by Gina LaManna
“Gus’s entry makes sense,” I said. “But Harpin? Who let you and Harpin into the group?”
“I got in because of my background. Anyone entering The Core must ingest the Truth Seeker potion and answer a series of questions under its influence.”
“How did you pass the Truth Seeker test?”
“They asked me if I used to work for The Faction, and I said yes. They asked if I continued to work for The Faction, and I said no. Therefore, the leader of The Core deemed me invaluable. You see, I have contacts inside The Faction. I know things, and I have information that nobody on the outside could ever hope to learn.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“They forgot to touch on one crucial point. Although I don’t work for The Faction, that doesn’t mean I don’t sympathize with their cause. I work for myself now. When they asked if I was joining The Core to fight The Faction, I said yes. It wasn’t a lie. I am fighting them, but not in the way The Core had hoped.”
I tried to recall the scene from last night, but my memory was choppy at best. “Why was Gus supposed to have information on me? Why did he need to prove himself?”
“Gus stole your little book,” he said. “The leader gave him a test to see if he could keep a secret from you. As you weren’t invited to be a part of the group, you weren’t allowed to know any of the information. It was a test of his loyalty.”
“He stole The Magic of Mixology to prove something,” I said, more to myself than anyone else. It made sense. Gus had always had the means to do it. All I’d been missing was the motive. “He would’ve given it back.”
“Maybe.” Thomas shrugged. “Until I knocked him out early this morning. I needed that spellbook, and it was just my luck that Gus had lifted it from your safe.”
“What did you do to him?”
“Unfortunately, Gus returned home too quickly after our meeting, and so he left me no choice but to immobilize him.”
“Where is he? Why are you carrying out this plan? The Faction will never take you back.”
“This isn’t about The Faction anymore,” he said. “Consider it a labor of love. The Faction doesn’t realize the significance of what I’m doing yet, but someday they’ll understand. Someday, they’ll remember my name in stories.”
He was crazy. Insane. My eyes flicked over toward the potion, and I struggled to find a way to keep him talking. “I thought you’d have selected a more dangerous potion if you wanted to make a splash in history.”
“Oh, this potion is plenty dangerous when one swaps out a pinch of Dust of the Devil with a pinch of Hog’s Vein.”
My limbs froze. I hadn’t put it together in the heat of the moment, but suddenly it all made sense. The ingredients used in Vamp Vites crossed over to make another potion—a deadly poison.
“Maybe Gus mentioned it?” Thomas peered down at me. “Hog’s Vein can be a brutal killer.”
“I don’t focus on ingredients that hurt people.”
“That’s a shame. You might’ve recognized what was going on here if you’d paid more attention. Let me educate you.” He paced in a slow circle around the bubbling cauldron before clasping his hands behind his back. “Hog’s Vein changes the polarity of a spell. When swapped for half of the most difficult ingredient in any potion, it takes the healing natures of that spell and funnels them into one of destruction.”
“Still, you can’t possibly get everyone on The Isle to drink a mysterious potion. Even if you somehow managed to test it on one person—nobody would pick up the goblet after the first person died.”
“It doesn’t need to be ingested.” He moved to the mini cauldron and sat down next to it. Wafting a hand over the steaming curl of smoke on the top, he inhaled deeply. “The danger is airborne. This potion is not yet ready, but I’ve brewed a trial run, and I’m confident it will work.”
“How could you do that if you don’t have Dust of the Devil?”
“I used a substitute ingredient that is not nearly as potent, but far easier to obtain. That batch was my practice run, and it worked. In fact, if you’ve been paying attention, you’ll notice that a certain friend of yours has been suffering from bouts of nausea.”
“Poppy? That’s her withdrawal from the vitamins.”
“Hmm. Vampires have highly increased senses, particularly hearing and smell. Therefore, your cousin would be impacted by even a pale imitation of the real thing…” he trailed off, glancing lovingly at the potion.
A chill ran down my spine. I had no antidote in the bungalow for an attack like this one. The simmering, purple color of the potion told me he hadn’t yet added Hog’s Vein, but a pinch of the final ingredient would give off a poisonous scent so strong Poppy wouldn’t be the only one looking for help.
I frowned as he sniffed the mixture eagerly. “What’s the point of it all?”
His eyes were still focused on the curling steam. “The point? I started out by pledging my life to The Faction. I swore to help them, dedicated my life’s work to the cause.” He stood up, eyes sharply pointed in my direction. “Even after I’d given them my soul, they let me down.”
“I’m sure you’re hurt, but there has to be a different way.”
He glanced forlornly back at the bubbling potion. “This should get their attention.”
“There are other ways to get their attention! We can come up with something together. I will help you if it means protecting the islanders. You have my word.”
“I’ll ask for your opinion if I want it,” he snarled. “The only reason you’re still alive is that Hog’s Vein is hard to come by. So is Dust of the Devil, but you managed to secure plenty of that, so my needs shouldn’t be an issue.”
“I’m not helping you poison people. You heard my offer.”
“You will help.”
“Or what, you’ll kill me?”
He slid a sideways glance in my direction before crossing his arms. “You don’t believe I would?”
