Twisted Potions (Hidden Blood Book 2)

by Al K. Line

  "I think maybe we should have talked about the house rules before dinner," said the Chemist.

  "I think you might be right."

  Remind me never to go on a date with a ghoul again.

  Pink and Fluffy

  "I told you not to touch it," wailed the Chemist, clawing at his bad eye—not that he had a good one—and rubbing his face so hard the already ruined flesh molded into new shapes like play dough.

  "No you didn't. You didn't say anything about touching the outside of bloody bottles."

  "Jars, they're jars. Don't you know anything about chemistry?"

  I turned to him, astonished. "No, absolutely nothing. Why should I?"

  "What?" he spluttered, hands twitching, face little but one big tic now. His whole body was vibrating, feet tapping, arms convulsing. "How can you not know anything about it? It's the most magical thing in the world."

  "Apart from actual magic," I offered.

  "This is bad, oh so bad," he wailed, close to losing the plot entirely.

  I tried to see what the result of the explosion was, but the air was thick with supernatural fog. Dense pink gas swirled up higher and higher into the clear sky, eddying and rippling, trails like tattered wings stretching away into the distance.

  I couldn't smell smoke, so assumed there was no raging inferno, but the strange pink gas was overpowering everything else. A peculiar mix of cloying sweet smells and something akin to bitter almonds that was so thick my nose was becoming clogged. My compromised vision worsened as large particles stuck to my eyeballs until it was like looking through a thin layer of grit.

  At least the potion had stopped sucking the blood out of me, so there was that.

  The wind rose, blowing my dust-covered hair into my mouth. I brushed it aside, the taste acrid, burning my lips.

  "Okay, look," I said, trying to calm the situation down. "You've had explosions before, right?"

  "Loads," he said proudly.

  "And you've dealt with the dwarves after you did a very stupid thing and tried to master transubstantiation, correct?"

  The Chemist nodded. "They weren't happy about that at all," he chuckled.

  "I bet. You can't go turning base metal into gold, what were you thinking?"

  "It's the Holy Grail of alchemy, who wouldn't want to do it?"

  "Okay, so, the smoke will clear, we'll go tidy up, and you can buy new ingredients. No problem."

  The Chemist turned to face me full on and stared at me like I was an utter fool. "Kate, you don't understand. You don't understand at all. That wasn't a petty potion to remove your scent, or something to make you invisible for a few minutes. It wasn't just something to help you visit other realms or make you prettier. Not that you'd need that of course," he added hurriedly. "That was the pinnacle of my career, much more potent than anything I've ever attempted. You saw what it did, how it took your blood, how it changed and grew, felt your presence through the glass and devoured some of your essence."

  "Yeah, so it's something odd, but you can handle it, right? Look, it's already dissipating." Although the gas had thinned around the now smashed door to his house, I'd failed to realize how thick it was around us, how it had seemingly gathered in the road where we stood right in the way of any traffic.

  Tires screeched, headlights appeared from out of the gloom, and next thing I knew I was sailing through the air backwards, staring into the eyes of a shocked woman with pretty blond hair moments after she hit me.

  This was really going to hurt.

  Mysterious Strangers

  My body slammed down onto the asphalt and my head hit with a crack so hard I half expected my brains to spill out, but I guess that didn't happen as ta-da.

  Every bone in my back felt like it had been pulverized by a troll with anger issues, and my neck cricked so painfully as I shifted an inch that I wondered if I'd ever hold my head up high again.

  The screams of a woman came to me through the fog of, um, the fog, and my own concussion; I assumed it was the driver freaking out, which you would, wouldn't you?

  Knowing how this went from past experience, I lay perfectly still and allowed the blood magic that gives me this immortality of a sorts to do what it did best. Bone knitted—or is it knotted?—back together, marrow formed, everything sliding back into place effortlessly but with a pain so visceral I blacked out several times in as many seconds.

  My month-old tattoos grew fat and poked at my clothes like they resented being hidden, jabbing sharp pins into tender flesh and lighting fresh nerves on fire, but as the Hidden magic swirled through the ink like a wave, the healing process sped up exponentially and in less than a minute I felt if not groovy then at least not utterly mangled.

