Page 33 of Charmed

The clock was ticking, and they had to figure out their task or everything they'd done up to this point would be for naught. Both their families' happiness was at stake. If they failed, the past three-hundred years of misery would carry over forever. Fiona restoring her magick was the only hope they had. Besides that, it was a part of what made her so damn special. Stripping that had been like surgically removing a chunk of her soul, and he didn't know how much more he or she could withstand. She hadn't been herself since.

"Yes." Fiona turned and waved Ceara closer. "Add a pinch of agrimony. Good. Now, angelica." Fiona continued to spout off herbs he'd never heard of as Ceara followed her instructions. "Brimstone, dandelion leaf, dragon's blood." She placed her hand on her sister's arm. "No, a smaller pinch of that. Clove of garlic, juniper, marjoram, nutmeg, peony, and rue."

Ceara pulled a deep breath and dumped a large amount of sea salt into her hand. She stood over the cauldron and read from the book Fiona held. "With salt, this water is made pure. I give it the power to heal and cure. A spell was cast with baneful will, a wicked web wrongly spun. I take away the harm and ill to undo what has been done. This harmful spell I now negate. Return things to their rightful state." She tossed the salt into the pot.

A popping reverberated in Riley's ears as a plume of white smoke wafted from the cauldron.

He glanced at both ladies during the impending silence. "Is that it?"

"Almost." Fiona lifted the pot from the grate. She poured it through a mesh filter covered with linen cloth into a mason jar. From there, she used a dropper to put a small amount of the potion into a vial. She sealed a lid on the jar, labeled it, and put it on a shelf next to a bunch of others. "At least we have some premade if this happens again." She strode over to the station and lifted the vial. "Bottoms up."

Once she'd swallowed the potion, he waited for something crazy to happen. Her to writhe around. Spout nonsense in tongues. For her eyes to roll back in her head while she levitated. Alas, nothing.

Ceara nodded. "Where do you keep the pine needles?"

"Basket on the bottom shelf."

"Parchment paper? Twine?" Ceara inspected the shelves, grabbed what she seemed to need, and returned.

Fiona passed her the other items.

"Write down what I say. Confusion spell. Sleeping spell. Power-stripping spell. Wielded by Gregory Meath. Prepared witch unknown." Ceara nodded when Fiona finished. "Sprinkle it with salt. Fold the salt inside the paper and bind with twine." She held out the basket for Fiona. "Put pine needles over the fire and drop the parchment on top."

Chore complete, Ceara lit what looked like a bay leaf for soup on fire, set it in a shallow white dish, then walked around Fiona waving the smoke at her.

She nodded. "Done. That should take care of everything."

Fiona began putting supplies away while Ceara dug in a worktable drawer by Riley's hip. She surveyed a bunch of colored rocks and withdrew a pinkish-clear one the size of a quarter. She passed it to him.

"What is this?"

"A rose quartz crystal. Give it to Fiona." She looked at her sister. "Carry that with you for at least three days to ensure proper healing."

Confused, Riley watched her walk out of the room, then looked at Fiona across the table. "Why am I giving this to you? She was standing right here."

"You were with me in the woods when the spell was cast. It carries more weight coming from you."

He studied her, getting the sense she was back in evasive mode. "Is that the only reason?"

Ceara ducked her head around the doorframe. "No. It should also be gifted by someone who cares about her a great deal."

Well, shit. Busted. He opened his mouth, but wisely shut it again.

"Come on, Riley. I'll drive you home." Ceara winked.

He got the strangest urge to stomp his foot like a petulant child and say he didn't want to go. All he managed was to blink idiotically at her offer.

A baleful glance, and Fiona held out her palm.

Expelling a sigh, he slid off the stool and dropped the crystal in her hand. "Are you okay? I can trek back here after I shower and change."

Ultimately, after an epic stare down, she declined his offer. And did so the next couple days, straight through the weekend. She hadn't left her house, refused to attend their group training sessions, and didn't return the few texts he'd sent, other than using a perplexing amount of emojis. Which didn't count in his opinion.

By Sunday evening, he was this close to storming her castle and invading her space the same way she'd occupied every inch of retail acreage in his head. Demand she talk to him or look at him or... Hell, anything. He'd take anything at this point.

It wasn't just the cone of silence that had him homicidal. They hadn't discussed the kiss. In fact, they'd barely acknowledged it happened. Wanting her as badly as he did—and that was like saying the Eiffel Tower was a lawn ornament—the distance from her was the equivalent of medieval torture. He'd swum enough laps to put him on the U.S. Olympic team, polished every sword in his collection, and memorized the entire first season of Game of Thrones. In intricate detail. Nothing expelled her from his mind. He hadn't slept, was barking at his brothers over the smallest things, and hadn't managed to eat more than an anorexic supermodel since he'd walked out of Fiona's house.

Speaking of... He pushed his plate away and glared at her empty chair in the mansion's dining room while the others talked strategy. Everyone but Fiona. Because she wasn't here. Again.

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