The Potion Diaries 2

by Amy Alward

  I shake my head. ‘No, it’s not right. There must be a way to change that dinosaur of a law.’ I pause, then reach into my bag and pull out my potion diary. ‘I have a theory.’

  ‘Go on . . .’ says Evelyn, her eyes opening wide.

  ‘It’s a long shot, and marriage is such a simple solution I don’t think an alternative has ever been properly investigated before, but there must be a way to siphon off the excess power and store it permanently. Like some kind of magic battery.’

  ‘Do you think you can really do that?’

  I shrug. ‘Maybe. I want to try.’

  ‘Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!’ Before I can move, she’s thrown her arms around me and is squeezing me tight. ‘You are a star. Now, I really must go. See you two tomorrow?’

  ‘See you,’ says Zain from next to me.

  ‘Bye,’ I say. She gives me another big squeeze and two light kisses on the cheek and then, in a crack of electricity mingled with her rose-scented perfume, she’s gone. I’m still not over that trick. Her disappearing act reminds me how different the Princess is from me. I’m ordinary, and she’s a different league of Talented.

  I turn back to Zain and, now that it’s just the two of us, I can’t help but smile. He’s not looking at me – he’s staring at the screen of his tablet – but he’s doing that cute thing where he bites his bottom lip while he’s concentrating. His normally wild black hair has been tamed for TV, but only just.

  Rogueish charm – that’s how my mum described it after Zain attended his first Kemi family dinner.

  His deep voice snaps me out of my creepy staring.

  ‘You’re right, Sam.’

  ‘Always,’ I say with a little smirk. ‘But about what, this time?’

  He spins his tablet around. I groan as soon as I see the page that he has loaded up onscreen. I put up my hand to block it out. ‘No, not the Wilde Hunt Theories forums! I thought I told you to stop checking those!’

  I’d placed a proper block on my laptop to prevent me from doing just that. After the Wilde Hunt win, people online couldn’t stop talking about me and my family, dissecting our every move, and it became almost impossible for me to stop looking. I was an addict, constantly refreshing the page and reading the new posts and replies as soon as they were up.

  Once, I’d called Zain in the middle of the night in tears about something they’d written insulting my dad (it’s not his fault that the Kemi mixing gene skipped his generation!) and that was the last straw. No more forums for me. I’d been proud of myself for not looking for almost two whole weeks and now I’m a bit mad at Zain for making me break my self-imposed forum exile.

  The truth is, it scared me how wild some of the theories were – but even scarier was how close to the bone they came too.

  Like the post about the Royal Commission. It was pinned to the top of the forums so I couldn’t miss it. The Princess’s potion was supposed to be top secret, even from the Palace. How did they figure it out? Also irritating was the stuff they wrote about Zain and me. It’s hard enough being in a new relationship without the weight of thousands of anonymous usernames watching you.

  ‘You’re going to want to see this, though.’

  I sigh and take the tablet from his outstretched hands.

  [NEW POST] OrdinaryRelicHunter says: Anyone see Sam’s appearance on GMK? What about her reference to Cleo Kemi’s ‘Most Powerful Potion Ever’? What could it be?

  64 replies

  ‘Sixty-four replies?’ I gasp. ‘It’s only been, what . . . ten, maybe fifteen minutes since we’ve been off-air?’

  ‘You guessed it would happen.’ He moves to take the tablet back, but I stand up and spin it out of his reach. I open the thread of replies, scanning the multitude of theories about what my great-grandmother’s powerful potion could have been. The Hunt-obsessed love this kind of stuff.

  Permanent mutation writes one person. It has to be. I almost laugh out loud. Mutation is the most famous alchemical potion – turning base metals into gold – and it’s actually quite easy if I do say so myself. I had to prove I could do it before Grandad even let me into the lab. The tricky part is the permanent bit. Mutation is dead easy to detect and only lasts a few hours at most. I doubt my great-grandmother figured out how to make it permanent, otherwise we’d all be rich beyond our wildest dreams – or locked up in a Novaen prison cell somewhere.

  Other theories are even crazier. A potion to give magic to ordinaries? Wishful thinking. To make animals talk? Oh, that’s a suggestion from someone called KittenLover3000 so maybe that’s not so surprising.

