by Amy Alward
I can’t see the speaker in the murky light and I throw my hands up in surrender. ‘I’m Sam Kemi!’ I shout into the semidarkness. ‘We spoke by email? You have yellow ark flower? Please don’t use salamander powder on me!’
‘Hmm,’ he says, but his tone’s no longer menacing.
‘I have the money we agreed,’ I say tentatively, still unable to make out whom I’m speaking to.
There’s a rustling in the leaves of the tree and when a face appears in between the branches I scramble backwards, tripping over a stack of glass jars behind me. They tumble to the ground with an enormous crash and I wince. ‘I’m so sorry!’ I pick up the jar closest to me, but I have no idea where it goes.
‘Oh, just leave it,’ says the face. Its owner swings down and out of the tree, then extends his hand. ‘John McGraw, at your service.’
‘Sam Kemi,’ I reply, shaking his hand. He stares at me and I feel like I’m sitting an exam I haven’t studied for.
I must pass, because he hands over a small paper bag. I slip my finger underneath the seal and smile as I see three fresh, bright-yellow ark flower petals. They will be perfect to boost the effectiveness of the potion we are making for the Princess. I quickly fold the top of the bag over again, then hand him the small envelope containing the largest amount of money I’ve carried around with me in my entire life. No wonder I was feeling jumpy.
He snatches the envelope and flicks the notes inside, counting them like a pro. ‘Nice to do business with you, Kemi—’
The front door slams open and Zain barges in. Both Mr McGraw and I freeze and the colour drains from my cheeks. ‘I thought I heard a crash,’ Zain says, to our stupefied faces.
Mr McGraw turns tomato-red with rage. ‘SYNTH SCUM!’ he roars, and without warning he reaches behind his back and throws a handful of orangey-red dust directly at our faces.
‘Run!’ I yell to Zain.
But he remains rooted in place, instinctively reaching for his wand. His calm demeanour turns to panic as he realises it’s not there. It’s still on the dashboard of the car
I slam into him, knocking us both to the ground. If the powder settles on our skin, we’re done for. I scramble along the floor, picking up jars and throwing them against the shelves. As they shatter, I hope one of them is the one I’m looking for.
Crushed activated charcoal dust – acts as a neutraliser to several toxins, including salamander.
Black powder fills the air, sizzling as it merges with the orange dust. It gives us just the seconds we need to find our way back out of the door, not stopping until we reach the car, breathless and heaving.
Zain turns to me once we’ve recovered our breath, his eyes downcast. ‘I’m sorry—’ he starts to say, but then I start giggling. I can’t help myself.
‘The look on Mr McGraw’s face when you walked in . . .’ I say, between laughs.
It must be infectious, because Zain joins in. ‘When I reached for my wand . . .’
‘And it wasn’t there . . .’
‘I thought we were goners.’ Zain shakes his head, but he’s grinning widely at me. ‘You always know just what to do.’ He leans over and pulls me into a kiss that turns my giggles into tingles.
‘I’m lucky I’m so nosy,’ I say, when we come up for air. ‘I saw the charcoal when we came in and thought how useful it might be.’ Movement from the cottage window makes my heart skip a beat. ‘Come on, let’s get out of here before we cause any more trouble.’
‘Did you get the ark flower?’
I lift up the bag. ‘All there.’
‘Great. And I know just how we can celebrate. Ice cream.’
That boy knows the way to my heart.
High Park is an enormous swathe of green space at the bottom of Kingstown – and the busiest place in the city on a beautiful and hot day like today. Ice-cream vendors and hot-dog stalls line the gravel pathways and the lake is packed with push-pedal boats floating on the inky black water. I love the park because it’s a place everyone can enjoy – without needing any magic.
One of my favourite places in the park is the petting zoo, where my parents used to take Molly and me in the school holidays. They have tiny baby goats and lambs in the spring, and in the summer they even showcase some of the tamer Wild animals – little prancing kelpies in the water that grow stronger with the laughter of human children.
There’s a nice breeze down by the lake, and that’s where Zain and I walk, making a beeline for one of the ice-cream trucks.
‘What can I get my rescuer this time?’ he asks.
