Myths & Magic: A Science Fiction and Fantasy Collection

by Kerry Adrienne

  Or he could reveal his secret and beg for her help and silence. He lifted his eyes to meet her watchful gaze. Trained at the Université de Paris in infectious diseases, handed her own laboratory at Lister University and recruited to the Queen’s agents, she was an expert in her field. If anyone could solve the mystery, he had no doubt it would be her.

  He gave a stiff nod and, eyeing the terrarium where a certain shimmering frog crouched, tugged off his leather gloves. First the left—nothing unusual to see there—and then the right.

  “It’s blue!” Piyali gasped. “Your hand, the entire thing. Blue!”

  That was the color of the moment. He rolled back the cuff of his shirtsleeves.

  “Schistosomiasis!” Her hands clapped over her mouth as her impossibly wide eyes took in the disaster that had transpired. “How far has it spread?”

  “Far,” he said, yanking off his cravat and unbuttoning his collar. He tugged it aside so she could see how its tendrils crept across his shoulder toward the base of his neck.

  “Does it hurt?” Her hand darted forward, then stopped, fluttering, uncertain if she should touch.

  “No.” Not physically. The anguish was entirely mental. “The infection is completely painless. A tiny bite by our tiny blue nemesis, and the next day I awoke with a lesion a half-inch in diameter. A day later, one inch. It had encompassed my entire hand and wrist by the time I compounded an ointment—the one I shared with Miss Price—that slowed its progress.”

  “Slowed,” she repeated. Grief and heartache mingled on her face.

  “So far I’ve only managed to delay the inevitable. There’s a myth among the natives I studied with, it translates roughly as the ‘Tribe of Invisible Devils’. Once bitten by the blue—sometimes invisible—frog, the curse overtakes the body, one limb at a time. Legend claims that when the disease consumes them, madness sends a man—or a woman—running into the rainforest never to be seen again. Many choose to take their lives rather than face that fate.”

  “And when it… consumes the entire body?” Piyali pressed a shaking hand to her throat as the full implications of his situation registered.

  “Banishment.” Wisps of a black fog began to cloud his mind as he stared down at his hand, at this now alien piece of himself. It was a daily struggle to reconcile himself to his future. “They can’t allow a man—or woman—to remain within the tribe because with extreme or heightened emotion, the skin begins to glimmer, to color-shift and reflect the world about it.”

  “Making him—or her—invisible.”

  She had a beautiful, quick mind. “Exactly. And the tribe won’t tolerate something it can’t see. Ghosts. Devils. Call them what you will, they can no longer be a member of society. That is my fate. And the reason we can’t marry. I may last a year, two.” He lifted a shoulder, not wanting to upset her further by revealing his distress. “Perhaps five. But once the blue crawls up my neck, I’ll no longer be fit for British society.”

  “Can I touch it—you?” she asked, reaching out again. “Is it contagious?”

  “If it were, I’d never have allowed you to examine Miss Price.” He held out his hand.

  She cupped it gently in her palm, turning it over to study it from all angles. Determination injected steel into her voice. “I’ll find a way to fix this. We’ll find a cure. Together.”

  Hope had long since died. It lay, black and shriveled in a dusty, forgotten place. All that was left was to save others from a similar fate. He kissed her on her forehead, then dropped the other shoe. “You can’t tell Mr. Black.”

  Jerking back, she released his hand, taking away the comforting warmth of her touch. He dared not reach for her. Not now. Emotion needed to be set aside. “But—”

  “Imagine what Britain would do with such knowledge. Men—agents—would be purposefully infected, sent across borders. God forbid the technique fall into enemy hands. All because a small, blue frog hitched a ride on one of my plants. I’m begging you, Piyali. Better to destroy the frog and leave me—and Miss Price—to our ends.”

  “Ends…” Wrapping her arms across her chest, she shook her head, unwilling to accept such a scenario. “It could take years. How do you propose to cope as whatever this is overtakes the both of you?”

  “Excision of her lesion would be my first choice. Failing that, I could marry her.” Tegan would find it a bitter life. There’d be no romance, no pharmacy in Cardiff, no social interactions of any kind. Eventually, even her family would not be able to visit. “Hide her from society. You heard her, she’s amenable and already considered in fragile health.”

