The Potion Diaries (20 page)

Now she thought there might be something to that. An exquisite agony that could be ignited by the smallest thing.

She wanted to try something. She held up her palm, and looked at it. Just a palm. Nothing aggressive, nothing offensive. Then she offered it to Lyn. Lyn reciprocated. But as they got closer and closer, it was as if a magnet held them at a tiny distance apart. She could
feel
Lyn’s hand, but not in the physical sense . . . she could feel the chemistry between them, so solid, like a wall. She could push against it, but she still didn’t get closer to Lyn’s palm. It sent shivers running up and down her spine, it made her blood run cold and then searing hot again. Could you really be in love with someone you had never been able to touch?

Yes, absolutely yes.

She withdrew her hand, and placed it demurely back in her lap.

When she had nothing, what she wouldn’t do for a glimpse of Lyn’s ankle.

A touch of her palm.

A glance from her eyes.

That, she could have. She looked up, and yes – there it was.

There was a knock at the door, and Renel entered. Eve looked at him coolly. ‘I told you I did not want to be interrupted.’

‘I know, my Princess—’

‘How dare you disobey me? After what happened last time?’

‘I know—’

‘Are you still interrupting me? Leave, you horrid man!’

But he did not.

Eve felt an anger building inside her, and she could see fear rise in Renel’s face. Good! Let him feel fear! He should fear her wrath. He should obey her. She would not appear weak in front of Lyn.

The mirror behind Renel’s head cracked, and with it one of the reflected images of Lyn. ‘Look what you have done!’ Eve shrieked.

Renel did not turn and leave as she expected, but instead ran towards her. ‘Evelyn, you must calm down.’

‘Get off me! What are you doing?’ He had her by the shoulders, and it hurt.

‘You’re losing control!’

‘I am not! You’re the one doing this!’

The mirrors all around the room kept on breaking, a million shards falling onto the floor, raining glass and silver onto the stone pavings. Searing heat coursed through her body, sending waves of power through her fingertips. Did Lyn like this display? she wondered. Was she impressed?

Maybe she could do more.

She gathered the sense of heat in her palms. One clap of her hands and she could send earthquakes cracking through the floors, she could break the barriers that separated her and Lyn. But then Renel covered her mouth with a cloth, and she swooned. The last thing she did was stare into Lyn’s eyes and think,
I love you
.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Samantha

W
E RIDE FOR ALMOST FOUR HOURS straight, pulling up eventually at a decrepit-looking hotel on the outskirts of a small village. We have been heading steadily north, according to Kirsty, and the air around us is definitely colder by a few degrees. Kirsty bangs on the door until a sleepy-looking man opens up. He reluctantly agrees to rent us a room, but when he shows it to us I get the distinct impression no one has stayed there for years. Decades maybe. There are huge cobwebs everywhere – but then the spiders in Bharat are probably big enough to spin webs that size every night without breaking a sweat. It sends an involuntary shiver down my spine.

But hey, at least the wi-fi works.

Once I’m online, I call my parents to fill them in on the news. Kirsty reminds me not to mention any details of where we are. I also decide to leave out the part about Emilia, but it turns out we aren’t the only team to have had trouble. Kirsty and I haven’t had a chance to catch up on the casts yet, so Dad fills me in.

‘Everyone knows you’re back in now – a girl posted a picture of you at the airport on TalentChat. Then there were cameras in Bharat following Anita and Arjun and they spotted you leaving the airport and getting into their car – although they couldn’t get good shots of your faces. But they lost you thanks to some pretty crazy driving. I thought Kirsty was supposed to be keeping you safe?’

My stomach drops. So Kirsty had been right. The media had been trailing Anita and Arjun. That meant it wouldn’t have been too difficult for Emilia to find us. ‘What are they saying about me?’

‘They say you’re . . . flying under the radar at the moment.’

‘So they think I don’t have a hope.’ The thought fills me with disappointment, even though I know it shouldn’t. Kirsty would say it’s a good thing. And if Emilia is coming after us herself, then she thinks we’re a threat. That gives me a strange sense of satisfaction.

‘What about the other teams?’ I ask.

‘Two of the Participants have dropped out,’ says Dad. ‘Not ZA,’ he adds, anticipating my next question. ‘Their stashes of merpearl powder were stolen in separate raids. One of the alchemists was the CEO of a small synth firm just starting out, and their lab burned down. Arson, apparently.’

‘That’s beginning to seem like Emilia’s signature,’ I mumble.

‘What was that?’ Concern appears on my mum’s face. ‘Did Emilia do something to you? That’s the rumour but no one has found any evidence yet to point to her.’

‘No, Mum, I’m okay,’ I say, hating myself for every lie.

