’ll get what you want. Just go with it.”
Hyacinth’s brow furrowed, clearly torn. “And no love spell?”
“No,” Penelope said firmly. “This is the best I can do.”
“Alright,” Hyacinth exhaled. “Let’s do it.”