by A W Hartoin
Mr. Marfisi sighed. “But the people have been demanding access to the vermillion healing since before the revolution in 1789. It’s part of the reason the revolution began for the fae of France in the first place.”
“If the king would just give in—,” said Mrs. Marfisi.
“He would no longer be the king.”
“So the vermillion aren’t going to treat us anyway? Why are we even here?” I asked.
Lucien smiled. “Because you, Matilda, are no ordinary wood fairy. If anyone can convince the vermillion to defy the king, it’s you. Your grandmother did it. They loved Viola and I think they will see her in you. Why do you think I said you had to be the one to ask?”
“I thought it was because I got the healing gift,” I said.
“That doesn’t hurt. Now let’s get ready to soak that leg. Lucrece, prepare Jacqueline’s spell. Matilda’s got over three hundred years of royal snobbery to overcome. We need her at her best.”
My best wasn’t going to be happening for a good long while. One sniff of my leg told me that, but I’d try my hardest. I always did.
Lucien cleared his throat. “I need to speak to Matilda alone.”
Nobody moved.
“Now,” he said.
Marie grumped.
“Alright. Marie can stay. In fact, she should stay. The rest of you, out.”
“Forget it, Lucien,” said Mom. “I’m her mother.”
“Adele, you can’t help her with this. You don’t have it in you. Please go.”
“I disagree.”
“You don’t know what I’m going to say. It’s for Matilda.”
“She has enough burdens, Lucien. Why do you always have to cause trouble?”
“It’s not me that caused it. You must leave. Viola would want you to. Trust me, just this once.”
Mom hugged me again and flew out the door with the Marfisis. Lucrece started to pack up the medical bag, but Lucien stopped her. “Take what you need for doing the spell for Matilda’s leg, but leave the bag, Lucrece.”
Lucrece raised an eyebrow lump at me, but she did as he said. Then she walked onto Judd’s finger and they left, closing the door behind them.
“So what is it?” I asked.
“Look in the bag and remove all the potions and tinctures in the bottom section,” said Lucien.
I took out all of Grandma Vi’s strongest cures. Her bag needed a good cleaning what with the dust and drops of dried medicine covering the bottom.
“Done,” I said. “What are we doing?”
“Look at the bottom right-hand side. There’s a square button. It’s made of the same material, so you really have to look. There’s a little V on it.”
I found it after I wiped the dust away. If Lucien hadn’t told me the button was there, I never would’ve noticed it, even with the V. “Got it.”
“Push the button.”
I pushed and the bottom of Grandma’s bag opened like an accordion with quick snappy folds. The secret compartment was filled with little bottles and packets. Each one had a pair of skeleton wings on it and a species, sometimes two or three species. Trolls and hobgoblins were together, so were dryads and wood fairies.
“Whoa. What are these for?” I asked, fearing I already knew the answer.
“That is what Viola called her musee de la mort.”
My French stunk, but that was easy. “Museum of death? What the heck?”
“It is a sacred trust I’m giving you today, Matilda. Viola hadn’t planned on telling you about the compartment until you were much older. Fate had other ideas, so I’m telling you now. That is your grandmother’s collection of specialty poisons.”
I ran my fingers over the shelves telescoping out of Grandma’s bag. I’d always thought of her bag as life. It saved Miss Penrose. It was helping me right now with the white bottle of witch hazel on the second shelf.
“Why would she collect poisons?”
“Those bottles contain specially brewed poisons to ease fairies out of life as gently as possible. It is the most important and absolutely sacred power I give you. The power to end suffering. When all hope is gone this is where you turn.”
“Miss Penrose?” I asked, my voice wavering.
Lucien’s hair landed on his shoulders, the most quiet I’d ever seen it. “Yes. If you can’t find the vermillion, she will die with great suffering. She will swell and asphyxiate on her own bodily fluids. If you find that you cannot heal her, you must find the strength to save her from that horror.”
“You want me to kill her?”