  Piyali’s mouth tightened. “Yet you declined her.”

  “I did.” Tegan was a constant thorn in his side. The only woman he wished to marry was Piyali. “But if it saves lives…”

  “Unacceptable,” Piyali cut off his words. If anyone was to marry him, it ought to be her. How dare he suggest such steps? Tegan’s overt manipulations had been amusing until Evan raised it as a feasible option. But such messy emotions must be shoved aside; there was no time for them. They needed to take advantage of every moment left. “I refuse to abandon you to an uncertain fate.”

  She spun on her heel to face the scarred wooden table that served as his workbench and studied his makeshift laboratory. A scale. Boxes and jars and tin containers filled with powders and oils and emollients. Bottles and flasks. Tubing and corks. All manner of titration and distillation equipment. An excellent chemistry setup, but not conducive to microbiology.

  Evan followed her and began to clear one end of the table, his features set in stone. “Tell me what you need. If it’s not here, I’ll find it.”

  She thought of the frog inside the terrarium. Calm, in safe and secure surroundings, it had returned to its lustrous blue color. She had to find a cure; the alternative was unacceptable. Gears spun in her mind. If infection was transmitted through a bite, that meant the contagion was contained within its saliva.

  Ducking into the greenhouse, she retrieved her black bag and dug into it, pulling out a number of glass aetheroscope slides and cotton-tipped sticks. “To begin, we’ll need to swab the inside of the frog’s mouth—and biopsy its skin. Given its camouflage capabilities, I suspect the amphibian harbors the infectious agent throughout its entire body.”

  “I’ll do that,” Evan stated. “Carefully. While wearing heavy gloves.”

  So like him, always looking out for the welfare of others, putting her safety above his. But today it left a bitter taste in her mouth. If only he’d answered her message with the truth of his terrible situation. “I’ll set up my aetheroscope here.” She moved to the large desk, setting aside stacks of books and papers to claim a corner. “We’ll also biopsy your skin. Near the initial bite, further up your arm so that we might see if cell morphology alters over the progression, over the spread of the disease. And for comparison to Tegan’s biopsy.”

  “The broken objective?”

  “Will hinder our progress.” She pressed her lips together. Odds that Mr. Black would be able to send one in their direction any time soon were low. He’d made some quip about selkie trouble in the north and needing to travel to Scotland. His mission could take a day… or it could last for weeks, and she hated to leave Evan alone lest he take some drastic action. “Is there any chance of finding a replacement in Cardiff?”

  “There is,” Evan answered. “Today, we collect evidence and, tomorrow, we’ll travel to Cardiff to gather necessary supplies?”

  “Agreed.”

  Piyali turned away, her grip tightening upon the swab she held. Conflicting loyalties battled in her mind. In Cardiff, there would be reliable skeet pigeons to hire. As a Queen’s agent, she was bound to report this development to Mr. Black, but what did she have beyond a fanciful tale of a rogue Amazonian frog prone to bite? Besides, this was Evan, and Mr. Black was likely still in Scotland. A few days of investigation would provide her with more data, more evidence. Her report could wait a few days.

  Chapter 5


  Piyali’s wide smile set Mrs. Parker grumbling. Despite Evan’s revelation, the prospect of spending a day at his side—this time in the open air and beneath the sunshine—had floated her mood into the upper aether, as if a curse placed upon them by some wart-nosed witch had lifted.

  Yesterday, their heads together, they’d taken turns staring through her aetheroscope at slide after slide after slide, until their eyes began to cross. The frog’s saliva provided no answers. No visible micro-organisms writhed or wriggled beneath their view at which they could point fingers. All skin biopsies appeared—more or less—the same. Including that of the frog.

  Nonetheless, they’d set up a number of cultures, using what was available from Evan’s meager bachelor’s kitchen stores, in an attempt to coax any infectious agent to grow and multiply.

  Piyali had a favored hypothesis, but until she could obtain a higher resolution with her aetheroscope, it was no better than wild speculation. If the organism responsible was intracellular, a replacement objective—along with a few additional specialized stains—would disclose its presence.

  A grunt of irritation jerked her back to the moment, and a plate of oatcakes was slammed onto the table before her along with the tavern’s ubiquitous ale. Mrs. Parker’s expression suggested she hoped her breakfast guests would choke.

