Twisted Potions (Hidden Blood Book 2)

by Al K. Line

  "Just a beautiful day to be alive." Mithnite returned to his cereal, eating out of an oversized petri dish with a long-handled spoon used for the Chemist's work. He picked up a pipette, sucked up milk, then teased it into his mouth with his head held back. "Yum."

  "You're enjoying this, aren't you?" I accused, then I jabbed my big toe on a shard of glass and hopped about until it healed, not wanting to get blood on the flagstones.

  "It's fun, it's interesting. How's Faz, is he awake yet?"

  "He's stirring, but mostly just mumbling about wishing he'd taken up smoking so he'd have something to do while he rests."

  "It won't kill him if he does," said Mithnite brightly.

  "Shut up."

  I maneuvered over to the sink, filled the kettle, then switched it on. As usual, the sink was rammed with mysterious jars and bottles, dregs of foreign substances coating the bottom. And that was the tidier part of my kitchen.

  I stared out of the window at the early autumn weather. The trees blew wildly, the last of their leaves blasting across the mostly barren vegetable plots. Winter would be here soon, and part of me looked forward to the cold. Maybe we'd have snow, that would be cool. Haha.

  Or, and this would be even better, the hole in the kitchen floor would open up again and all the crap in it would get burned up and then it would seal over and I'd be left in peace.

  Fat chance of that happening.

  You know when you offer to do a good deed for a friend, help them out, and then you regret it? I really, really regretted helping out this particular ghoulish friend.

  With the Chemist's home a no-go zone, what with half of it eaten away by the acidic potion, the other half scorched, not to mention that the Elders could return and do despicable things to him—which right now seemed like a good idea—we, okay, I, had foolishly said he could come stay with us on the proviso he behaved and didn't cause us any trouble.

  I should have known better.

  He had behaved, and he hadn't caused any trouble as such, meaning no Elders had come calling. It seemed they weren't the kind to go investigating, were merely drawn here by the misuse of ghoulish potions, but he had screwed up my kitchen, my home, and my entire life.

  Rage bubbled up like one of his volatile potions, threatened to spill over into caved skulls of the ghoulish kind as I searched for a cup. I had to make do with a 500ml beaker. I made my coffee and joined Mithnite at the table, having to shift vials and weird things growing in my mugs out of the way just to put it down. I searched for a coaster but gave it up as a lost cause, knowing the burned, stained, now multi-colored table would have to be thrown out once our "guest" had left.

  And the sooner the bloody better.

  "Morning," sang the Chemist as he sauntered in eating from a tin of dog food with one of my spoons. I knew it was dog food as it had a picture of a dog on it.

  I threw a glass beaker at his head; it missed and smashed against a wall.

  "Shut up," I said, and gulped my coffee. I burned my tongue. "Perfect, just perfect."

  The Truth

  It had been a week fraught with tension. Nerves were jangling, everyone was at each other's throats, and Faz slept through it all. It wasn't fair. As well as the Chemist turning my kitchen into a lab, and the numerous arguments that ensued because of it, even though I bit my tongue most of the time since I had invited him, we were all stressed as we didn't know what had happened with Faz and the Elders.

  Would they turn up and cause trouble? Did they know anything about our home? Would we get caught in the crossfire because of our association with the Chemist? He seemed certain they would only come if they got a hint of the potion, so he worked diligently, and carefully, ensuring not a whiff of his vile liquids and chemicals escaped to warn the Elders.

  But there was always an undertone of stress, of waiting, and I knew the Chemist was less than certain we were safe.

  Faz could have made things worse doing whatever he'd done, but he was still out of it and we'd just have to wait.

  After coffee, and with the Chemist already hard at work with his tinkering, Faz finally made an appearance.

  I said nothing, but he was ruined. He'd lost more weight, looked dangerously skeletal, his stubble had turned into full-on man of the mountain look, and his eyes were sunken. My poor husband's ink was flat and listless, dull and deep under the skin of his pale, vein-laced forearms.

