The Potion Diaries

by Amy Alward

  ‘Sam? Anita?’ Mum’s voice drifts up the stairs.

  ‘Yeah?’ I shout back.

  ‘We’re about to have dinner. Does Anita want to stay?’

  I raise my eyebrows at her.

  The idea ticks over in her brain. ‘I saw your dad was preparing dumplings, and they’re the best . . .’ But finally, she shakes her head, even as I see the hesitation in her eyes. ‘I’d better get back – Mum wants help clearing out the attic before bed. She’s on one of her “sprees”.’

  ‘But I thought your mum was a massive hoarder?’

  ‘Exactly. This is the consequence: biannual mega clearouts!’

  ‘Okay, good luck.’

  ‘Save me a jiaozi?’

  ‘No guarantees!’ I say with a laugh.

  We squeeze each other in a long hug, but Anita lingers longer than me. ‘Don’t worry, it’ll be okay. He’ll come around and everything will be back to normal.’

  ‘Thanks. I really hope you’re right.’

  There’s a tiny crack in the wall I’ve built, and it threatens to spill over into tears. I bite my lip, hard, to hold them back. But Anita sees the truth. She hugs me again, and all I can think is, thank the dragons for good friends.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Princess Evelyn

  THE PRICKLING ON HER SKIN STARTED at her wrist.

  It moved gradually up her arm, every hair slowly standing up on end. She didn’t dare look at what was causing it. Then she forced herself to open one eye.

  On her arm was a tarantula, as large as her hand and black as a stain, and it was crawling up towards her face. She wanted to scream but her throat constricted, no sound came out but a choke. She tried to move but her muscles wouldn’t obey. All she could do was watch, helpless as it approached her collarbone, as it drew back into a strike position, two of its legs rearing back, fangs outstretched . . .

  She was in a maze of mirrors. Everywhere she looked, she saw her own face staring back at her. Don’t you love me? the mirrors said. Don’t you love me?

  She tried to find a way out. She started slowly, methodically, at first. Her fingers reached out to feel what was glass and what was a potential pathway through the maze, her eyes cast down to avoid looking at her reflection. But with every turn she took, there were more and more mirrors, mirrors on the floor and on the ceiling, mirrors in front and behind, her face reflected back and back and back, a million Evelyns staring at her, their faces mimicking her blind terror, mocking her. She sank to the ground and tried to close her eyes but it was as if matchsticks held them open and she had no choice but to look at herself for eternity . . .

  Kingstown was burning, and she was powerless to stop it. She could only look down at the flames from her invisible Palace, watching as her people fled their homes in terror, crying out for lost loved ones.

  The Z from the top of ZA toppled to the ground, its steel girders melting in the heat.

  Kemi’s Potion Shop, lost in the inferno.

  Royal Lane, almost indistinguishable through thick clouds of black smoke.

  Her city, slowly being destroyed.

  It was too much for her to bear.

  It’s safe here from nightmare-bringers. That’s what the Prince had said about the walled city. Maybe she should go there. Anything to get away from what her mind was showing her. She looked up and there she was, outside the gates. All she needed to do was step through and the vision of the burning Kingstown would disappear.

  A flash of copper caught her eye. ‘Katrina?’ Evelyn spoke her name out loud, spinning around away from the gate, her heart spiked with hope – and happiness. The vision of the burning city faltered in front of her eyes. ‘Katrina, are you there?’

  She thought of one of the first times she realised she had a crush on Katrina. Not long after the Wilde Hunt was over, when she had sworn off love for good. But wasn’t that always the way? The moment she stopped looking for it, love came by and swept her off her feet . . . Katrina had been helping her set up an alternative, secure social media profile so she could keep up with her friends (like Zain and Sam) without attracting media attention. She remembered sitting at the desk as Katrina leaned over her to point at the screen, the end of her braid brushing Evelyn’s shoulder. She caught the lightly floral scent of her shampoo, and she found herself shifting position, ever so slightly, so that their fingers touched. She could’ve sworn in that moment, a real current of electricity passed between them, connecting them. The memory made Evelyn smile.

  And it made the vision of the burning city disappear – and in its place were the oneiros, their white wispy hands circling, trying to conjure up another, even more awful vision.

