by J. Kowallis
“Where’s Angie?”
“Just went to get Emilia. Apparently, she wants to see how we make the draught. Although, I don’t know why we need to involve her in it.”
He responds with a small twitch in the corner of his lips. “She may ask to have her powers unbound before long.”
“Oh, by the spirits, don’t say that. If Coll ever found out, he’d flip his lid. It’s the one thing he used to rip into me about. Involving his sisters in all of,” I motion my hands in big circles, “this.” I still remember that day outside Sera’s apartment after I’d tracked her down. I’ll never forget the look on his face of pure horror. The manic tone of his voice. He was so pissed.
I swallow and bite my lip. “That is, if we manage to actually get him back.”
Dad pauses on the way to the fridge and eyes me. “You,” he points at me, “need to stop that right now.”
“Stop what?”
“Acting as if Coll is a dead man.”
“I’m not—”
Dad cuts me off with a lift of his brow.
I sigh and briefly glance at the ceiling. “Look, you’re the one who told me there was a chance Coll wasn’t even alive in there. I’m just trying to be realistic.”
“First of all, the word you’re looking for is fatalistic. Second, Angie was the one who said that. And for the record, she was being just as ridiculous as you. Believe it or not, I actually think he’s in there. Most importantly, I know you can do this for one simple reason.”
“What’s that?”
“You can’t live without him.”
My mouth hangs open for a moment and I quickly shut it. “Dad, it’s just Coll.”
He squints, then huffs with a small shake of his head. “Just Coll,” he mutters. “You’re as pigheaded as your móraí. Can you at least stop beating yourself up?”
I nod and take a deep breath, turning on my heel. While Dad pulls out a beer, I sink into the large couch and hug the throw pillow next to me.
She takes my breath away.
I look up at the sound of dad popping the top off his beer. He takes a swig just as Angie appears in the center of the room again. In her arms is her foster daughter, hugging her. Emilia lets go of Angie, a look of wide-eyed terror on her face before she takes a couple weak steps backward. Slowly, her mouth draws into a smile and she looks around the room, her wild eyes resting on me.
“That was amazin’,” she whispers.
I try to smile at her panicked joy and tuck my feet in between the couch cushions. A sad sort of bittersweet emotion washes over me as I say, “You should have seen Coll trying to teach me for the first time.”
Emilia nervously laughs and takes a breath. “I can only imagine. Seein’ yeh two buttin’ heads. I will say, though, I can’t wait to do that again.”
“I’m sure,” Angie heads into the kitchen. “In the meantime, we have a potion to make up. Taran?”
I push myself out of my spot and usher Emilia into our kitchen. I take ingredients from Angie as she hands them to me, and I put them on the wooden kitchen table. When she finishes, I look over her shoulder, an idea fluttering into my mind. The ingredients I have in mind might work. I just have to tweak things.
“I also need lavender and leopard’s bane,” I say, pointing to the cupboard she just closed.
Angie pauses and studies me. “Are you crazy? Leopard’s bane?”
My heart thumps. “I know it’s risky, but I had an idea that I think may work.”
“May work?” she asks, opening the cupboard again.
“What’s leopard’s bane?” Emilia asks, taking a seat on the other side of the table.
Dad takes another swig from his beer, now nearing the halfway point, and points the bottle toward Emilia. “It’s a toxin. Similar to deadly nightshade.”
Emilia whirls around, her golden hair flying. “You’re poisonin’ me brother?”
I take the last two ingredients from Angie and set them on the table, making eye contact with my dad. “Not exactly. And it will work.” Dad offers me a soft, assuring smile. Out of the corner of my eye Emilia moves and I refocus on her. “Trust me. I’m going to save Coll. To start, will you hand me that valerian root?” I motion to Emilia.
She reaches over to the set of ingredients and grabs something that looks like a cluster of thin, sickly-looking beige carrots all sticking out in various directions. The root is connected at the top with the small green stem of the actual plant. I chop off the greens, leaving only the root.
“So, what are yeh usin’ the bane for?”