  Being hit by a car, even something as ridiculous as a bright purple SUV, is astonishingly epic. I've been smacked and punched by all manner of supernatural baddies, mostly in the month since I foolishly agreed to stand in for my husband and be the first ever vampire enforcer for the Hidden Council, and only one thing has ever felt quite as crushing, and that was a body slam by a troll. Oh, there was the Sasquatch, but I was more concerned about the stink than the pain when that happened.

  The impact hit me at hip height and shattered my pelvis, but the real pain came from where my femurs were smashed. Bone split my leather trousers and even as it disappeared and the wound healed, it made my legs feel like they were someone else's and just stuck on.

  Ignoring it all, mainly just pleased my spinal cord hadn't been severed, as I'm not sure I could ever come back from such an injury, I pushed with gravel-filled palms and sat up.

  The Chemist, along with the driver, rushed over, her looking utterly terrified—not because of the Chemist, he was true Hidden so just looked like a rather unkempt guy in his fifties with a dodgy ponytail and a penchant for tie-dye—but because she'd assumed I'd be dead, or severely mangled.

  "I'm okay, I think," I mumbled as I rubbed at my face, wishing I hadn't as the grit under my skin ripped gashes in my cheeks. I turned away as I felt flesh tighten, knowing it would freak her out even more.

  "You are? Oh my God, I'm so sorry. This fog came out of nowhere and I couldn't see. I tried to brake but it was too late, and then there you were. I'm so sorry." She began to sob, stress overload seeking release.

  "Chemist, help me up would you?" I asked, trying to ignore the pain as bone shifted about looking for the sweet spot. It's an indescribable feeling, the repairs going on under the surface, like someone's tugging at all your bits from the inside, and not in a nice way.

  "Sure. We should go," he said, glancing around warily.

  "Yeah, things to do, people to see," I said brightly, mainly for the benefit of the woman as she needed to get the hell out of here, and fast.

  He hauled me to my feet and I brushed myself down ineffectively, acting like the incident was nothing.

  "Should we exchange numbers? Insurance or something?" the driver asked, wiping away her tears and nervously rubbing a simple but obviously expensive pendant hanging from a slender silver chain.

  "No, I'm fine, honest. It was just an accident, no harm done." I smiled at her sweetly and I could see she was already losing interest, her mind unable to keep our presence in focus.

  "Well, if you insist."

  "I do."

  "We do," agreed the Chemist.

  We watched for a moment as she tried to process this, but us Hidden aren't like Regulars and our magical nature meant she couldn't keep us in her thoughts, like we were the most unmemorable people on the planet. She'd never recall what we looked like or what had happened, only that she'd had a bit of a ding and hit someone but that they were all right. If she saw me again, she wouldn't remember we'd already met.

  "Let us walk you back to your car," said the Chemist looking harried and gesturing to me with a worried hand as he put an arm around her shoulder and frog-marched her away.

  "Oh, okay."

  We hurried past the massive dent in her car. Thankfully, the fog and her own stress mea
nt she didn't even glance at it. She got in, shook her head, and drove off, the accident already forgotten.

  "Kate, we have to leave. This is serious, and we're in a lot of trouble."

  "Trouble? What for?"

  "Because of the potion. It's, er… Hmm…"

  "What?" I snapped. "I'm a big girl, just tell me."

  "It's against the law, not a Hidden Law as such, but certain groups won't be happy about this." The Chemist fumbled with his hands, wringing them together, and kept glancing around.

  "Who? What's going on here? Why were you making whatever this is if it could get you into trouble?"

  "I can't help it, it's what I do. I'm the Chemist."

  "Whatever. Just don't drag me into any nonsense. I've had a busy month and I'm not in the mood for games."

  "I think it's a bit late for that." The Chemist took a step back and I turned to see what had him so freaked.

