8:20
Beatrice lowered her gaze and sighed. “My father is a scientist. Signor Giacomo Rappaccini. He is not,” she paused, looked down then back up again, “a good man, I suspect.”
Siobhan gave her a steady look, encouraging her to continue, inserting just a bit of understanding into her gaze. Like, yes, some men are not good. Even those we are related to.
“My father has advanced knowledge of botanical poisons and I came to understand over time that he was experimenting on me with them.”
“Is he an alchemist?”
“I could not say, for I do not know what makes one so.”
“Does he have Magick?”
Beatrice’s eyes grew wide. “I could not say.”
“That’s okay.” Siobhan gave her an encouraging smile. “I’m sorry I interrupted. You say your father experimented on you?”
“I fear so. At first I didn’t question it. He was my father. If he chose to give me tinctures, which he said were for good health, who was I to question it? But then odd things started happening. My bird, my dear companion, died when I was feeding it. And then I found that other creatures did too. I would wake to dead bugs in my room. Well,” she frowned, her gaze clouding, “perhaps I have the timing wrong. I think I found the bugs first. But, whatever the timeline, I slowly came to understand that things I touched, or breathed upon, died.”
“My mother died of cancer and my father grew fixated on finding a cure. I discovered this when I went into his laboratory once while he was out and found his journal. You are aware of chemotherapy and radiation therapy?”
Siobhan nodded. “I am.”
“My father wrote that these things were poisons, meant to kill the disease, and their use was a necessary evil.”
“I can see that. I think that’s the logic many who fight cancer use to explain their methods.”
“My father was looking a natural way to do this. I appreciate that medicaments, to a point, are at their natural, but my father’s theory was that because the compounds were produced through chemistry they were fallible.” A small frown creased her smooth brow. “I fear I am no scientist so cannot truly explain his logic, just that he had such.”
“Closer to the source or something?”
“How so?”
“The more something is refined, some argue, the more it loses its efficacy. And some processes completely strip the benefits from components. I can understand what his logic was, but the level of evil it would take to poison your child in search of knowledge? It astounds me.”
“As it did me. I refused to take any more of my father’s treatments. And then I began to feel ill. Not, I think affected by whatever causes my touch and breath to be poison, but perhaps…” Lowering her eyes she blinked rapidly. When she looked up at Siobhan again they glistened with tears. “I suspect that my father caused me to become addicted to something he gave me. I cannot say for certain, but I do know I languished upon refusing his tinctures.”
“That asshole.” Siobhan slapped her hand to her mouth, but the word was already out and it seemed, by the way Beatrice stiffened and blinked at her, that it was not a word in the other woman’s vocabulary.
“Forgive me?”
Siobhan bit her lip then lowered her hand. “Your father was a real monster.”
“What does that make me, the monster’s daughter?”
“It makes you a victim of that monster. I assume there’s more to this story if you said you need someone who understands plants. Are you hoping to test the tincture your father gave you and find a cure to its effects?”
“Oh no. I have done so already. I took the tincture to my father’s rival, Signore Pietro Baglioni. He has analyzed it and has given me an antidote.”
“Did it work?”
“Oh, I misspoke. I should say he gave me a formula for it. But I cannot make heads nor tails of it.”
“Why didn’t he give you the antidote instead of the formula.”
Beatrice looked down at her folded hands. A slight blush suffused her pale cheek, making her appear even more a tragic heroine from an old tale. “Signor Pietro Baglioni wanted me to provide him with my father’s research in return for the cure.” She lifted her gaze to the sky and sighed a most delicate sigh. “I fear I misspoke again when I said he gave me the formula. Rather he let me know he had one and what the price was of my cure. Despite all he has done to me, my father is still-”
“Your father. And you love him.”
“I do not know. I suppose I must, though reason tells me no.”
“It’s okay. That part of your tale is older than the reset. Many children who are abused suffer similarly. They hate the actions of their parent yet still can’t help wanting their love.”
“Yes. That sounds, sadly, to be my case.”
Siobhan fought the compulsion to close the distance between them and lay a reassuring hand on Beatrice’s hand or arm. Then she reminded herself of the trail of dead birds and animals she’d followed to this willow and it overrode the impulse.
“Am I reading between the lines correctly and you have this formula?”
“I didn’t trade my father’s for it, I assure you!”
