The Potion Diaries (21 page)

I
WAKE UP AND SIT BOLT UPRIGHT. KIRSTY IS still not in the room. It’s not inconceivable that she simply got up earlier than me – but as I wipe the sleep from my eyes I can tell that nothing in the room has been touched since I fell asleep. My stomach lurches and visions of Emilia abducting Kirsty swim through my brain. That’d be one way to get me out of the Hunt.

I throw on the same cargo pants and vest top as yesterday. There’s no time to worry about my image out here.

As I lace my boots up, I itch to be in the lab. Exhaustion threatens to beat my mental faculties into submission, but I won’t let it. Still, this whole Hunt is confirming to me what I already knew: that I was a lab rat, a potions mixer, a researcher, not a Finder. Kirsty’s life – of zero attachments, far-flung adventures, avoiding danger at every turn – wasn’t for me. I liked the idea of adventure, but not every day. Not at this pace. I want time to think, and at this rate, I feel like I’m in danger of missing something really vital.

My phone buzzes, and my heart jumps, but it’s not Zain this time. It’s Kirsty. I send up a quick prayer that she’s okay.

Meet downstairs for breakfast? Bring the bags.

I look down at our two massive backpacks and groan.

Kirsty sits at a table in the lounge of the hotel, the owner and the journalist across from her laughing at one of her jokes. I marvel for a moment at her ability to charm just about anybody.

‘There you are! Sam, this is Daniel – the writer who has taken such an interest in your story. And Raj, our host. Quick, grab some breakfast and then we’ll make a move. We need to get to that eluvian ivy ASAP. At least it’s the two of us now.’

I grimace at the reminder of what I did to Anita and Arjun, and distract myself by looking over the breakfast options. There’s not much choice, so I grab a banana to be safe. That’s one tip I was taught by my dad. When in doubt, choose peelable fruit. Raj offers me coffee, which I gladly accept. But this coffee is different – it’s thick, gloopy almost, and spiced with cinnamon, cumin, and other spices I can’t place. It’s a bit of a shock first thing in the morning, but I decide that I like it.

I long for a triple-syrup-shot vanilla bean latte from Coffee Magic – which, although ubiquitous on Kingstown streets, probably won’t be found deep in the Bharat jungle. Once, I’d even taken a cup back to the lab to make sure it wasn’t laced with some kind of magic substance, but no – sometimes the best potions are the simplest: just delicious coffee beans, ground to smooth, filtered with water and mixed with velvety milk and several pumps of sugar. Turns out it doesn’t take much to perk someone up – but to make them fall deeply in love?

Now that’s a bit more complicated.

Kirsty lets me drain my coffee, and then: ‘Let’s go. We’re going to take Dan’s van instead of the bike.’

‘He’s coming with us?’

‘I am,’ Dan says. ‘You’ll move faster in my van.’

‘Raj has fuel we can buy.’ Kirsty stands up and grabs our bags. I take that as a cue and follow her, swiftly slipping into the back of the van. Kirsty hops into the driver’s seat, even as Dan comes and stands by the door. He hesitates for a second, then chucks the keys through the open window and into her lap. She grins.

Well, he must have some kind of brain if he’s smart enough to let Kirsty take the lead.

The back of the truck is filled with mud-stained ropes, and there is a bucketful of carabiners. Climbing must be involved somehow. Oh joy.

‘Sounds to me like I should have followed you from the beginning. You’ve had a bit of action,’ says Dan, flipping open his notebook as Kirsty drives.

‘Too much action for my liking.’

‘Emilia Thoth has been waiting for her moment to bring the Royal family down. Maybe she thinks this is it.’

My eyes open wide. ‘Would she really want her niece to die?’

‘For a chance at the crown, who knows how far she’ll go?’ he says. ‘She’s managed to stay one step ahead of the Royals so far. They’ve apparently sent the secret service out looking for her. And none of the cameras have been able to capture a glimpse of her. She’s playing a game of cat and mouse with the media. She wants to be feared but not reviled. She knows how to keep the public on their toes.’

‘Well, when Sam saves the Princess, they won’t have anything to worry about,’ says Kirsty. ‘Seriously, I don’t know what stars aligned but the Kemi genes have collected in this girl, and come out stronger. The Royals are lucky to have her on this Hunt. Even over her grandfather. He is the most irritating, stubborn old man you could ever meet.’

‘Hey!’ I say.