‘Surprise me,’ I say, sitting down on one of the benches. As he walks off, I lean back, close my eyes and let the sun catch my face. In my head, I picture slicing the ark flower petals into delicate strips and feeding them into the potion. Since we don’t yet have a name for it, ideas for that swirl around my head: Talent Tamer, Royal Rescue, Magic Constraining Potion. I wonder if it could have other applications too. I would feel safer if dangerous Talented criminals like Emilia Thoth had their Talent constrained.
Zain snaps me out of my daydream by sitting down next to me. He has two scoops of brightly coloured ice cream in a cup.
‘Close your eyes,’ he says.
‘What?’ Instead, I open my eyes wider, trying to guess the flavour he’s bought me.
‘Just do it.’
‘Okay.’ Tentatively, I close my eyes. He puts the plastic spoon to my lips and immediately I recognise the taste. ‘Mmm, chocolate,’ I say. ‘My favourite.’
‘Wait,’ he whispers.
I wait for a second and then there’s a small series of explosions in my mouth, bursts of flavour that flood my tongue with delicious surprises. I laugh in delight.
‘What did you taste?’
I open my eyes and see Zain looking at me eagerly. ‘Tropical fruits,’ I reply. ‘Like mango, passionfruit and lychee. It is so good.’
‘That’s so weird.’ He takes a scoop himself, waiting a few seconds for the flavour explosions to kick in. ‘I get other things, like apples and cinnamon and maybe a hint of caramel.’
‘Are you serious? What is this stuff?’
Zain winks at me. ‘It’s called Flavour Faves. You get all your favourite tastes in one hit – I think it’s new for this summer. Now I know that the key to your heart is chocolate, followed by tropical fruit.’
‘Hmm, and yours is apple pie!’
Zain places his hand on his chest. ‘I’m just a down-home boy at heart.’
I laugh. I lace my fingers into his, leaning my head on his shoulder. I never thought that it could be this way with a Talented, and especially not with Zain. My reaction to him should be more like Mr McGraw’s – although maybe slightly less dramatic than throwing pain-inducing powder in his face. I should hate him. But I don’t. In fact, the total opposite.
‘You’re itching to go, aren’t you?’ he says, as we finish up our treats.
‘The ark flower . . .’
‘I know, I know. You have that need to mix.’
I nod. I can’t wait to see the reaction in the potion when we add the new ingredient, and to see its effects on Evelyn.
‘Come on then,’ he says, standing up from the bench. ‘We can eat and walk at the same time.’
We walk out of King Canut’s Gate, the closest one to Kemi Street. We can’t hold hands because of the ice cream, but we walk so close together our shoulders bump as we move. ‘When we get to Laville, I’ll take you to the best chocolate shop in the world,’ he says.
I smile. ‘Will that be a real date?’
‘Hmm . . . no, that’s more like a city tour,’ he says with a wink.
‘One day, then.’
‘One day.’
We turn the corner to the bottom of my road. The street is bustling and I hope that means our store will be busy too. With actual customers this time around, not people looking for a miracle we can’t provide.
‘Have you found something to wear yet for the Laville Ball?’ Zain asks.
> Before I can answer, a female voice shouts ‘Help!’ from further up the street. ‘Somebody help me! We need an ambulance.’
Zain and I both turn to look. There’s a crowd of people in front of us, but through a gap I catch sight of a figure slumped against the low stone wall.
My heart stops. I recognise that figure – or at least the shock of white hair that has come loose from its cap. I see the cap with its faded olive-green checked pattern, lying discarded on the floor beside him.
‘Grandad,’ I whisper.
‘What?’ says Zain, his voice raised with alarm, but I tear out of his grasp and race up the road, sprinting as fast as my legs can carry me.
By the time I reach him, a man is shaking his arm. ‘Sir, what’s your name?’ he says.
‘I don’t remember,’ he replies, then his eyes roll back in his head, his chin falling against his chest.
‘Grandad!’ I scream this time, and dive down to hold him. The man steps back, giving me space. ‘Are you all right? Grandad, it’s me, Sam, can you hear me?’