  "Ugh," he said by way of greeting as he shuffled into the kitchen, not even reacting to the chaos or the stink that had now polluted every room in the house no matter how much I tried to air it. Even the hobs had given up trying to clean up the kitchen, it was now a no-go zone for anyone with any sense that hadn't been burned away by the poisonous fumes.

  "Morning," I said.

  "Good day to you, Faz," said the Chemist with a lopsided smile, before he got back to work, whistling contentedly while he swirled a murky liquid in a beaker and inspected the contents with a frown.

  "Want some coffee?" asked Mithnite.

  "Please," Faz grunted, then sat down with a groan. Sweat sheened his forehead just from sitting.

  We sat in silence for a while and drank coffee that tasted weird, but so did everything else, the only sound the bubbling of liquids and the tinkling of glass.

  I explained to Faz about my offer to let the Chemist work here until he got his potion made and did what he thought he could do, but Faz merely growled and stared at the green-tinged coffee. Then I asked him to tell us what had happened with the Elders. He explained, albeit briefly.

  It seems that after he'd been taken, which he didn't resist as he thought it might make things worse for me, although I'm not sure why, he called me as instructed. After the conversation, he decided he was up to blasting the dark arts and that he figured he'd deal with whoever the men were and also test how close he was to getting back into the game.

  Like a fool, he jumped right in at the deep end, used a form of magic that is very successful for him but also taxing. He'd modified it, set the intensity to low, but once he began he knew he'd made the wrong choice. With no going back, he'd fought and blasted and sent a barrage of black sparks of magic—it's how he got his nickname—at the Elders as they seemed immune to much else, and just like that they'd gone.

  "Vanished?" asked Mithnite.

  "Um, sort of. Not sure. It was weird."

  "They would have broken into pieces, become a million scabs and bits of skin, bone and gristle, dropped to the earth and been dragged through to the other side by the worms hungry for such immortal flesh," said the Chemist, wobbling his arms and being very dramatic about it all.

  "Yeah, maybe. Whatever." Faz waved it all away, as if that was that, end of story.

  "So the magic worked? You beat them?" I asked.

  "I guess. Dunno. Seemed like I was an inconvenience more than anything else. Like they couldn't be bothered."

  "That sounds like them. Bunch of cowards." The Chemist looked around nervously, as if he'd blasphemed and expected punishment.

  "But they're immortal," I protested. "Why would they leave like that?"

  "Because ghoul magic isn't about blasting and fighting like humans do. It's different, more corporeal. It's about flesh and bone and decay and worms and bugs and maggots and things of the flesh. The Elders get bored with human magic, so they would have left as they're in no hurry. They're too powerful to be bothered, is what it comes down to. They'll wait, try to get me when I slip up and reveal myself. But I won't, not until I'm a human, and then they can't touch me. I'm outside of their interest then, so they'll let me go and I can be what I always wanted to be."

  "Yeah, yeah." Faz drained his coffee, although he spilled quite a lot down his beard, then shuffled off back to bed after kissing me on the forehead.

  "He's half dead," said Mithnite with concern.

  "Guys, you have to promise me that if we get any trouble we leave Faz out of it. If he tries to help he'll kill himself."

  "Agreed."

  "You bet." Th
e Chemist began whistling again and I wondered not if, but when they'd come.

  At Breaking Point

  Time crawled like somebody had chopped its legs off and it was sliding about on bloody stumps. The days, then the weeks, slithered by in an agony of spills, breakages, arguments, blocked drains, burned counters, exploding air, numerous new kettles, two melted sinks, and three replacement tables.

  Every piece of cutlery was tarnished, bent, or pockmarked with acid. Every plate and mug either cracked, destroyed entirely, or host to new, chattering lifeforms.

  The humidity was so high the wallpaper peeled, the ceiling in the kitchen was now black with soot, and things were growing and growling in the damp, dark corners where nobody went or even looked for fear of nightmares.

  We ate a lot of takeaway. In the living room.

