The Potion Diaries 2

by Amy Alward

  ‘Try it on,’ he says.

  The changing room is bigger than my bedroom and covered in gold-leaf wallpaper. As I slip off my shoes, my toes sink into the deep burgundy carpet. There’s a huge full-length mirror hanging on the far wall, edged all around in a gold frame as wide as my hand. I turn away from the mirror before I start undressing, but just as I do I see a figure slip from behind the frame, and before I can cry out, a hand clamps down over my mouth.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Samantha

  ‘SHH, DON’T CRY OUT, IT’S only me,’ whispers a familiar voice. My body relaxes, and when she feels the tension leave my shoulders, she lets me go. I spin around and give her a huge hug.

  ‘Kirsty? What are you doing here?’ I try to keep my voice down, but I’m excited to see her. She looks well. Winning the Wilde Hunt has done wonders for her reputation – and her bank balance.

  ‘You wanted to talk to me, didn’t you?’

  I laugh. ‘I did, but I thought we could just arrange to meet like normal people . . . or maybe just pick up the phone. I didn’t realise you were in the city!’

  ‘What, me, miss the opportunity to sell fabulous trinkets to the biggest gathering of rich Talenteds of the season? You’re kidding, right? Trust me, the market for jewel bugs at this time of year is sizzling hot. I’ve spent the past week deep in the Cortez jungle looking for the best specimens, and I’m going to sell every one. Sneaking into House of Perrod is just part of the plan . . . that way I get to preview people’s dresses so I can show up with the perfect accessory.’ That’s Kirsty, always one step ahead of everyone else. She looks over at the dress hanging up on the wall. ‘That is gorgeous! You’re going to knock everybody dead. I might even have a bug for you.’ She winks.

  Jewel bugs – flying insects with brightly coloured carapaces, which can be ground down for dyes. They can also be trained to fly around their owners or even to carry the trains of long dresses as ornamentation.

  I shudder. ‘No, thank you.’ I don’t need a jewel bug flying around my dress. Luckily, it doesn’t have a train.

  ‘Sam? Do you need any help?’ Evelyn’s voice floats through the door.

  ‘Er, just a second!’ I shout out.

  ‘Okay, so I got your message,’ says Kirsty. ‘Centaurs, eh? They’re a pretty tricky species.’

  I lean in close, and lower my voice. ‘Do you know if I might be able to speak to one?’

  Kirsty frowns. ‘Does it have to be Runustan? I have centaur contacts in some of the neighbouring countries . . .’

  ‘It has to be Runustan. Why, is that more difficult?’

  ‘Well, according to my research, no one has been in contact with the Runu centaurs in the last fifty years. They lost huge numbers from a disease and after that, they kind of sealed themselves off from human contact.’

  ‘Oh,’ I say. That does not sound good.

  ‘Not to worry though. I have an old friend who’s working in a village in Runustan.’

  I smile. ‘Of course you do . . .’

  ‘Who says she can help. It’s not a guarantee but it’s as good a place as any to start. How soon?’

  ‘I want to go tonight.’

  Kirsty raises her eyebrows. ‘That soon? It’ll be expensive. This must be some potion . . . and don’t you have the Royal Tour to go on?’

  ‘I don’t have time to explain right now – but I will.’

  She bites her bottom lip and looks off to one side. ‘Well, I was supposed to be running my market stall tomorrow and I had some appointments lined up . . .’

  I grab her by her upper arms. ‘Kirsty, I promise you. I will make it worth your while.’

  She nods. ‘Okay, Sam, just for you. If you can make the flights happen tonight, I’ll be there.’ She gives me a quick smile, then slips back behind the mirror. I’m left on my own.

  I wriggle out of my clothing and put on the dress. There’s an impatient knocking on the door. ‘Sam?’ Evelyn says.

  ‘Coming! Can you help me with the zipper?’ I open the door to the changing room and let her finish doing up the clasp. As the dress falls into place around my body, I can see how pretty it looks reflected back at me. Evelyn looks over my shoulder and into the mirror. She studiously avoids her own gaze, as always. ‘You look amazing!’ she says. ‘Come on out so we can see you properly.’

