by Sarah Noffke
Not entirely happy with the color or consistency of the potion, Monet backed up and swung around to face Ever.
“What now?” the Light Elf asked, his face curious.
“Now we wait.”
“Wait? For how long?” Ever asked.
“Until it’s ready.” Monet shrugged.
“How long will that take?”
Monet withdrew a deck of cards from his pocket, an easy grin on his face. “I have absolutely no idea, but to pass the time, let’s play a friendly game of Elements. You’re familiar with the wizarding game, am I correct?” Monet arched a light-green eyebrow at his friend.
“No, not at all,” Ever replied.
“Then might I suggest we start by wagering a little something on these first few hands to help you learn,” Monet said with a wicked grin.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Sari stirred the potion in the scrying bowl, shaking her head back and forth as she did.
“Mother, why isn’t it working? Why can’t you scry Azure?” Emeri asked, tugging on a piece of her emerald-green hair and pulling it from its braid.
“Honestly, I don’t know. The potion was created correctly.” Sari tapped the side of the scrying bowl with her wand.
“But if you can’t scry her, that means…”
“Yes, it very well could mean that she’s dead,” the queen mother said matter-of-factly. She tilted forward, leaning so far over the scrying bowl that she looked like she was going to fall into it.
Emeri drew in a long breath, letting it out even more slowly. She breathed past the tears welling up in her throat. Azure couldn’t really be dead. The last thing they’d seen in the scrying bowl was the tribe of Orcs, but they wouldn’t have killed the Princess of Virgo. Emeri wanted to believe that, but knew it was entirely possible that those savage beasts had destroyed her daughter. All species looked out for themselves at the end of the day, and if Azure posed a threat to them they wouldn’t hesitate to take her out.
Sari turned, her eyes on the ancient wooden floors. She pulled the clip that held her soul stone from her hair and clasped it in her hands.
“What is it, Mother?” the queen asked, noting the confused expression in Sari’s eyes.
“I have a deep connection with my granddaughter, and I don’t believe anything fatal has happened to her.”
If Emeri had still possessed magic or her soul stone she might have been able to tap into the connecting force her mother was using. However, she barely had the strength to stand at this point.
“Eclipse?” Sari called for her familiar, a bright orange cat with yellow eyes. The animal lifted its head from its paws; it had been resting. “I want you to pop down and ask Finnegan for a scrying potion, just in case the issue is that mine has gone bad.”
The feline stretched into a standing position and hopped off the sofa before trotting away.
“You think the potion could be the problem?” Emeri asked, hope in her voice.
“I think it’s worth double-checking.” Sari turned to her daughter. “But honestly, so many things could be the problem. It could be the potion, or an enchantment made to protect Azure from being scried, or she could be gone from Oriceran either by death or by magic. If she was on Earth, for instance, we wouldn’t be able to see her.”
“You said she mentioned going to Earth when you two spoke last, right?”
“Yes, but I don’t know why that dimwit would pop off to Earth when she knows you need your soul stone and was already heading back here.”
“Maybe to avoid the Orcs?” Emeri said.
“It’s possible,” Sari mused.
“An enchantment placed on Azure would prevent us from being able to scry her,” Emeri said, rushing over to a large grimoire that sat on a stand by the fire. She flipped through the pages, her eyes scanning each as she did.
With a bit more force than she intended, she stabbed the middle of a page. “Here! It says that there are three situations in which scrying may be blocked. One is a witches or wizard’s spell, another is an incantation used by centaurs, and the last is a wreath made by pixies.”
Sari turned, raising an eyebrow at her daughter. “Well, let’s hope that our dear Azure has either pissed off a centaur or befriended a pixie, and isn’t being roasted over an Orc’s fire.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Monet slapped the Eight of Wands down on the discard deck. “Wipe that grin off your face,” he said, pulling a card. Ten of Potions. At this rate he was going to lose yet another hand to the dumb Light Elf.