  Evelyn clenched her fists. She didn’t need to enter Prince Ilie’s walled city to protect herself.

  She could do it on her own.

  All she needed to do was remember who she was, and who she loved.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Samantha

  THE NEXT MORNING, I’M UP EARLY. THE house is a whirlwind of preparations. Daphne asks me not to pack up my potions supplies until the TV crew arrive, which makes me nervous. I like being prepared – and I hate waiting around in case I forget something. Everything else I need is packed up in my suitcase and already sitting by the front door, ready to go.

  There’s still no sign of Zain in my texts or messages. He really has decided not to come.

  ‘Sam! They’re here!’ Mum’s voice drifts up the stairs. I swallow, hard. Now that this is finally happening, dread settles in my stomach like dregs in the bottom of a teacup. I wish I could read my doubt and find out if it’s valid or blown out of proportion. But thoughts aren’t leaves, and there’s no way for me to know.

  I give myself a shake and head downstairs. I only make it halfway down the staircase before I see the ‘crew’, and it stops me dead. There are two people staring up at me: one is Daphne, the director. But the other gives me pause. It’s . . . for a moment, her name escapes me, but I know I recognise her gorgeous, copper-bright hair. She’s the Palace bodyguard, the one that I thought Princess Evelyn was falling for – before she went and got married. Katrina! That’s her name.

  As I come to a halt on the stairs, her eyes lift to meet mine. They seem to shoot me a warning, as if she doesn’t want me to show Daphne that I recognise her. Then she lifts a big camera to her shoulder – one of the type they use to film documentaries – and before I know it, Daphne conjures the microphone so it floats near my head, and a little red light appears on the side of the camera: recording.

  I stare, my feet frozen to the stairs. After a few awkward seconds, Daphne jerks her head to the side, where my family is standing in a line waiting for me. I realise she wants to film me saying goodbye. I rush down the stairs and dole out big hugs, starting with my mum and dad, and then Molly. Grandad’s opted out of the filming, so I’ll say goodbye to him privately.

  ‘Cut! Perfect!’ says Daphne, staring at a little floating monitor in front of her. ‘Although for the future, Sam, don’t look at the camera so much when we’re rolling – we want you to act as naturally as possible. The only time you’ll look dead into camera will be for the one-on-ones. We might have to reshoot that entrance. Can you go back upstairs?’

  I shake my head, heat rising in my cheeks. I can’t do this, I think. My heart beats wildly in my chest and my throat begins to close. The door to the kitchen looms in the hallway behind my parents and with a few quick steps I lunge my way past them and through.

  My vision is a blur. I grip the edges of the counter and close my eyes, trying to focus on my breathing. ‘Acting naturally’ doesn’t feel natural at all. Having those cameras pointed at me, the red lights blinking, the microphones floating just out of shot . . . Pull yourself together, Sam, I tell myself.

  Two loud knocks sound on the door. I open it up to Mum. ‘Everything okay in here?’

  ‘Yeah, fine,’ I say with a small smile.

  She puts her arm around my shoulders and pulls me tight. ‘We’ve set D
aphne up in the store and she’s got the camerawoman filming some background shots, so they’re occupied for now.’

  ‘Thanks, Mum,’ I say, glad I can have a moment to myself.

  ‘Where’s Zain?’ she asks, rubbing her hand on my back.

  I shrug. ‘I don’t know. We had a fight yesterday and I thought I would have heard from him by now. I don’t know if he’s coming and . . . I don’t know if I can do this without him.’

  Mum scoffs. ‘Sam, if there’s anything you should have learned over the past few months, it’s that you can do anything you set your mind to. Zain is a lovely boy but you don’t need him by your side.’

  ‘But the cameras . . . the documentary . . . it’s so not me.’ I bury my face in my hands. ‘I thought I wanted to do this to have control of my own story for a change, rather than wait for the media to write stuff about me. Zain was going to help me navigate all that.’

  With light pressure from her hands, Mum spins me around so that I face her. She takes my hands down from my eyes and lifts up my chin. ‘You can do both,’ she says. ‘And if you don’t want to do the documentary any more because you’d rather not be on television, that’s one thing. But if what’s stopping you is Zain not being here? I won’t allow that.’

