Chapter 5 The Failed Brew & The Spark

Sisily’s pov

Ten seconds. The man was giving me ten fucking seconds.

"All right, all right! Keep your coat on, big guy," I gasped, my heart hammering hard.

Joran didn't move an inch. He remained pinned over me, one leather-gloved arm planted flat against the wood right beside my ear. 

The intense, unnatural heat radiating off his body was practically melting the lace on my collar. His face was inches from mine, his jaw clenched so tight the glowing gold veins pulsed violently beneath his skin.

He tilted his head down, his dark eyes locking onto mine. "Nine seconds, little witch."

"I'm going! Jesus!" I ducked under his massive arm, scrambling past him into the back room.

"Girl, you're walking into a woodchipper!" Barnaby squawked softly from his perch, ducking his head low.

I ignored the bird, diving straight through the velvet curtain into Aunt Maeve’s back brewing room. My mind was scrambling, racing at a hundred miles an hour.

The Obsidian Elixir.

I sprinted over to the massive copper cauldron sitting over the low blue flame. I peered over the rim.

Shit.

The potion base was a muddy, half-cooked grey slime. It needed three more hours of slow simmering, a dose of stabilized Shadow-Lotus, and a stabilizing spell. I didn't have three hours. I had about three seconds before Lord Scorch-And-Burn came through that curtain and incinerated my ass.

"Think, Sisily, think!" I muttered under my breath, my hands flying across Aunt Maeve’s ingredient shelf.

My formal academy training said this brew was ruined. But my wild, instinctual magic screamed otherwise. If I couldn't cool his blood with a finished brew, I had to fake it using raw, aggressive substitutes.

I grabbed a jar of powdered Frost-Lily, two crushed moon-stone caps, and a vial of raw dragon-root extract.

I didn't measure. I didn't use a scale. I threw them all straight into the bubbling grey sludge and channeled a spark of my own magic straight into the copper bottom.

The potion violently hissed. The grey mud turned a deep, shimmering obsidian black, swirling with tiny silver sparks.

Close enough.

I scooped the boiling liquid into a glass flask, wiped the rim with my thumb, and burst back through the velvet curtain.

Joran was standing in the middle of the shop, his breathing heavy, ragged, and scorching hot. The air around him was so thick with heat that the glass windows were cracking.

"Here!" I panted, thrusting the dark flask straight toward his chest. "Drink it!"

Joran’s eyes snapped to the flask. Without a word, he snatched the glass out of my hands, popped the cork, and tilted his head back, draining the entire brew in one gulp.

For two glorious, peaceful seconds, it worked.

The glowing gold veins along his jawline faded. The suffocating heat in the room plunged, a cool breeze washing over the shop. Joran closed his eyes, letting out a long, shuddering breath.

"See?" I let out a nervous laugh, wiping my sweaty forehead with the back of my hand. "Told you I could handle it. That'll be.."

Before I could finish the sentence, Joran’s eyes flew open. They weren't silver anymore. They were two blinding orbs of molten gold.

He choked, a deep, inhuman roar echoing from his throat. The unstable ingredients I had forced together were reacting with whatever fever was burning inside him.

"Shit!" I screamed.

The magic inside him exploded outward. A shockwave of physical pressure blew through the shop. Glass potion vials shattered into a thousand pieces, raining liquid and crystal everywhere. The oak bookshelves groaned, two of them collapsing sideways and dumping hundreds of ancient texts onto the floor.

"Girl, run!" Barnaby shrieked, flapping his wings wildly as he dove off his perch to avoid flying debris.

I turned to bolt, but Joran was already there.

He moved faster than humanly possible. His hand caught me by the waist, jerking me backward. The next second, my back slammed hard against the stone edge of the alchemy counter.

"Ah!" I gasped, the air leaving my lungs.

Joran pinned me flat against the counter, his massive body trapping me. His heavy leather-clad thigh slid between my legs to anchor me in place, his free hand slamming down onto the wood right beside my head.

He was breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling against mine. 

"You..." he rasped, his voice no longer human. It sounded like grinding stones and roaring fire.

I looked up, and my heart completely stopped.

Faint, shimmering black scales were rippling across the skin of his neck, crawling up his jawline. His canine teeth were elongating into sharp fangs, resting right against his dark lower lip. His inner beast was tearing its way out.

"Joran, wait…" I panicked, pushing against his chest with both hands.

His grip tightened, his body pressing closer, pinning my hips flush against the counter. He leaned down. 

"What did you put in me, little witch?" he growled into my neck, his fangs grazing my skin. "I am going to snap your neck."

He raised his hand, his gloved fingers closing tight around my throat. The air cut off instantly. Black spots danced in my vision.

No. I am not dying in a dusty bookshop!

Instead of fighting his grip, I acted on pure instinct. I raised my cut hands and slammed my bare palms flat against the center of his chest, right over his sternum.

I didn't try to cast a structured spell. I didn't recite Latin. I just opened the gates in my chest and shoved every drop of my magic directly into his body.

A pale blue spark erupted between my hands.

The moment my magic breached his chest, a strange, electric shockwave slammed through both of us. It didn't burn him. The second my energy touched his scorching, draconic core, it acted like a bucket of ice water dumped over a roaring wildfire.

The violent heat draining out of his body was instantaneous.

Joran froze instantly.

His hand on my throat went slack. The sharp, black scales rippling across his jaw receded back beneath his skin, his fangs shrinking back into his gums. 

The terrifying pressure in the room died. Silence fell over the ruined shop, broken only by our ragged breathing.

Joran didn't pull away. He remained pinned over me . But his breathing was no longer panicked. It was more steady.

Slowly, he lowered his head, looking down at my bare hands still pressed flat against his chest. He could feel my pulse hammering against his palms, and I could feel the steady thud of his heart beneath my fingers.

He tilted his head back up, his eyes locking onto mine.

"What..." Joran whispered, his low, smooth voice trembling just a fraction as he stared down at me. "What the hell are you?"