  “For breakfast?” Piyali asked, eyeing the frothy, unfiltered drink.

  “I suppose you’re used to drinking tea.” Mrs. Parker snarled the last word as if the beverage derived from a chamber pot. With a sneer, she dropped a copper tea kettle onto the range with a loud clang. “We aim to serve.”

  “Well, yes. Thank you.” It was then that Piyali noticed Mrs. Parker’s bandage was no longer confined to her fingers. It now wrapped about the entirety of her hand. Moreover, she pressed her hand to her waist as if its use pained her. “Perhaps I should look at your injury?”

  Mrs. Parker’s answering glare vibrated with barely-suppressed hostility.

  “Mother.” Sarah’s voice cajoled as she crossed the room, “let her look. She is a physician. If it’s infected, her attentions are better than Father’s.” She rolled her eyes. “Though I’m certain he exaggerated when he offered to lop off your finger.”

  The villagers seemed overly concerned with amputation, though the Parkers needled each other at every possible opportunity. Why on earth they’d chosen to marry was beyond her comprehension.

  “I’m sure amputation won’t be necessary,” Piyali began diplomatically, “but infections shouldn’t be left untreated. Mr. Tredegar is a competent pharmacist, Mrs. Parker. Today we are traveling to Cardiff, to his store. If you require an antibacterial—”

  “Cardiff?” Her eyebrows arched toward her hairline. “Together? Alone?”

  “Yes,” Piyali answered. “I’m in need of supplies.”

  “No. That will not do. Sarah, get your bonnet. You must accompany them for propriety’s sake.”

  Sarah’s eyes brightened, but she glanced at Piyali and demurred. “I don’t think my company is desired, Mother.”

  “Nonsense.” Mrs. Parker waved her bandaged hand and winced. “I’ll draw up a list of required items.” She strode away before any further objections could be voiced.

  “I’m sorry,” Sarah sighed. “She pressures me daily to win Mr. Tredegar’s regard. I promise not to be too obnoxious. Would it help if I promise to make myself scarce once we arrive? There’s a book I wish to purchase at the booksellers and—wafts of aether—what I wouldn’t do to escape Mother if only for a day.” A mischievous look lit her face, and she leaned close, adding in a conspiratorial whisper. “I have to admit Tegan’s jealousy would sweeten the trip just that much more.”

  Only rigid determination kept Piyali’s shoulders from slumping. To invite Sarah along meant hiding—yet again—her rekindling relationship with Evan. A relationship that wouldn’t have a chance if they couldn’t concoct a cure. She wanted time with him, but maintaining Sarah’s friendship and good graces was important. Particularly as her mother had acquired her infection at the fairy well before the Amazonian frog was apprehended. How else would she be informed about village affairs? And she had to admit, she liked the young woman. “Very well,” she conceded, “but only if you answer one question about your mother.”

  “Oh?” Sarah looked as if facing her mother’s irritation might be preferable. “What is it you want to know?”

  “Nothing much. I’m a physician and can’t help but care.” More she was curious. “Her wound, is it blue?”

  “Blue?” Sarah’s face scrunched up as she thought. “No, not exactly, but it is spreading rather quickly. Her skin has taken on a rather odd appearance. I only glimpsed it, but I’d say it was pink and shimmery. The wound itself has mostly healed.”

  That fit. Mrs. Parker was nearly always in a foul mood. Shimmery and pinkish when feelings ran strong.

  “Is that what’s wrong with Tegan?” Sarah leaned closer. “The reason you’re here? Is she—for once—truly sick?” She gasped. “Don’t tell me her ankle is blue!”

  Secrets in a village. One in exchange for another. Sharing that information went against all her medical training, but not necessarily that of the Queen’s agents. “Cultivate the locals” was one of Mr. Black’s favorite expressions. She needed to play along. Besides, Sarah had guessed. Was it wrong that deep in a corner of her soul she was enjoying this moment?

  Pressing a finger to her lips, Piyali too leaned forward. “Shh. I never said a thing. Don’t let this become public knowledge.”

  “Sarah,” Mrs. Parker bellowed. “Your bonnet. No daughter of mine shall freckle in the sun.”