  I step out into the back room, where Jacques has set up a little pedestal for me to stand on.

  ‘Zain’s not going to know what hit him,’ says Evelyn.

  ‘You don’t think it’s too short for a ball?’ I say, praying it’s not. Normally I hate dresses that show off my knobbly knees, but as I twist on the pedestal, the dress flares out around me. Even for the least girly girl on the planet, the sight of such lovely material on me gives me a little thrill. The hanging strands feel smooth as silk between my fingers, and they’re crafted in such a unique way that they don’t get tangled up as I move.

  ‘Are you kidding? Maybe it would be too short if you were fifty, but you’re sixteen. It’s perfect. Jacques, can you have it sent up to the Palace?’ He nods. ‘Great. C’mon Sam, let’s get moving.’

  I stick my tongue out at her, but I do as she says. Evelyn can be so bossy sometimes. Must be a product of not only being an only child, but being an only Princess child.

  ‘I’m going, I’m going!’ I slip back into the changing room and out of the dress, terrified of damaging it. Putting my old jeans back on just feels wrong, now. I suddenly get a glimpse of why people fall head over heels for designer clothes.

  Before I leave the changing room, I sneak a look behind the mirror, pulling it slightly off its angle so I can see where Kirsty disappeared to. But to my surprise, there’s just the regular wallpaper that’s everywhere else in the room. I run my hand along the edges, searching for a seam, but I can’t find one.

  Weird.

  When I emerge, Evelyn pulls my hand towards the large three-way mirror. ‘We’re just going to transport back to the Palace, okay? If you hold my hand, it will make it ten times easier.’

  I grab her hand, and allow her to pull me through. Transporting is something I thought I would never get used to. The idea is that two streams of magic are connected by mirrors, and Talented transport technicians help to pull you through if you are either an ordinary, or a Talented who has never visited the place before. But transporting with Evelyn is another matter entirely. Her magic is so strong, we make the journey in an instant.

  As soon as we land and Evelyn and I are safe from listening ears, I turn to her. ‘Evie, I need your help. You need to get me to Runustan, tonight.’

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Samantha

  THE NEXT FEW HOURS ARE a whirlwind of activity as Evelyn makes the necessary preparations. When she wants to be, Evelyn can be as fierce as a hurricane, and I’m grateful that I’m standing with her in the eye of it because otherwise I’d be blown away. By the end of it, she’s rearranged her Royal Tour so that we start in Samar, the capital city of Runustan, citing a desire for a cultural exchange and to see a part of the world she has yet to visit. It throws her staff into a huge commotion – not to mention what must be going on at the other end, in Runustan itself, but everyone is making it work for the Princess. Of course they are. She’s probably the most famous face in the world.

  Zain and I travel together to the airport, while Evelyn travels in her own separate car – but instead of the normal Kingstown International Airport terminal it’s a private aircraft hangar on the outskirts of the city. Even though Evelyn has the ability to transport herself instantly around the world, she always travels by air to her public engagements. The grandeur of arriving by private jet, the photo ops as she descends the steps, the hordes of screaming fans – it’s all part of the spectacle.

  I grip Zain’s hand tightly as we walk up to the plane. In his expensive blazer, crisp white shirt and tailored trousers, he looks like he belongs – my scruffy rogue cleaned up for the Royal Tour. I’ve put on my nicest cotton su
n dress, but only because I know I can change into something more comfortable on the plane.

  The Royal family’s private jet is as big as a regular commercial airliner, but decorated with the same plush fabrics and luxurious materials as their palace. Zain (who has travelled with Evelyn before, the lucky thing) gives me the guided tour. It’s nothing like a normal plane, and I’m shocked by how much space there is inside. At the back of the plane there are four decent-sized bedrooms, each with a super-comfortable double bed. There are even proper stand-up showers in their ensuite bathrooms. There’s a chef’s kitchen (no salty, soggy plane food here) and a fully stocked bar with a dining table and sofas. At the very front of the plane, there is a section for the media, where a group of journalists relax in comfortable, fully-reclinable chairs. I’m not sure how I’m going to go back to cattle class after this.