“No,” a small smile tweaked the corners of Siobhan’s mouth, “you stole it.”
Beatrice pressed her hand to her bosom and looked down. “I fear I am guilty of that villainy.”
“I’d have done the same thing,” Siobhan muttered, then she raised her voice and repeated. “I would have stolen it to.”
Beatrice blinked rapidly. “You would?”
“Yes. There’s right and there’s wrong, but sometimes there’s a lot of gray in between. And taking the formula for a cure to a disease that someone refused to give you unless you do something you think is wrong, that’s on the right side of gray. I don’t suppose you have the formula on you?”
“I do. I came to this garden, hoping I might be able to figure out what the plants are that go with the names on the formula. But I fear I can’t tell one green from another. Despite this.” She held up a popular herbal. “I know what the names are and I can look at the pictures of them but,” she let out a depreciating laugh. “I fear, again, I can’t tell one green leafy thing from another. Some have flowers and I thought that would help but there are so many flowers. And even if I narrow it down to purple flowers, there are still so many. And then I tried narrowing it to purple flowers of a particular shape but-” she shrugged.
“There are so many purple flowers of a particularly shape. I hear you. I had to study for a lot of years before I was able to tell sage from anise hyssop.” At Beatrice’s confused look, she expanded. “They both have small flowers that grow, kind of like brushes, on long stems. Anyhow,” she waved her hand to dismiss the thought, “I do understand. If you let me see the formula perhaps I could help. And my cost wouldn’t be you betraying your beliefs. Just the pretty piece of glass you have around your neck.”
Beatrice fingered the rose. “I fear that I may have contaminated it by wearing it.”
“Then aren’t we lucky we have an antidote?”
A look of dawning suffused Beatrice’s face. “Oh. Yes. Very much so.” She picked up her small round bag, loosened the draw string, and then pulled a piece of paper from it. Siobhan started to reach for it, but Beatrice shook her head. “Please. No further. I have found that anyone that comes within six feet of me dies.”
Siobhan bit her lip. “That does make this harder. How about you read it to me and I’ll make a copy.” She reached into her bag and pulled out yet another piece of the Gryphon story, flipped it over to the blank side, and looked at Beatrice expectantly.
“I supposed that would work nicely. Have you a writing utensil.”
Siobhan waved a pen. “I do.”
“Forgive me if I mispronounce.”
“Certainly.”
Beatrice looked down at the paper and began to read. “Two parts Lily of the Valley bells. One part Larkspur, using the seeds of the young plant. A half part Daphne berries. An equal amount of Jasmine berries.”
Siobhan stopped writing and bit her lip. That couldn’t be…
“Repeat that last?”
Beatrice peered at the paper closely. “A half part Daphne berries and an equal amount of Jasmine ones. Did I misstate?”
“No. You didn’t.” The line of Siobhan’s mouth pulled tight as she considered the ramifications of the list. “Go on.”
“One part green berries of Lantana Camara.” Beatrice paused to look at Siobhan. “My research indicates that is Red Sage.”
“It is.”
“Add to this two parts yew berries.”
Yeah. There was no misreading this. “Stop.”
Beatrice looked up. “But I’m not done yet.”
“You would be. Very done if you took a compound made of these things. Every single one of those is highly toxic. The yew berries alone would kill you almost instantly. Everything there is almost overkill.” Siobhan winced at the implication of that word, but, it wasn’t the wrong word. That list was a big old recipe for overkill.
Beatrice’s eyes went wide. She lowered the paper to her lap and looked at Siobhan uncertainly. “ Signore Pietro Baglioni is a respected man of science.”
“He’s also trying to kill you. Your dad may be a total jackass. There’s no doubt about that. But at least what he gave you didn’t kill you. I mean it messed you up. For life. But, no. This guy,” she stabbed the air with her finger, like she’d like to stab this Pietro Baglioni jerk. If she saw this guy she wouldn’t give him a piece of her mind. She’d give him a taste of his own medicine!
“This Baglioni guy? He’s a criminal. The worst kind!”
“Perhaps he thought this recipe would be an antidote?”
“Only if he got his training or his degree from the school of my butt.” Siobhan smacked her hand over her mouth. “Sorry. But this guy? Either he’s completely incompetent or he wants to kill you.”
“No!”
“Yes. You said he was a rival of your father’s?”