  One theory is emerging as the most popular, and the first time I see it, I bite my lip so hard I feel like I’m about to draw blood. Then there’s a sharp zap on my hand and the tablet floats out of my reach, into Zain’s waiting hands. I rub the top of my hand and frown. ‘Did you just use magic on me?’

  ‘Desperate measures, Sam. Thought you were about to bite a hole through your lip.’

  Unusually for me, I don’t have the energy to argue. I slump back against the wall, a million possibilities swirling in my head.

  ‘What is it? What’s up? I’m sorry for showing you that stupid forum . . .’

  ‘The aqua vitae,’ I say.

  Aqua vitae. Water of life. A potion that can cure any disease, deformity and illness. Origin, ingredients and recipe unknown. A potions legend and a fool’s errand – like the philosopher’s stone.

  ‘It’s their most popular theory. It’s just as impossible as any of the others, but if any mixer could do it . . . my great-grandmother could have done.’

  Zain’s jaw drops. ‘No way,’ he says, when he recovers. ‘You really think so?’

  I nod.

  There’s only one thing for it. I need to get back to the store as quickly as possible.

  Grandad has some questions to answer.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Samantha

  WE LEAVE THE GREEN ROOM, passing through the series of sliding glass doors that protect the set from noise. A crowd of selfie-loving tourists are gathered outside the studio to get their faces in the background of the cast for their fifteen seconds of fame.

  We pass by a huge poster advertising the Princess’s Royal Tour finale parade, which is to be held in the centre of Kingstown after the tour is over. BE THE FIRST TO SEE THE PRINCESS AND HER BETROTHED reads the billboard. Who will it be? is written in the scrolling text beneath. It twists my stomach to see it.

  Zain must have been thinking the same. ‘You shouldn’t give her false hope about a permanent solution to her problem,’ he says, interlacing his fingers through mine. I’ve been practically speed-walking in my haste to get back to the store, but then I remember how little time I’ll have with him today and I slow my pace.

  ‘What, you don’t think I can do it?’

  ‘I know you can do it.’ He squeezes my hand tightly as he says it. ‘If I thought you had a few months and unlimited resources, you could absolutely do it. But at the moment, Evie is breaking Novaen law by not being married. You have until the end of the Royal Tour to find a solution. Maybe. And that’s if we’re still able to mix our potion successfully.’ He pauses for a moment. ‘Do you think the natural yellow ark flower is going to work? The synth version didn’t make much difference.’

  I wrinkle my nose. ‘Of course it didn’t.’

  He gives me a gentle nudge with his shoulder. ‘Hey, we’re on the same side here, remember?’

  ‘Oh yeah,’ I say, with an exaggerated sigh.

  He’s right, we are on the same team now. Evelyn didn’t trust going to the Palace doctors, but she did trust us. I still remember asking her why. ‘Because they’ve had years to find me a solution, and now I’m asking you to try. You won the Wilde Hunt! You saved me,’ she’d said. ‘If anyone can do it, you guys can.’

  I couldn’t really think of an argument against that. Plus, the Princess can be very insistent when she wants to be. How could I refuse a commission so big? It feels like I’m
a Kemi of old. I had to tell Grandad about it – I’m still the apprentice and he’s still the Potions Master after all – but I swear there was a little smile on his face. And he’s not showy with emotion.

  Zain and I are a pretty good team, it turns out. Between us, we managed to put together a formula that sort of worked – after weeks of non-stop mixing and testing and re-mixing. But the Princess’s power was getting stronger and less stable by the day, and that meant finding more and more potent ingredients to add into the mix. One of those ingredients – the ark flower – was rare and had to be mixed just before administering the potion. Luckily Evelyn came up with the ruse of inviting me and Zain on her Royal Tour, enabling us to hunt down the ingredients and mix the cure without raising any eyebrows.

  ‘Well, that’s good then. And there’s something else I’ve been meaning to ask you.’ Zain stops in the middle of the pavement, moving me to one side to let some people pass us by. My heart beats so loud, I swear he can hear it. ‘Will you do the honour of accompanying me to the Laville Ball?’

