The Potion Diaries 2

by Amy Alward

  I dive for the car door, fumbling with the lock.

  ‘DRAGONS!’ I yell at the two tents outside.

  In one of the tents, there’s a mad scramble. Zain emerges looking dishevelled. He searches the sky, then a stream of expletives leaves his mouth.

  Even though I’ve only had a handful of driving lessons, the adrenaline coursing through my veins gives me confidence. Luckily, Kirsty has left the keys in the ignition, so I turn on the engine and put the car into gear.

  ‘Where’s Kirsty?’ I yell at Zain as he jumps into the car.

  ‘She’s not here?’

  ‘Is she still in her tent?’ I haven’t seen a dragon yet but frankly, I don’t want to. According to the radar, they are very close.

  I lean on the horn, hoping to wake Kirsty.

  ‘Don’t do that!’ Zain yells. ‘The dragons are attracted to the sound. It’s how they find food out here in the plains.’

  ‘What? I didn’t read that! Then how did they find us all the way out here . . . we didn’t make a sound for hours after we left, did we?’

  ‘We must just be very unlucky.’

  And yet, another answer leaps from the rocky alcove above us. Kirsty lets out a piercing holler that seems to split the morning sky in two. Zain and I both look up through the windscreen and see her launching herself off the tallest rock, wrapped in what looks like a bright orange blanket. But as she opens her arms, the blanket expands and catches her, like wings. She floats softly to the ground.

  Then, the moment I’ve been dreading plays out in front of me. Swift on her tail is the dragon. At first, I don’t recognise it. It’s so lithe and sleek, it slips through the air like an otter in water. It’s too graceful to be fearsome. But that’s when it opens its mouth and lets loose a stream of blue-green flames.

  The flames lick the edges of Kirsty’s wingsuit as she hits the ground and starts to run. Luckily the flames don’t quite reach her, but then she does the opposite of what I expect: she drops to the ground. She fumbles with her belt, where a large, flask-like container is attached to a long piece of knotted rope. She quickly unties the rope and lays it out on the ground. One edge of the flame catches the rope and the flame dances along it like a wick, straight into the flask. Kirsty jumps on it and puts the lid on.

  ‘Is she . . . collecting the flame? Is she always this crazy?’ Zain asks.

  ‘You have no idea.’

  ‘The dragon looks young – maybe only a year old,’ says Zain, hopefully.

  But he catches my eye, and registers my terrified expression. ‘Though if it’s a baby then that means . . .’

  A dark shadow passes over our car, and I know it can’t be the baby, which is still in sight, circling around Kirsty like a miniature bird of prey. No. When this one passes overhead, my stomach leaps into my mouth. It’s a cloud passing in front of the sun.

  The dragon that’s above us is more what I was expecting. No longer as sleek as an otter – this is a whale of the sky. It’s a freight train in the air. It flaps its wings and the car shakes and our teeth rattle in our skulls.

  I have to do something quickly. Kirsty is so Finding-focused that she might not notice the other dragon until it’s too late.

  ‘How do we get away from them?’ I ask Zain.

  ‘They’re territorial. We just need to get out of their zone – they won’t follow us beyond where they’re comfortable.’

  ‘Come on, Kirsty,’ I say, mentally calculating how long it will take to drive to her, versus whether this is all part of some crazy master plan of hers and she doesn’t want to be rescued.

  ‘What are you doing?’ yells Zain. ‘We have to go get her!’ He reaches over, wanting to drive the car himself. But there’s no time for us to switch. My eyes are locked on Kirsty and finally, finally, she lifts her gaze to meet mine.

  I know what that looks means.

  It means go.

  I slam my foot down on the accelerator, ignoring Zain’s cries.

  The huge dragon is visible in my rearview mirror. I can see now that by racing to pick up Kirsty, I’m only going to spell her doom. I need to draw the dragon away from her. Dragons, I know from my book, have limited firepower. After one large burst, the dragon will need to go back up into the sky to recharge.

  I spin the wheel, trying to throw the dragon off. But it seems fixated on Kirsty, even though we are moving much faster. Its body curls and stretches, moving like a snake through sand. I wonder if it has a deadly strike like a cobra, too. I can’t think like that. I lean down on the horn.