“Yes. He is. He is working on a similar cure to cancer.”
“I don’t know why, but I assure you that he wants you dead. This,” Siobhan stabbed her finger at the piece of paper she’d written the partial formula on, “is beyond snake oil. This is deadly. Anyone in the scientific, medical, or alchemical fields would know that. His suggesting you take it?” She was sputtering. She felt herself sputtering. But she couldn’t stop. That’s how hard her anger was riding her. “He should be hanged! I wouldn’t even sentence him to take this compound. That’s how vile it is!”
Tears rose to Beatrice’s eyes, coursed down her perfect cheek. “Then there is no recourse. I am damned to remain my father’s victim.”
“Uh uh!” Siobhan shook her head violently. “Nope. You are not. Uh uh. I need you to explain your symptoms to me.”
“Besides that I kill anything that gets close to me?”
“Yes. Besides that. That doesn’t tell me enough.” Siobhan heard the harshness in her tone. She stopped, took a deep breath through her nostrils, then worked up a smile for Beatrice that she was really hoping was reassuring. “I need to understand what the symptoms are. I have an idea of something that might help but I need to be sure I’m reading your situation correctly.”
“You do?”
“I do. How much do you know about alchemists.”
“Nothing honestly. They use Magick with plants,” she waved a hand vaguely, indicating the branches of the trees and, likely, the garden beyond. “Other than that?”
“Well, here’s something beginning Alchemy students are taught. Some of the components we use in alchemy can build up in your system. The longer you are exposed to them the more likely you are to be affected.”
“One assumes there is a treatment for it? Or surely I’d have heard of alchemists dying from their craft.”
“Exactly. There’s a formula. It isn’t easy. At first students and apprentices, should they be selected to be an apprentice, are provided with this purge because its too complicated for them to make. Eventually when we reach a certain level of skill we’re taught how to make it.”
“So, you are saying?”
“So, I’m saying, if your condition is similar I’d like to try a purge on you.”
Beatrice brightened. “Please do.”
“Unfortunately, I don’t have any on me. When I’m out and about there’s no chance of me being exposed for long enough to an agent to cause an issue.” When Beatrice’s expression darkened, Siobhan hastened to add. “But I can make it. I’d pretty much guarantee what I need is in this garden. In fact,” she looked at the bundle of houttuynia cordata beside her and then at her bag where the Ling zhi nestled. “I have some of what I need already.”
“Do you need special equipment to do it?”
“Not really. Just a lot of Magick.”
“And you have that?”
“Yes.”
“And you’d be willing to expend it on me?”
Something in the way Beatrice asked that caused Siobhan’s to hurt. Actually contract in her chest hurt. Had no one ever shown this woman kindness?
“Yes. Not just because I want that piece of glass, though I do, but because its the right thing to do. Even if you didn’t have something I need I’d do it. What your father and this Pietro man did to you is so wrong, on so many levels, I can’t even find words to explain it.” She shoved her hand through her hair, knocking her flower crown askew. Several of the tendrils from it reached down and wrapped around her wrist.
Beatrice’s eyes grew wide at this. “Is that normal?”
Siobhan grabbed the tendrils with her free hand and gently tucked them back into the crown. “No. No it is not.” She blew her bangs up with an impatient burst of breath. “So, your symptoms?”
The symptom recital Beatrice gave was long and during the course of it Siobhan’s urge to choke a man grew. Her father was a first class ass. If he had a medical license it needed to be revoked. If he was an alchemist…? Well, if he and Beatrice were real and not some creation of The House potentially created to test Siobhan in some way – and at the back of her mind she had concerns – she’d be coming back with a few other alchemists, including Nona Stroga because Nona owed her and, anyway, once Siobhan explained this whole situation to Nona she’d probably be onboard. And they’d burn Beatrice’s father’s life to the ground.
Siobhan might be a kindergarten teacher, but she hadn’t always been. And, sure it was her job to teach her kids about ethics and making good choices, but that didn’t negate a history of making choices some might consider, air quotes, bad nor did it erase the knowledge gained from those bad choices.
“Okay.” She poked a tongue in her cheek as she considered what Beatrice told her. “That rings similar to symptoms of Alchemists who have absorbed too many components. I’d like to try making the purge for you. I can’t guarantee it will work but it won’t kill you.”