  It takes me a second, and then I break out into a huge smile. ‘Of course, you goof. But I thought you didn’t want to go? That it was some meaningless Royal party and now that you have your studies to concentrate on then why would you bother . . .’

  Zain grins. ‘You, my dear, have a memory that is far too good. Besides . . . I have a reason to go now. I need to see you in a ball gown.’

  I shudder. ‘Don’t go expecting too much! I might wear jeans underneath.’

  ‘Evelyn will know and have your head.’

  ‘You’re probably right.’

  ‘Anyway, you have to be formally escorted, you know,’ Zain says with a wink.

  ‘Well, thanks for not leaving me hanging,’ I say, scrunching up my nose at the thought. ‘In fact, you’re not allowed to leave my side at all during the ball.’

  ‘What, Sam who faced down enemies of our country, dangerous creatures and saved the world is afraid of a little dancing?’ Zain says, in his best imitation of Presenter Mike.

  I laugh. ‘Trust me, hanging out with a bunch of exceedingly posh, extremely wealthy, insanely Talented members of Princess Evelyn’s circle is far more terrifying than a flock of vampire bats.’

  ‘Or a raging abominable.’

  ‘Or being engulfed in eluvian ivy.’ I shiver despite myself. ‘Okay, maybe just as scary as being engulfed in eluvian ivy. So, is this a proper date?’ I add quickly.

  He laughs. ‘No. This is an escort to a ball. One day we will have that proper date.’

  ‘One day,’ I echo back. It’s been a running joke between us since our night on the mountain, when he first asked me out to a movie – a typical, normal date. So far, we haven’t been able to manage it.

  The high street is steadily filling up with morning foot traffic, and the market stalls that line the road are busy setting out their wares. I crane my neck as we pass, looking at the array of shining gemstones and charms, the worthless but pretty magic ornaments that sell for a couple of crowns each. We pass a stall with a giant hot-plate, and the smell of delicious street food hits my nostrils. I already grabbed some toast this morning but surely an additional doughnut wouldn’t hurt?

  A tug on my arm leads me away from the sugary goodness, and we head down one of the narrow side streets. I love the side streets of Kingstown, with the wonky stone buildings leaning precariously towards each other, barely letting in the light. Royal Lane is a steady incline rising up towards the castle, so all the side streets lead to a series of staircases that offer shortcuts down the hill. Kemi Street, where Kemi’s Potion Shop is located, is down one of these staircases, in a long-established alchemical neighbourhood. The whole street’s had a bit of a revamp since the Wilde Hunt, what with the influx of tourists who are flocking to the streets to see my home. Yet another thing to look forward to once all the post-Hunt publicity dies down: being able to walk down my own street without fear of being photographed. I hunch my shoulders, wishing I didn’t stand out so much. That’s my height’s fault – and Zain’s. It’s impossible to stand next to him and not be checked out.

  Shroud powder – a mix of chameleon skin and rosewater, strained through the cloak of a wandering ghost (the cloaks of stationary ghosts just aren’t billowy enough). Rub vigorously on skin to become less noticeable in a crowd.

  ‘Oh crap,’ says Zain, pulling up short. ‘What?’

  But he doesn’t need to explain. I can see for myself. Outside our store is a sea of reporters – some being trailed around by cameramen – and a crowd of people far bigger than the one outside the newscast studios.

  I grip Zain’s hand tightly. He moves so his shoulders are in front of mine, his body acting as a shield. I appreciate the gesture, futile as it may be.

  I give it three . . . two . . .

  They spot us. ‘Sam! Sam! How do you respond to reports that your ancestor hid the aqua vitae from the world?’

  ‘Is there still a recipe in your archives?’

  ‘Think of all the lives your family could have saved!’

  ‘Come on,’ Zain says, though more to himself. He needs the confidence to clear a path through that crowd.

  Targeted white-striped skunk bombs – mix no more than four drops of concentrated skunk juice with tree sap to make it extra sticky. I could clear a path through these crowds in an instant.

  My body’s immediate response to stress: think about potions. It’s not helping me now.

