I hoped I tasted terrible.
Spit me out. My diet is lousy. I eat far too much junk food. I’ll give you indigestion.
The slurping continued. I couldn’t see what was happening below my waist, but the creature seemed to be salivating. The bulb around me was filling with liquid. I was reminded of sitting in a hot tub. I used to like hot tubs.
Time for more violence. I cast the blade spell a third time. Nothing happened. The surface didn’t even scratch like before.
My head was woozy. The plant was undulating on its long stalk, swaying me from side to side. Stop the world, I want off.
I cast my new motion disruption spell. It wouldn’t get me free, but at least it might buy me time.
My magic popped and fizzled, like a struck match that smokes but doesn’t light.
I was new at the spell, so I blamed myself and tried again.
More fizzling.
The plant’s acidic saliva gurgled around my waist. Was it laughing at me?
I was running out of tricks. I cast the spell for detecting ripeness in a cantaloupe, partly because it was a no-fail spell and partly because I wondered what new information I might glean.
But the ripeness spell wouldn’t run.
I tried telekinesis on the dirt far below me on the ground. Not a single speck flew up. The ghost dogs watched helplessly. They’d suffered the same fate, I realized. The only thing left had been their eerily clean bones.
Can’t think about that now. Gotta keep thinking.
My magic definitely wasn’t working. The plant gurgled. Had I been shorted out by the liquid? Apparently so. Next, I would be digested, from the bottom up.
On the plus side, at least I would die knowing exactly what horrific fate had befallen poor Tansy Wick. I mentally kicked her spirit. Hey, thanks a lot for the warning about the carnivorous plant under your main greenhouse. When I meet you on the other side, let me thank you in person.
I stabbed at the plant angrily with my trowel. Green fluid oozed from the wounds I’d inflicted, but they were no more threatening than ladybug nibbles on a watermelon.
To my amazement, my rage called forth some blue lightning. It was weak and sputtering, but I might have one good shock left in me.
I tucked the trowel into the mouth of the thing, at the center of my chest, and rubbed my hands together.
You mess with a witch, you get the blue fireballs.
Once the charge was focused, I slapped my hands down and blasted. A web glowed over the surface, bright green, and quickly faded. It gave off a scent like baby spinach wilting in a hot frying pan.
Fry up real good. Yum yum.
But the plant didn’t stop undulating or even break its rhythm. And was the grip around my torso tighter now? The bright moon overhead became dimmer. I was losing oxygen, losing my senses. Losing time.
The stem beneath me suddenly whipped. My head connected with the overhead panel hard enough to break something. As I slipped into darkness, I hoped the cracking had been the translucent panel and not my skull.
The death will be painless, a voice told me. It was Tansy Wick, finally speaking up.
Over my dead broomstick! Painless or not, I wasn’t going to feed this beast.
The Droserakops needs to be nourished.
Droserakops? Tansy, is that what this rancid salad monster is called?
Yes, she replied, as calm as a tour guide at a museum. This fine specimen is a hybrid of the sundew, a member of the Droseraceae family. It lures and digests insects with its mucilaginous glands.
But I’m no insect, I said.
Tansy’s spirit continued in a detached voice. You’re probably wondering what the sundew was spliced with to create such a lively little sprout!
A lively little sprout? Tansy was clearly not in the here and now. Her spirit was giving a relaxed demonstration, which meant I was accessing one of her memories. I could do nothing but let the recorded clip play out. And why not? I had nowhere else to go.
She continued. Why, it was the critter you provided me with, Reynard! Look how beautiful our baby is growing up. Careful. Don’t touch.
She laughed, her voice like an old gate squeaking in the wind.
I waited for more, but the memory replay had finished.
The only sound was the plant, which rustled and squeaked, like a fallen tree in the woods, caught upon a green branch not yet ready to give way.
Tansy? Get back here with your green thumbs! Who is Reynard?
She didn’t respond. Fickle ghosts.