Something hitched in his voice, and I couldn’t tell if it was excitement or fear. That something took a second to sink in, but when it did, I knew with certainty that the man had killed before. “You murdered the Black Ribbon wizard.”
“Turin Jalop,” he said. “Good wizard, from what I hear. I didn’t have much personal experience with him until it was too late. As I said before, he was the fourth member of The Core. Ironically, out of five of us, two were double agents. While he’d infiltrated The Faction, I’d come from The Faction and infiltrated The Core. Fair is fair, I suppose.”
“Why would you kill him? Don’t you want the strongest wizards working with you? They can’t be helpful if they’re dead.”
“But they’re even less helpful if they’re traitors,” he snarled. “Turin was a long-time member of The Faction. Imagine my surprise when I found him sending messages back and forth with your mentor.”
“Gus and Turin worked together before The Core?”
“Apparently their Black Ribbon bond was stronger than Turin’s loyalty to The Faction, though I’m not convinced he was ever loyal.”
I sat back in stunned silence, gathering my thoughts.
“You don’t believe Gus was in on anything?” Thomas sneered. “You think your old man just puttered around the shop all day?”
“I’m not surprised,” I said, realizing that was the truth. “Gus is many things, but a coward is not one of them. If he was working with Turin or against The Faction, it was because he believed in the cause. My loyalties are with him.”
“I was afraid you’d say that,” Thomas said slowly. “Which is why Gus is currently out of commission. I figured your death might not be enough of a bargaining chip. Unfortunately, I need you to work with me, so I created a backup plan. His name is Gus, and if you don’t find me that Hog’s Vein before tomorrow, then his death will be on your hands.”
“I’ll need to talk to a few people,” I said, clearing my throat. There was no good way out of the situation, and my only option was to go along with
the plan and stall as long as possible. “I didn’t find Dust of the Devil on my own.”
“I’m sorry, that’s not allowed either.” Thomas twisted his lips into a mock-apologetic grimace. “You and I are searching right here in The Forest. I have a timer set on Gus’s location, and if I don’t check in with a friend in time, it will open up a Suffocating Spell. The air will flow, leaving Gus thirty minutes to breathe before…”
He trailed off, the implication enough.
I opened my mouth to argue, but Thomas held up a hand.
“I wouldn’t do that,” he said carefully as he waved a hand in front of my body. The ribbons vanished from around my wrists. “You want to argue? I’ll sit here and talk to you all day long, but that doesn’t help either of us. Do you want your friend alive? Give me what I need.”
Chapter 24
Thirty minutes of stumbling through the underbrush had gotten me nowhere except lost. Thomas followed close behind, his gaze piercing enough to bore deep holes into the back of my skull as I ducked under bushes and shimmied up tree trunks.
I needed to put on a good enough show to stay alive. The second Thomas sensed I was useless, I had no doubt he’d get rid of me for good. Not to mention Gus.
For Gus’s sake, I ran through every plant name I’d learned since stepping foot on The Isle. Herbs and flowers, foods and drinks—none of it relevant. All I could recall about Hog’s Vein was its “common” name. On the street, folks referred to it as the Switcheroo—named for its ability to turn a spell from good to bad in a heartbeat. For this reason, it wasn’t kept in our storerooms. There was too much potential for accidental misuse.
Because the ingredient was not kept in stock, my knowledge of it was limited. I knew it grew in The Forest, thanks to Thomas, but that was about it. The Magic of Mixology, my beloved spellbook, had been left behind near the miniature cauldron.
Pausing for a breath as I stepped over a fallen log, I pictured the page of the book featuring Hog’s Vein. Only a paragraph was featured there, along with a picture. The image of Hog’s Vein was of a dainty little flower, contrary to its name. With long, skinny stems and teensy yellow flowers, it looked like a miniature daffodil.
“Are you going to stand up there all day?” Thomas shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Time’s a ticking, you know. For Gus, that’s bad news. For you, that’s bad news. For me? I can stand here all day.”
“I was thinking,” I growled. “I have never seen Hog’s Vein in person, let alone gathered it in the wild.”
“What were you thinking about?”
“I’m trying to recall a page from The Magic of Mixology! I’m sure you’ve read it—after all, you stole the book. If there’s one thing that I’d hate more than having the book stolen in the first place, it’d have to be having the book stolen and knowing the person didn’t appreciate it. At least do your due diligence and read the thing.”
Thomas had the grace to blush. “Quiet.”
“You haven’t even read it.”
“Tell me what it says!”
“I can’t remember,” I said dryly. “I just recall the picture.”
He gave a derisive snort. “Those who live in glass houses—”
“There!” I pointed before he could finish his saying. “That yellow flower, do you see it?”
His gaze darted across the expanse of underbrush to where I pointed. He must have seen the photo in the book too, since his eyes widened at the sight. “You’ve found it.”
I beat him to the small patch of flowers growing in the shade of a large, beautiful weeping willow. As soon as I bent over, I sensed something was wrong. “Wait,” I said hesitantly. “These look correct, but I don’t think they are.”
“What are you talking about?” He kneeled next to the flowers and gently touched the stem of one. “These are perfect. In full bloom, just like I need.”