While I dice the raw root into miniscule pieces, I glance up at her. “You’ve read Romeo and Juliet, right?”
“Right. Where they both poison themselves . . . and die.” Emilia’s eyes squint. “Or somethin’ like that.”
I smile and toss the diced root into the mortar and pestle Angie previously handed to me. “Some believe that Shakespeare had his own knowledge of herbs and tinctures as well as the . . . hexen craft,” I raise my eyebrows. “However, around his time both deadly nightshade and leopard’s bane would have been common plants around England and well-known for being poisons. So, knowing that, I think he either tried to fabricate or thought that a small amount of these plants could induce a coma-like sleep. Like the poison he wrote for Juliet. Of course, the only way it would have worked in Juliet’s case, to actually get it to stimulate sleep and mimic death, is if someone cast a spell on it. It’s deadly without it. I mean, that catholic priest would have had a hell of a lot of explaining to do to the pope if someone found out he was working magic.”
“Taran,” Angie’s voice warns. “This is real life though, and I—”
“I know what I’m doing.” I stare at her. “I do. I just, I don’t know how, but I do.”
“You’re not assembling a simple bag draught, then, are you?” Angie asks, folding her arms.
“No. I got ideas from the bag draught, but this time I’m improvising.”
“Liquid?” she asks.
“Yes. See, I need it to work fast and put Coll into a ridiculously deep sleep, so I’m kind of winging it.”
“Winging it?”
I look over at Angie as I reach for the dried passion flower petals in the bag to the right. Her eyebrows are arched, and dare I say she looks mildly impressed. I give her a small crooked smile. “More or less. I just sort of . . . know this will work.”
“Maybe I was right,” she mumbles.
I pause and brush a hair away from my face. “What does that mean?”
Angie exchanges a look with Dad and takes a breath. “When you and your father arrived, I had a theory. Remember? I wondered if the knowledge you acquired in this time line was still up there, in your head. Your power was incredible, and you caught onto the lessons, rather fast. The fact that you’re concocting your own potions due to knowledge you aren’t aware of, proves that I might have been right.”
“Maybe.” Feeling shaken by Angie’s revelation, I smile and refocus on my work. Even though Emilia is frozen in a reverential stare.
My hand shakes as I grind the root in the pestle. When it turns into a nasty brown paste, I add in the appropriate amount of passion flower petals. I snap my fingers and bring the lavender sprigs closer. After snapping off a few of them, I shuck the buds off and into the pestle. Then, I start to grind them all together again.
“When does the poison go in?” Coll’s sister asks, timidly.
I hold out my hand to Emilia and have her pass me the leopard’s bane. It’s pretty fresh (possibly pulled right out of the ground near Angie’s home), but a little wilted. I break off a whole floral head and put it on the cutting board. After splitting it in quarters, I put one quarter of the head into the mortar and start to grind again.
“Like I said, the thing to remember is it takes the craft to really make this work. If you just throw these ingredients together and try to make a potion yourself, you’ll come up with a right nasty poison that will definitely kill before it puts them
to sleep.”
“When does the magic come into play? And will yeh stew it when it’s done? Like in a cauldron?” Emilia asks, looking even more enthralled by the minute. I realize that she’s never really watched anyone use magic. Even though hexen blood runs through her veins, this is an experience that’s completely new to her.
“After I’m finished. And, I could, but I want to keep this as raw and potent as possible. In fact,” I look around the kitchen. “Angie, do you have any vodka?”
Emilia sits up straight, her hair draping like silk over her shoulder. “More vodka? After last night?”
“Over here,” Angie says. She reaches for the bottle tucked behind the bread box and hands it to me. Like the bottle from last night, there’s only about a tablespoon left, but it’s enough. I pour all of it into the mortar and mix one more time.
“Scholat,” I whisper, waving my hand over the concoction. I feel an energy move through it, but other than that, there’s no reaction.
“What was that?” Emilia asks.
“She neutralized the deadly effects of the bane. Transitioned the ingredients to work for slumber instead of death. Good job, Bug,” Dad says tossing his bottle into the trash.