“Well, I suppose that it is superior to this,” Beatrice folded the formula and replaced it in her bag.
“That is guaranteed to kill you. Mine is guaranteed not to. But, it may just not work.”
Beatrice folded her hands and lofted her chin, her expression exuding determination as much as her skin exuded death. “I am prepared to take my chances. Is there anything I can do to help?”
“You’ve already said you don’t know plants.”
“I do not.”
“I could use a table or other surface to chop and mix on.”
“We could go to my father’s lab. Oh, no,” she looked at her hands, “I suppose that would not do.” Then she brightened. “There is a table and chairs set up beside the pond.” She waved vaguely at the willow branches obscuring the view of the pond to her right. “It is small but perhaps it will do?”
Siobhan stood up, brushed herself off, then picked up her bundles of herbs. “Show me?”
“I will. But please, remain a distance from me.”
“I will be certain to do so. Dying wasn’t in my plans for today.”
“Funny. Living wasn’t in my plans for today but it seems, perhaps, with your help that may prove out.” Beatrice rose, collected her small round bag and walked towards the branches arching over the water. She pushed them aside then looked over her shoulder at Siobhan. “Please. This way.”
Siobhan followed a safe distance behind, joining Beatrice near the waters edge once she was out from under the willow. Beatrice gestured towards a picturesque set up of white painted wrought iron table and two matching chairs clustered under another weeping maple, this one with leaves the darker red of autumn.
“Will that do?”
“Nicely.”
“Then I will wait here for you.” Beatrice folded her hands and stared out at the pond. “Do you think it shall take long?”
“No.” Siobhan frowned. “I actually know where everything is. Almost as if it was meant to be.”
“Perhaps it was. Do hurry back.”
“I will.”
After putting her bundles of plants down on the table, Siobhan quickly backtracked to the brook where she’d seen sparganium stolonierum. She carefully pulled up a plant to access the root which she harvested and stashed in her bag. No need to worry about moistness at this point since she was just going to cut the components up when she got back to the pond. She moved out a little bit to the grouping of large crucuma longa leaves she’d noted earlier. Again she pulled up a plant, smiling when she saw the juicy cluster of golden yellow rhizomes at the bottom of the stalk. She cut this free and stashed it next to the sparganium soloneirum rhizome in her bag. Then she walked back to where she’d seen the morning glories. With the sun still high in the sky it was a little harder to harvest seeds from them, but only just a little as the flowers unfurled again to her touch. She made sure to take only a few seeds from several plants so they wouldn’t suffer for the gift they gave her. These she dropped into a vial she pulled from the depths of her bag.
The wild monkshood beyond the lavender was her next target. Rather than uprooting an entire plant she very gently took cuttings from several. She didn’t need a lot of the monkshood. In fact using too much of the extremely toxic plant would be counterintuitive. A little acted as an antagonist. A little bit more than that and the effects were fatal, leading to vomiting, decreased blood pressure and pulse, difficulty breathing, and then coma.
Like many components of alchemy, aconitum noveboracense could cure or kill. It was all in the way you used it. Or abused it.
Thoughts of abuse drew Siobhan’s mind back to Beatrice and quickly soured the mood lifted by having plants in her hands. With the monkshood harvested the only thing left to do was collect some Magnolia bark. Luckily she had the last ingredient, hallyositum rubrum, in her bag since she had no idea if she could find the red clay in the garden or, if she could, where to begin looking for it.
She stopped at the magnolia tree on her way back to the pond to collect some bark, careful to not dig too deep into the tree but only take a surface layer of bark from it. With that stashed in her bag too she headed to the pond. Beatrice remained where she’d left her, standing with lace-covered hands folded before her, staring across the pond. She turned at Siobhan’s approach, her gaze serene.
“You have returned.”
“I have.”
Beatrice’s gaze went to Siobhan’s bag which was bulging considerably more than it had when she left and weighed enough more than she was canting slightly to the side. “Were you able to find everything you need?”
“I was.”
Siobhan pulled a small jar out of her bag. Making sure it was empty, she scooped some water from the pond, then corked the jar so she didn’t spill any while carrying it to the table. She laid out each of the ingredients for the purge, selecting a few cuttings of the houttuynia cordata from its bundle.
“Remember to collect a few more cuttings when you leave,” she muttered to herself.
