Chapter 17
“Um, I had a cookie, too,” I say, stupidly.
Because stupid is exactly what I am. I’m apparently so desperate for someone, anyone, to like me, I’ve just assisted a perfect stranger with my own murder. Not exactly “paranormal investigator” tactical awareness there!
“Okay. Think. Think!” Collin is so scared for me, his arms are literally shaking while he paces rapidly back and forth, talking to himself. Then his eyes dart over to me with fierce resolve. “We’ve got to induce vomiting right now, Alvin!”
Well, good luck with that. I’ve never thrown up in my life, ever.
Maybe it’s an incubus thing, but I have literally no gag reflex.
It was something I was even a little proud of, figuring how if I ever met the right guy, I could impress him with my sword-swallowing skills or whatever.
Turns out it’s yet another way me not being normal is coming to bite me in the ass.
“Unless you can conjure up a magic vomiting spell or something, I don’t think I can do that, Collin.” I’m whispering as best I can, but I’m so amped up, it’s definitely a loud stage whisper.
Collin looks up and away, his eyes unfocused, and gives a quick nod, somehow knowing not to argue with me about this.
“Right.” He then looks over at a small greenhouse at the far end of the garden, away from the house, through the wooden arch and down the stone path.
“There! She’s growing a bunch of tropical plants and one of them is Carapichea ipecacuanha.
Its roots are what make ipecac syrup, something that’s been used for ages to induce vomiting after poisoning. We need to get in there!”
I have no idea how long Tara will be away, or even if this plant is going to work on me, but a bad option is better than no option.
I get to my feet and notice I’m already feeling disoriented and off-balance.
I don’t know if that’s the belladonna or the beginning of a panic attack, but I do know my mouth is hella dry.
Unnaturally dry. Hopefully, this epi-kacka-wanna-whatever plant is juicy, or I’m not going to be able to get it down!
I start lurching along the thin slate-rock path that leads from the lawn patio. Collin takes my arm to steady me, which feels like it helps, but who knows what it’s doing in real life?
“She also has Physostigma venenosum in there. You can use that to make the direct antidote to belladonna poisoning. It can be toxic too, and getting the right dose will be fierce tricky, but with my help, you should be able to manage it.”
“Uh-huh,” I husk out, completely overwhelmed.
But sure, okay! The garden is getting brighter, and things are starting to blur.
I don’t know a lot about belladonna poisoning, but I think I heard somewhere it dilates your pupils.
And maybe everything else, since I’m beginning to feel hot all over.
Whatever Tara put in her brew, it’s acting crazy fast.
“Um, I don’t feel so good, Collin.” My voice sounds rough. My tongue’s too thick.
He looks over at me in that unfocused way of his, like he’s seeing through me. “Ah. Shite. I’m not going to lie. It’s bad. She’s made something complex. I’m seeing multiple chemical compounds in your stomach, any one of which in larger doses could kill you. And together—”
A large metal spring creaks out somewhere behind us.
It’s the screen backdoor to the house opening.
I’ve only made it about twenty paces away from the table, not even a quarter of the way to the greenhouse.
I look behind me and see Tara stepping out.
In front of her chest, she’s holding open a thick brown leather folio of loose monastic-style illuminated illustrations on parchment.
She sees me and is distracted just enough to lower the pages, revealing the top half of one.
There’s a drawing of a thick green leather-bound book.
And on the book’s cover, a complicated triangular knot symbol under large cat eyes.
Collin stops—which, since I’m leaning on him, stops me.
“Jaysus! I know that book!” he says, astonished.
“Alvin, honey, come back,” Tara says, her voice full of motherly concern. “I think I’ve found what you need.”
My head feels like it’s full of cotton again, like after the car accident, except now I feel even crappier. There’s part of me that knows I should keep moving away from Tara. But based on how Collin just reacted, maybe she is really trying to help, and this is all a misunderstanding?
It takes me way longer than it should to realize how insane that thought is. Long enough for me to drop to one knee.
Collin grabs my arm and tries to tug me up. “C’mon, Alvin, you can’t just give up! We’ve got to go!”
I realize he was also tugging me before, when I was just standing there, but the mental debate I was having about what to do was apparently taking up all my poison-addled mental bandwidth.
Tara puts the folio down on the table and glances at my cup. Then she looks up at me, and her expression is a mixture of realization and sympathy.
“Oh,” she says. “You’re feeling the effects of the tea, aren’t you? I wasn’t sure how much natural resistance you’d have, so I made it quite strong. I might have overdone it a little.”
Right. She’s not trying to help. Because she’s actually a villain!
(Because I don’t get to have even a pretend cool mom for more than five freaking minutes!) With Collin’s “assistance,” I manage to get back up to my feet and turn away from her, but I only get a few more steps before I trip and fall heavily, face-first, into the ground next to the stone path.
Now I feel really sick. I’ve got a killer headache, and my stomach is cramping like crazy.
“I’m sorry about this, sweetie.” My nose is pressed flat in the dirt, but it sounds like Tara’s coming closer. “And I promise you’re going to be okay. Eventually. That artifact was lost to us centuries ago, and I just need some time to convince you to do the right thing and return it.”
“Don’t give up, Alvin! Don’t give up! Keep going!” It’s Collin’s voice. Desperate. It sounds so far away.
In fact, everything seems far away. Still, I need to listen to him.
I try to crawl forward, and it’s like my arms and legs belong to someone else.
I’m at the edge of the lawn, just up to the garden proper, where there are these beautiful purple flowers towering above me.
They continue on to drape over a white wooden arch that carves out a space for the stone path to the greenhouse.
The purple vegetation is strangely fascinating to me right now.
Probably because it’s full of tart magic with a strong musky almond undertone.
I hear Tara approach, and the plant’s woody vines spread out and grow toward me.
It’s like I’m watching a time-lapse movie.
It’s both cool and terrifying at the same time, because I can’t move to get away.
The woody vines twine all around me—my throat, chest, wrists, stomach, legs and ankles.
I feebly make an attempt at fighting them, but my limbs are like jelly.
The rough branches slowly twist me around and drag me up so I’m vertical again.
They pull my forehead and back tight against the side of the sturdy arch.
Then my arms and legs get stretched out and bound to the latticework. I’m essentially crucified.
My heart is racing, but it seems to be missing beats. Tara stands in front of me, eye-to-eye, looking very sympathetic. She’s holding something in a small blue bottle.
“Well, this won’t do! You’re dying, and as you probably already know, you’re no good to anyone dead. But I do have the antidote. Be a good boy and drink a little for me, would you?”
I try to focus on Collin, hoping he’ll give me some guidance. I can’t turn my head, but I know he must be next to me. What would he want me to do? I mean, it’s hard to think of any way this situation could be any worse, but maybe I shouldn’t drink the potion an evil witch is bringing to my lips?
But I can’t see him at all. Then a bunch of sour fluid is in my mouth. She clamps my nose and mouth closed, so it’s not long before I have to swallow to breathe.
And everything blooms to white.