Page 50 of Kissing Potions and Elves
“It’s your cupcakes, Isobel.” Lyrion moves protectively closer to me as more of my cupcakes are thrown, exploding in puffsof pink glitter wherever they land. “They’re driving the villagers mad.”
CHAPTER 25
LYRION
Istare in shock as the village square devolves into complete madness.
Ms. Fenwick and Mayor Finley are now singing a love ballad to one another. While two elderly gentlemen fling insults and pastries at each other across the central fountain—éclairs and cupcakes soaring dramatically through the air, frosting and cream splattering like delicious battlefield debris.
“Your begonias are an insult to horticulture! They’re so wilted, even the bees refuse to visit them!” Mr. Jenkins bellows, lobbing a raspberry tart that lands squarely on Mr. Wardly’s head.
“Well, your petunias wouldn’t win a prize even if the judges were blindfolded!” Wardly counters, his voice muffled through cream filling and indignation.
Isobel stands at my side, her delicate hand gripping my sleeve as she stares slack-jawed at the chaos. “You really think it’s my cupcakes causing all of this?”
I think of the pink glitter erupting each time they hit their targets, spreading through the crowd. “I’m almost certain of it.”
“Why has it not affected us?”
“I’m not sure.” My mind races as I sort through various possibilities. “Perhaps because we are already under the effects of the kissing potion,” I give her my best guess. “It might make us immune somehow to this new spell.”
I turn to her. “Show me what ingredient you used again. Quickly.”
We hurry back to the café, weaving through villagers engaged in increasingly ridiculous outbursts of passion and anger.
Back in the café kitchen, all her ingredients are on the counter where she left them. I sift through each one, reading the labels carefully.
“What about this?” Isobel thrusts a jar toward me. “Could the brightroot powder be bad somehow?”
My stomach drops when I dust the white flour from the label. “This is passionflower. Not joyflower.”
“Oh no,” Isobel breathes. Her hands tremble as she takes the container, eyes wide as she reads the label. “This is all my fault. I messed up again.”
In her defense, the two ingredients appear very similar in color and texture. They belong to the same plant family, and they are easy to mix up. But passionflower is extremely potent, even in small quantities. “How much did you use?”
She swallows hard. “One whole cup.”
My jaw drops.
“Oh stars, Lyrion.” She paces back and forth. “What are we going to do?”
“It’s going to be alright.” I grip her shoulders, stopping her in her tracks. “We can fix this, but we’re going to need Tressa’s help.”
I usher Isobel outside, spotting Tressa nearby. But the moment she sees me, her eyes light up.
“Oh, Lyrion!” Tressa throws her arms around me, fluttering her wings. “Have I ever mentioned how alluring your elegant scowls are?”
“What?”I struggle to extricate myself from her embrace. “I mean, no.” I clear my throat. “We need your help, Tressa.”
“Anything for you.” She lunges for me again, but I grab her wrists, carefully holding her at arm’s length. “You handsome and broody Elf.”
I glance back at Isobel. Tressa’s brother—Cyran—stands before her, his eyes alight with adoration. He takes her hand with a flourish, wing spread in a wide display as his voice rings out. “Oh, Isobel! Your hair shines brighter than gold, your eyes more captivating than the most brilliant gemstones.”
“Lyrion.” Isobel gives me a concerned look. “I think we’re in trouble.”
I’m once again astounded by her gift for understatement.
Cyran presses a kiss to the back of her knuckles and a hot surge of jealousy coils in my chest. In one swift movement, I release Tressa’s wrists, sidestepping her attempt to hug me again as I move between Isobel and Cyran. “Back off, Fae. Find someone else to lavish your attention upon.”