  Mum’s forceful words, so much in contrast to her normally sweet demeanour, bring a reluctant smile to my face. In fact, I do want this. The Novaen people have been told enough lies. I might have the chance to show them some truth. And Mum’s right. I don’t need Zain to do that. ‘Okay.’

  ‘So you’re going back out there?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good girl,’ she says, pulling me in tight for a hug.

  I take a deep breath and step back into the fray. Daphne spots me immediately. ‘There you are! We’ve just finished up our establishing shots so we’re almost good to go! Oh, wait – I forgot to introduce you to the new member of our team. This superwoman over here is Katrina Pickard.’

  Katrina lowers the camera from her shoulder and extends her hand out to mine. ‘Nice to meet you. But, call me Trina. Everyone does.’ She doesn’t give any sign that we’ve met before.

  ‘And you,’ I say cautiously, following her lead.

  ‘I call her superwoman because she’s going to be doing the duties of ten people. It was very hard to find anyone who has the right visas and paperwork and availability for a job like this. We got lucky!’

  ‘I’m . . . uh, glad you could join us,’ I say.

  Trina smiles. ‘No problem. Now, I’m going to put a mic on you. These are really easy, wireless microphones that will stick onto any piece of clothing. If we just put it on top of your collar . . . There, perfect.’ The microphone is tiny, and fits on the collar-button of my plaid shirt. ‘How about we get some shots of you packing away your potion-mixing stuff?’

  ‘Okay,’ I say. Katrina heaves the camera back onto her shoulder.

  Daphne pipes up. ‘And narrate your actions as if you’re showing people at home around your store – imagine you’re giving them the big guided tour. We want people to discover alchemy for themselves, through your eyes. Are you ready?’

  ‘Don’t people normally script this stuff? What if I say the wrong thing?’ My face must betray my panic, because Daphne rushes to reassure me.

  ‘We can edit any mumbles out. Remember, this is something you’ve lived and breathed your whole life. All that’s changing is that the camera is here.’

  ‘Oh, and the millions of people that might watch,’ I mumble. Then I remind myself: that’s what you want. I take a deep breath. ‘Okay, well. This is Kemi’s Potion Shop, which has been in our family for over three centuries. There’s a lot of history here.’ I stare up at the wall of ingredients – the Kemi pride and joy. The jars, bottles and vials containing the ingredients are fully stocked and neatly labelled, but if you didn’t know what you were looking at, it would seem chaotic. Jumbled. That’s how Grandad and I demonstrate our skill without having to lift a finger. It’s impressive. I know because my heart expands with pride whenever I look at it.

  ‘I won’t be taking many ingredients with me,’ I continue, ‘because they will have almost everything in Zhonguo. But I will be bringing a few special Novaen gifts for the Long-shi alchemists that they might not have: a merpearl, and a kelpie bridle.

  ‘I’ll also be taking a lot of books,’ I say, stopping in front of the mini-library we have in the store. The main library is behind, but I also keep the shelf out here stocked with my current ‘TBR’ pile. ‘I can’t seem to travel anywhere without them – even though Zain has tried to convince me to switch to an e-reader.’ I take down three thick paperbacks: a guide to the flora and fauna of Zhonguo, a travelogue of a Finder’s journey through the country and finally, a book of Zhonguo fairytales.

  ‘Cut! Much better,’ Daphne says. Trina reaches up and turns off the camera. ‘I think we’ve got something to work with here.’ Daphne gives me an encouraging smile, which I awkwardly return. At least someone is optimistic about my abilities.

  Mum comes over and envelops me in a hug. ‘Be safe, honey. And even though you’re there for a serious job, try and enjoy yourself.’

  ‘Your mum’s right,’ says Dad. This is your first trip back to the Kemi homeland. I wish we were taking you there ourselves, so we could show you some of where our family came from.’

  ‘Me too,’ I say. My heart twinges, and I know if I stay any longer I’ll get emotional. I try to step away from the hug, but Mum’s arms remain tightly wrapped around me. ‘Uh . . . Mum?’