  ‘We can’t outdrive the dragon!’ Zain yells in my ear. His words are not helpful. I know what he’s afraid of. The dragonfire will be so hot, it’ll melt right through the bodywork of the car, vaporise the wheels, cook us in our seats . . . so much could go wrong. But there isn’t time for logic. There’s only time for instinct.

  My instinct so far is spot on. By pressing on the horn, I’ve attracted the big dragon’s attention – and that of the baby. Both of them are after us now, the baby riding in the mother’s slipstream, the two of them writhing in the air.

  I swerve in a zigzag pattern, hoping that will throw the dragons off. I’ve read that works against other reptiles, like crocodiles. But all it does is slow the car down. Zain grips the dashboard to brace himself against the movement of the car.

  The mother dragon releases one small blast of fire that just misses us – a warning, I’m sure of it. But as I look back in the rearview mirror I can see that Kirsty is back on her feet and running towards the tents. She waves her arms frantically for me to come and get her. Even with the dragon tailing us? But I can’t really think. I can only follow instructions. I slam on the brakes and turn the wheel, and we spin around in a sharp u-turn. The car stalls as the dragon’s wings beat overhead, caught in the downdraught as it soars above us. I restart the car as quickly as I can, then race towards Kirsty.

  The mother dragon’s mouth yawns open, slow and steady – as if she knows we don’t have a shot. The fire builds in her mouth, and I know at any instant she’s going to release her fury. And she’s going to get all three of us in one, if Kirsty doesn’t do something quickly.

  As I’m hurtling towards her, I see Kirsty pick up the tent and put something inside it. It’s one of the fireworks from the boot. She points it directly above the car, then lights the wick and runs away. I change the direction that I’m driving to meet her. The firework shoots above our heads just as I brake to avoid hitting Kirsty.

  I come to a stop and she jumps in the car. The distraction works: the dragons chase after the bright flying tent as it whistles through the air, and when it explodes into a bright sprinkle of red stars, the mother dragon unleashes her stream of fire. In the early morning light, the flames are so bright they make spots dance in front of my eyes.

  ‘Go!’ says Kirsty, pointing in the opposite direction. ‘We’ll have five minutes, max, to get as far as possible while the dragons recharge.’

  I floor the accelerator and drive as fast as I can while keeping the car under some illusion of control.

  After half an hour of tense, flat-out driving, Kirsty finally taps my shoulder and says we’re far enough away. I stop the car, get out, and dry-retch into the ground. I haven’t eaten enough to throw up, but my arms and legs are shaking. I drop to my knees, tears streaming down my face.

  Zain is next to me in a flash. ‘You did great. You saved us back there.’

  Kirsty pats my back gently. ‘He’s right. If you hadn’t taken that mother dragon for a bit of a walk, I wouldn’t have been able to get back to the fireworks in time.’

  ‘That had been your plan all along?’ I narrow my eyes.

  She shrugs. ‘Standard dragonfire acquisition procedure.’

  Anger builds up inside me, then disappears. I’m too tired to be angry. ‘Did you get the dragonfire, at least?’

  ‘Of course,’ she says, with a smile. ‘No way I would let a trip out here go to waste.’ She must see the stricken look on my face,
because she backpedals. ‘I’m sorry, Sam, but it’s true. There’s no way you’re going to find your great-grandmother’s diary based on that clue.’

  And even though I know she’s right, hearing it feels like a centaur is trampling all over my heart.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Samantha

  ‘ANY LUCK?’ EVELYN BARELY HAS to glance at us to know the answer. I’m slumped down in the aeroplane seat, my eyes rimmed with red and sunken into my face from lack of sleep. When I shut my eyes, I see dragonfire. When I’m awake, all I can think about is the centaur’s riddle.

  I repeat the centaur’s words to Evie: The stars spark on command, but the day is always night.

  After a moment, she shakes her head. ‘I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘Those words mean nothing to me.’