“I want you to end her pain and fear. It is the thing that healers never talk about. The end of life. It’s the greatest thing a healer can do for a patient.”
“I don’t know about that,” I said.
“I do and you must trust me. When the time comes, it will be you at her side and you who makes the decision.”
“There’s no way.”
“It won’t be easy, Matilda. It is the greatest thing a healer can do, because it is the hardest. To admit defeat and end a life wounds you in a way nothing else can.”
“You don’t think I can find the vermillion. You think I’m going to have to kill Miss Penrose.” I was crying. How could I do it? She was trusting me to save her.
“Darling girl,” said Marie. “He’s not saying that. If anyone can get that cure, it’s you.”
“That’s right. I absolutely believe you can get that cure from the vermillion, if it’s possible.” Lucien moved closer to the camera, so that his face filled the screen. “It may not be possible. You are in a state of war. The vermillion could be dead and the cure lost with that great clan. Dozens of things could prevent you from saving Penrose. If that happens, it won’t be your fault, but you have to know what to do, just in case.”
I touched the bottle with wood fairy and dryad written on the top. “How does it work?”
“Each species requires a different dosage. The directions are on the side of each bottle and packet. Heed them. If you do, your patient will fly away on soft wings.”
“I won’t have to,” I said, suddenly sure. I’d find the vermillion no matter what, especially if that nightmare was the alternative.
“I hope you won’t, but now you know Viola’s greatest secret. Don’t tell anyone, not even your parents.”
“No worries there. The last thing I need is another parental freakout.”
“They’ll calm down eventually.”
“Like when.”
“When they accept who you are.”
“So a long time from now. Great.” I looked down at the bottles again. There were dozens upon dozens of species on those little bottles. “Hey. Where’s the one for horen?”
Lucien laughed. “Matilda, you never disappoint. I was hoping you’d ask. The answer is that there isn’t a bottle for horen. They aren’t a real species.”
“Darn it. I wouldn’t so much mind easing them out of life,” I said.
“Me, either,” said Marie. “Something has to kill those creatures. A tire iron might do it.”
“Oh, they can be killed. A tire iron would do it, if they didn’t see it coming. Not easy when it comes to horen. By the way, there is a bottle in the bag for each of the five horen in the world.”
“Huh?” I asked.
“Horen aren’t a species. They are a mutation, remember?”
I fist-pumped. “You have to use the poison for their original species. The one they were born into.”
“Correct,” said Lucien. “The problem is their original species doesn’t show and they’re not going to tell you. It’d be easier to whack them with a tire iron.”
Lucien pulled back and Thaddeus’s face entered the screen. “We have to go. The ponderosa are fighting up on the medieval armor wing. It’s so loud, even the tourists are noticing the clanking. We’ll check in tomorrow.”
Thaddeus signed off and the screen went blue. Marie slammed the laptop shut. “It can’t ever be easy.”
“Since w
hen do you like easy,” I said.
“You’re right. Easy sucks. Let’s get that leg in a caviar spoon.”
I pushed the button again and the bottom of the bag snapped shut. The illusion was perfect. The shelves folded in and I closed the bag. You couldn’t tell there was anything special in the bottom. I heaved it onto my shoulder and the weight seemed much heavier. It had to be my imagination, but those bottles were a load.
“Move it, Matilda,” said Marie, extending her finger. “That blood’s getting older by the second.”
I hopped onto her finger and lay down with my foot propped on the bag. “Blood?”
“For the spell. It wasn’t easy to get fresh pig blood in Paris. Money talks. Thank goodness.”
My mind was blank. Fresh pig blood. Why in the world would anyone want that?
Marie tucked her laptop under her arm and opened the door. “Can you do it with your foot soaking?”
“Do what?”
“Perform the spell for Lrag, of course. Pink is not his color.”
I fell back on Marie’s warm finger and put my arm over my eyes. There’d been so much blood already, the thought of pig blood turned my stomach. There was also something about pork in the spell. Meat. Why’d it have to be meat?