I pull out a five-by-five-inch square of cheese cloth from another cupboard and ask Angie for another small vial. Once she hands it to me, I set it on the table and offer the cheese cloth to Emilia. “Will you hold this for me in just a few seconds?”
She looks nervous, but she moves to help.
Using another bowl, I set it underneath her cheesecloth and begin to pour the mortar’s contents into the cloth. The liquid strains through and dribbles into the bowl beneath.
“Hold it tight,” I say, using a spoon to squish the mashed bits into the cloth so I can get all the liquid out. “Okay, hand it to me, then make sure you wash your hands.”
Emilia carefully lets me take over the cloth and I throw it in the garbage can.
“What’s next?” She goes to the sink.
“Well, she could use it just as it is,” Angie answers, folding her arms. “But I assume she wants to take care of the bitter taste.”
I look back at the Ravn woman and smile. “Exactly. I think that maple syrup does a better job of masking odd tastes, so I’m hoping that with just the right amount, we could probably slip this into his drink or something.”
“Forgive my misunderstandin’, but couldn’t yeh just cast a spell and take the taste away?”
I shake my head. “I could numb his taste buds, but then he wouldn’t be able to taste anything. There are still limits to what the craft can do.” I take up the glass bottle of pure maple syrup and put a teaspoon in with the potion. After closing off the vial and shaking it up, I toss it to Emilia and smile.
“Behold,” I make a grand motion to the vial like a hexen Vera White, “a very, very strong sleeping potion.”
Emilia tosses the vial of brown liquid around in her hands and examines it. “How fast will it work?”
Angie looks to me with the same question in her eyes. As does my own dad.
“By my estimates . . . about twenty seconds? Or at least that’s what my magical consciousness is telling me. Do you think Sera would be willing to spike his food? His drink?”
Emilia purses her lips and hands back the vial. “I think if yeh’d asked her that three months ago she would’ve told yeh to go die roaring like Doran’s arse. But now, I think she’ll be disappointed if yeh don’t ask her. After all, some ancient bastard is livin’ in our brother and I don’t think she’s very happy about it.”
I smile, turning the vial around in my hands.
“Well, I don’t know who Doran is, or why his ass is roaring, but that sounds promising. I need you to take Emilia back and get this to Sera then, and I’ll get working on potion number two.”
Angie eyes me. In the end, she pushes herself from the counter and approaches Emilia. “You ready, sweetheart?”
“Potion number two?” Emilia asks.
I wink at her. “Ruhmactír is pretty powerful. I need him not to be.”
Confused, Emilia looks to Angie. She waves off her foster daughter and beckons her to come closer.
“No. If there’s another potion, I want to see how it’s made.”
“Don’t worry. Coll will be fine. It’s just going to affect Ruhmactír. Come.”
Emilia grips the kitchen table. “No. This isn’t about me been’ worried about Coll. I’m genuinely curious. Please, let me watch.”
Angie looks to me for some sort of backup. I shrug. “Sorry, I can’t help you. She’s your foster daughter.”
“Angie, look, Coll never let me see him doin’ this stuff. He just bound my powers when I was fourteen, I never got a chance! I want to watch!”
After a moment of thought, Angie sighs. “I suppose Sera doesn’t need this potion right now, does she?”
I press my lips together, knowing that somewhere down the road, when I get Coll out of this mess, he’s going to murder me for allowing Emilia to be here. “No, she doesn’t.”
Eighteen
This time I’m not nervous.
I don’t know why, exactly. Maybe it’s the fact that I’m not going to be the one to tamper with Coll’s food. Maybe it’s the fact that I finally know who he is. Or perhaps I’m just pissed. I’m not sure. Despite all of that, I stand in Angie’s kitchen next to Hellia’s grimoire, fingering the human-skin leather covering the book.
“After we bring Coll back here, we’ll need to wait for him to wake up. We also need additional time to gather our last elements of the spell, plus make a hexen jar.”
I look up at Angie who pushes up her sleeves. “A hexen jar?”
“Yes, ma’am,” she says.
“What’s that?” I fold my arms, looking at her with confusion. “What do we need a jar for?”