  Faz got well enough to be up and about, back to where he was before this all began, still far from recovered. Mithnite returned to his studies and practice, even did a few minor jobs for Dancer.

  I had several enforcer mishaps when things got dicey, but I was getting the hang of it now and hardly broke any bones at all the last few times I scoured the city and hauled in magical scallywags.

  And the Chemist never left the kitchen apart from to use the bathroom—which was a nightmare too, ghouls make one hell of a mess—or to pop out for supplies for his makeshift lab.

  The longer his potion simmered on a low heat that reduced down a large jar of the volatile pink liquid everyone avoided with studied nonchalance, the more our ghoulish lodger grew withdrawn and obsessive. From almost at the brim, it had become several inches of liquid, now a viscous dark pink verging on black, and it looked like there were bits in it.

  Our psychotic alchemist said it was the black bits he was really after, that although it was a potion, the liquid was but a suspension for the sooty grains that grew and took on power, turning his hard work into something with immense supernatural energy. This would transform him into a man and allow him to leave so much of his old life behind he'd basically be a different person.

  He lost weight, became skin and bone, and the rest of his hair fell out. He was a sickly color, almost pale yellow, refusing to eat most of the time or forgetting I'd made him something, leaving it to grow new life on the plate. His hands were stained the colors of a sickly rainbow, his eyes were never still, always darting about like he expected the Elders to come and drag him off somewhere nasty, and he talked to himself non-stop. A constant commentary of everything he was doing, every thought he had, every decision he made. It was beyond maddening.

  I was close to murdering him and burying him in the garden, the only thing stopping me was knowing he'd enjoy it then claw his way out after a few hours and get straight back to work.

  So we struggled through the chemical haze, I went for plenty of walks in the beautiful countryside, wrapped up warm with gloves, scarf, and woolly hat. Early every morning, I'd wander out into the fields, kicking up the frost on the grass and lift my head to the wintry blue sky, centering myself so I didn't lose the plot entirely.

  And then the day came. A month after this all began, it was the day the potion was ready.

  I hired a skip.

  D-Day

  The anticipation had been killing us all for days. Ever since the Chemist informed us it was to be that Saturday, we'd grown more and more anxious. Part of it was because we wanted him to succeed, but me and my guys were also looking forward to having our home back.

  House guests are nice and all, but you get set in your ways, used to a routine, and deranged alchemists shuffling about the place and burning down your kitchen on a regular basis can try the happiest of homes.

  Rather than sulk about me hiring a skip, the Chemist had rejoiced when the guy delivered it and dropped it down right outside the front door.

  All morning, he went back and forth, filling it with the results of failed experiments, broken glass, powders that were no longer volatile, and a lot of clothes that had gone missing and he'd clearly been using to mop up the numerous spills or to put out flash fires.

  By late morning he was finished. He called us back into the kitchen, having made us stay away while he got things prepared.

  We stood nervously, and with some impatience, inside the kitchen doorway and all I could say was, "Wow."

  Mithnite and Faz's jaws hung slack, their eyes wide, full of wonder, and shining as they reflected the room.

  "What, it's okay isn't it?"

  I nodded, mute, then found my voice after I gulped. "It's better than okay, it's gleaming."

  The kitchen sparkled like it was newly installed. By professionals. Who wore gloves and were totally OCD.

  Counters dazzled, the sink twinkled like a team of faeries had coated it in their intoxicating dust. The black flagstones had been oiled and polished until they were as reflective as a new mirror, the walls were as white as a nurse's uniform on her first day, the ceiling looked like it had been freshly plastered, as smooth as a fresh slab of butter, and the windows were so free of smears, so clear, it was hard to believe there was any glass in them.

  He'd even waxed the table. So shiny was it, it was almost invisible as it reflected back its surroundings. There were rows of fresh mugs all neatly aligned, stacks of new crockery, and an assortment of solid silver cutlery and utensils I knew were of the highest quality and damn expensive.

