The streets of Belarune City were livelier than usual, and the shopping district was overflowing with people trying to finish their preparations in time for the festival. There were less than five days to go, and Laura was feeling the pressure more than anyone else.

She kept an ongoing list at the back of her mind, tasks popping in and out as she completed them. There were two at the very top, though: figuring out her contest entry and making sure that the antidote had worked. But she could not work on those until after all her customers had been served, and there were a lot of them.

Young and old, they all looked upon her creations with glittering eyes and a contagious excitement that was better than any praise short of the actual golden medal. They enjoyed themselves and were ready to spend a small fortune. Even the expensive gold-dusted truffles were in high demand. If things kept up, she would run out of them before the end of the day.

Laura enjoyed herself, too. It reminded her of the long-gone days when she used to help her mother in this very shop, packaging orders and listening in on the town gossip. A busy store was always full of talk.

It was like that in the present, as well. Even without paying attention, the gossip got to her. She heard about things ranging from the latest fashion trends in glamour spells to scandals in the high mage society. She also found out that the King was working on a trade agreement with the Queen of the Firefields, who would be participating in the Harvest Feast festivities.

Making herself known to the local royal family was enough of a motivator for her to win the contest, but the chance to catch the eye of a foreign queen added even more to her determination.

All she had left to do was actually craft the dessert worthy of that first place. And if Ambrose was indeed not going to bother her anymore, she should have no problem doing it.

She had felt uneasy all day, remembering how he had left in a rush after drinking the potion. It was hard to tell whether he had done it because his bespelled feelings were truly cured, or just because he was angry at her for not believing him.

He hadn’t returned to visit since, and Laura hadn’t been able to catch sight of him all day. Every time she had a spare moment to peek through the front window, the bakery across the street was swamped with customers, and there was no way for her to discern him in that crowd.

It was like that all day. Even after the usual closing time, when Laura parted with her final customers, there was still a queue in front of Waycasters’ bakery, and still no sight of him.

Not that she had any reason to look for him, she told herself, when there were so many other tasks waiting for her in the back. But one hour later, when she needed to get her ledger from the till, she stole another look outside. There were still people hanging about. A little after that, as she happened to pass by the workshop door, she saw that the Closed sign was hanging in the bakery window, but the chimneys were still spewing out smoke.

By the time the sun was starting to set and the failing light made it hard to work, Laura made one more trip to the front of the shop, only to see that the lights were out across the street. Ambrose had gone home without paying her any mind.

Things were as they had been before, just as she had wished. She had the peace and quiet she needed to concentrate on her work, yet she still felt that something was amiss.

That uneasy feeling followed her home, sneaking into her dreams and poisoning her sleep.

“You don’t look so good,” her uncle had remarked as soon as he saw her the next morning. “Is something going on?”

She dismissed his concern with a wave of her hand. “Things are going well, for once. There are four days left until the festival, and my sweets have been flying off the shelves. I had to put in some overtime to make sure I have enough to sell today.”

And things had been going her way. The shop was successful, her rival was finally keeping his distance, and her best friend was back in town. Laura had seen the light in Eleanor’s window the night before, and she made a note to visit her in the evening, even if that meant taking her work home with her.

But then, as often happens with friends, Eleanor must have had the same idea. Around noon, when the flow of customers finally slowed to a trickle, the bell announced her entrance with the happiest jingle it could muster.

Laura’s welcoming smile froze on her face as her friend approached her at the till. She braced for effusions of love, or attempts at hugs, but none of that happened. Instead, Eleanor waited peacefully, pretending to study the many colors of sugraplums until all the other clients had left the premises.

“Well now,” she finally said when they were alone, “it sure is good to see you face-to-face.”

“It is,” Laura said, a slight stutter sneaking into her words. “B-but how?”

Eleanor shrugged, not needing the full question to understand her meaning. “I drank that antidote you left for me as soon as I got home, and figured I would need to test it out, so here I am. Good thing it worked, right?”

It took a moment to understand what she was talking about. Then Laura did, and something in her began to crumble. “It shouldn’t have worked, though,” her voice came out in a hoarse whisper. “It had no effect on Ambrose. I had to try four recipes until I got one to work.”

Her friend blinked at her, considering what she’d just said. “Did you never stop to think that maybe, just maybe, his feelings had been there all along? If the spell is off and he’s still in love with you, it’s pretty clear that was the case. I just can’t believe that you fed him four different antidotes and failed every time, yet you’re still refusing to acknowledge that.”

