Page 118 of Hexed Up

“Oh, apart from turning your dick purple, absolutely none at all.” His eyes widen in horror and I laugh. “I’m joking. There are no side effects. None at all. Not even a little stomachache or sore throat. In fact …” I dip my finger into the potion, and pop it into my mouth, “it tastes quite good.”

He takes my finger from my mouth, and sucks it into his own, licking at my little finger and waking up all those sleepy butterflies in my stomach.

“Do you want to take some now?” I ask him, in a trance.

“Or,” he says, “we could skip the potion and the walk and go straight back to bed.”

I’m about to concede that suggestion when there’s a loudpop!

Both of us groan.

This time it isn’t my sister or a Magical Enforcement Officer. It’s Damien.

“I told you to call me,” he says. “You’d better not have started without me.”

“Started?” Horatio says.

“He means the potion,” I say.

“Ahhh.” He winks at me.

“We were actually going to go for a walk first,” I tell Damien.

“Uh-uh.” Damien wags a finger at both of us. “The longer you leave this potion sitting around, the weaker it will become. It needs to be taken now.”

“Really?” Horatio asks, turning his head to me.

“Yes,” I confess. “It probably would be better to take it now. Go take a seat.”

He walks into the living area and sinks down onto the armchair. McGruff trots along behind him and curls up by his feet.

“Seems I’m not the only one changing,” I mutter. McGruff seems to have made a new friend. I’d even say he’s developing an attachment to Horatio. Hex it, what a mess!

“How much do you think he needs?” I ask Damien, who’s picked up the coffee cup and is sniffing the contents, wrinkling his nose.

“That smells suspiciously like something they serve up in the dungeons of Hell.”

“I like it.”

He shakes his head in disgust, then answers my question: “Give him a whole glassful of the potion, just to be on the safe side.”

“Doesn’t that seem a bit like overkill?” I say, remembering my worries that this antidote could lead to Horatio hating me.

“Judging by the noises coming from your bedroom yesterday,” Damien hisses at me, “you two have been doing it every possible way. He’s gonna need a large dose of this antidote to counter all the funny business.”

I stick my tongue out at my best friend, then stand on tiptoes to open the cabinet above my head. Fishing out the largest glass I possess, a pint-sized one, I dunk it into the scarlet-coloured potion, filling the glass right to the brim, then pull it out.

I find a tea towel, wipe down the sides, and carry it over to Horatio, presenting it to him.

He stares at the red, bubbling liquid with a lot of suspicion. I don’t blame him.

“And you’re sure it’s safe?”

“99.9%.”

“Terrific,” Horatio says, taking it from my hands.

I sink down onto the sofa opposite him, opening the bag of pastries and plucking out a cinnamon swirl, breaking it apart with my fingers as I watch Horatio. He sniffs the liquid again,then brings it to his mouth and takes the smallest, tiniest sip known to man.