‘We are talking about Ostanes Kemi, right?’ Dan sucks on the end of his pen. ‘The same Ostanes who, as a twelve-year-old apprentice, saved the Queen Mother from certain death when she contracted whooping cough? Who then at fourteen developed a potion vaccine that rid Nova of ebula pox?’

I shoot Dan a look. I’d forgotten that Grandad had once saved the Queen Mother’s life. No wonder she stopped to say hello to me at the Palace.

Kirsty raises her eyebrow. ‘You’ve done your homework, I see.’

‘Ostanes Kemi is a genius. Well, I guess that was all before the last Wilde Hunt,’ he finishes. ‘And the synths took over.’

‘And that’s why I will never mix for a synth. And why I’ll win this Hunt and take back the pride in the Kemi name.’

‘An admirable goal,’ he says.

For some reason I keep expecting to see a cliff face, a mountain, or some large boulder to use the climbing equipment on, but everywhere I look is just trees, trees and more trees. Did I mention the trees?

The van slows to a crawl.

‘Okay,’ Kirsty finally says. ‘Everybody out.’

‘Hey, I’m not leaving my van here,’ says Dan.

She throws him a look, and he capitulates. I really ought to get some tips from Kirsty one of these days.

We plod through the dense brush, me sandwiched between Kirsty and Dan.

‘Keep an eye out for luvy,’ she whispers.

‘How?’ says Dan.

‘Just guard your thoughts. Luvy latches onto emotions – and you don’t want to get caught up.’

I crane my neck to take in the majesty of the forest. There’s no one around apart from us, and I feel like I’m in a sacred place – a natural cathedral, a living library, an organic lab.

It’s beautiful – haunting, even – but it gives me the creeps all the same. It’s not the wildlife or the amazing flora. It’s the fact that I keep expecting tongues of fire to leap out at me, winding a searing hot cord of destruction through the trees. Will Emilia only be happy when she has completely and utterly annihilated us?

Then I remember. We are a threat. It fills me with a warm glow of pride, and I lift my chin up further. She thinks we can win. An immense love for my family swirls through me. The Kemi mixing gene might have skipped my dad, but he is still my idol, and I miss his comforting hugs. He would have advised me better on the Patel situation. My mum, who is the lifeblood of the family. She gave up her Talented heritage to be with my dad, and despite her flighty ways she is the glue that keeps us together.

Then there is my grandfather, the fount of knowledge in my universe. Obstinate, old-fashioned, gruff, and the person who understands me most in the world, even if I don’t understand him all the time. And lastly my sister. Dear, sweet, Talented Molly. I’m so protective of her . . .

I feel like I’m drifting, floating out of control with love for my family. The feeling encompasses me like a blanket, reassuring me that nothing is ever going to go wrong. Nothing can go wrong. It’s a weightless feeling, like flying on a cloud of their support. It’s the best feeling in the entire world.

A distant voice breaks my happy stupor. A male voice. Only a vague flicker of recognition registers, but I feel my body recoil from it. I wrap myself further into the cocoon of my family’s love. It’s warm here. There’s another voice, female.

‘Shh, don’t let her hear you. Wake her too quickly and she’ll panic.’

I recognise that voice, but I still don’t release myself from my protective thoughts. I feel myself withdraw further from them, and I hear the female voice swear.

Suddenly, I remember something about luvy. Instinctively, I struggle. Bonds that have wrapped themselves around me tighten, enclosing me further within the cocoon. But this is no cocoon of love. This is entrapment. This is the ivy, feeding on my love, taking my emotions for its own. What an idiot I am.

Luckily, Kirsty’s voice manages to reach me.

‘Keep still, Sam! I’ve almost got you.’

I try to calm myself, but I can’t stop the fear – as the new emotion surges, the luvy grips my neck and tightens. I can’t open my eyes. It’s like tiny hands are holding my eyelids down, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t see. I try to raise my arms to claw at whatever is holding my eyes shut. But I can’t move them either. They’re glued to my side, and when I try to spread my limbs wide, it pulls me inward. The ivy has surrounded me completely.

There’s a tug on my foot – and then a searing pain as something rough tightens around my ankle and tries to pull me down. All thoughts of my family are out of my head as I focus on the pain.

The luvy’s grip loosens. My eyes snap open.

But I wish they hadn’t.

I’m high up. The luvy has dragged me up amongst the jungle trees, so high I can barely see the ground, just the branches and leaves and a long, long drop . . .