“Ruhmactír has to have a place to go once he’s out of Coll, doesn’t he?” She winks. Angie reaches for the book and hugs it close to her body. Not in the typical I-love-this-book-and-I’ll-cherish-it-forever way, but in the I’m-terrified-it-has-a-mind-of-its-own-and-I-need-to-use-my-body-weight-to-keep-it-the-crap-shut.
“Don’t worry,” Angie continues. “We’ll keep it close by and if we need to look at it again for a refresher, I’ll let you do the honors. You sure you remember the spell you saw?”
I gaze at the book and nod. “Yeah. I think. It’s simple enough. There’s only one problem.”
“What’s that?” she squints.
“The ‘last elements of the spell.’ It called for ‘fieth ere sagnu a ceno ere verdna.’ Four of the same and one of each.” I take a deep breath and sigh. “With my understanding of the craft, I’m assuming that means we need a member of each hexen clan in order to make the spell work.”
Angie shifts her jaw and glances at the wood table.
I shrug, feeling stuck before we’ve even started. “Where will we find a Geri who will help us? Or even a Druw?”
“I already have some ideas for them. Not fully formulated, but we’ll cross that bridge when we get there.” She looks in my eyes again. “For now, we just need to get our hands on Coll.”
“Angie, having a member of each clan is kind of a big issue. Don’t you think we need that first?”
Angie sighs and closes her eyes in irritation. “I know. I’m working on it. Just,” she looks around again, shaking her head, “I’m worried about the girls. After your date with Coll, Ruhmactír might be on edge. Short fuse. I’d rather have him here where we can watch him than out there where he can hurt my babies.” Angie pauses, a weight sagging down her shoulders. “So, go. Go get Coll and bring him back here.”
“Fine,” I run a hand through my loose black hair, “you’re probably right.”
Angie tentatively nods.
“You were able to get the potion to Sera?”
Angie’s sigh is slightly frustrated this time. It’s the third time I’ve asked her. “Yes. Like I said, I told her she needed to dose Coll’s drink if
she could. If she couldn’t, it needed to come pretty soon during the meal. I even showed her how to do it and made sure she understood that she needed to wash her hands afterward. Can’t have her passing out on you as you’re trying to lug Coll out of the restaurant.”
“Good.” I swallow.
“You headed off?” Dad says from behind. I turn around to face him and respond with a nervous smile.
“Yeah.”
“Just remember I’ll be waiting outside the restaurant when you’re ready.”
I answer with a nod. Not wanting to endure any further rehashing of tonight’s planned events, I tiaseal to the exterior of Café Marguerite. The sun completely set about an hour ago and I’m already twenty minutes late. Good. I’ll make him sweat for a while. The last thing I want that bastard to think is that I’m anxious to see him.
After tucking in the tail of my cobalt blue blouse into the black skinnies I’m wearing, I tousle my hair and step out of the alleyway and into the main street. It’s a weekday, so the hustle and bustle of the restaurant is not quite as raucous as it had been the last time I was here. Sure, scooters, motorcycles, and small vehicles still sit parked alongside the road, but the noise coming from the various establishments and businesses is rather muted.
Inside Café Marguerite, a new maître d’ welcomes me inside. Her nametag says Penny.
“How are you this evening? Do you have a reservation?”
“I should. Donovan.”
“Oh yes, Coll’s already here. I’ll show you to the table.”
I thank her and follow the path she cuts through the restaurant tables directly to the same table Coll and I sat in before.
There he is.
Ruhmactír glares fiercely at the table top, gripping a simple glass of water. When he hears our approaching footsteps, he looks up and the anger that was once there vanishes and is immediately replaced with a straight face.
“Here you are,” Penny says and sets a menu on the table. “Your waiter will be right out.”
I give her another thanks and watch her walk off. I still haven’t sat down yet. I’m not entirely sure I want to. In fact, I don’t even know if I can. I may not be nervous or afraid like I’d been before, but my skin crawls in the knowledge that this man is Coll’s revolting ancestor, Ruhmactír.