Trouble's Brewing (Stirring Up Trouble Trilogy 2)

“How big of a batch are we making?”

“A gallon.”

Dr. Finnegan pulled up the potion recipe on his iPad. I had printed mine out already, so I consulted the paper. For the comparison potion, I wanted to be precise in the mixing. First, I needed it to work for the radiation clean-up, and second, I knew that the potion had been extensively tested and that this particular mixture had the maximum effect. When I got to my experimentation with the substitution ingredients, I’d carefully document what I did, but I would go by instinct in the amounts.

We had the potion mixed and simmering in the cauldron in minutes. This particular potion had to cook for twenty minutes. While it was cooking, I got three cans of cat’s meow. Witches had found that these were best packaged in the little cans used for cat food. They were the perfect size for the meow, and the meow was not able to escape.

As the radiation potion cooked, it flashed from purple to green to pink. The mixture then reduced to half its size, my cue that it was ready. I removed it from the heat, because this could only be packaged in glass, and only when cool.

Flashes of color plus the reduction. It was something to go on. Of course, I could come close to a completely wrong potion and think I was on the right trail. But in science, and in magic, one learned something even from heading down the wrong path.

At the last second, I decided to add four egg whites to the chalk, brown it in a frying pan, and then add the chalk and egg mixture to the cauldron. Getting the cat’s meows in was going to be tricky, but I’d used them a couple of hundred times.

“Let me know if and when to assist,” Dr. Finnegan said, standing close like a spotter for a tumbler.

“I will. I think I got it,” I said. I held the can just above the line of the mixture in the cauldron. Then I popped the top and peeled it back, carefully to submerge the can slightly as the sound of the “meow” escaped the can. A loud meow would mean too much had escaped. This one had been okay. Not my best, but acceptable. The two that followed went in as easily.

I had turned to share a smile with Dr. Finnegan when I felt the brief sensation of fur against my skin and turned back. Then I saw Jasmine on the counter by the stove. She was in motion, rapidly approaching the cauldron.

“Oh my,” Dr. Finnegan said. “The cat’s meow must have—”

I grabbed the cat with both hands and turned, swinging her around to keep her from ruining the potion. I didn’t realize I was going to impact Dr. Finnegan until I saw him duck as I swung her over him.

I ran to the back door, opened it with my elbow, and tossed her outside.

Jasmine was not happy.

I shut the door, and bracing myself, turned to see what damage I had done to my tutor.

Dr. Finnegan stood by the stove, an expression of disbelief on his face.

His laughter started deep in his chest and rumbled up and out into the room. I laughed so hard that I had to gasp for air.

“I’m so sorry,” I said. Gasp. “I nearly killed you.” Gasp.

Dr. Finnegan had nearly been sliced to bits by Jasmine’s claws. Yet he’d doubled over laughing.

Mom’s form appeared in the doorway to the living room. She opened her mouth and then closed it.

The confused, slightly fearful look in her eyes struck me as fiercely comical, and I pointed at her as my laughter gained steam.

Dr. Finnegan saw Mom and collapsed into a second fit.

Mom stood taking us in, and she smiled. “Clearly the session is going well.”

Our laughter wound down, only moments before totally incapacitating us, and Dr. Finnegan finally answered her.

“If I hadn’t made this selfish decision,” he said, motioning to his younger body, “you’d have a bloody, feeble ninety-five-year-old man teetering around your kitchen on weak legs right about now.”

“Your reflexes were impressive,” I said. “You ducked before I knew what I was doing.” A couple more giggles escaped.

When we finally explained the situation to my mother, she shook her head. “We didn’t even think about Jasmine’s reaction to the cat’s meow. She’s never done it before.”

“I’ve never used three in a row before either,” I said.

My mother eyed the discarded cans on the counter. “Can you continue with the potion? Or has it been sitting too long?”

“It’s fine,” Dr. Finnegan and I said in unison.

“I’ll let you get back to it then,” she said.

