Page 87 of Summer L.A.W.

“I hate to run,” she said as she hugged Crystal, “but Reginald gets anxious when I’m gone too long. He can fend for himself, but my apartment can’t. He once played the ‘Battle of Waterloo’ in my living room. It was chaos.”

Sahara snorted. “Who won?”

Victoria shrugged. “Napoleon. Raccoons are complicated.”

Rayna arched a brow. “Text us when you get in. And if Reginald has redecorated again, I want pictures.”

“Always.” Victoria kissed Rayna on the cheek, hugged Lioness, offered Wally a biscuit bribe to be good, then sauntered out the door, wheeling her suitcase like a chic Canadian spy returning to her helicopter.

Mason caught Crystal by the wrist as she turned toward the kitchen.

“Hang on.” He tugged her in, slow but firm, and kissed her with enough heat to fog the nearby stained-glass window. Crystal melted into him, her fingers curling around the hair at his collar.

When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against hers. “I have to get the pool house ready for Raoul’s return,” he murmured. “He likes things perfect, and I’m trying to prove I’m not the hurricane everyone thinks I am.”

Crystal smirked. “You’re absolutely a hurricane.”

“Yeah,” he said softly, brushing her jaw with his thumb. “But I’m trying not to blow the roof off.”

“What? Like you blew my roof off last night?” She kissed him again, quick and warm, this time, then shooed him toward the back door. “Go. And text me if you set something on fire.”

“I’m already on fire.”

By the time the witches gathered at the long oval table, the house had largely emptied of love interests and extended company. Joell arrived last, still muttering to herself about plot revisions, while Wally toddled in carrying a stolen cinnamon roll larger than his head.

Rayna dropped into her chair with a satisfied sigh. “All right. Now that everyone’s done necking in the hallways, we’ve got a scientist to fix.”

Magda flushed. “We don’t even know if he’s coming.”

“Yes, we do.” Rayna nodded toward the window.

A lone sedan pulled into the driveway, slowed, then stopped completely as if its driver was giving himself a pep talk.

Chad climbed out first, waving weakly. Then Sebastian emerged.

He looked better than Chad described him yesterday. Sleep-wrinkled, yes. But upright. His hair was still damp from a shower taken recently. He squared his shoulders, inhaled, and made it halfway up the walkway before his eyes went suspiciously shiny.

Joell set down her mug. “Oh yeah,” she said. “He’s still an emotional tuning fork.”

Magda stood. Wally dropped his pastry in shock.

Rayna clapped her hands. “Places, people. Love Potion whatever number awaits.”

The witches rose with purpose. The day’s mission had officially begun.

The greenhouse smelled like mint, eucalyptus, and the air before it snows.

Sebastian stood beside Magda at the central workbench, shoulders tense, hands clasped like he was trying very hard not to cry at the beauty of the potted basil. He managed to smile when she handed him a mortar and pestle.

“Ready?” she asked gently.

“Yes,” he said, his voice a pitch too high. “I’m emotionally stable. Perfectly stable. Completely fine. Everything’s fine.” He blinked rapidly.

Rayna muttered, “He’s about ten seconds from sobbing into the basil.”

Chad stood behind him, arms crossed, monitoring his colleague like a bomb technician overseeing a volatile backpack. “Magda, just keep him focused.”

Lioness leaned over the cauldron. “So, what are we making? A magical sedative? Emotional Tums?”