  "Glad you like it. Sorry about all the mess I caused. I work best amid the chaos. Must be the ghoul in me, haha." The Chemist's eyes danced with a fierce, mischievous energy, almost manic or maybe close to madness. I wasn't sure if it was from the job he'd done of the kitchen, all the exercise loading up the skip, or the thought of momentous things to come. Probably a combination of it all.

  I didn't care. I was just glad to have my kitchen back.

  "But why all this?" I asked. "I know it's not like you."

  "Because," he said, spreading his arms wide and grinning like a fool, "today is a new beginning. I will no longer be the Chemist, I will be something else, something new. Reborn."

  "A man," said Faz, like it was nothing to get excited about.

  "A new me!" the Chemist shouted, close to losing the plot entirely.

  He was way too hyper, and although I understood this was the climax of a lot of work and stress, years of testing with countless mishaps along the way, there was something about the way he acted that made me feel edgy.

  "This isn't going to go horribly wrong and blow us all up is it? Or bring the Elders back and seriously piss them off? If it is, can we please do it outside?"

  "The Elders will no longer be a concern," he said with a frown, in a voice that spoke with authority and an edge that made the three of us glance at each other. We all heard it, an undertone of menace, of something like disdain.

  "So, you gonna do it?" asked Mithnite. "Gonna chug the juice?"

  We all studied the large glass jar that had been the center of attention for a month. The focus of this whole enterprise, the thing that could have brought down all manner of suffering for us if we'd even touched it.

  There were no other potions, jars, beakers, test tubes or chemicals in the room now. Apart from the large jar with an inch of sinister, dirty pink liquid and lots of black bits, resting on the polished island, it was like an ordinary kitchen, just one from a very posh home.

  "I am."

  The Chemist took a small test tube from his checkered shirt pocket, walked solemnly to the jar and placed the test tube in a small clamp beside it I hadn't noticed until then. He pulled out and put on thick gardening gloves I used to prune the roses, gripped the jar with steady hands, and poured the contents. The test tube filled up slowly, the liquid as sluggish as tar.

  He placed the jar down without a sound, removed the gloves, and bent to peer at the contents. The rest of us kept our distance, not wanting to interfere, cause a mishap, or die or something.

  "I want to thank you all for allowing me to stay with you. Rest assured, I'm grateful, and whateve
r happens I appreciate it immensely. Things will be different from now on, so very different. Change is coming, but you are to congratulate yourselves on helping to bring about this momentous rebirth."

  He was being way too dramatic, and his words were odd. Sure, he was hopefully going to become a real human man, but he was speaking like it would change our lives, not just his.

  I hoped he was just excited, caught up in the moment after focusing and obsessing for so long.

  The poor, disfigured magical being smiled at us one last time, grabbed the test tube, swished it around, opened his mouth wide, then poured the lumpy contents down his throat.

  A Transformation

  The tension was a palpable thing in the air. When three humans brimming with mysterious universal forces, and one ghoul of pure magic, are nervous and excited, the air takes on a real edge.

  Patterns swirled and spat like cobras as colors eddied around us. Air molecules vibrated on unknown frequencies as our emotions became ghostly visions in the vortex. Sparks of volatile, wayward magic spat off in all directions and whipped around our bodies. My ink activated, Hidden forces gushed through my system, priming me like a magic pump keen to spew out primordial power just to release the tension.

  The Chemist placed the test tube on the stand with shaky hands and took a step back, eyes unfocused. Then they rolled back in his head, all jaundiced whites, and his features twisted and contorted as an inner battle raged.

  He shook, then he trembled so fast that his whole body became a blur of impossible speed.

  The pressure in the room intensified, weighing down on me, and I moaned like everyone else. It was like being submerged in the depths of an oppressive ocean, the force pressing in on me in all directions, crushing me.

  Then as suddenly as it had come it lifted, leaving me buoyant like I'd floated up and bumped my head on the ceiling.

  With a whoosh of air and a scream like the room itself was in pain, excitable magic darted to the Chemist, wrapping his still twitching body in a transparent cocoon of energy.