  Sarah winked, then hurried to her mother’s bidding.

  A few minutes later, after forcing down a dry oatcake with weak tea, Piyali waited as Evan handed Sarah into the crank wagon. Resignation and reproach tugged his lips into a frown as he glanced at her sideways.

  “I had to,” she whispered, noting how Sarah sat in the middle of the rough board that formed a seat. “An exchange of favors.” She pretended to stumble, bringing her mouth to Evan’s ear. “She doesn’t realize it, but her mother has also been bitten by the frog.”

  He cursed under his breath. “You have Sarah spying for you?”

  “A necessary step,” Piyali breathed back. “Mrs. Parker is refusing any and all treatment.” She hesitated. Much as she wished to dismiss this professional duty… “We ought to check on Tegan.”

  “Already done,” Evan replied, taking Piyali’s medical bag to place it inside the cart. “Her condition remains unchanged. Now up, we’ve a long day ahead of us.”

  As they drove away, a curtain twitched, and Piyali caught a glimpse of Tegan’s vexed face pressed to the window of the village store. Her pursuit of Evan was far from over.

  The road to Cardiff was rutted and rocky, and Sarah—who had planted herself between him and Piyali—took every advantage to bump against him. Shoulders, hips, legs. Even her hand slid from her lap to press the side of her pinky finger to his thigh. Evan supposed he ought to be grateful that she didn’t outright climb into his lap. So much for enjoying the pleasant spring day with Piyali. His fault, he supposed, for refusing to reveal their relationship. From the amused press of her lips, she knew exactly what Sarah was up to. At least Miss Parker wasn’t demanding a proposal.

  Relationship. He swallowed hard. A mistake. But with that kiss, a seed of hope had germinated. The oppressive feeling of doom and gloom had lifted—ever so slightly—as he unburdened his secrets. Still, there was a lingering feeling of melancholy, a certain pessimism that even if they managed to uncover the cause of his infection, they wouldn’t be able to formulate a treatment.

  All night, he’d worried about bringing her into his confidence, not at all certain he had made the right choice. Now, with the unwelcome revelation that the frog had another victim, the situation threatened to grow out of hand.

  He forced himself to listen to the women’s chatter.

  “What book are you
hoping to find in Cardiff?” Piyali asked Sarah.

  “Well, I’m not certain.” Sarah fiddled with the ribbon at her chin. “Not exactly. Though I hope to find an intelligent husband,” she fluttered her eyelashes at Evan, “I thought I might follow your example and become a self-sufficient, career-minded woman.”

  “Oh?” Piyali raised her eyebrows.

  “I adore babies,” Sarah said, then addressed her next comment to him. “While I work to convince a handsome, young man to start a family of his own,” her eyelashes fluttered again, “I’m aiming to attend a woman’s college. There’s a school opening in Cardiff, and I mean to apply. Perhaps someday I might manage medical school. I hear there’s an entire field of medicine involving childbirth—obstetrics and gynecology.” Her brow wrinkled. “But first, I have to pass an entrance exam.”

  Evan cleared his throat. “Hence the bookstore.”

  “Yes. I won’t keep you from your errands, but perhaps you might recommend a few titles?”

  Piyali rattled off a few, and it brought a certain measure of relief to know that Sarah was taking control of her future, beyond plaguing him with endless flirtations and shameless suggestions. Even though his ears began to burn as the two women discussed childbirth with much candor and detail. He squirmed on his seat.

  He dropped Sarah off at the booksellers—with great relief—before continuing to his own store. “Was that necessary?”

  She smiled and fluttered her eyelashes in imitation of Sarah. “Better than discussing the making of babies, was it not?”

  Now he could think of nothing else. Could his face grow any hotter?

  Ears burning, he redirected the conversation. “I hope you don’t mind, but I do have customers who will wish to consult a pharmacist. And, if you’re willing, a physician.”

  “Of course.”

  They rattled to a stop behind his store. Several long weeks had passed since he’d last visited his sister and mamgu, his grandmother. It was hard making constant excuses for his gloves but, when the worst came to pass, the business must support them, and for that, more preparation would be required. Only when he had no choice but to confide in them, would he reveal his blue appendage.