  I shrug. ‘Me neither.’ And I’ve tried. I’ve asked everyone. Nadya couldn’t think of a place related to the riddle. My internet search constantly fails me; trawling websites and chatrooms turns up nothing. I even debated putting the riddle up on the Wilde Hunt Theories forums – they seem to figure out anything else – but that’s just a step too far. Evelyn promises me access to the Laville Palace library. But rather than being excited at the prospect of all those books, I just feel numb. I can’t save Grandad. I can’t stop Emilia’s quest for power.

  ‘We won’t give up, Sam,’ says Zain from the seat next to me. ‘We can always—’

  ‘What can we do?’ I interrupt him. ‘Search every book in every library for reference to “stars that spark on command”? The centaurs were our best lead! And they obviously know something about the diary or else they wouldn’t have given me that stupid riddle.’

  ‘Then we’ll go back and ask them again. We’ll bring ten times more whiskey. We’ll beg them!’

  ‘Go back?’ The thought makes me weary, but I nod. It’s probably the only way.

  Zain puts his arm around my shoulders and pulls me tightly towards him. My side digs into the armrest, but I let myself lean into him. ‘There’s nothing we can do today, anyway,’ he says.

  ‘That’s right,’ says Evelyn, ever the optimist. She puts her hands on her hips and looks down at me. ‘Today is the Laville Ball, and you have to go and at least have your picture taken there, so your cover story sticks.’

  I sit up a little straighter. ‘Then, after that, Zain and I will mix in the ark flower for your potion,’ I say. ‘And I’ll follow up on my research for a more permanent solution.’

  ‘No!’ Evelyn protests. ‘You don’t have to do that.’

  ‘I do. Your wellbeing is just as key to Nova’s safety.’

  ‘No,’ she says, her lips tight. ‘My problem has an easy solution, a solution that has worked for every one of my ancestors before me. I just don’t want to face it. I appreciate what you’re doing more than you know, but I have to face facts. And the other fact is that Emilia is still out there. You can’t stop looking, Sam. She has your grandfather’s memories. She is still ahead of you.’

  I shudder at the thought. ‘I know that. But if you’re strong, then you can help me with Emilia. After the ball, Zain and I will get you the new, stronger mix, then we can head to Gergon.’

  Evelyn looks up sharply. ‘Gergon? Why Gergon?’

  I allow myself a small smile. ‘Have you heard of the Visir School?’

  ‘The old alchemist academy?’ Zain asks, one eyebrow raised. I haven’t had the right moment to tell him about my findings either.

  ‘Yeah, exactly. It’s a long shot but after I saw Da Luna’s painting in your library, I remembered something I’d read a long time ago. Apparently, the alchemists there had been working on some kind of storage system for power. Basically, they wanted to use magic without having an actual Talented person present in the school . . . You know how ordinary alchemists feel about Talenteds,’ I say, with an apologetic shrug.

  Thankfully neither of them look offended. ‘Anyway, the school closed down years ago,’ I continue. ‘But there might be something there that I can use, some clues in the ruins . . .’

  Evie looks both guilty and relieved. ‘You have an actual clue for a permanent solution for me? You’re amazing! But if you want to get into Gergon, you’re going to have to get special dispensation from the Gergon Royals. They haven’t been seen or heard of for months.’ She frowns, and then her face lights up. ‘But Prince Stefan is on the ball guestlist! If you can talk to him at the ball, maybe he will let you in.’

  ‘That would be perfect!’ I say.

  ‘Great. It’s going to be another whirlwind when we land,’ Evelyn says. ‘You and I will be taken straight to the Palace to get ready.’

  ‘What, straight away?’ I ask, unable to hide my disappointment. I was hoping to at least get a glance at the famous Tree of Lights – the main landmark in the city of Laville. And now that I had the riddle, I had planned to take up Evelyn’s offer to explore the Palace library . . .

  ‘Straight away,’ Evelyn repeats firmly.

  Zain takes my hand. ‘Don’t worry, Sam – I’ll do some poking around in the library for another clue. Then I’ll be there to escort you to the ball at six, mademoiselle.’ My heart jumps a little at the thought of going to the ball with Zain.

  I nod. ‘Okay, but I want a full report of everything you find – no matter how small.’

  ‘You bet, boss,’ he says with a wink, then kisses me on the cheek.

