Page 26 of Witch You Would

the edges might have been loosening. Maybe it was just paranoia; maybe I was sweating more than usual. Regardless, I locked

the door, cleaned up the mustache sides with an astringent, and added more adhesive, just to be safe.

When I got back, Penelope had rigged everything and was chanting over one of the cauldrons as she dropped in reagents. I started

on the other cauldron, refusing to check the time. This would take as long as it took.

Penelope finished her potion first. A gentle puff of magic steamed from it, scented with cinnamon and flowers. It was hard

to see the color against the metal background; Penelope ladled a tiny bit into a borosilicate glass container to check it.

Green! Lush, vibrant green. It had worked. Or at least, this was as close to confirmation as we would get until the final

casting.

Mine followed about twenty minutes later. Closer to yellow-green because of how we’d split the enchantments, and it smelled

more like fresh-cut grass, but it seemed right.

Three hours, twenty-two minutes left.

Now we had to put everything together. The base needed to be soaked in the potions sequentially, and a binding spell cast to combine the separate elements. Then we had to repeat the process with the catalysts Penelope had woven from the same materials as the base.

When Syd yelled, “Ten minutes remaining!” we were in the middle of the last sealing spell. Unlike the first round, we’d be

cutting this extremely close.

At the “One minute left!” mark, I considered another run up and down the aisle, waving my arms like a hysterical puppet. I

was too tired. And I had a feeling if I asked Penelope about our secret handshake, she’d bite my head off, so I leaned against

the table and counted down from sixty. I was going too fast, apparently, because I finished before Syd called time.

They hustled us to our separate greenrooms instead of going straight to judging. We’d been here for a little over eleven hours.

None of us felt like socializing; we sat separately and ate like machines. I wondered if Penelope was doing the same.

A half hour later, we were back on the soundstage. Syd and the judges looked disturbingly fresh; maybe their trailers had

rejuvenation spells. Hair and makeup did touch-ups, and Liam checked our mics. Isaac yelled at everyone, Tori quietly translating

for him. Penelope and I stood at our station, not speaking to each other.

We got our assigned order numbers, and this time we were first. If we did a bad job, then everything else would look great

by comparison.

“Our contestants have been through a grueling two days of casting,” Syd said. “Now they’re ready to present their spectacular

party decorations or centerpieces, each of which must go through at least two transformations.”

Penelope touched the front pocket of her apron, then put her hand back down. A nervous gesture? Worried that our rushed potions wouldn’t work, probably. Me too.

“First to present tonight will be our yellow team, Penelope and Leandro!”

Syd’s voice snapped me back to reality. Showtime.

Our spell was small enough that Penelope could carry it alone to the display table. Moment of truth. We stepped back and faced

our fates, her on one side, me on the other.

“Tell us about your spell,” Fabienne said.

Penelope fake smiled as she gestured at our wreath. “We call it ‘Miami Metamorphosis.’ Our visit to Tropical Oasis Botanic

Gardens, and Everly Bale’s sculptures, inspired us to make a centerpiece that transforms from what you see here to a little

piece of a tropical paradise.”

“That sounds lovely,” Doris said. “Why don’t you show us how it works?”

Penelope took one of the catalysts from the side of the table. “We wanted to make the spell repeatable, so we put together

these propagation balls to trigger the initial transformation. No command word—it just has to be placed inside the circle.”

She dropped the ball into the wreath and stepped away.

About five seconds later, glowing green tendrils sprouted from the catalyst and wound their way into the circle of woven vines and stems and stalks.

They grew and twined together in a bulb shape, similar to the sculpture in the butterfly house, but more organic, all shades of green and brown that luminesced faintly and sent off glittery sparks.

Roots stretched down as well, hanging over the edge of the table like a curtain.

As the spell progressed, it grew larger until it hit its peak, about five feet tall and four feet in diameter at its widest point.

“Now, the first transformation,” Penelope said.

I held my breath. If we’d messed up our potions, nothing would happen.

The bulb glowed with a brighter inner light and unfurled, uncoiling in a series of offshoots that lengthened and spread up

and out. The tendrils turned into a leafy canopy, like a poinciana tree made from overlapping plants, now about ten feet in

diameter at the top and three at the trunk. It smelled the way it looked, all green garden goodness. Success!

“Second transformation,” Penelope said.

This was where it might break down again. I stared at the lush green vines and crossed my fingers.

Buds formed on the vines, slowly getting bigger. Then they started to open, not all at once, but in waves and clusters, each

carrying their signature scent. Pale blue plumbago, creamy white jasmine, orange and yellow marigold, pink and white plumeria,

red and orange hibiscus... Some didn’t trigger, but it was still impressive. Hopefully impressive enough for the judges,

especially if the reset worked.

They didn’t look impressed. Fabienne smiled her secret smile, Doris her kindly one, and Hugh’s nostrils flared like he was

swallowing a yawn.

“Does this complete your spell?” Syd asked.

“No,” Penelope said. This seemed to surprise the judges, especially Hugh, who woke up a little.

“You can examine it now,” I said. “Before the last part.”