Marie stopped walking and a whoosh of cookie-scented breath ruffled my hair. I dropped my arm. “What?”
“Are you up to this?” asked Marie.
“Do I have a choice?”
“Come to think of it, no, you don’t. You’re the only one here that can perform a healing spell. Lucrece has gotten quite good, but all her skills come from reading your family’s diaries and medical texts. The spells are you, I’m afraid.”
Tears formed at the edges of my eyes. My leg was better from drinking Lucrece’s white willow, but the radiating ache remained. I needed to sleep. I wanted to sleep.
“The faster you do it,” said Marie, “the faster it will be done and you can rest.”
She held me up to nose level and I looked through her glasses to her usually wicked eyes and found them soft and understanding. Not like Marie at all.
“You deserve a rest. I’m sorry you won’t get a long one for some time. They need you. It’s as simple as that.”
“I know.” Tears rolled down my cheeks and I wiped them away quickly. “Let’s do it.”
The spell wasn’t as bad as I imagined. It was worse. There’s nothing like meat, blood, a burning foot, and an audience to make something extra bad.
Marie carried me into Tess’s room and set me on the handle of the caviar spoon that Lucrece and Horc were muttering over. Horc handed his grandmother one of the bags Jacqueline had prepared for us and she sprinkled a sparkling powder in the steaming water.
Iris ran over. “I can hear again.”
I hugged her and breathed deep the smell of goodness that always emanated off her. “Are you one hundred percent?”
Mom peeled Iris off me. “No, she isn’t. Don’t be getting any ideas.”
I blushed hard and tiny flames burst out on my palms, but I quickly snuffed them. “What ideas would those be?”
“You know what I mean. Iris is staying safe with me.” Mom kissed Iris’s curls.
Notice she didn’t say anything about keeping me safe. I guess she didn’t care if I flew off into danger as long as I didn’t take Iris. “Whatever.”
That wasn’t the right answer because Mom narrowed her eyes at me as she sat next to Dad and Miss Penrose, whose lips were only the palest blue.
“I’m better,” said Miss Penrose with a glance at Lrag. His eyes were closed and he was still pale pink. “Don’t worry about me.”
“Too late.”
Bentha marched across the sill, parrying and thrusting. If I didn’t know him so well, I would’ve thought he was completely healed, but he was slow. Each parry was a second behind and his thrusts lacked the power they should’ve had.
“I’m ready, my lady,” he declared. “Point me toward the scoundrels that block our path.”
I pointed out the window to the pretty Paris skyline. “Pretty much the whole city is blocking our path.”
Bentha touched his blade to his forehead. “A warrior loves a challenge.” And he went off practicing some complicated maneuvers.
Lucrece threw some leaves in the caviar spoon and glared at me. “I can’t do it.”
“Do what?” I asked.
“Perform a spell for your leg, naturally.”
I wasn’t sure what to say. Of course she couldn’t do it. Lucrece didn’t have the healing gift. I never expected her to do any kind of spell. I was just thrilled that she was so great at studying the books, something I’d avoided like mole mucus.
“What’s the spell?” asked Marie.
“It’s not a real spell in the traditional sense,” said Lucrece.
“I disagree.” Horc toddled over with Great Grandma Emerald’s diary. “It is the most ancient of spells.”
I took the diary from him and scanned the open pages. “What am I looking for?”
“The part on poetry.”
I read Emerald’s spidery handwriting, squinting at the faded words. “Poetry was the first kind of spell developed by the fae. One must find the correct poem for the patient. This is often the most difficult task for the healer, but when done correctly, the healing properties will be intensified.” I looked up. “We have to find the right poem for me. How are we supposed to do that?”
“We don’t have to. Jacqueline gave us the poem. She said it is the essence of your experience,” said Lucrece. “Since it’s supposed to be about you, I don’t know if it will work, if you read it. Lucien didn’t say anything about that and you need your strength for Lrag and Penrose.”
I inched my foot toward the steaming water. ”If I don’t get this leg under control, I’m not going to have any strength to save. What’s the poem?”