  I spot a break in the crowd and I push Zain forward. ‘Now!’ I say.

  Someone shouts at him too: ‘Zain! If there’s an aqua vitae recipe out there, doesn’t that put ZA out of business? How do you feel about sleeping with the enemy?’

  Zain picks up speed after that. He shoulders his way towards the door and it opens as soon as we step on the doormat. Dad yanks Zain through, then me, then we slam the door behind us and lean up against it.

  Dad is the first to step away.

  ‘Sam . . . what did you do?’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Samantha

  WE DECIDE TO OPEN THE store despite the crowd, and Zain leaves to head back to the ZA lab.

  It’s a big mistake. The store soon fills with people, and none of them are our regular customers. I make eye contact with one man and he shoulders his way through to the front to talk to me. He has a really sad story about his wife, who has a terrible disease that no one – alchemist or synth – has been able to cure.

  ‘Look, sir, I’m really sorry.’ Heat rises in my cheeks as I wish I had better news. ‘Although we can treat some of the symptoms with one of our specialised mixes, there is still no cure for your wife’s disease . . .’

  His eyes dart between me and the wall of ingredients behind me. I know that look all too well. Desperation. My heart aches to help him. He leans forward on the counter, squeezing between the people who are crowding in on either side of him. His voice drops to a hushed whisper. ‘But I heard on the news this morning that you have an aqua vitae.’

  I shake my head. ‘I’m sorry . . .’ I say again.

  ‘If it’s a question of money, I can pay.’ He grabs his wallet, and I reach out to stop him.

  ‘I promise you, we don’t have a cure-all potion. It’s a legend . . .’

  ‘And you are the legendary Kemis! Surely if anyone can turn myth into reality, it’s you,’ he interjects, attempting flattery. When I shake my head, he pounds his fist on the wood. ‘I need it! I know you have it.’

  ‘Sir, step back.’ My dad rushes up beside me. ‘As my daughter explained, we don’t have the potion . . .’

  ‘You’re lying,’ he snaps. The other people in the store – and those in the line that already snakes out of the door – gather round, giving him courage.

  ‘Give us the cure!’ shouts someone, and the man who’s been arguing with me agrees. He raises his fist. ‘Yeah, give us the cure!’

  ‘Sam, get behind me,’ says Dad. I do as I’m told. Fear grips my throat, watching the underlying
tension rise to the surface like lava through a volcano. At any moment, it’s going to properly explode.

  The crowd surges forward, and the man – emboldened by the mob – lunges towards me. But as soon as his outstretched hands cross the counter, a rain of sparks pours from the ceiling, cutting us off from the public. The man cries out and snatches his hand away.

  Welder sparks – to create an impenetrable barrier. Specially altered so as not to ignite wooden surfaces.

  The next second, a piercing wail fills the air and I slam my hands over my ears.

  Banshee wail – for the most ear-splitting sound, collect on a full moon near a graveyard.

  It’s our security system in action. Dad throws me a pair of magically-enhanced noise-cancelling headphones, which just about manage to make the banshee’s cry bearable. The mob clear out of the store as fast as their legs can carry them. Once the last ‘customer’ is gone, we lock the door. I don’t think we’ll be opening again soon.

  I feel sick to my stomach. All those people . . . all that hope. I curse myself for mentioning my great-grandmother on national television, I curse the forums for coming up with a ridiculous theory about her most powerful potion and I curse the media for blowing it out proportion.

  The wailing and the curtain of sparks cease at the touch of Grandad’s palm. The security system is the only bit of magic he permits in the store and it’s now extra-potent thanks to the dose of Royal Talent we won in the Wilde Hunt.

  ‘I’ll go let your mother know we won’t be opening again today,’ says Dad, his brow furrowed.

  ‘Well, at least the alarm works,’ says Grandad, dusting off his hands as he finishes resetting the system.

  ‘Grandad . . .’ I start, but I don’t know how to finish. I’m sorry is what I should say, since it’s all my fault. But instead I ask, ‘Is it true?’ The words slip out before I can stop them. Grandad casts his eyes down, suddenly looking every bit of his seventy-eight years. I can’t help myself; I’m as hungry to know as the wolves at our door.