  ‘That’s sorted then,’ Evelyn says.

  Once we land in Laville, the Princess is true to her word. I’m swept away from Zain and into the madness of Evie’s entourage. A stretch limousine is ready and waiting to take us through the broad streets of Laville, past beautiful white stone buildings adorned with wrought-iron balconies. Trees, bold green and in full bloom, stand like sentries outside the houses, each one spaced a perfect distance from the other. The streets would be even more impressive if they weren’t packed with people – all waiting for a glimpse of the Princess. She touches the glass of the window nearest to her, and the glass turns from opaque to clear. She waves at the passersby, sending up cries of delight that follow us around the city, like the wake of a boat.

  Yet nothing prepares me for my first sight of the Palace: a building that looks like it’s built from solid gold. They say that in full sunlight in midsummer, the glare from the sun shining on the Laville Palace can be seen from all over the country of Pays. It’s their literal beacon of wealth and prosperity. I think sometimes that the Kingstown castle is a bit of a let-down: although it sits high at the top of a hill, it’s pretty boring in its appearance, a functional square-shape with only a few stone turrets and rounded towers on each corner. The floating Palace Great of Nova is invisible, so even though it’s amazing, it doesn’t really count as a landmark.

  As we’re swept through enormous golden gates, I can’t tear my eyes away. We drive round to a set of steps polished to a mirror-like shine and as we step out, I have to shield my eyes from the golden light that emanates from the building’s every surface.

  The inside continues the theme of pure Pays opulence: there’s not one wall that’s not covered in portraits of former Pays Royals, great paintings of battle scenes or tapestries depicting ancient magical creatures. In the suite where Evelyn and I will be getting ready, I’m overawed by the shining gold brocade wallpaper on a rich crimson base and the deep navy carpet so thick, my low heels (apparently it’s a must to wear heels in Pays, so my compromise was the tiniest kitten heels I could find) get lost in the weave.

  Almost instantly, a pack of make-up artists and hair stylists surround us, whisking me in front of a mirror. They sit Evelyn in a chair next to me (although no mirror, as per her request). I always thought Evelyn just needed to dream up a look and she could create it with a touch of her power, but she says she still needs people with real artistic talent to perform the magic in order to bring out her best features.

  ‘I would be useless at glamouring my own make-up,’ she says, making me cough. ‘It’s true! Okay, maybe now and then
I’ll enhance what the make-up artist does. Or, as with my dress, I like to give it my own twist.’ She winks.

  ‘Yes, and your twists will be the death of me one day!’ says her hairdresser with a dramatic sigh.

  ‘Now, Sam, you are going to get the full treatment as well,’ Evie says, ignoring her. ‘You’re going to need it to complement your exquisite dress! I won’t take no for an answer. And . . . don’t hate me, but . . .’

  ‘But what?’ I say, narrowing my eyes in suspicion.

  ‘I’m going to apply a glamour.’

  ‘What?!’

  ‘Just a gentle one! Just a little silver to your gorgeous dark hair, to play off the metallic sheen of your dress.’

  The thought makes my skin crawl. ‘I dunno . . . everyone will know it’s not my glamour, something I had to borrow for the evening . . .’

  Evelyn rolls her eyes. ‘Don’t be silly. Everyone also knows that you’re my friend. No one is going to think less of you because you’re an ordinary. Trust me, you will look far more out of place if you don’t wear a glamour.’ Her expression softens. ‘Let me?’ she pleads.

  I shrug. Evie can be very persuasive when she wants to be. ‘Okay, fine. But if you keep ordering me about like this, I’m not going to want to hang out with you.’

  ‘Sure you will,’ she smiles. ‘You already love me, and I didn’t even need to make you drink a potion. Now, we should just go over a few things.’

  It’s hard to listen closely to Evelyn as the stylists start to tackle my hair and make-up. This is the first time I’ve been ‘styled’ before – I never go to any of the fancy parties that Anita likes. She just about managed to convince me to attend our school’s summer dance – except it got cancelled in lieu of the Wilde Hunt. Thank goodness. Even for the ceremony to announce the Wilde Hunt winner, everyone decided it would be best if I just looked like my normal self. I preferred that.