Glenda had never had a particular talent for potions. Alchemy in general and potions in particular weren’t among her strengths, and that was just fine.
Looking at the array of glass beakers lining the shelves of Bedivere’s lab, the glass containers filled with powders, liquids, and, in some cases, colorful gasses, she could see the appeal. There was so much variety in potion-craft, so many possibilities, but she didn’t have the patience to create great potions. Too much experimentation and fine-tuning. All of the unpredictability and repetition didn’t suit her personality.
Math, however, had captured her heart, her soul, her everything when she’d been little more than a girl. The jumble of numbers, when tapped, jiggled, pushed, and prodded, lined themselves up neatly to tell a tale of future lives. At least, that was how magical math worked for her.
She’d always loved numbers, but then she’d discovered that she could apply her particular talents to nudge along the romantic lives of mortals and there’d been no going back. Her focus had shifted from magical math in general to matchmaking in particular. Making matches with the help of those gorgeous, glowing numbers made her heart hum with pleasure. Nothing satisfied her more.
Which was actually a sad state of affairs for a witch entering her middle years. For witches, the middle years reigned supreme. More power, little signs of aging, and—she arched her eyebrows—the pleasant advantage of a rather healthy libido. Thus far, she’d spent her time sorting the love lives of others and hadn’t focused with any great attention on her own romantic interests.
A long time ago, she’d thought Bedivere and she…maybe… But no, that hadn’t quite worked out. Maybe he hadn’t been interested, or maybe it had been the timing. But in any event, they worked together now, so that wouldn’t do at all.
She ran a finger along one of the shelves. Not even a speck of dust. Bedivere did like his workspace tidy, and those habits were particularly useful in a lab.
Movement caught her eye, and she looked up two shelves higher. In between a flask filled with dull grey sludge and one filled with sparkly pinkish-mauve sand sat a beta’s bowl. The pretty bright blue fish swam round and round.
She wasn’t sure why Bedivere had insisted on meeting in his lab if he wasn’t in the midst of working on a pressing project.
“I think he stood us up, little fish.” She touched the glass of the fishbowl with the very tip of her finger, tracing the beta’s movements. “Trapped in a world so small that you can only swim tight little circles and hope for a glimpse of your master to entertain you.” What a sad existence, always waiting for a glimpse of the elusive Bedivere.
“Talking to the fish, Glenda?” Bedivere’s deep voice echoed through the lab. “That’s new and rather fanciful.”
Glenda jerked her hand away, knocking the fish’s bowl. With images of shattering glass and a soon-to-be-deceased fish in her mind’s eye, she muttered the first incantation that came to mind.
It was meant to be a little push. Just a small one. Enough to prop the glass bowl back on the shelf, prevent it from falling, and keep the little fish safe in his watery home.
Except that spells, much like potions, weren’t her stock in trade. Her greatest skill lay with the beautiful possibilities of magical math.
So her little push was in fact a shove, and that shove tipped a beaker full of pink glitter from the shelf.
Glenda flinched as the glass shattered on the concrete floor and released a shower of glitter. Unlike actual glitter, this sparkly pink stuff didn’t scatter on the floor and simply dust her pretty nude peep-toe shoes. No, this wasn’t glitter that had spilled but a glitter-like potion, and magic loved to behave in contrary, physics-defying ways.
A sparkling pink cloud lifted into the air and, like so many shiny gnats, swirled around her face. She pressed her lips together, closed her eyes, and held her breath.
A few seconds later, Bedivere’s dry tone pierced the panicky rush of blood in her ears. “You can look now.”
She cracked one eye, then the other, to find that not only was she coated in the pink particles, but so was a tailored-suit-clad Bedivere. His dark blond hair sparkled, and he wasn’t looking very pleased about it.
She glanced at the beta still swimming circles in his bowl and said, “At least the fish is fine.”