“Excuse me?” Beatrice called from her place beside the pond.
She lifted her voice. “Nothing. Just talking to myself.”
“Oh.”
She considered the second bundle containing the brahmi. The liver-enhancing properties of the herb might be valuable to Beatrice. Considering the amount of poison in her Siobhan wasn’t sure how her liver was functioning at all. Possibly Magick. Beatrice might not think she had any Magick but Siobhan didn’t see a way someone could be standing, let alone functioning and talking and otherwise showing extreme competence as Beatrice did if not for a touch of Magick.
She used way more than a touch of Magick to make the purgative. Chopping the ingredients then laid them out carefully on another piece of her skirt she hacked off. The hemline of the skirt was now edging up to panty revealing level. Again she’d have to make real sure to not drop anything or if she did she’d make sure someone else picked it up.
Once she was satisfied she had the amounts of the components correct she poured a measure of water from the jar out onto the ground, offering a quiet thanks to the earth that gifted her the plants needed to make her Magick happen. Then she placed the components in the water, corked it, and held it in her palm which she, in turn, held in front of her heart.
Drawing long breaths she centered her focus on the place her Magick coiled within her then slowly coaxed it to flow out into her blood. From there she directed it through her veins to pulse against her palm and fingertips.
She envisioned the Magick radiating from her hand, through the pores of the clay jar, and into the mixture within. The jar heated as the Magick kindled the inherent Magick in the herbs, causing each of them to release a small well of energy that coalesced into something more. Something that would cleanse Beatrice of the poison her father had poured into her. It would take more to cleanse her of the shadow of his evil intent, but that was not something Siobhan could affect.
She felt her Magick draw back from the jar, coursing back through arteries to join the core of her. Closing her eyes she offered another thanks, then, opening them, she made her way over to Beatrice.
Beatrice followed her movements as she stopped an appropriate distance away, bent, and placed the jar on the ground. Siobhan backed away and Beatrice stooped to pick the jar up. The look she slanted Siobhan was so full of hope Siobhan felt that old lump of tears forming in her throat again, threatening to choke her. Her voice sounded strained to her ears when she said, “You need to lie down before taking that. I will probably immobilize you for a few bells. You may even sleep. Once you awake you should be free of the poisons.”
Beatrice’s gloved hand shook against her mouth. “How can I ever thank you?”
“It was-” Before Siobhan could finish the sentiment a man’s voice came from behind her. In front of her, still crouched, Beatrice looked up and stiffened.
“What are you doing here, Beatrice?”
Siobhan looked at Beatrice with wide eyes. “Who is it?” she mouthed.
Beatrice, eyes equally wide, mouthed. “Pietro.”
She slipped the jar into her small bag and looped its strap over her arm before rising. “Signore Baglioni, what do you do here?”
“What is it that you have there, Beatrice?”
Siobhan slowly rose and rotated so her back wasn’t to the newcomer. Signore Pietro Baglioni was attractive, she supposed, if you liked the tall aesthetic scholar sort. With his perfectly groomed goatee, slicked back dark hair, and gold-rimmed round glasses that could have been picked to compliment the amber tones of his eyes, he projected an air of competence. There was just something about that look, that amalgam of all things one thought when they thought gentleman and scholar, that sat a little too perfect on him. Like it was just a facade and what lay beneath was very different. He reminded her of Cade. Which in turn made her really certain what he was selling was not, in fact, what they’d end up buying in the end if they fell for the sales pitch his appearance made.
Testing a theory Siobhan offered him a smug smile, reaching back into her old bag of tricks to summon it. It settled on her lips like a favorite sweater, put away in a closet but as soon as she slipped it on it fit perfectly and infused a sense of coming home. “It’s a purge. Unlike that poison cocktail you tried to have her trade her father’s secrets for.”
Signore Baglione stiffened. All geniality slipped away from him, the sheep’s clothing falling away to reveal the wolf. “I’m afraid I can’t let you leave with that, Beatrice.”
Siobhan’s smile grew colder. “I’m afraid you can’t stop her.”
“I’m certain I can!”
Siobhan anticipated his next move so when he lunged forward, an uncapped vial in the hand he pulled back in preparation of lofting it either at Beatrice or Siobhan, she flung an explosive potion at him. She didn’t need to know what was in his vial, the virulence of the compound she threw at him guaranteed it would burn away whatever he had cooked up.
