That wasn’t strictly true. She wished her genetic propensity for the art would weaken. At the very least, she wished her powers had become diluted from generations of marrying into the mortal bloodstream. Of course, that sort of luck didn’t visit her. Maybe I don’t want to know how to do magic anymore. Aidan frowned at the enameled, floral teapot resting on the tabletop before her. Thirty seconds later, the liquid within was once again piping hot. Why couldn’t cooking be as easy as re-heating tea? Why couldn’t real magic be as simple as telling the tea pot to warm? A completely wicked thought grabbed her attention. Why can’t I use magic to make Matteus interested in me beyond an instructor? Yeah right. He’s a pain in my butt. She yawned. Staring into the amber depths of her teacup, she wondered what the few tea leaves at the bottom would say about her. That I’m boring and just too bizarre to find a guy who’ll like me despite my flaws? She turned a page of a food magazine and let her fingers drift over the smooth, glossy pages.