  Three tall, shadowy figures emerged through the fog, their silhouettes promising all kinds of nastiness, what with the stretched out bodies and the impossibly broad shoulders, the long limbs terminating in claw-like fingers that hung limp by their sides.

  "You dick," I muttered.

  The Chemist squealed then turned and ran away.

  So did I.

  Feeling Sluggish

  Usually I'm a fast runner. After all, I am a vampire. Maybe a relatively new one, having just a few years under my fangs, but nonetheless I've got all the powers that come with the territory, and am a dab hand at what Faz calls the vampire shimmer shuffle. Here one minute, gone the next. Able to shoot through the night like a bullet, move at incredible speed without even getting out of breath.

  But the dinner weighed heavily on my stomach and the accident meant my bones were weak, still repairing, and every time my foot hit the asphalt it sent pain lancing through my thighs, up my spinal column, and into the back of my head where I'd smacked it. It all combined to make me feel like I was being attacked by a shortage of angry dwarves after I'd nicked their gold and made fun of their battle axes.

  Knowing I had to conserve energy for the repairs, I merely maintained pace with the Chemist who, for a ghoul with a lopsided gait, a club foot, and shoulders so hunched he kept having to lift his arms up as his knuckles scraped the floor, was surprisingly fast and nimble when sufficiently freaked out.

  Which he was.

  Every time I glanced at him he looked more scared. Whoever, whatever, was after us, after him, was terrifying him, and he made his living telling bad jokes to pissed supernatural beings in an enclosed space late at night.

  After only thirty seconds, we'd escaped the menacing cloud of pink gas and were at the end of his street. He turned left and I followed, glancing behind as we took the bend. Back up the road, were three of the strangest men I'd ever seen, and I've seen plenty of oddballs, I even live with one.

  They were clearly Hidden, true Hidden, not of this realm. Each was naked above the waist, wearing ill-fitting trousers that hung loose, the material tattered and coming only halfway down their shins. All three were little but skin and bone, stretched out as though on a torturer's rack. Their arms were bunched with misshapen muscle, hands ending in vicious nails as sharp as any shifter's. Their skin was pale, taking on the pink hue of the smoke, with broad rib cages covered in such thin skin the bones almost broke through.

  Their collarbones were impossibly wide, like a swimmer's and then some. Long necks held narrow heads with jutting chins, high foreheads, and each of them had a ponytail holding back perfectly straight hair than hung as limp as I assumed the Chemist's libido was at this moment.

  But it was their faces that were the strangest, for there was no emotion there, and I couldn't imagine there ever could be. They were like waxworks, the skin shiny and thick so there were no wrinkles. Botox gone seriously wrong.

  Their mouths were set and closed, almost lipless, just a slash across smooth skin, snub noses little more than holes. Their eyes were tiny pinpricks of night, like they were all pupil, the way many humans look when in the throes of magic use.

  And they were just walking, intent on pursuit but seemingly unconcerned with hurrying.

  I looked away, having taken it all in with a glance, no time having passed at all, and continued running as it seemed like the right thing to do under the circumstances.

  "Sorry about this, Kate, guess I should have warned you about the glass."

  "You think? No more dinners for you." I think that hurt the Chemist more than anything. He looked crestfallen. "Fine," I said with a sigh, "but next time you're coming to ours."

  He smiled, then sped up.

  Charming!

  Resting Up

  The Chemist didn't live in the best part of town, preferring somewhere that at least hinted at shadiness, so sitting by the canal full of old shopping trolleys, unwanted bicycles, and bizarrely, a wooden replica of Michael Jackson standing proud right in the middle of the murky water, wasn't my idea of a pleasant evening.

  Amber light shone from a street light the other side of the narrow canal, part of the council's initiative to cut down on crime, when all it did was allow the bad guys to see better as they hit you over the head then dumped you in the poisonous water.

  We sat on a graffiti-covered bench with several slats missing and caught our breath as we kicked at takeaway wrappers, beer cans, and things that ought not to be left out in public. It was disgusting.

  How could such places still be so rundown when most of the city gleamed with the ongoing regeneration projects? That's the modern world for you, I guess.

