Page 1 of Charmed and Dangerous

Prologue

“Oh dear. That’s not a good sign.”

Smoke rose from the cast iron cauldron in a thin tendril, wispy and delicate. Then another wisp and another. Phoebe Dupree eyed the mixture roiling in their great-great-aunt’s cauldron, the one they found hidden in a buried space in their basement a few months ago. The putrid green color was not an attractive look for a love potion.

She quickly consulted their great-great-aunt’s grimoire, that had conveniently been found with the cauldron and other assorted items. “I don’t think it’s supposed to look like that.”

Suddenly, the mixture exploded and the viscous liquid splashed all over them and the surrounding surfaces. Phoebe had just enough time to cover the grimoire and protect the delicate pages before they were ruined forever. Though, based on their lack of success with every single recipe, maybe the grimoire should have been destroyed. Because it certainly couldn’t have been their lack of skill with potions.

Duprees had been known for their renown with potions throughout the centuries, though their great-great-Aunt Hermia had a reputation for messing with darker arts. Tempest,Phoebe’s older sister, discounted that myth. They had to beat the Rathbone warlocks in this year’s BrewFest and regain their family honor. It was insulting that the Rathbones, a family of newcomer warlocks to Grimm Mawr, could beat the Duprees, four years running.

The current generation of Duprees had a reputation to maintain, though they hadn’t had much luck, especially considering their latest failure. Phoebe peered over the rim of the cauldron into the now-stagnant chartreuse colored potion. Still not appetizing at all. Part of potion making including look, taste, smell, and consistency. Her sense of smell was gone after their last fiasco and her taste buds had not yet recovered from the attempt before that.

She picked up the wooden spoon and ladled a spoonful, letting it waterfall back into the liquid below. Not too bad. It was a liquid at least, not like the lumpy oatmeal she feared it would be. In fact, it was far smoother than she expected.

Her older sister, Tempest, stuck her head over the other side, her normally perfect coiffed blond hair in disarray and streaks of black soot on her face from the explosion. But no one could miss the excitement. “We did it! We have our potion!”

“Not if we explode all over the festival. They’ll disqualify us for sure,” Fleur, her youngest sister, retorted.

Tempest snarled at her. “I told you not to use dried rose petals. We need the fresh ones.”

Fleur stamped her foot, her lower lip sticking out. “I needed those roses for my rosewater and my soap. People come for miles around to buy my soap. It’s not my fault we didn’t have any fresh petals ready for today.”

Phoebe rolled her eyes and stepped between her sisters before hexes started to fly. Once they started with that, well, no one would be safe. “Sisters, please. We’ll have fresh petals for thefestival. Now, we just need to find out if this works. Who is going to test it?”

“Absolutely not. I don’t have time for anyone tripping over their feet, fancying themselves in love with me,” Tempest snorted.

“It doesn’t work like that. Didn’t you read the book? You fall in love with them,” Fleur sneered. “And I don’t need it. Everyone is already in love with me. I’ll find my own man when I’m ready.”

Phoebe rolled her eyes again. She really didn’t want to drink the potion. It always fell to her. Tempest ordered them around. Fleur flitted off, shirking responsibility. And Phoebe kept them all together. Well, not this time. She was tired of being the one to do the dirty work.

A crash from upstairs penetrated the silencing bubble they had around them. Shit. Saul Grimsbane from Honey Buns Bakery was pissed off again. She should go rescue Maeve Whisper, their assistant. She was probably hiding behind the desk again. Saul terrified her, though everything scared Maeve. Maybe they should brew a courage potion for Maeve.

Fleur's eyes brightened. “Maybe we should give it to Maeve! Just don’t tell her. This way, we know if it works or not.”

“That would be terrible and unethical,” Phoebe said, torn between her loyalty to her employee and her desire to never try another faulty potion.

“Or you take it,” Tempest countered, her shrewd gaze challenging Phoebe.

There was no way Phoebe was taking the potion. Her stomach hadn’t recovered from the last batch. But Maeve. That was a thought. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Maeve saw few people and it could give her confidence, right? “Okay, fine. I’ll slip it in her tea.”

Before she could second-guess herself, Phoebe dipped a flask in the cauldron, taking some of the potion, and hurried up the stairs to rescue poor Maeve.

“And tell us if she can taste anything or smell it!” Tempest called out.

Chapter

One

Maeve Whisper winced as the ground shook beneath her feet, and glass shattered around her. Delicate bottles lining the shelves of the Cauldrons and Candlesticks Potions Shoppe toppled to the floor from the force of the explosion. Even though there was a silencing bubble to muffle the sound, her employers would not be able to hide the fact that they blew something up again. Though, sadly, their neighbors were used to the chaos that the Dupree sisters generated whenever they retired to their workshop in the basement. If only they would stop trying to create potions and stuck to selling supplies.

But the BrewFest was coming up, and they were determined to win it this year, after being humiliated for the past four years straight by the Rathbone brothers, who came out of nowhere five years ago to defeat the Duprees. Now they were warlocks with style and skill. Most of the witches in Grimm Mawr panted after them every competition, but they came, they competed, and they withdrew to their mansion in the outskirts, true hermits. Clearly, they thought they were too good for the likes of the witches of Grimm Mawr.

Arrogant bastards.

Not that it mattered to Maeve. She never tried to engage the Rathbones in conversation or attract their attention. She could barely speak to the warlocks she knew, much less the Rathbones. She was happy hiding behind the counter of Cauldrons and Candlesticks, avoiding the crowds. Sadly, this year she’d been roped into volunteering to test the potions at the annual BrewFest. Again. There was only one way to know if the potions worked and that was to test them. After they were tested to ensure they wouldn’t cause harm, then local townspeople volunteered to show if the potion worked. Fortunately, they also had bezoars on hand in case there was a reaction and they needed an all-purpose antidote. So it was as safe as it could be.

She pulled her curly red hair back into a ponytail and surveyed the damage. Glass littered the floor and had to be cleaned before anyone came in and got hurt. So, she grabbed the broom, non-magical variety of course, and the dustpan, and started cleaning up the shards of glass littering the floor. Really, the sisters should switch to something less breakable than glass if they insisted on continuing to experiment with their potions. But their customers preferred to put their supplies and potions in glass, so the Duprees needed to experiment elsewhere or get better at their potions, or they’d bleed more money in lost products.

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