“No.” I shook my head, confident something wasn’t right. I just couldn’t put my finger on what. “Don’t touch it.”
“You’re tricking me. You want me to believe this isn’t right. I haven’t had time to read the whole book, but I looked at the page on Hog’s Vein. This is it.”
“No, no, no,” I murmured now to myself more than anyone else. “There’s something wrong.”
“Get out the vial. We’re picking some.”
I reached into my pocket, pretending to dig around for the vial, stalling for time as I fumbled with the fabric. What is it about those flowers? I closed my eyes, struggling to recall the text on the page next to the images of the tiny, sweet-looking flowers dressed to kill. “Wait!”
It was too late. He’d plucked one of the blossoms. I watched with horror as he held it up to his nose and took a sniff. “These smell nice.”
Resting my fingers on the thin stems of the flowers, I focused on the details of the plant and let my hands dance up and down the long, twisty vines. Aloud, I muttered the phrase from the pages of the Mixology spellbook:
Daffodils and flowers gold—
Each one born from a matching mold.
On the stems you’ll find the key—
A vein throughout guides you to me.
“These flowers don’t have veins,” I said slowly. “These are Trappers.”
“What’s a Trapper?” snarled Thomas, throwing down the flowers. “Did you do this on purpose?”
“No!” I shook my head. “Of course not. It was an accident.”
“Why should I believe you?” He looked down at his hand, which was turning red from contact with the Trappers. “What have you done?”
“There’s an antidote,” I said breathlessly. “We need to get back to the bungalow. I can save you. I know the antidote,” I lied. There was an antidote, but I didn’t know it by heart. I was confident I could figure it out with the help of my spellbook, however. But that was only if—a very big if—we got back in time. “Let me help you. We have to hurry.”
Chapter 25
“Look what you’ve done!”
I winced as Thomas held his arm out for me to examine. His fingers had turned red first, but that redness had seeped up through his forearm and touched his elbow. In its place, a dark purplish shade had taken over, the skin stretching as the swelling began. “I warned you. If you hadn’t touched it, this would never have happened.”
“You led me to believe it was Hog’s Vein.”
“It looked like it from a distance, but that’s the point of a Trapper!” I stepped forward and lightly held his palm in my hands. It was warm to the touch, and if we didn’t get him to a place where I could whip up an antidote quickly, he wouldn’t survive. The swelling alone would wreak havoc on his nervous system, if it hadn’t already.
“How did you not know this was a Trapper?”
“The point of a Trapper is to mimic other plants. It’s not a clever name,” I said. “It’s an obvious, practical one. The plant ‘traps’ unprepared users into choosing it over their intended target. The Forest is brimming with dangerous plants, you know that. This is one of many.”
He flinched in pain. “Why didn’t you touch it?”
“Patience saves lives,” I said, parroting the fairy’s advice. “If you look closely, you can see a difference.” I pointed toward the stems on the small plant. “Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, but even a Trapper can’t imitate another plant perfectly. Hog’s Vein is named for the tiny blue vein running through its stem. If you look closely, these Trappers don’t have veins.”
Thomas didn’t look convinced, so I chanted the rhyme that’d tipped me off in the first place.
“If you’d read the book, you’d have seen that clue beside the picture,” I explained. “I almost didn’t catch it, but when you reached out, something jarred in my mind.”
“How convenient.” His face pinched in pain, his eyes widening as he looked down. “It’s spreading.”
I pulled his arm closer to me, my fingers following the red and purple as it crept past his elbow. “We have to
hurry. The chances of sparing someone’s life after the Trapper’s venom has spread past one extremity is low.”
“It’s nearly up to my shoulder!”
“We need to move fast,” I said, pulling him along. “How do we get out of here?”
“Why should I trust you?” He yanked his arm from mine.
“If I wanted to kill you,” I said harshly, “I’d just sit down and watch you die.”
Our gaze met in a fiery battle of wills. This time, his crumbled first. “To the left. Follow that path, and then turn right every time you see a Lily of the Valley.”
I guided him down a path formed from overhanging tree branches and a lack of brush beneath our feet. Now that I was looking for Lily of the Valley, the path seemed to appear before my eyes, almost as if someone had flicked on a flashlight and pointed the way forward. One cluster of little white flowers appeared after the next, and each time we hung a right, a new batch of scenery appeared. No more traipsing in circles and dancing between the trees. My feet were sure, though Thomas stumbled behind me now and again.
“Stop looking at your arm,” I said. “If you keep falling we’ll never make it.”
He stopped walking completely. “We aren’t going to make it anyway. Look.”
I whirled around, the sight of his infected arm now grotesque. It lay useless against his side, thick as a club and purple as an eggplant. “I’m going to lose my arm.”
“Maybe,” I said. “But that doesn’t mean you have to lose your life.”
“I’m not afraid to die,” he said. “For the cause.”
“What cause? Your only chance of help is me. We are deep within these trees.” I raised my arms to show the thick woods surrounding us. “I don’t care how loudly you fall, there is no one around to hear it. Except me. If you think I’m going to spread the ‘word’ of your cause, you’re wrong.”