They climbed down from their observation tower and circled the centerpiece. Doris touched a cluster of jasmine flowers, snapping one off at the stem. It persisted long enough for her to sniff it, then dissolved in a puff of sparkles.

“What happens next?” Hugh asked.

Penelope circled the vine-tree until she found the reset trigger: a light green chrysalis jutting out from a section of the

trunk. “If you remove that,” she said, pointing at it, “the spell will go back to its initial state, and it can be restarted

using another propagation ball.”

Fabienne got to it first and pulled it off. We waited. And waited.

Shit. It wasn’t going to do the thing. Penelope’s smile cracked as she realized it, too.

“I take it this portion isn’t functional?” Hugh asked, his green eyes sharp.

“I guess not,” I said, making myself sound cheerful. “But hey, two transformations, as ordered!”

With a sigh, Penelope got a spray bottle of salt water as the judges returned to their places. She spritzed the tree, starting

near the base, and the whole thing dissolved into a messy fog that sank to the floor, leaving the original wreath and a moist

sheen that was almost but not quite a puddle. It gave off a whiff of decay.

“Thank you, casters,” Syd said. “Judges, your thoughts?”

Fabienne said, “It’s a solid premise and execution. Portable greenery isn’t an unprecedented enchantment, but this did make

for quite a pretty centerpiece. If the recursion portion had worked, that would have put it a step above typical single-use

models.”

Time for Doris. “I thought it was absolutely charming. The growth was a joy to watch, and the flowers looked and smelled exactly

as they should. The dispersal of removed elements was also lovely.”

I gave Hugh my biggest, most Leandro smile. He raised an eyebrow at me as if sensing a challenge.

“As noted, however, this isn’t a particularly novel concept,” Hugh said. “What would have elevated it above the mundane didn’t

function. Still, you met the terms of the brief, so it wasn’t a total waste.”

“Thank you, judges,” Penelope and I said in unison. How we both managed to sound chill, I have no idea. Staying in character,

I guess.

Dylan and Zeke made another masterpiece: a model of a fancy car, almost as big as me, that transformed into a dinosaur and

then into a giant humanoid robot. It looked incredibly realistic, and every part of it was apparently edible, airbrushed chocolate

and sugar-spun glass and cake and frosting. If Dylan didn’t get hired by some fancy bakery after all this, maybe even by Zeke

himself, there was no justice in the world.

Felicia and Charlotte put together a pumpkin that transformed into a carriage, including mice that turned into horses. In

a swirl of magic, the whole thing morphed into Cinderella herself, fancy dress and glass slippers and all, dancing with her

prince. Then an unseen clock chimed midnight, and they turned back into the pumpkin again, mice sticking out of the top. They’d

nailed the recursion, timed instead of conditional.

As my abuelo used to say, “Calabaza, calabaza, cada uno pa su casa”—basically, pumpkin, pumpkin, everybody go home. Except

the pumpkin wasn’t ours, and we would be the ones going home. I could practically feel Penelope melting next to me.

Me? I imagined having to tell Grandpa Fred that I’d failed him, and the charity. He’d be so damn nice about it. You win some, you lose some , he would say. Everything comes to an end sometime, Bert. We had a good run.

I barely paid attention to Amy and Jaya, shamefully. I was too busy wallowing. That’s why the fire took me by surprise.

A ball of flame burst from the podium where the spells were presented, huge and bright, rippling orange around a blinding

yellow core. Sparks shot in various directions, like a firework, hitting the edges of the containment circle etched into the

floor.

I shielded Penelope with my body. People screamed; Amy and Jaya backed away; all the camerapeople moved fast, trying to maintain

their shots without getting burned. Tori shouted, “Get the extinguisher!” while Dylan tossed a bowl with salt and water at

the fire. It sizzled and shrank, smoking like a chimney, but didn’t go out. Zeke joined him, taking turns.

Little Manny ran up with a giant cart-mounted canister. He yanked the nozzle and hose off, aimed, and let it rip. White foam

sprayed out, coating the fireball until it looked more like the bottom of a snowman. It hovered in the air for a few more

heartbeats, then dropped to the podium with a loud thump and rolled to the floor.

The room went dead silent. From outside, Isaac yelled, “What the fuck was that?” loud enough to be heard down the street.

Tori whipped out a phone and started typing furiously, then snapped at Rachel to follow her and left.

Penelope shivered, her face pressed against my chest. Her breath came fast, too fast. She was going to pass out if she didn’t

calm down.

“Hey, shh,” I said, stroking her hair. “It’s okay. Everyone is okay. Breathe.” I kept saying things quietly, whatever popped

into my head, in English and Spanish and even random Italian I’d learned in college.

I didn’t know if she could hear me, but she turned her face away from the podium and started muttering between deep breaths. The shaking stopped.

I didn’t let go of her, though. I held on to Penelope while Rachel led Amy and Jaya out of the soundstage, and one of the

PAs poured more salt water all over the charred lump that used to be a spell.

An ugly part of me thought, I guess our pumpkin isn’t going home after all.