If only there were some way for me to get better access to what was left of her mind.
My witch powers weren’t working, and I couldn’t scream. I had to use my wits and stay alive until my family happened upon me.
The plant might have some weakness I could exploit, some weakness Tansy knew about.
Something rubbed against my leg in the whirlpool. Not a tongue, at least.
Earlier that evening, we’d used a dog fang to connect with a dog spirit. I remembered most of the spell for the ritual. I could wing it. Now, if only I had something of Tansy’s, I might be able to run the same spell now.
Bones. What had my aunt said a few days ago at the Thai restaurant? Something about bones and spitting them out. The memory fit against something else in my mind, courtesy of Tansy. I caught a glimpse of her instructing the plant to spit out the bones when it was done digesting the chickens.
Tansy had fed her chickens to the plant.
I used my knees to grab the hard object floating in the soup. It was a bone, all right. Probably a tibia.
I squeezed Tansy’s tibia bone between my knees and prepared to do the spirit-communication spell. This spell was different from the others I’d tried because it interacted with energy on another plane. It might work. As I began casting, the mental spellwork and hand movements came back to me. I didn’t have the magical ingredients, so I would have to improvise by stripping the spell down to its basics. I threw caution to the wind and left out the safety protocols. If something nasty slipped through from another plane, I’d deal with it next.
Unfortunately, the carnivorous plant wasn’t giving me much time. My leg movements must have tickled it into action. I found myself being whipped violently, jerked up and down, and smacked against the roof.
Smartening up quick, I went limp. You got me, Droserakops. I’m knocked out. I’ll just be here, limp as a boiled dandelion, while your digestive enzymes go to work on me.
Playing dead worked. My captor stopped rattling me like a Rumba shaker. I carefully located the bone in the whirlpool again, with minimal movements, and quickly cast a pared-down version of the spell. It was messy and chaotic, but it was a thing of beauty, because it worked and it was all I had.
My pulse quickened as the connection snapped together. I saw her face clearly, and in my mind’s eye, she was looking at me. Her hair was long and gray, her face was unremarkable, but her eyes were brilliant green.
Tansy, please help me, I said. Does the Droserakops have a weakness?
Mucilaginous glands, she said. Her voice was so quiet.
I repeated the spell to boost the volume.
Tansy, how is that a weakness?
It comes from the roots, she said. Sever the stem, and the glands will empty. Remove the heart, and you take its powers.
Sever the stem? Remove the heart? Would if I could, sweetheart!
In my vision, Tansy shrugged. She’d cared more about the state of the plants in my backyard than whether I lived or died. Maybe she lived in seclusion because she was a jerk and nobody liked her.
It’s true, she said, even though I hadn’t verbalized my thoughts. Nobody likes me. There won’t be a memorial service for Tansy Wick when I die. Who would come? Just my dogs.
But her dogs were already dead, and so was she. I did the psychic equivalent of putting on a mask with a smile. She was denying her death, or confused. Either way, I didn’t want to break the news to her and suffer another existential tantrum.
I’d probably get so depressed I’d beg the Droserakops to finish me off quickly.
I pulled away from the vision in my mind. She’d given me what I needed.
The creature’s weak point was the base of its stem.
I slowly leaned over to get a visual. The base was thick and coarse. How could I effect any damage from fifteen feet up, with no corporeal powers?
I turned over the trowel in my hands and looked around. Above me was a network of water irrigation pipes. Why hadn’t I thought of this sooner? I could use the trowel to pry free some pipes and use them to jab into the base of the stem. I reached up, but even with my arms fully extended, the pipes were still two feet from the tip of my trowel.
How could I get lifted higher? If only I could press a button to operate the plant’s hydraulics, like an orchard’s cherry picker.
All I could do was make the creature angry enough to bash my head into the ceiling, then not get a concussion or lose consciousness while I pried loose a makeshift javelin. Easy peasy.