Horc gave me scroll with the title If by Rudyard Kipling.
“Are you sure this is the right one?” I asked.
“Read it and we will soon know.” Lucrece folded her arms over her chest, further wrinkling the hideous paperbag dress she’s taken to wearing. She’d made it out of a McDonald’s bag and it smelled like coronary artery disease.
I took a deep breath and read slowly. “If you can keep your head while all about you are losing theirs and blaming it on you, If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you.”
My eyes got hot. This is me. How did Jacqueline know?
I kept reading. Lucrece stirred the water, swirling the liquid, and it began smoking. The smoke formed flowers and vines like when Jacqueline performed the spell, but this time they had a different quality. They seemed heavy in the air, their colors changed rapidly and had greater intensity.
“And never breathe a word about your loss,” I read.
“Look,” said Iris. “It’s Matilda.”
My image appeared in the smoke. My eyes were closed, but my body jerked this way and that as if I were under attack. The smoke vines coiled around my legs and soon covered my whole body, except my eyes.
I came to the end of the poem and read the last few words. “Yours is the earth.” The smoke Matilda’s eyes popped open and looked at me. When I read the last word in the poem, “Son,” she vanished, leaving the flowers and vines alone.
“Put your foot in,” said Lucrece.
I slid my aching foot down the curve of the spoon and gasped when it hit the hot water.
Iris steadied me. “It’ll go away quick like last time.”
Not quick enough.
“What did that mean?” Mom asked me.
“I don’t know,” I said through gritted teeth. And I didn’t know, but that smoky Matilda was exactly how I felt, smothered by tightening coils.
Mom came and looked down into the water, now dark and thick, like she could find the answers there in the murk. Everyone was quiet and appeared to be waiting, for what I didn’t know.
Earl and Stanley burst through Tess’s door. �
��We got it,” said Earl, holding a plastic bag high in the air. It was filled with red liquid and a chunk of something pink. Gross.
Mom stepped back from my spoon. “What is that?”
Tess and Judd came in and closed the door.
“The blood and pork,” said Tess. “What else is in the rejuvenation spell?”
It took a second, but everyone jerked back to reality. Lucrece got another scroll and read, “Fresh pig blood, raw pork tenderloin, and hot water.”
Judd put a mug on the sill. “Check, check, and check. Anything else?”
“Vanilla and corn starch,” said Lucrece, holding up a wooden bowl. “The rest is here. I’ve already mixed it.”
“I’ve got the vanilla and corn starch,” said Marie, pulling two small containers out of her purse.
“I hope that doesn’t all get mixed together,” said Iris.
Horc glazed over. “It does. I am going to eat the leftovers. They are all mine.”
“It’s raw meat, Horc,” I said. “That’s gross.”
“Delicious.”
“Gross.”
“Have you tried it?” he asked.
“I don’t even want to touch it,” I said.
“Unfortunately, you must,” said Lucrece. “The spell requires the hands of a healer.”
I groaned. “Better and better. Let’s get this over with.”
Lucrece cut five thumbs’ worth of pork flesh from the lump in Earl’s bag. I think she might’ve popped a bit in her mouth, but I try not to think about that. Then she ground the meat into a paste in the bowl with the ingredients she’d already mixed, making it dry and crumbly.
“Now,” she said. “Six spoons of blood.”
Stanley laid a human-sized soupspoon on the sill next to her. “Got it. I thought of everything.”
“Not everything,” said Marie. “It means a fairy-sized spoon.”
Stanley looked puzzled. “A spoon’s a spoon.”
“Not to them. Adele, can you get Lucrece a spoon?”
Mom ran to get one from a packing crate.
“I thought of other stuff, too,” said Stanley.
I was afraid to ask, but whatever craziness Earl and Stanley came up with was sure to take my mind off my burning foot. It definitely wasn’t getting better as fast as when Jacqueline did the spell and it was all I could do to force myself to keep it in the hot liquid. “What did you think of, Stanley?”