“I’m sure it’s just beginner’s luck,” Ever said, discarding. His eyes were careful as he withdrew the card face-down from the deck.
“Or you’re using some elf magic to rig the game in your favor.”
“Hey! I didn’t make you pay up when you lost the last two hands.”
“That’s because you’re playing for ego, which is truly sad,” Monet said, pulling a card from the deck. His eyes widened with dread and he ducked backward just as a well-aimed bit of fire shot from overhead. The fireball spiraled until it found its target—the cards in his hand. He dropped them to the ground, springing to a standing position as he did. Stomping, he extinguished the fire but not before it leapt to the hem of his robes.
“Damn it, I’m always losing robes to this fucking game.” He slapped at the fire, finally extinguishing it.
“I’m not sure why you keep subjecting yourself to this abuse,” Ever said, adding a card to his hand and proudly laying down a winning hand.
“Fuck this game. Let’s have a pissing contest. I’m tired of losing,” Monet said, swiping his wand at the cards on the ground and making them disappear.
“How’s the potion coming along?” Ever asked, glancing at the cauldron, which had been bubbling for the last hour.
Monet gave it a sideways look and shook his head. “It’s not ready, but almost. I need you to flick that eye booger you’ve been accumulating into the cauldron. Then it will most likely be done.”
“That’s what you need? An eye booger?” Ever asked.
“Well, yeah. You need elements of sleep to make someone wake up. Duh. And the potion wasn’t ready for that final ingredient until now. It’s the perfect mud color, which means it’s time.”
“Potions work is kind of strange,” Ever said, poking his finger into the corner of his eye and depositing the booger he’d mined into the simmering cauldron. The concoction hissed and turned black.
“It’s fucking science. You wouldn’t get it, Elf Boy.” Monet withdrew a potion bottle from his robes. He pointed his wand at the cauldron and half the liquid emptied from it, filling the bottle. Monet shook it and smiled proudly. “It’s perfect—the consistency of coffee. This will either do the trick or kill Drago. Only one way to find out!”
Shoving the potion into Ever’s hands, he waved him forward. “I made the miracle potion, so you have to feed the Orc his bottle.”
“Fair enough,” Ever said, smiling widely, his bright blue eyes sparkling.
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re overly reasonable and way too fucking chipper?”
“All my life. It’s a curse,” Ever winked.
“You’re not the one who has to look at your mysterious smiles. It’s like you’re secretly having dirty thoughts half the time.”
“It’s not a secret if you call me out,” Ever said, wheeling around and ducking under a set of low-hanging branches.
“How far is Drago? Do I have time to take a nap while you scamper off to wake him?” Monet said, stretching his arms over his head and yawning loudly.
“I think one of us going to sleep when we’re trying to wake an Orc isn’t really productive.”
Monet for once didn’t have a retort, so he just watched as Ever, trailing sparks of light, strode in the lead. Light Elves were a strange species, their brand of magic unique to them.
“He’s just up here,” Ever called over his shoulder.
“Dude, I know. I can smell him. Why do
Orcs refuse to bathe? Is that part of their defense mechanism?”
Ever held up a hand and hummed, and the dense foliage in front of them moved out of the path to open a way for them to reach Drago. “Need I remind you that you’ve been in the Dark Forest for a couple of days and could use a shower?”
Monet lifted his arm and sniffed his pits. “Or three. It’s going to take a whole bottle of Squeaky Clean potion to make me smell right again.”
A snore that could wake the dead of Virgo vibrated the ground. An Orc who could rival the chief for size lay in a thorny patch of poison oak. The beast was face-down, his fat head to the side and his eyes gently shut as he breathed through his mouth.
“Uhhh… I thought you found him. Why’d you leave him lying in a patch of poison oak?” Monet asked, scratching his arms as if he’d been infected by the plant’s oils just by looking at it.
Ever shrugged. “Figured the damage had already been done, and you could help me move him when the time came.”