  ‘Come on, Katie,’ says my dad, gently.

  ‘Oh, I know I can’t keep you wrapped up in cotton wool forever.’ She gives me one last squeeze and then finally lets go. ‘Now Molly, on the other hand . . .’

  ‘Hey!’ says Molly indignantly, from behind Mum’s back.

  ‘Hey yourself,’ Mum says, with a laugh. ‘You’ve got at least four more years of overprotective Mum, okay?’

  ‘Fine,’ says Molly, rolling her eyes.

  ‘Let’s go.’ Trina grabs my suitcase from the floor and takes it outside to the car. I finish my second round of hugs. The first ones were played out for the camera and didn’t feel quite real.

  ‘Let me know how it goes with the Princess,’ I say to Molly.

  ‘I will.’

  My final stop is Grandad. ‘Keep me informed every step of the way. The Waidan won’t have asked you to come all that distance without good reason. And lastly, remember: you are not only a Master Alchemist, but a Kemi. If there is any threat to Nova that can be fixed with a potion, you will figure it out. It’s the Kemi way.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Grandad,’ I say. ‘I won’t let you down.’

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Princess Evelyn

  GOOD THOUGHTS KEPT THE ONEIROS at bay – that much she’d figured out – so Katrina’s face was never far from her mind.

  But she still had questions, and only one person she could ask. She marched straight up to the gates of the town and pounded on the metal bars. ‘Come out!’ she cried. ‘Prince Ilie, show yourself.’

  She’d had enough of waiting around. If she wasn’t going to wake up, she needed to figure out what was going on. And to do that, she had to talk to the people that had been here the longest. The Gergon Royal family.

  ‘Have you not heard the legend of the sleeping Princess?’

  His voice startled her but she quickly composed her face to get rid of any shock. The rules were different in this dream world, and she didn’t want him to know that he had taken her by surprise. Prince Ilie – Stefan’s older brother – appeared without warning on the other side of the bars, stiffly formal in a long black suit.

  ‘I’ve heard of it,’ she replied. ‘A Princess who slept for a hundred years. My kingdom won’t allow that. There are people working to wake me, I know it.’

  ‘Who said I was talking about your kingdom?’ He cast his eyes down, but she didn’t trust him for a second.

  ‘So you are all aslee
p, too. In Gergon.’ Evelyn blinked, attempting to process what she was hearing.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But why? I don’t understand.’

  The Prince sighed dramatically. ‘It is easier if I show you,’ he said. He took out a large key from his pocket and turned it in the lock of the gates.

  ‘I won’t come inside.’ Evelyn took several steps backward.

  ‘There is no need. I will step out – but only for a moment. I will not be able to stay away from the walled town for long. The nightmares are too terrible.’ He glanced up at where the oneiros were circling, and shuddered. He locked the gate behind him. ‘Hold out your hand like this,’ he said, laying his palm out flat.

  Evelyn hesitated. But what choice did she have? She wanted to know what was happening, why she had been put into this dream state, and here was someone who appeared to know. Slowly, finger by finger, she opened her hand until her palm was face up to the sky.

  ‘You are not only Royal, but the heir to the throne – and like me, you have the ability to control magic through your skin.’ The Prince reached out and ran his finger lightly across her palm. As he did so, beams of light shot from her fingertips, rivers of light infused with bright sparks that glittered and shone as they danced in the rays. Tears sprung up into Evelyn’s eyes. For the first time in her life she was seeing magic. Her magic. The streams that she had under her control. That gave her power.

  Or so she thought. The strands of light began to twist, turning her hand, closing her fingers together until the strands all travelled in the same direction.

  The Prince looked sad. ‘I thought so. It is the same for me.’ He opened his palm and the same magic burst to life. But though magic spread from his fingertips, his strands were weaker, thinner – only single specks of glitter compared to Evelyn’s rivers, and further up they twisted and braided together until they joined Evelyn’s.

  ‘Where is it going?’ asked Evelyn, her eyes following the streams of magic as they flew up and over the city walls, leading deeper within, where they joined innumerable tributaries of magic flowing up from every inhabitant of the dream world. The river then flowed to one place – a tall, dark stone tower right in the very centre of the city.