  We head back to the middle of the plane, where Renel is sitting at the polished wood table, going over the guest list for the ball with Evelyn. There are so many different names and faces and factions that I have no idea how Evelyn is going to keep it all in her head.

  ‘I still don’t understand why we have to make this . . . detour to Runustan, Princess,’ he says.

  She stares at her fingernails, examining them for chips in her nail polish. ‘I told you – because I want to. Renel, if I have to find a husband somewhere, I’m going to do it on my terms. That’s what my parents said, isn’t it? Wherever I want to go, whatever I want to do. I’ll keep my end of the bargain, so they must keep theirs.’

  I hear a tiny click from behind me, and I spin around to see a journalist emerging from one of the bathrooms. He’d also been lingering to listen to the Princess’s conversation. I can tell by the grin on his face that he’s got a good scoop. I can see the headline now: WHY? BECAUSE I WANT TO: PROFILE OF A SPOILT PRINCESS.

  That’s the problem with the media. As much as they love Evelyn, they also love to tear her down. I shoot him my most evil glare and he shrugs, then disappears back into the media section of the plane. I bet he works for the Nova Mail.

  ‘Come with me,’ Zain says. I take his hand and he leads me into one of the bedrooms in the back.

  Zain checks down the narrow hallways before shutting the door. He stares at me for a second, and my face turns bright red. I’m still not used to having boys – especially one as hot as Zain – look at me that way.

  Like I’m something extraordinary.

  He tilts my chin up so I can’t avoid his gaze. His fingers linger on my jawline. All at once, I can’t take it any more. I throw my arms around his neck and press my lips against his.

  Any shyness I feel disappears as we kiss. Instead I could melt right through the plane floor and float all the way to the ground. We tumble onto the bed, our legs intertwining. Zain’s kisses take on an even deeper urgency, his hands caressing the space between my shoulder blades, making my skin come alive with delicious shivers.

  A sharp rap on the door makes us both jump. ‘Tea, coffee, orange juice?’ asks the perky voice of the flight attendant. We break away in a fit of giggles.

  I roll over on the bed and open the door. ‘No, thanks,’ I say. ‘We’re good.’

  The flight attendant gives me a smile but deliberately pushes the door wide until it locks into an open position. Zain gives me a wink that almost makes me descend into giggles again. The flight attendant turns on her heel and leaves.

  ‘I suppose we should do some research anyway,’ I say when we’re sure she’s gone.

  Zain sighs dramatically. It makes me smile to see that he looks flushed too. ‘I suppose so.’ He pulls his tablet out of his bag and his expression turns more serious. ‘The little digging I did last night doesn’t make the situation look good. It’s not just that the centaurs cut off contact with humans. They actually hate them.’

  I grimace. ‘That’s not good at all.’

  ‘But on the other hand, centaurs have much longer lifespans than humans so in all likelihood at least one of them will have known your great-grandmother.’

  ‘Fingers crossed. How about you keep reading about them and I’ll focus on my grandad’s diaries? Teamwork.’

  ‘Deal,’ he says.

  I sit back down on the bed and put my backpack at my feet, pulling out the diary. I’ve covered it with plastic and wrapping paper so that it looks like one of my school reading books. I didn’t want anyone accidentally flipping through it, so I try to make it look as irrelevant and unnoticeable as possible.

  I flip to a new section, further along.

  Mother returned yesterday. I fear she may never be the same again. She has lost her diary – and without it, she is not the same. I have tried to get her to copy down sections of it from memory, while it is still fresh. But she is refusing. It’s like she’s given up. I have never known her to give up.

  I turn the page.

  Today I plucked up the courage to ask her if we should go looking for it. The diary, I mean. No one has won the Wilde Hunt yet – maybe there is still time for us. We could retrace her steps. She is adamant that it was not stolen but is genuinely lost.

  If that is the case, then it can be found.

  Maybe if we start in xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

  I groan. I suddenly have a flashback to the start of my own Wilde Hunt, when I searched through the old recipe books for a hint of how to make the perfect love potion. There had been a global ban on love potions, resulting in the magical censorship of any and all printed recipes. All that was left were thick swathes of black obscuring any relevant words, or pages where the letters huddled together, jumbling into a mass that was virtually unreadable.