“I can’t believe I’m saving this dumb Orc for the second time.”
“Yes, but Orcs are the natural enemy of the harpies and therefore the best ally for the people of Virgo at the moment.”
“Don’t remind me of logic that is both sensible and detestable.”
“I’ll try, but as you’ll recall, I’m the master of sensibility.”
Monet rubbed his palms together, an eager expression on face. “That’s going to be one pissed Orc when he wakes up. You are fucking screwed feeding him that potion.”
“Yeah, about that,” Ever said, staring down tentatively at the snoring mass of muscle. “I’m going to need your help with that part.”
“What… Ever?” Monet sing-songed with a clever smile.
“Ha-ha. But seriously. Can you at least levitate him a bit off the poison oak so I can slip him the potion? I’d like to avoid having boils all over my body.”
“All right, fine, but you owe me something way better than a fucking Fitbit.”
“Noted.” Ever uncorked the bottle just as Monet waved his wand in the air, lifting Drago as he did.
“Can you pull him up a bit higher?” Ever asked, trying to slide the bottle into the Orc’s mouth, but he was hovering low to the ground.
“I can.” Monet rocked forward onto his toes and then back on his heels.
“So will you?” Sweat was pouring down Ever’s black sideburns as he extended his arm to its full length. His muscles trembled as he tried to balance the bottle against Drago’s lips. Tilting his arm slightly, he poured the potion into the Orc’s sleeping mouth, but it just ran out the other side. Gravity was a bitch.
“It’s not working because he’s lying face-down,” Ever said, nearly slipping and falling into the patch of poison oak.
“Well, why didn’t you say so?” Monet waved his wand in a circle and the Orc’s rotated one hundred-eight degrees, his face now angled toward the sky.
“That helps. Why didn’t you say you could turn him right-side up?” Ever said, wiping his sleeve across his forehead.
“You didn’t ask,” Monet said, a laugh in his voice.
Ever nodded and inched close to the Orc, who still snored loudly. Again Ever’s arm shook as he stretched across the space between them and tipped the bottle into Drago’s mouth. As if a realization had swept over the Light Elf, he yanked his arm back and jerked his chin up to stare at Monet.
“Is there something you could be doing to make my job easier?” he asked with a skeptical look on his face.
“Like this?” Monet swung his wand in the air and the bottle in Ever’s hand flew from his grasp. It hovered just over Drago’s lips and then tipped, spilling the liquid, most of it making it into his mouth.
“Why did you make me risk getting infected if you could do that?” Ever asked, looking quite irritable.
“Because watching you sweat with fear while you balanced was incredibly entertaining.”
Drago’s snores halted and a great sputter erupted from his mouth.
“Uh-oh,” Monet said, dropping his wand, which made Drago crash back down into the pile of poison oak.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Drago awoke with a pain-riddled scream. He launched himself into a sitting position with murder in his eyes. His long pointy claws ripped into his own skin, which was covered with red blisters.
When he swung his gaze in Monet’s direction, Drago’s eyes narrowed. “You!” he yelled, fumbling to his giant feet. The thorns of the poison oak caught his legs, making him stumble backward and fall hard on his tailbone.
Monet only stared, trying not to laugh, but Ever was intent on helping. He moved forward, hands in a placating position in front of him.
“You’re all right,” he said calmly, stepping closer to the hyperventilating giant. The ring in Drago’s nose vibrated from the heaving breaths.
“Well, you’re all right, except for the possibly lethal dose of poison oak you’ve been exposed to,” Monet said, pointing to the thorny poison oak patch, the worst possible place in the Dark Forest for the Orc to have fallen asleep.
“You’re not helping,” Ever snapped in his direction.
Still scratching and panting, Drago dragged himself to one knee, the knuckles of one hand stabilizing him on the ground. Like a bull about to charge, he bared his immense teeth in Monet’s direction. “You!”
