Page 6 of Love Potion No. 69
Both.
Exasperated and feeling slightly feverish, I shake my head and follow her to the bench as she continues to ignore me. She sets the vial down and winds her hair into a bun, securing it with another pencil. She consults the notepad beside her, and I pull out my phone. If I can just get close enough…
She pivots to glare at me, but she’s flushed. She feels it, too. “Why are you still here?” she demands.
Unable to step away from her, I shove my cell back in my pocket and clear my throat. “I’m sure we can come to an arrangement, Clementine.”
She raises an eyebrow. “I liked it better when I was Miss Rowan.”
I will call her anything she will let me. I draw closer and lower my voice, hoping she’ll lean closer. Hoping my sanity can hang on. “Miss Rowan, then. Is that Elysian Blossom essence?”
She flushes even deeper and blinks rapidly behind her glasses. “Y-yes.”
I’m close enough now that I’m surrounded by scents, and I can’t tell which are from Clementine herself and which are coming from the various tubes on the workbench in front of us. I try to pick through them, but instead of extracting specifics, the logic side of my brain seems to grow tall like a wave, then squish and crumple on top of the emotional side. I feel drunk, fizzy. I can’t feel my face. The edges of my vision seem to blur, and it’s hard to focus on anything but the pulse fluttering in Clementine’s neck. Clementine, in fact, is the only thing that is crystal clear. Judging by the way her chest is heaving, I’m betting she’s just as affected as I am.
“Do you feel that, Miss Rowan?” I murmur. I reach out to touch her waist, and I know I shouldn’t. It’s not appropriate. I couldn’t stop if a sword was about to chop my hand off.
She hisses at the contact, closing her eyes and swallowing hard. “Yes,” she rasps.
My head is a mess. I scramble for scents, anything to focus on, and there, blinking in the recesses of my mind, are words. Identifications. Vanilla, musk, cinnamon, citrus, moss, a meadow drenched in sunshine, a willow tree, Clementine writhing beneath me, begging me to touch her as cardinals perch above us. Nothing makes sense. I just need to sort this out…I need…fuck.
“Quinton?”
I blink and shake my head again, trying to pull back to reality, to the rain lashing against the glass not five feet from me, the thunder rolling above us. “Clementine.”
She steps away, putting too much distance between us, and immediately I want to feel her again. “I think…”
I’m pulled to her like a damn magnet. “Please just finish what you were doing,” I bite out, fighting for any sense of normalcy. “Then maybe…”
“Maybe whatever this is?—”
“Will stop,” I finish, meeting her eyes. Goddamnher eyes. Every green ever created is in there, flecks of lime set against the facets of gemstone emerald and sage and mossy olive. “Please,” I urge, then fall helplessly again into the wonder that is Clementine Rowan.
Clementine
ICAN’T FEEL my legs. My body buzzes, hyper-aware of the man beside me. This can’t be happening.
It’s happening, the voice inside me whispers.
“Please,” Quinton says again, then licks his full lips.
His beard looks so soft. So shiny. The curls seem to curve over themselves.
“Clem.”
I jerk my hand back, unaware it’d come within an inch of cupping his chin. “Right. Focus. I can focus.”
Gritting my teeth, I grab the glass container in my right hand, swirling the liquid already in there and holding it up to the light. It’s still good, clear, perfect. As though the last few minutes haven’t even happened. I feel his eyes on my burn, his gaze not hateful but curious. Taking a breath, I grip the Elysian Blossom essence in my left hand.
Please let this work.
I’m dimly aware of how close Quinton has gotten, and I watch as his hand closes around my own, helping to pour the essence in.
It doesn’t cloud.
Instead, streaks of pink and orange begin to appear in the jar as soon as the essence touches the liquid, funneling into a tornado that turns purple, then flattens out. The color is gone almost as quickly as it appears, leaving only a clear liquid in its wake. Outside, the wind howls as another round of thunder cracks through the sky.
“What just happened?” Quinton asks, his voice sounding as dazed as I am. Both his hands grip my waist now, and I press against him, utterly unable to make myself stop.