  This is not quite the same as that. This was done by a deliberate hand. Grandad has taken a black marker to the page and crossed out the locations.

  It’s frustrating, but the sight of it speeds up my heartbeat. It means that Grandad knew someone might come looking through his journals. It means that he’s worried something might be found.

  It means he doesn’t believe it’s been destroyed.

  Obviously, neither does Emilia. For the first time, I sit back and think about what confronting Emilia again might mean. She’s utterly ruthless, I know that much. She thirsts for power. She’s managed an incredible feat – a Talented becoming an alchemist, who knew? – but only by creating terrible dark potions that have wreaked havoc on her body. She’s desperate. Evelyn is on her Royal Tour to find a husband. If she does, it will make it much harder for Emilia to destabilise the throne.

  But if she got her hands on an aqua vitae?

  She’d be strong.

  Rich.

  Powerful.

  And practically immortal.

  The Novaen throne would be under threat from her, whether Evelyn married or not.

  I have to stop her.

  A knock on the door jolts me awake, and I sit up bolt upright from where I’d slumped down on the bed. I see that Zain has fallen asleep too, his head in my lap, a tiny dribble of drool pooling on the open page of my grandad’s diary. Oh, dragons, he’s never going to forgive me for that. I quickly wipe my own mouth, then shake the cobwebs from my mind. ‘Hello?’ I say.

  The sound of my voice causes Zain to stir and he sits up just as Evelyn sticks her head around the open door. She laughs and rolls her eyes. ‘Wow, you two are so romantic. Asleep over books? I don’t think I’ve met two nerdier people, better matched.’ She winks. ‘Anyway, we’re about to land so you need to move to a seat you can strap in to. We’ll get the media and staff off the plane first, then I’ll leave, then you can go last and meet Kirsty. That way you’ll miss the paparazzi. I’ll only be here for a couple of nights and then we’ll be flying to Pays for the Laville Ball. You need to be back for that in order for this cover to work. Good luck.’

  I grip Zain’s hand tightly.

  Suddenly it all seems real. I’m on another Hunt.

  I really hope I’m on a winning streak.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Samantha

 
AS WE WALK THROUGH THE terminal in Samar, we can see evidence of Evelyn’s presence – the starry-eyed look of fans that have just come within breathing distance of their idol, the journalists frantically writing notes, the airport staff dismantling the temporary barriers. We manage to pass through unnoticed, inconspicuous now that we’ve changed into our grungy Finding gear, and head down towards arrivals, where Kirsty is waiting at the bottom of the escalator. She pulls me into a big hug. ‘How was your flight? Not too gruelling, I hope?’

  I shake my head and smile. ‘Hardly! We were travelling in style, remember?’

  ‘Oh yeah, I forgot that you don’t have to slum it like the rest of us!’ Kirsty twists her back in an exaggerated stretch and grimaces. Then she looks over my shoulder at Zain and her nose wrinkles. ‘Ah, I didn’t realise we were going to have company.’

  I feel bad for not texting Kirsty about Zain – but everything’s been happening way too quickly. Kirsty wears her emotions bare on her face, and it’s clear she disapproves of this arrangement. She is the kind of ordinary that resents Talenteds like Zain intruding on ‘our’ territory. ‘Two alchemists are better than one,’ I say.

  ‘One alchemist and one weird synth, you mean,’ she shoots back.

  Zain puts on his most charming smile. ‘Nice to see you again too, Kirsty.’

  ‘I suppose an extra pair of hands never hurts. Just make sure you spend more time watching and learning than distracting my Sam, okay?’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ I say. ‘I’m in the zone.’

  Kirsty claps her hands together. ‘Right, might as well get a move on then. We’ve got quite the drive ahead of us.’

  ‘Is this the last time we’ll have signal?’ I ask. ‘I need to call my parents to find out how Grandad is.’ We were on the plane for over twelve hours, and I can’t stop thinking about what could have happened by now.

  ‘Yeah, I think so. Be my guest. We need to load up on a few more supplies, anyway.’ Kirsty nods to Zain, and they head towards a nearby snack kiosk.