As the compounds met in the air between she and Pietro and in the split mikro before they combusted, Siobhan yelled, “Beatrice! Get in the water!”
She didn’t turn to see if Beatrice listened but by the rustling and then the splash behind her she thought the other woman had.
Pietro fell back from the explosion as Siobhan’s potion combusted the one he’d thrown. He must have had some familiarity with alchemical combat because instead of it stopping, or even apparently phasing him, he braced his feet and rode through the explosion. Sparks filtered down from the spot the two potions had collided, filtering through a swamp-tinged cloud of smoke and the dust of burned components. Siobhan, having been the one to throw the counter, had been far enough back from the spot that she bore no ill effects from the explosion. This gave her the much needed mikros it took Pietro to shake off his effects to drive her hand into her bag and scrabble at the potions held to the side in reinforced loops that kept them from jostling against each other and therefore kept Siobhan from seriously harming herself by accident daily.
Pietro dodged the first dose of acid she threw at him. And then he threw a potion at her. She didn’t try to block it, but instead dodged as he had.
Cade might have been a total nightmare, a harsh taskmaster and a genuine psychopath who took pleasure in getting one over on someone whether it was deal or damage he sought to best them at, but he had taught her how to fight another alchemist. She found herself falling back into old habits without having to think about it. From the opposite side of her bag she pulled another potion from a loop. This one she doffed quickly and just in time too as Pietro managed to hit her with the second potion he pulled from his belt. Her potion negated the effects of his. A special recipe she’d worked on for years, necessitated by Cade’s brutal training, it would continue to effectively neutralize any standard effects an alchemist could throw at her for several meros. The timing wasn’t exact. It depended on the level of alchemy her opponent leveled on her. The higher the Magick the less time she’d have on the neutralization.
Considering she still rocked back on her heels when Pietro’s third potion connected, dousing her in a bright green liquid that sizzled and popped on her skin before dissipating into smoke, she judged that was some higher Magick indeed.
Time for the big guns. Or potions, that was. To test his defenses she flung another high level acid at him. This time his dodge failed. The potion connected, the acrid scent of thread burning rising with a thin smoke from his jacket. He yanked the jacket off and flung it to the ground then gave her a glare that threatened mayhem as he doused himself with something from another vial that turned the smoke to mist that drifted away on the air.
Like he wasn’t bringing mayhem already? Judging by the quick action of the potion he used to negate her acid she figured it was time for the really big potions. She dug into her bag, sliding her fingers over the slots of high octane potions and into the small pocket sewed under it.
Very, very gently she pulled out a bottle shaped like a pomegranate.
“You’re good,” Pietro said as he ran his fingers over the potions studding his alchemist’s belt. The jacket Siobhan burned had hidden the sheer volume of potions he had on the belt. The site of them made her glad she was pulling out the big gun. Because if he hit her with a barrage of that stuff it would burn right through the negation potion.
“Thank you!” she returned brightly. Witty banter was part and parcel with alchemy duels. Big brains. Big booms. She might have, maybe, missed it. A little.
“I’m better.”
Really, he shouldn’t have telegraphed his move. So obvious. It gave her the mikro warning to dodge when he flung two potions at her, throwing them so they met mid-air in front of her torso, cracking and spitting out a cloud of gas. Because she had that mikro she managed to avoid the majority of the gas. What little did filter through the air to her was canceled by the negation potion.
She, on the other hand, telegraphed nothing as she threw the glass globe underhand at him. It arched through the air and smashed against his chest. Like the ones Llora had used against them in the Alchemy guild it shattered, the glass almost pulverizing on impact to release the powder held within.
All the time Siobhan had spent in the old building, pouring over journals and notes, hadn’t been wasted. She’d cracked the trick of suspending powdered potions within a gaseous base only a few days before. This was her first field test. It seemed to be a raging success, if the way the gas carried the powder directly into Pietro’s face, channeling it up his nose so he was forced to breath it in despite clamping his mouth shut against its incursion.
He immediately dropped to the ground and began convulsing. Technically the compound she’d hit him with wouldn’t kill him. Probably. It was designed to seize the nervous system of the target and incapacitate them within mikros, effectively turning off their on switch. Now to see if it worked.