I kicked at the plant’s innards, digging my heels into what felt like a squishy tongue.
The reaction was immediate and painful. My head missed the corrugated plastic and struck the metal supports. The whole greenhouse rang like a church bell. Or maybe it was just my head.
Darkness crawled up my spine. I heard the clunk of the trowel landing on the dirt far below me. My whole body was numb. I lost consciousness and went to a place within myself.
In the darkness, a vision appeared. It was the image that went with the audio I’d heard already.
“You’re probably wondering what the sundew was spliced with to create such a lively little sprout!” Tansy Wick held a terra cotta pot with both hands. Growing from the pot was a much smaller version of the creature that now held me. “Why, it was the critter you provided me with, Reynard! Look how beautiful our baby is growing up. Careful. Don’t touch.”
And then Reynard, who wasn’t great at listening to warnings, reached forward and touched the bulb of the plant. With a flick of its stem, the juvenile plant opened wide and latched onto his finger. He cried out in surprise and yanked his hand free.
“Tansy, you’ve outdone yourself,” he said, rubbing his finger.
She tossed her gray hair over her shoulder coquettishly. “Why, thank you, Reynard.”
“Give me this one,” he said. “My buyer is impatient and putting pressure on me.”
“No!” She yanked it toward herself protectively.
The plant whipped again and latched onto the nearest thing, which was Tansy’s bare arm. She shrieked and dropped the plant pot. The terra cotta container shattered.
“Look what you made me do,” she said angrily. “Filthy trickster fox.”
My father held up both hands and smiled his rubbery salesman grin. “Easy now. A deal’s a deal, Tansy. I brought you the cuttings, and now I need the heart so I can get paid.”
Tansy tipped her head back and laughed.
My father knelt down and felt around on the greenhouse floor. “Where’d it go?”
“Where do you think? It burrowed down. It’s probably in the caves by now.”
“I’ll get it out.” He changed into fox form and started digging.
She kicked him out of the way. “Don’t you dare,” she said. “I’ll send my dogs after you.”
He whimpered and returned to human form. “We can’t leave it growing free down there,” he said. “Think of the consequences.”
“That plant is my baby,” she said. “I raised it and nourished it myself. You’re not going to cut out my baby’s heart. I’d rather die.”
He backed away, toward the door. “It’s so early in the day,” he said in a placating tone. “Let’s go get some of those iced mint mochas you love. We can talk about this.”
“No, we can’t,” she said. “No more talk. I’m sick of people like you trying to manipulate me.” She rubbed her arm where the plant had bit her.
The two big dogs, who’d been sleeping on the ground, watching lazily, got to their feet.
“I’ll go,” he said. “I’d rather not be slobbered on, so don’t bother with your threats.”
Tansy pulled two satchels the size of oranges from her pockets and broke them over the heads of her dogs. A powdery mist floated down over the animals. Their posture changed immediately.
“Jasper, Coco, kill that man,” she said. “Kill.”
My father’s eyes widened.
The dogs advanced, looking less like dudes in wrinkly sweaters and more like hellhounds.
One of them growled menacingly.
My father shifted into fox form in the blink of an eye, and then he was off and running.
The blackness turned to gray. I was conscious again. The vision had been illuminating, but it hadn’t done a lick of good to get me out of my predicament.
I’d dropped the trowel, so now I had only my hands to work with. My numb hands. I was closer to the ceiling than before, though. I stretched up and managed to reach one of the pipes. I’ve never been happier to grab onto something. My muscles strained as I tried to pry the pipe free.
After a few minutes, I found that I didn’t have the leverage. When I pushed against the plant, the plant simply bobbed lower. I had to use the plant’s strength against it.
I grasped the irrigation pipe tightly and started kicking the plant again. Either the pipe would come free, or maybe it would stay fixed and the human clinging to it for dear life would come free of her watery prison. My first kick didn’t register. I’d gotten tripped up on more of Tansy’s bones. A skull, by the feel of it. I twisted my body and prepared for a harder kick. My fingers were locked on the pipe tightly.