Oh, dragons. I fight the urge to close my eyes again, to return to that place of love where I felt safe and grounded, and far less scared.

I hear my name.

My ankle hurts again. The luvy loosens.

I drop. I scream.

I think of my mum and the luvy tightens. Safe. Safety.

‘Sam,’ the voice comes again, more urgent. I turn my head to the sound, even as I feel the luvy creep up my neck and prepare to cover my face again. Finally, I spot Kirsty. She’s hanging onto one of the nearby tree trunks, a thin spiral of rope wrapped around the tree. The climbing equipment. So that’s what that was for.

‘Sam,’ she says, evenly. ‘If you go beyond the canopy, I won’t be able to reach you. The trees around here won’t be able to hold my weight.’

As she says that, my brain – stupid, stupid organ that it is – jumps to thoughts of safety, of love, and the luvy responds. It pulls me upwards, higher into the tops of the trees.

Then I remember something else about luvy. Something amazing. Something that might make this ordeal worthwhile.

I turn to look at Kirsty one last time, and in that split second, she reads my mind. Instant panic shows on her face. She opens her mouth to shout at me.

But I’m being pulled up too fast now for her to do anything about it. Instead, she gestures frantically to her ankle. I look down at mine, where the pain was, and I see it – a piece of rope hooked around my leg.

It’s too late to pay it much attention now, because the luvy has lost patience with me, and its tendrils gallop upwards. It’s not going to let me escape this time.

When it breaks through the treetops, I’m blinded by the brightness of the sun. Down on the jungle floor, the light had been mottled, filtered through the leaves, but above the canopy is pure, unadulterated daylight. I can’t let it distract me from my purpose though, and I blink furiously to clear the spots from my eyes.

Strangely, being above the canopy is less scary than being just below it. The tops of the trees look solid, like another level of ground. I imagine if I fell here, I would drop onto the leaves and bounce, like falling on a green mattress. But my brain knows that is far from the truth.

The luvy is like a carpet laid over the canopy floor. It sits on top of the leaves of the trees, a symbiotic entity, waiting for the right animal – or, in this case, human – to come by. For a moment, I think how lucky we are to have found it amidst the acres, and acres, and acres of jungle that surrounds us. The leaves are delicate five-pointed stars, absolutely stunning in their intricacy. Little white veins stretch and wend their way through the dark green of the leaves. They suck up emotion – and their favourite is happiness. It’s the flower of the luvy that I’m looking for. But it’s not part of the potion, but it could still change everything. A huge white blossom so valuable and rare that I’ve only ever seen a drawing of it; we’ve never had one in the store.

My Finder instincts leave a lot to be desired, but I read about the luvy flower in an old textbook, fascinated because even the synths haven’t been able to replicate the effect of the luvy flower with chemical mixes. It’s used in very few potions, but the ones that contain it are astronomically expensive. If I can get it . . . well, I could do with someone paying me an astronomical sum right about now.

Gazing out over the canopy, all I can see is green. For a moment I think I’ve taken this risk for nothing. But then, finally, I spot a white petal, swaying slightly in the breeze. At the same time, though, a vine of luvy tugs at the bottom of my lip. It wants to consume me.

I start to – for lack of a better description – swim towards the white flower. I pull at the ivy just as much as it pulls at me. It’s wrapped tightly around my body, but as I reach out with my arms it moves with me. More vines start to lift and creep around my head, poking at my ears, my mouth, my nose; one even tries to get into my eyelid. I thought I’d be more terrified, but my mind is crystal clear: get to the luvy flower, or the luvy will get you. Simple as that. And in this battle for my survival, I’m going to do everything I can to win.

I reach it, finally, and the luvy vines are in my hair, around my neck. But the luvy has grown complacent. Left undisturbed for so long, it’s forgotten how to guard its most precious treasure: its own flower. Thin stems of green wend their way around my body, pinning my arms to my side. When I’m finally close enough to the flower, I have no choice in how to grab at it. I lunge forward, throwing my body weight into the movement, and bite over the precious petals, down the stem, trapping it in between my teeth and ripping.

I think I hear the luvy scream. Except, it’s not a scream, it’s a screech of vines unravelling themselves from around me. The leaves expel this slippery substance, an oil, which makes the vines slick – too slick to grab hold of, too slick to keep hold of me. It hates me; it wants me out. It’s wounded and I’m the cause.