Even though I hadn’t expected my first try to yield any positive results, I found myself disappointed when the mixture burned up rather than changing colors and reducing. A girl could hope.

“Sorry it wasn’t more exciting to watch,” I told Dr. Finnegan.

“I found your process intriguing, Zoe. Experimentation is about trying, not all about succeeding.”

True.

“Besides, I suspect that I’d have broken a few ribs laughing that hard in my old body. It’s nice to have the reminder of the positives from my selfish move. And you know what they say about laughter?”

“It’s the best medicine?”

“Indeed.”

We cleaned up the mess, neutralized the pots, and poured the radiation potion into the jar.

“You must have known you’d be performing acrobatics today,” I said, motioning toward his running shoes and shorts.

“I do apologize for my informal dress. I need to go shopping later today for some appropriate cold weather wear. Jeans, I suppose.”

“You have to buy a whole winter wardrobe? You are so lucky.”

“I don’t feel lucky,” he grumbled. “When I purchased the clothing for warm weather, I ended up following a group of teens around the store and grabbing everything that they looked at.” He signed. “Unless they laughed. If they picked it up and laughed, I left it be.”

“Good call,” I said.

Finn chuckled. “I guess you love to shop.”

“Not exactly. At least, nowhere near as much as my mother does.”

“I despise the entire endeavor. Shopping is another reminder of the gravity of my error and of my inadequate adaptation to my new form.”

I interpreted that as “Life’s a bitch and shopping sucks.” An idea hit me like a truckload of frogs. Mom could help. “Hang on a second,” I said. Then I slipped off the stool and ran for the dining room.

Mom looked up from her work as I skidded to a stop. “What’s the crisis?”

“No crisis,” I said in a rush. “It’s just that Dr. Finnegan needs to go shopping for a winter wardrobe this afternoon, and he doesn’t seem real confident about it.”

My mother leaned forward, her eyes shining with excitement. “I’m in.”

“He didn’t exactly ask for h

elp, so he might take some convincing.”

Pushing back from the table, she stood. “I got this,” she said.

Mom led the way to the kitchen. “Zoe tells me you’ve got some shopping to do,” Mom said to Finn.

“I do indeed,” he said as he finished zipping his backpack.

“I can help if you’d like,” she said. “It’s actually one of my favorite hobbies, and you have done so much for us by helping Zoe.”

“On a professional level, I certainly feel that I should refuse your offer. However, facing the reality of a shopping spree on my own, I find myself…” He stopped and shook his head. “Yes, please.”

When my mother got home five hours later, she was squarely in the afterglow of a shopping binge. I, on the other hand, was fighting the frustration of a full afternoon of failure. Zero progress. I’d added varying amounts of the chalkboard chalk and tried different combinations of eggs to no avail. I’d gotten annoyed with my hair falling in my face and sweaty from the humidity of constantly boiling pots as I tried to harden the chalk to the right consistency. I’d finally put my hair up in a ponytail holder as high on my head as I could get it, and I knew from experience that my hair had taken on a grotesque appearance which could land me the lead role in any B-grade horror movie. Finally I’d cleaned up and taken a notebook to the couch to brainstorm. The brain activity was minimal.

“Ewww,” she said before she could stop herself. “I see that you had a rough day.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Right.” Her eyes kept shifting from my face to my hair. “Then we won’t.”

“Did you find Dr. Finnegan some clothes?”

“We had the best time. He listened to my advice. It was so refreshing to take a man and dress him from top to bottom. Your father never let me shop for him, and we both know he had the worst taste in clothes. Not that shopping with Finn was anything like shopping for a real adult. Finn is an adult, of course, but dressing him is more like dressing a young person.” She sat down on the couch next to me and propped her designer shoe-clad feet on the coffee table. “Honestly, it was like dressing a male model. Everything fit him to perfection. If you could have seen him in that bomber jacket and those Levi’s.” Then she sighed, like she was sighing about a hot guy.