‘The CEO is trying to claim compensation from the Royals, being really vocal about it, but apparently it’s in the risks of the Hunt.’

‘All I can say is thank goodness you and the Patels can look out for one another,’ says Mum. ‘Maybe it’s best if you come back . . .’

‘I can’t, Mum.’ My voice breaks as I relay why we’ve split from Arjun and Anita, and niggling doubt begins to gnaw at the back of my mind.

Mum clearly disapproves but is trying hard to let me figure out how to resolve my mistakes by myself. The overwhelming desire for them to be with me, here, in Bharat, hits me so strongly I don’t have time to stop the tears. Mum’s face is immediately concerned again. I wipe the tears away hastily. ‘Any news on the Princess?’ I ask, breaking the silence.

‘No, but they’re not letting the press near her. There was a freak lightning storm last night, which they think might have come from her. There’s even talk about evacuating some of old Kingstown,’ says Mum.

‘Sounds dangerous. Now it’s your turn to be careful,’ I say.

‘You concentrate on you. What’s your plan now?’ says Dad.

‘Tomorrow we’re going to head out to find the eluvian ivy.’

‘We’ll be in and out of the jungle in an hour, tops,’ says Kirsty from the other end of the bed, where she is studying some maps.

Suddenly there’s a loud pounding on our door. Kirsty jumps up to open it. I can see Mum and Dad craning their necks, as if that would help them see beyond the confines of the screen. ‘Okay, Mum, Dad, gotta go – talk as soon as we have the luvy.’ Kirsty turns back to grin at me; I’m even speaking like a Finder now, using their slang for eluvian ivy.

I blow some air kisses their way, which they return, and then snap the lid of my laptop shut.

I raise an eyebrow at Kirsty, who shrugs and opens the door.

It’s a man – another guest, it looks like. His face is red and puffy with sweat and exertion. ‘Are you the Kemi team?’ He whips out a notebook and that’s when it dawns on us both: he’s a journalist.

‘Get out of here,’ Kirsty says, and slams the door shut.

He knocks again, but we ignore it.

‘How did he find us?’ I ask.

Kirsty waves her hands frantically. ‘I have no idea.’

His knocking becomes more urgent.

‘Go away!’ shouts Kirsty.

‘Please!’ says the man through the door. ‘I swear I didn’t track you here – this is just luck. My media team was ambushed outside the jungle by that crazy exiled woman. She took everything, my money, my equipment, my ID . . .’

‘Not our problem!’

‘She knocked me out and when I woke up, I was all alone. Luckily she didn’t find my van or else I would have been trapped, but I’ve run out of petrol . . .’

‘Still not our problem!’

‘Please. Have you heard what they’re saying about you on the casts? They’re calling you weak. They’re trying to discredit you. I can tell your story.’

Kirsty and I exchange a look. ‘He’s got a point,’ she says. ‘Better to have someone on our side. We need to take control of this media circus before it takes over us. Who do you work for?’ she says, more loudly so that the journo can hear.

‘
The Novaen Times
.’

‘Talented or ordinary?’

‘Ordinary!’

Kirsty opens the door again. ‘Fine. Look, we’re running from an Emilia attack too. We’re still in the Hunt.’

He looks relieved that he’s managed to get some kind of statement, and now that he’s calmed down, I can see that he’s a lot younger than I thought he was. If he wasn’t breathing like he’d run a marathon, he might even be attractive.

‘Now that you’ve got your quote, how about a beer? Off the record, of course,’ says Kirsty, who sounds like she’s just come to the same conclusion I did.

‘Sounds like a plan.’

‘Sam, you coming downstairs?’

I shake my head. ‘I’m going to hit the hay . . . or the cobwebs, as it were.’

‘No problem.’ Kirsty shuts the door behind her, taking the journalist far away. Thankfully.

As I flick off the light and am about to jump into bed, my phone goes, the vibrations bringing scraps of paint from the ceiling down onto my head. I snatch it from the bedside table, but don’t recognise the number of the text. Fear shoots through me as I wonder if the media have found my private number, but it’s not a journo.

It’s Zain.

Hey, reads the text.

My heart beats rapidly even as I read that one little word – and I’m appalled by my incredibly pathetic emotional response, even if I can’t seem to control it or stop it.

I’m running through the best way to reply when it buzzes again.

Now the excited butterflies turn a little sour. Is he just texting me to find out where I am? And to tell me his dad hates me (not that that’s a surprise)?

I haven’t even typed anything, and the phone goes one more time.

I can’t help but laugh. Not only because it’s like Zain has a window into my brain, but because he actually seems nervous. His bumbling texts seem more like something I would write.

I finally write a reply.

A few seconds later, it buzzes.

I fall asleep, dreaming of boys with jet-black hair and bright blue eyes.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Samantha