He comes around, but instead of words he is muttering something indecipherable. I whip my head around, still holding on tightly to Grandad’s arm. ‘What happened? Did anyone see?’
The man closest to me frowns. ‘I’m not sure . . . but there was a woman here before who called for help. She would have seen the whole thing.’
‘Sam?’ comes a feeble voice from beside me. My heart almost bursts with happiness that he recognises me.
‘It’s okay, Grandad,’ I say, pulling him close to me. ‘I’ll get us some help.’
‘I don’t need any help, I’m fine,’ he says, though his voice is weak. I check all his vital signs and although his heartbeat is fast, it’s still strong. My own heartbeat slows to a more normal rhythm. I look up – we’re only a few metres away from the store.
‘Zain, can you get my grandad’s other arm?’
He nods, and loops Grandad’s arm over his shoulder. I take the other side and thank the man for his help. The crowd gathered around us gradually disperses as they see he’s okay. I breathe a huge sigh of relief.
As soon as I step forward, into the spot where my grandad had fallen, a stench hits my nostrils. It’s acrid, sharp and so metallic it makes my eyes sting.
I’d recognise that smell anywhere.
Emilia Thoth.
CHAPTER NINE
Samantha
WE STUMBLE INTO THE KITCHEN. ‘Mum? Dad?’ I yell into the house. There’s no reply.
Beside me, Grandad grimaces. ‘No need to shout, Samantha.’
‘Oh, sorry, Grandad.’ Between us, Zain and I lower him into one of the chairs.
‘I’m absolutely fine. Just took a little tumble, that’s all. Nothing to be concerned about.’ He moves to stand up but I keep my hand on his shoulder.
‘It looked like more than that to me. Zain, can you see if Mum is in the store? I’ll make a cup of calming tea for Grandad.’ I busy myself at the stove, trying to stop my hands from shaking. My senses are still reeling from the shock of seeing Grandad on the ground, and that awful stench that hit my nostrils . . . then disappeared just as quick. But it couldn’t be Emilia. She’s locked up in a cell in Zambi awaiting trial. Just my overactive imagination at work again.
Grandad stands up. ‘I have mixes to finish off in the lab.’
‘I can do that! You need to rest.’
‘Who is the master and who is the apprentice here? I will finish off my mixes for today and you can help your mother front of store and then I will rest. I won’t hear any more arguments about it.’ He storms across the kitchen, moving faster than I thought possible for his age.
‘Sam, what’s going on?’
Zain’s brought Mum back in. Her face is lined with concern, and she keeps looking over her shoulder at the shop door. It must be busy in there. ‘Grandad fell outside the store and I’m worried he might have hurt himself,’ I say.
Her eyes go wide. ‘Where is he now? Does he need to see a doctor?’
I nod towards the door to the lab. ‘He said he was fine and he’s already gone back to mixing.’ Zain and I exchange a look and I shrug. What can I do? Chain him to the chair? ‘He’s going to rest when he’s finished.’
‘Well, all right then. I could really use your help out front, you know.’
‘I’ll be out in a second.’
Mum wipes her hands on her long skirt and then pushes her way back into the store. With two large steps, Zain is by my side and pulling me into a big hug. I allow all my shock and fear to dissolve in his arms. Then he stands back, puts his hands on my shoulders and looks me deep in my eyes. ‘He’s going to be okay.’
‘I know,’ I say, though I hate how small my voice sounds. My grandad is my entire world. I don’t know what I’d do without him. And the shock of thinking for even one single second that I might lose him . . . it’s undone me completely.
‘I’d better go. Sounds like you’re needed in there.’
I nod. I wish he didn’t have to leave but he has his own family business to get back to. He’s doing an internship with his company, ZA Corp.
As if reading my mind, he says, ‘At least we have the Royal Tour tomorrow. Two whole weeks we’ll get to spend together with no work to worry about.’ His fingertips brush down my arm until they reach my hands. He gathers them up and kisses my knuckles. ‘Until tomorrow?’
‘See you then.’ We kiss properly, then I wave him goodbye at the door.