“You already said that. Don’t repeat yourself.” From his belt he withdrew the knife Azure had given him, the one Drago had given her. “And yes, me. I was sent to save your ass.”
“My knife!” Drago yelled. Apparently he didn’t have an inside voice.
“Yes, yes,” Monet said, his tone bored. “Azure gave it to me to show you. It’s proof that I’m here to rescue you and reunite you with your tribe. They are all waiting, but they won’t recognize you if you claw your skin off.”
“He’s in pain,” Ever said, his voice sympathetic.
“Oh, I’m sure every part of him, including his balls, is on fire.” Monet gave a long whistle.
“Isn’t there something you can do? A potion you can work up?” Ever asked.
“I could, but I believe that time is of the essence, and you’ve wasted enough of it screwing around. Isn’t there something you might do besides stand around and look fretful?”
“Who are you?” Drago asked, now turning his menacing gaze at Ever.
“He’s the pain in the ass I’ve been asked to babysit,” Monet said, spinning his wand around in his hands.
“I’m Ever, a friend of Princess Azure’s. And I think there’s something here I can use to combat the symptoms. The only problem is that finding it will draw attention to us.”
“Like an Orc screaming and throwing a fit isn’t already doing that? Work your hocus-pocus. I’m overdue for a shower and a bucket of mead,” Monet grumbled, the lack of proper provisions making him extra grumpy.
Holding his hand up, Ever swiped it through the air. The forest around them lightened, leaves and foliage glowing until they were almost too bright to stare at.
“What the fuck?” Monet asked, covering his eyes as the long leaves of a plant peeled back. Behind it, something glowed brighter than anything else around them. It was like everything in the forest was covered in gold.
“Ah, there you are!” Ever knelt, plucking the glowing object from the ground. He held the cylindrical pod-looking thing in the air.
“A techno seed,” Ever said, eying the large object.
The glowing light imbuing all the vegetation faded and shadows returned to the forest.
“Lucky there was one of those lying around,” Monet said, yawning again.
“Yes, but the technique I used to find it will have attracted the attention of predators,” Ever said, daring to step closer to Drago, who had now clawed his arms so much they were covered in long red streaks. “Open this and spread it on your skin. I promise it will help.”
The Orc grunted in reply, taking the yellow seed from him. When he squeezed it in his
hand, white liquid leaked out. Drago dragged the seed across his skin.
“Okay, well, if you’re done playing doctor, we need to be on our way before the harpies decide to make me into a scrumptious dinner,” Monet said, taking the lead as he set off.
“Actually, Virgo is that way,” Ever said, pointing in the opposite direction.
“I totally knew that.”
“You would know that if you had used the navigation on the Fitbit I got you.”
Monet eyed the device on his wrist. “That’s funny, because right now it’s just telling me that talking to you is elevating my heart rate. Apparently you’re unhealthy for me.”
Ever paused every couple yards, scanning the forest around them. It was quiet, which wasn’t necessarily a good thing.
“I was asleep?” Drago asked, still scratching his skin.
“Yes. You ate those blue berries. Those were ambien berries, which cause permanent sleep, but Monet created an antidote.”
“I was hungry. I gave my knife to Princess Azure. That left me no way to catch food, since I was separated from the tribe,” Drago said, grunting between sentences as he clawed at his chest and back.
“Dude, you’re the dumbest Orc in existence. Why would you give away your knife to some dumb princess?” Monet said, shaking his head.
“She rescued me!” Drago yelled, his voice cracking.
“And now I’ve rescued you, and all I ask in return is that you take a thorough bath. I’m really so noble.” Monet paused, noticing that Drago had stopped.
“What is it, big guy?”
“There.” He held his thick finger up to the sky, which was mostly obscured by branches.
“Would you please use your words?” Monet asked.
“Harpy!” Drago roared, leaping forward and pushing the other two men to the ground. He pulled back his muscular arm and launched it into the air just as a screech filled the sky.