  The Chemist breathed heavily but I was fine. We'd been running for only ten minutes but he was beat. His skin was red, slick with sweat, and his chest heaved as he sucked in the fetid air. Air still a thousand times better than in his own cramped hovel of a home.

  I watched, unable to help, as he crunched forward, putting his head between his legs as he wheezed and coughed and batted at his chest with a fist to dislodge phlegm he spat away into the litter-strewn grass. Ghouls aren't built for running, they're built for hanging about in graveyards and digging up bodies once suitably decomposed. Their insides are all messed up, bits missing, organs in the wrong place, lungs small and everything wonky.

  Ghouls only survive here at all because they are true Hidden, magical beings, and the Chemist struggled to cope with his eternal banishment, even though he wouldn't leave for all the bodies in the graveyard.

  Didn't mean I wasn't furious with him. I had half a mind to throw him in the canal and just walk away, leave him to the rats and whoever the three dudes were coming after us. And I say us, as the way he was acting, I was caught up in this now. All I'd wanted was to do what I'd promised, cook him dinner then be on my way. Now this?

  My month had already been incredibly hectic, working for Dancer doing enforcer jobs. Most went smoothly, little more than rounding up a few troublemakers, but it had taken a lot of my time, time I could have spent at home with my husband. Working in our acreage, helping him recover.

  Faz had improved a lot the last month, finally getting out and about, but he was still months from returning to work and, to be honest, I was enjoying myself.

  Much as I try to push down my vampire nature, this coldness that would overwhelm me if I let it, the virus craves wildness, danger, and violence, and I had been only too happy to provide what my body requested. I'd bashed heads, dragged off the bad guys, and gotten off on the madness.

  But I was aware of this, had reined in my wayward behavior, stayed in control and kept a watchful eye on my own actions so I retained my humanity.

  I was still Kate, just powerful and dangerous. And I was about ready to blast the Chemist into itty bitty pieces for ruining our date.

  So, being the nice immortal vampire that I am, I smiled sweetly, turned to the idiot, grabbed his shirt, slammed him against the splintered bench and said, "What's this all about? You've got one second to start talking before I crush your head." See, I can be nice when I try.
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  The Chemist hung his head, seemingly having given up the fight before it had begun, and sighed deeply then coughed like it was his death rattle. "I'm a bad ghoul. Terrible, just terrible."

  "Ugh, goddammit!" I released him and sank back into the bench, my anger gone, replaced with sympathy for the disfigured man beside me. Guess it was a good sign: I still cared, wasn't violent and emotionless by default. "Okay, look, let's start at the beginning, but make it quick. Those guys, or whatever they are, won't take long to find us, and they look like they always get what they want."

  "They do," whispered the Chemist, looking more pitiful by the minute.

  "So tell me what's happening. What were you working on? What was in the beaker I touched?"

  "Glass jar, it was a glass jar. Beakers are for mixing solutions together, not for potion making."

  I pushed down the rising anger and said sweetly, "Okay, so what the fuck was in the glass jar?"

  "A special potion, one I've been working on for many, many years. Something nobody has ever done before, in the history of Hidden alchemy, and that includes ghouls. I would be the first to make such a thing, the power would be incredible. It could change everything, and that's the problem."

  "Okay," I said, so close to ripping his head off his shoulders my tattoos were already squirming. Fat, and black as the eels wriggling through the canal silt. "What exactly was this potion going to do that would take the supernatural world by storm and set those guys on you? On us?"

  "It was to turn me into a man. A real man. A human man. No magic, no longer Hidden, just a man."

  I squinted at him, thinking maybe he was winding me up. "What, like Pinocchio? Make you a real boy?"

  "Don't mock me, Kate. People have done that ever since I found myself trapped here. It's very hurtful. Can you imagine going through life looking like this? I disgust myself. I see people like you, so perfect, so pretty, so normal, and I can't stand it."

  "Normal, ha! You don't know the half of it."

  "You know what I mean. All your bits and pieces in the right place, everything symmetrical, everything working. I'm a freak."