And then I caught a new movement out of the corner of my eye.
The door of the greenhouse was opening.
In walked a white cat with a puffy tail. Boa glanced around, sat prettily, and slowly looked from the plant’s base all the way up to me.
“Meow,” she said.
Chapter 36
Boa!
My fingers slipped off the pipe. My hands were so numb I didn’t feel it.
I pointed accusingly at the white cat. Or at least I tried to point. The paralysis from the plant’s juices had extended to my upper body. I could barely control which direction my eyes were pointing.
I knew it, I thought, even though I hadn’t actually suspected the cat of anything until just now.
Helpless as a kitten myself, I watched as the white cat padded over to the base of the plant and sniffed it. Boa must not have liked what she smelled. She hissed and backed away, her tail straight up and puffy.
A noise came from my throat. I could hoarsely whisper now. Had the loss of muscle tension somehow reversed whatever had paralyzed my vocal chords? I was grateful to have my voice back but disturbed by how little control I had over my mouth.
“Boa,” I croaked, spit flying out freely. “Who are you? What are you?”
A man’s voice answered, “She’s just a cat. I brought her along as a decoy, to feed the Droserakops, but it looks like you’re taking care of that.”
“Rhys,” I croaked. “Or should I call you Reynard, like your friend Tansy did.” As much spit as sound came out of my numb lips.
My father, in human form and wearing the same cheap salesman suit he’d worn during his first surprise appearance, circled around the base of the plant, inspecting it. He’d brought a glowing lantern with him, and as he circled the plant, it cast comically large shadows on the greenhouse walls.
“Try to relax,” he called up. His words were light and casual. “The more you jiggle around, the more you activate its trigger hairs.”
“Get an ax and chop me down!”
He set down the glowing lantern, reached into his jacket, and pulled out a pocketknife. “This should do the trick,” he said cheerfully.
I spat, “An ax, Dad. Get an ax.”
“No need,” he said. “Any good tradesman knows the right tool is the best way to save
time. And the right tool is the one you have in your pocket.” The blade of the knife flickered in the lantern’s light as he approached the base of the stem. “Measure twice, cut once, and all that.”
I snapped back, “Don’t measure. Just cut.” I tried to say more, but my voice was gone again. Only wheezing, spitty breaths came out.
He used his knife to cut into the stem, between the two largest leaves at the base. He had the focus of a surgeon removing an organ, though, not the gritty determination of a lumberjack. I smacked my limp, numb hands together to get his attention, then made a chopping gesture.
“Zara, relax,” he called up. “I’m removing the central gland of the Droserakops. As soon as I get it out, the enzymes will stop flowing. After thirty minutes or so, the stem will relax, and you’ll be able to wriggle out of the mouth.”
Thirty minutes? I gave him a panicked look and mimed chopping movements frantically.
“You’re going to hate me for this,” he said, and then he chuckled. “So what else is new, right? At least now you’ll have a reason to hate me.”
I pointed my finger and made a wheezing accusation. “You... killed... Tansy.” My words came out like a buzzard’s throaty hisses.
“I didn’t kill Tansy,” he said. “She and I met here on Wednesday to have a look at our project. I wanted to harvest the heart before the Droserakops got too big for its britches. But she and I didn’t see eye to eye. I told her it wasn’t safe. She had already fed it most of the chickens from her coop, and she wanted to wait another week before the harvest.”
“You’re lying,” I said. “She sent her dogs to kill you.”
“She told you about that? I would have thought her guilt would keep her silent.”
“I know everything.”
“Yeah? Did she tell you about her crazy idea to produce three flowers from one root? She was greedy.” He paused in his surgical cutting and looked up at me. “Her greed was what killed Tansy.”
“No,” I said. “She loved this plant.”
Watchful Wisteria (Wisteria Witches Mysteries Book 4) Page 27