There’s a high-pitched whine as the kettle on the stove comes up to boil. Rather than let it go to waste, I make a cup of coffee for Mum – I know she will appreciate it. Just as I pick up the steaming mug to head into the store, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I fish it out and see that the message is from Evelyn.
OMG!! I just heard from Z. Hope everything is okay?
All okay, I type back. Apparently he just slipped . . . need to keep an eye on him but he’s already back at work! Typical Grandad.
Good to hear it. Still on for tomorrow? I need you!
Of course :)
Great. Be in touch soon.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath, the last remnants of a crazy morning swept away by the comforting scent of coffee grounds. Back to earth once again, I head into the chaos that is the store.
I can’t help but smile. Everything is back to normal. Or at least, the new normal around here – which still takes some getting used to. The store is packed with customers picking up mixes or dropping off prescriptions. The wall of ingredients that stretches the entire height of the building – almost three storeys in total – is totally rammed with new ingredients, merpearl sitting side-by-side with Merlin’s beard, unicorn horn with unicorn tail. More boxes of ingredients arrive every day to replace our sold-out stock, sent to us by our ingredient Finder, Kirsty. We finally have what we’ve always wanted: a thriving, growing apothecary. The downside is it’s so busy, I can’t leave Mum to add the ark flower to Evie’s potion. Reluctantly, I place the petals into a clean jar and put it on a low shelf, ready for me to mix in as soon as I have a spare moment.
‘Sam, do you have the mixes for Mr McDonough?’ asks Mum. I rack my brain for knowledge of the mix.
Air of Apollo – heat thyme stalks, yellow river tea leaves and Pegasus feathers over a hot brick and bottle the fumes. Helpful for asthma sufferers or for other breathing problems, including persistent cough.
Grandad approved the formula last night.
‘Should be finished – I’ll grab it from the back,’ I say. I dance around the line of people waiting at the counter and into the lab.
The lab possesses its own kind of busy industriousness. Concoctions bubble away on the stove, steam rising and curling into the otherwise still air, while bright red liquid does loop-the-loops through a rollercoaster of clear plastic tubing. All the mixes in progress. I don’t see any sign of Grandad, but that doesn’t mean he’s not working away behind all the contraptions.
In the far corner I spot the bro
wn paper package containing Mr McDonough’s Air of Apollo. I grab it and rush back into the store.
I find Mr McDonough and hand over the cure. He smiles at me gratefully. ‘Your mix is the finest I’ve used – much better than my synth medication. I have no idea why I never came here before!’ he says.
I know exactly why: because he was scared off using our potions by the huge anti-potion campaigns orchestrated by ZoroAster and the other synth corporations over the years. I don’t say that though, I just smile and say, ‘Well, I hope you come again,’ like Mum tells me. No point getting all political with the customers – they’re proving their loyalty with their money.
‘See you soon,’ I add.
We work this way in a steady, comforting rhythm until well into the afternoon.
A bell rings behind the counter – the signal that Grandad needs me. I excuse myself from helping Mum and head back into the lab. There’s no sign of him. ‘Grandad?’ I raise my voice above the sound of the bubbling and boiling.
‘Over here.’ I hear his voice from a far corner of the room.
I duck around a large wooden counter (that I’ve bumped my hip on more times than I can count) and automatically pick up any spare ingredients I see lying around, replacing them neatly in their rightful spots as I pass. A messy lab means messy mixes – one of Grandad’s many reminders sweeps through my mind.
When I see him, I let out a gasp. There are twenty or thirty little brown bags, filled with mixes, waiting to be picked up. Prescriptions ready for their customers.
‘Don’t just stand there. Go take these to your mother before the afternoon rush.’
I pick one up and turn it over in my hand. ‘These are all completed mixes?’
He doesn’t reply, merely grunts. I swallow down my shock. He must have been working in double – triple – quick time in order to get all these mixes done.
‘We missed a valuable morning, so I had to pick up the slack.’
I nod, not quite trusting myself to speak, and load the bags of mixes onto a large tray. I carry it carefully back through to the store.
‘Can you believe this?’ I whisper to Mum as she comes over to stand beside me. ‘He’s been working non-stop all morning. Just look at all these mixes.’