Siobhan crossed her arms and settled back on her heels, slowly counting. One mikro. Two. Three. His heels kicked the ground. Foam coated his lips. She watched his chest, making sure it still rose and fell.
It was hard to tell with the convulsions but the tightening of his muscles suggested he was in pain. It shouldn’t hurt. She’d need to add additional analgesics. Her mind started ticking off options. Rosemary? Maybe calendula. Or, thinking on the herbs she’d gathered, maybe water hyssop. Which would work best with the other elements of the compound?
It was easy to fall back into the role of observer. Observers didn’t get hurt. Observers, well she didn’t want to think they hurt, but they were in control. And she’d felt so out of control lately. Falling back into this role, she could feel something inside of her, some tension she hadn’t been aware of loosen even as she tightened her crossed arms and drummed her fingers on her forearm as she contemplated Pietro’s twitching form.
A small part of her mind was glad her friends weren’t there to see this side of her. But that small part was subsumed by the larger sense of intellectual curiosity and remove she’d had to adopt as a young alchemist apprenticed to a brilliant man whose surface sophistication hid the heart of a creature that craved a sadistic power exchange.
The healer in her quailed at standing back and observing, but that young alchemist whispered to her, listing the poisons this man had hoped to feed to poor unsuspecting Beatrice. He had set out to make the woman his victim. It seemed only fitting he be victimized himself.
She still wouldn’t force feed him the poison he’d created for Beatrice. No one. Literally no one deserved that. But, shutting down his nervous system, making him a victim of alchemy? That didn’t feel all that bad.
Eventually, a solid fifteen mikros in – way over Siobhan’s estimate, she’d have to tweak the formula – Pietro went limp on the ground. She let him lie there another several mikros, making sure he wouldn’t have a miraculous recovery, then walked over and poked him with her foot. When he just lay there, barely moving except for the rise and fall of his breath, she stooped and took his pulse, then lifted his eyelids to examine his pupils. They were fully dilated but responsive. He’d recover.
That determined, she rose to her feet and rubbed her hands clean on her skirt. There was a splash behind her. She turned to watch Beatrice extricate herself from the pond.
Beatrice stopped at the water’s edge and stood there, dripping, shifting her attention between Siobhan and the downed Pietro.
“Is he…?”
“Dead? No. Unless you want to go over and check his vitals?”
Beatrice’s eyes went wide. It was clear the idea hadn’t occurred to her. “No. No. That’s fine. I do not wish him dead.” She patted the bag still hanging from her wrist. “I have my cure. Here,” reaching up she unlooped the thick gold chain from her neck. She walked over to the table Siobhan had mixed the purge on and placed the necklace there. “You now have your rose. I-” she shifted her attention along the pond. “I’ll be going now.”
Siobhan watched the young woman hurrying away, swallowing hard at the clear evidence Beatrice feared her. She looked over at Pietro’s slack form and took a deep breath. If Beatrice’s fear was the cost of buying the woman the time to purge herself of her father’s evil, then that was a price Siobhan was okay with.
“Beatrice?” she raised her voice to carry.
Beatrice stopped. She did not turn. “Yes?”
“Don’t go home. Find an inn or somewhere safe. You don’t want your father to hurt you again.”
Beatrice turned at this and gave Siobhan a soft smile. “He will never hurt me again.”
Siobhan read something in Beatrice’s eyes, a spark of determination. Whether than meant she’d find some place else to go to be safe from her father or if she intended in some other way to insure that safety, Siobhan could not say. Honestly, if she were in Beatrice’s place she wasn’t sure which side she’d fall on that either.
At her “Good luck,” Beatrice raised a hand in parting and then continued walking away.
Siobhan walked over to the table and retrieved the rose, pulling her sleeve down so her skin didn’t come into contact with it just in case. Then she picked up the herb bundles and turned in the direction of the brook and the window beyond. She started to hike her skirts up by habit, then dropped her hand to swing at her side as she walked carefully back through the garden.
She did take a quick detour to collect more houttuynia cordata. Prairie had taken a sword out of The House when rescuing her. Hopefully the house would let her keep the herbs.
She sank back on her heels and looked up a the sky. “I’m not saying I want a reward. But, if you wanted to give me one? It would be rude to say no.”
The House didn’t respond. Not that it ever did. But Siobhan figured it didn’t hurt to be polite.
Enter The Woods 