Potions Are a Girl's Best Friends

"What are you doing in here?" my father asks, using a weary tone I wish I was less familiar with. He stands in the doorway to my brewlab, looking at the beakers and conconcutions in them as though baffled by their presence. Neither of my parents were ever very good at potions, focusing instead on verbal spells. They conceded to grant me this lab a few years ago as a coming-of-age present, but neither of them seem to understand why I spend so much time here.

"Just checking on something." The vial closest to me bubbles merrily, which it shouldn't be doing. I lower the flame under it, although I don't shut the heat off completely. Across the room my feline familiar, Whiskey, stares at a different section of the brewlab. Does that mean the tea over there has finished steeping? I need to add it to the cauldron if it has.

"Darla, dear..." Daddy lets out a slow sigh. "It's your birthday ball. It's bad enough you insist on wear black and refused to put your hair up, but now you're not even there."

My fingers brush my hair. I don't actually like having it down, but Mama said I couldn't wear my ponytail. She had meant I needed something more elaborate, but I didn't have the time to sit there while my maid did my hair. It may be my birthday, but it's also the week before the university selection tests and I need as many working potions by then as I can get or else I'm not going to get into anywhere decent.

"My education is important to me, Daddy."

He sighs again. "I know that, sweetheart. And I want you to go to wherever you want. But you making a good personal match is important to your mother. There's no rule that says you can't fall in love and go to school at the same time. Your mother and I did."

"I know." And I do. I've heard their story over and over. They met in middle school, were friends through high school, and started dating after they were both selected by the same university. It's sweet, but not really relevant to me. I have precisely two friends and neither of them are the gender I'm attracted to. "That's just not my focus right now."

As I approach the tea I've been preparing today, Whiskey jumps from her perch and sashays over to Daddy, who bends to scratch her behind the ears. "It doesn't have to be," he says. "Just finish here as soon as you can and come down. Please?

"Yeah. Give me another ten minutes."

"Alright." He smiles. "See you in half an hour."

He leaves me to my work, which I finish up in about fifteen minutes. There are other things I could start, but if I did that, it will be another hour before I get downstairs... If I were the only one Mama would be displeased with about that, I might do it, but she'll get mad at Daddy for not forcibly removing me from the brewlab and I'd rather spare him the marital strife.

"Well, Whiskey, wish me luck."

The cat looks up, meows, and returns to cleaning her paws. Sometimes I envy her.

I turn to go, but before I make it to the door, I find the exit blocked by someone I've never seen before. The young woman is busy taking in the room with eyes that are wide behind a pair of stylishly chunky glasses made of something silver and glittering. She wears a strapless dress with a corset similar to mine, but whereas I am all in black, she is all in purple. It's my favorite color. "Whoa," she says. "You have a brewlab in your house. That is so awesome."

"Um... Yeah." I smile hesitantly. The woman, who I think is about my age, isn't classically beautiful, but rather what I would call cute. I like cute.

She smiles, turning up the adorable factor considerably, and I find myself grinning inanely as she continues to look around the room. Her gaze falls on my cauldron and she gasps. "Is that a Wexter?"

Whoa. She can tell that from a glance? The girl knows her cauldrons. "Yeah. I inherited it from my grandmother."

"Sweet. The only things I've ever gotten from my grandmother have been questionably knitted sweaters that I feel compelled to wear to make her feel appreciated." She laughs. "The last one had one sleeve that was six inches longer than the other one, but I love it anyway."

My imagination helpfully provides a picture of her wearing nothing but a poorly constructed sweater, one sleeve hanging well past her finger tips and her legs completely bare. The image very nearly makes my heart stop.

"Anyway..." My visitor bites her lip for a second as she stops examining the room and looks at me. "Your dad said you were here. Says you're hoping to get selected by Marsters."

I nod. "Yeah. I'm Darla, by the way. But I guess you knew that already."

She blinks. "Oh! I didn't introduce myself! I'm Eliah Banks. My dad works for your mom."

"Cool."

We smile at each other as seconds tick by. It seems like the silence should be uncomfortable, but it isn't.

"I go to Marsters," Eliah says after a bit. "So if you have questions, I can answer them."

She goes to my dream school. Oh dear Fates. Maybe Daddy is right and I can find love and get an education at the same time. Not that I'm in love with someone I just met. That would be stupid. But... Damned if I don't want the chance to fall for Eliah.

"Do you want to dance?" I hear myself ask, although the words never formed in my mind.

Slowly, she nods. "Yeah. I really do."

Our hands fit together perfectly when, with a boldness I usually lack, I take her hand and lead her to the ball.

Image is "Poison" by the incredibly talented Victoria Frances. It was provided as a prompt on my Wording Wednesday group on MeWe.