“The fourth one worked!” Laura’s voice rose, then diminished as she remembered the title of the potion in question. “Well, it wasn’t an antidote per se, but it did its job. I haven’t seen a trace of him for a day and a half.”

“I have. I stopped by Waycasters’ before coming here to place an order, and let me tell you, that boy of yours is not looking well.”

Laura wanted to protest at the use of that yours, but her friend trudged on, unyielding.

“He looked haggard, like I’ve never seen him before. His smile is gone, his hair is a mess, and there are the deepest shadows under his eyes. I thought he was just lovesick, but now I’m starting to doubt that. Just what did you give him?”

“A potion I found in my great-aunt’s grimoire,” Laura said, her voice growing smaller with each word. “It was titled A Draught for Hate, so I hoped it would be able to counteract the draught for love I had used in the first place.”

Eleanor’s mouth fell open. “That’s an ominous name if I’ve ever heard one. And a hate potion, that’s definitely illegal!”

“About as much as anything that alters one’s feelings in a major way, yes. But I figured that, if I didn’t fix it, I was going to get in trouble for the love spell, anyway.”

“Trouble doesn’t even begin to cover it. I don’t think you understand the gravity of the matter. The love spell was an accident. This was intentional!” Eleanor’s already fair skin had gone paler than ever. “Let me see the recipe.”

The worry in her friend’s voice finally got through to Laura, and she brought out the heavy tome without another word, opening it to the correct page.

Eleanor watched, the serious look on her face undermined by the curious gleam in her eyes. She had known about Laura’s inherited grimoire for a long time, but it was the first time she actually got to see it. But the moment her glance fell on the crooked handwriting, her eyes grew wide, suffused with horror.

“Laura, what have you done?”

“I did what I had to. You have no idea what it was like having Ambrose so close to me all the time. I couldn’t think straight, couldn’t focus on anything. And it wasn’t just me; he wasn’t getting anything done either. I didn’t want it to interfere with our work anymore, and I just couldn’t let him tag after me like that, swaying my own feelings.” Laura’s voice had gone soft, but it shot back up when she saw the way her friend was looking at her. “This is better for both of us!”

“It sure isn’t for him!” the young mage retorted. “You’re telling me that he was being nice to you, and the moment you realized you might like him in return, you decided to curse him?”

Laura bristled. “It’s not a curse! And I don’t like him. I just needed him out of—”

“It uses blood!” Eleanor shouted, cutting her off. “That alone is enough of a bad sign, but there’s mandrake in it, too. This is forbidden magic, and there are so many things that could go wrong with it. You have to fix this.”

“That’s what I was trying to do all along, and I think I did pretty well for myself.” Laura could taste the bitterness in her words. “For now, I need to concentrate on my work, and he on his. After I win the contest, I’ll see if there is anything left to untangle. Does that work for you, Mage Chantswift?”

“Miss Quillspell.” The voice was cold and calculated. “You have toyed with magic you’re not authorized to use, and you’re lucky the Magisterium hasn’t picked up on it yet. Oh, don’t give me that look. We’re friends, so I won’t tell on you, but I also can’t sit idly by while that boy is suffering.”

“He’s not suffering!” Laura protested.

“Look for yourself and say that again.”

So she did. There was no longer a queue outside, but the bakery still had clients waiting to pick up orders. Ambrose was serving at the till, as he should have been at that hour, and the midday sun was shining its light at the perfect angle to catch one half of his face. As if feeling her staring at him, he turned his face in the direction of the confectionery shop, and for the briefest of moments, their eyes met. Laura felt a spark light up in her heart, a longing she was trying to keep buried.

On the other side of the street, Ambrose brought both hands to his chest. At first, she thought he was feeling the same as she was, and expected the crooked smile to appear once again. But it didn’t. His face broke into a grimace of pain, and he curled into himself, crumpling behind the counter and falling out of sight.

“What was that?” she finally managed to ask.

“I don’t know,” Eleanor said, back to her usual soft voice, “but I can look into it. I have some books back home that might help. Or we could ask your uncle.”

Laura shook her head. “Leave Uncle out of this. I’ll figure it out by myself, after the Harvest Feast.”

With less than four days left, and she could not afford to use any more time on Ambrose.