Page 23

PIPER

M ultiple pots boil on the stove. Steam fogs the windows in Ambrose’s kitchen and wisps of hair are stuck to my forehead.

I have several potions cooking. At home, I always have a stockpile of healing elixirs, hangover cures, and even a few defensive potions.

I’ve needed them all at one point in my life or another.

While I feel safe at the chateau, filling up the cupboards with these spells as a precaution won’t hurt anyone.

“I know we’re witches, Piper, but I don’t think we have to be so literal.

” Ambrose strides into the kitchen. He pads across the floor in bare feet, heading straight for the fridge.

He grabs a soda, popping the top with a hiss.

He’s wearing a pair of worn-out jeans and a faded gray t-shirt from a local baseball team.

The bare feet are strangely intimate, and I feel heat rise in my cheeks.

Thankfully, it’s so warm in the kitchen. It hides my flush.

He hops up onto a stool on the other side of the large island. Ambrose’s kitchen is a dream. The sheer amount of counter space is enough to make me giddy. Plus, all the appliances are top-of-the-line. Not that I haven’t made potions over an actual open flame before, but this is far easier.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.

” I swipe my arm over my damp forehead and look around at the mess littering the island.

Besides the pots bubbling over with potions, I have a collection of tiny glass bottles lined up ready to be filled.

They’re color-coded so that I know at a glance what the potion is for.

Blue is to cure a headache, yellow will cure your hangover, the red bottle is one you want to steer clear of.

If it touches your skin or you inhale it, it’s basically like being shot straight in the face with pepper spray.

I pour a little of the hangover cure into a cup and push it toward Ambrose. He went pretty hard after his mom’s visit yesterday. Even though he looks flawless this morning.

“Drink this. It’s better than soda.”

Ambrose doesn’t hesitate or bother to ask me what he’s drinking before he tosses back the hangover cure. Normally, I let it cool and add some sugar otherwise it tastes really bitter, but Ambrose is drinking it warm.

“Better than what?” He wheezes and sticks out his tongue. He takes a long drink of his soda and then hisses and slaps his chest.

“Better than a headache and dry heaves.” I turn back to my potions, giving each one a stir.

“Oh, you heard that? In my defense…”

I look over my shoulder, waiting for him to finish that sentence, but he just shrugs.

“I got nothing.” He picks up the glass that held the potion and gives it a little nod. “This is good. My headache is already disappearing.”

“Potions are, like, my one talent.” Why did I say that? I can’t tell if it makes me sound pathetic or like I’m begging for a compliment.

Ambrose hums. “That’s not true, but I’ve heard that you are an incredible potion maker. Is that your magic?”

I turn off the burners. The potions just need to cool down and then I can bottle them up. I turn back to Ambrose and lean on the counter, my forearms resting on the cool granite. “Yes. I was a profound disappointment for my father.”

Ambrose cocks his head. “Why? I’m horrible at potions. With potions, you can do all sorts of crazy shit. Blow things up, wipe people’s memories, turn them into a frog.”

“It’s probably a good thing that you’re not very good at potions.” I laugh when Ambrose grins at me, giving me a sly wink.

“I’m just saying, I don’t have the ability to cure a hangover. And you just did that for me. Thank you, by the way.”

“I guess.” I’ve always felt my magic was lacking. My father certainly found it to be unimpressive. “You have illusion magic, though. That’s truly a power.”

Ambrose snorts. “It’s flashy. Kind of like me.”

Once Ambrose was able to take the words written in a grimoire and project a scene that happened–basically the death of the Briar Witch and how our curses came into being–for a room full of people to all see. Impressive is being modest.

“How does it work?”

Ambrose twists the tab on his can in a circle. “It’s actually kind of a delicate balance. When crafting an illusion, you’re manipulating someone’s mind. If you go too deep, you could break someone.”

That’s frightening. Ambrose’s golden hair is messy, making him look mischievous. He’s never scared me before and I can’t imagine him using his magic to hurt someone. At least not someone who didn’t deserve it.

“Children with illusion magic aren’t allowed to use it on anyone else.

They have to first master the control over their magic before they can attempt to create illusions for other people.

” He wipes the condensation off the side of his can.

“One thing I will say about my parents is they made sure I had tutors to help me understand my magic. Not them. Neither of them has illusion magic anyway, but it’s common in the Roth family tree.

So there are a lot of books in the library that you’re so fond of. ”

I’ve seen several of those books while searching for information on how to break my obedience hex.

I know from experience that his illusions can have both sight, sound, and touch.

That last one is a reminder of our time in Vegas.

I don’t know what Ambrose did while we were having sex, but it felt like there was more than one of him.

I pretend to check on my potions to hide my heated cheeks.

“Are you able to use all the senses in your illusions?” I ask as I face him again.

Ambrose raises an eyebrow. “That is an excellent question. Many who have illusion magic only have the ability to engage one or two senses. They can create visual illusions, but there’s no sound. Or they can create illusions that trick your sense of smell but not auditory ones.”

“Your sense of smell?”

Ambrose nods. “I’ll show you. If you want.”

“Yeah. Okay.” I agree readily. I trust Ambrose when he says he couldn’t break a mind without trying. I’ve seen his skill with illusion before, and I am curious about what else he can do.

The scent of freshly baked bread fills the kitchen, and I inhale deeply. My stomach growls as I look around the room. Is there actually bread in here?

“That was just an olfactory illusion.”

I laugh. It was so real. Incredible. “Well, now I’m hungry.”

Ambrose slides off his seat and heads back to the refrigerator.

“Unfortunately, while I can make a sandwich appear in front of you, you won’t be able to eat it.

However, I can make you something to eat.

” He proceeds to make the largest sandwich I’ve ever seen filled with turkey, ham, cheese, lettuce, tomatoes.

By the time he’s done, it’s so big I can barely open my mouth wide enough to take a bite.

I devour the sandwich. My cheeks flush with embarrassment when I realize Ambrose has been watching with an awestruck look on his face. Before I can apologize or stutter out an embarrassing excuse, he frowns.

“When was the last time you ate? If you don’t take care of yourself, I’m going to consider it my duty as your husband to feed you.”

“Noted.” The word is far too breathy, and my heart beats at a rapid pace. Ambrose could easily break my brain with his magic, but it’s my heart that’s truly in trouble.