Page 32 of Charmed

"You'd be surprised." She watched him in that calm, assessing way which made him suspect she was digging into his mind and re-circulating emotions. "How goes it with the task? Any progress?"

He wondered why she didn't ask Fi, but kept mum. "Not really. We've been distracted. Besides that, having a proper discussion about our mission has been harder than solving world hunger by dispensing Twinkies."

She laughed, and the sound wafted like a breeze. Lilting. "She's a challenge. I agree."

"Not even close, red. A challenge is climbing Kilimanjaro in sandals or deep sea diving blindfolded. Fiona's on her own plane of impossible."

It struck him rather suddenly how much simpler this destiny thing could've gone if he'd been paired with Ceara. Her soothing presence and big heart complimented his personality. Plus, she was easy to talk to. She was a head-turner with those natural auburn ringlets and huge doe eyes, too.

Alas, there wasn't a pull of longing like he had with Fiona and, in truth, he couldn't bring himself to be sorry she was the one fate had chosen. They fought constantly and he didn't know up from down more often than not, but with her, he felt alive for the first time in his miserable existence. She constantly had him on his toes.

Ceara's eyes shone with amusement despite the shake of her head, making him suspect she knew what he'd been thinking. "And that's why I won't bother to offer advice. You've already got her pegged. I'll give you a tip, though. If you back her into a corner, metaphorically or literally, she'll respond in one of two ways. She'll either go feral and fight or she'll allocate and execute her version of submission."

"That helps me how?"

"The first reaction is knee-jerk and out of a lack of trust. The second is what happens when you're already in."

His gaze wandered, conjuring to mind his interactions with Fiona as of late. Yes, their typical banter had still been present, but she had seemed more...docile, he supposed. She'd never be the kind of woman to concede in any area, yet he understood what Ceara was getting at.

She sobered and glanced around. "Wonder where she is. Fiona!"

He startled, then laughed at himself. "Never heard you yell before."

"It's been known to happen once in a blue moon. Fiona!"

"Yeah, I'm here. Quit your bitching." Fiona strode in holding her family's ancient grimoire. While he and Ceara were out, she'd changed into skinny jeans with more rips than denim and a tight green tee. Her hair was still messily piled on her head, but she'd put on war paint. "I found a potion recipe to counter any effects of a power-stealing spell."

"Let's look." Ceara glanced at the page where Fiona pointed. "That sounds about right for the circumstances. I could probably write a spell to boost this, too. Maybe something to reverse the intent." She looked at Fi's profile. "If your magick is on the fritz, how are you going to make a potion?"

"I'm not. You are. I'll walk you through it."

Ceara seemed uncertain. "I'm not as good with them as you, but I'll try."

Silent, he trailed after them into Fiona's workshop and parked his butt on a stool by the station in the center of the room. Not that his services were required. He should take off, be anywhere else, but he'd been leveled more times in the past twenty-four hours than the accumulation of his lifespan. Leaving her felt wrong.

A shower and clean clothes could wait. Work could wait. Reality checks could wait.

As the ladies gathered supplies and chatted, he tried and failed not to stare at Fiona. They'd been in close proximity a hundred times the past few months, yet looking at her never got old. She was fascinating to watch, especially here in her element, wielding magick.

Except, his jackhole of an uncle had stolen her powers. She appeared fine, prepared to take on the feat as if it were a blip in her routine. Riley was beginning to realize the extent of the damage, though. Because she wasn't fine.

If someone had told him a few weeks ago Fiona Galloway had a weakness, a chink in her armor, or the capability to be scared, he would've laughed until there was no air left in his lungs, then punched the lying sack unconscious to save them from her wrath. But the more he chipped away at her layers, the harder his heart had to work to keep up.

For a fleeting fragment of time this morning, she'd met his gaze unguarded. No sass. No BS. No walls. Just her and him, standing in her kitchen like it was an everyday occurrence to wake up together and have coffee. Without her cosmetics and clothes, minus any witnesses to be brave for, and devoid of her classic proverbial mask, she'd looked at him like she was the one who'd needed saving.

He'd never recover from that. Not if he lived a thousand years.

"About one cup of purified water should be enough for a base. I typically eyeball it."

Swallowing hard, he rubbed the ache in his chest her sultry voice had caused. In the hearth, she'd swapped out the huge cauldron she'd used for her lotions and had replaced it with a smaller one no larger than a tea kettle. A low fire flickered under the grate.

"Good." Fiona took a bottle of water from her sister and set it aside, then picked up the vial shards on the station. She sniffed four or five of them. "The scent is weak, but going off these and what I saw in the forest when it was dispensed, I think this was a triple whammy."

Crap. The potion had done more than knock her out and steal her powers? "What do you mean?"

She kept her gaze trained on the fragments and carefully set them down. "I smell rue herb. In other words, there was an element added to inflict confusion for either when I was asleep or when I woke."

Which explained why it had taken her a couple pulse-pounding minutes to recognize him. "Can you fix it? Reverse the spell or whatever?"

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