6. A Strange Cottage and a Beautiful Woman with Magic Hands #2
Isabel squints in concentration. As she turns, her big eyes rove over a counter full of vials. She begins picking them up, turning them over and holding them up at eye level, before she says, “I think she ate a Portfruit. They are deadly.”
Both mother and father gasp. A shrill cry leaves the woman’s lips as she collapses against her husband.
“Don’t worry,” Isabel adds quickly, her attention snapping back to them. She raises her hands as she realizes her mistake. “She’ll be okay. By the stars, it’s lucky you got her to me right away. I have what I need to purge the poison.”
Sapphira leans back, watching Isabel work. She is unlike any woman Sapphira has ever met. She looks small and meek, but there’s a strength in her that Sapphira didn’t see at first. Her wild curls cannot be tamed, majestic and ancient like the forest, and touched with sunspots.
Her warm brown skin appears flecked with copper, glistening even when swathed in shadow. The woman seems determined and blunt, but not unkind, and her fingers move like a puppet master’s hands.
Isabel moves around her small cottage, grabbing ingredients and throwing them into a large bowl. She smashes and grinds the ingredients into a paste. The sound of clashing stones is loud over the whimpering parents.
Cutting the neck of the girl’s dress with large shears, Isabel puts half of her paste on a wide spatula and slathers it across the angry, wine-dark welts growing along the girl’s chest and swollen neck.
Isabel then spoons the rest into a funnel and transfers it to a glass bottle. She adds water and a few drops of oil, then shakes it until it’s liquid.
Sapphira is fascinated as she watches it all, in awe of the small chimera. She even finds herself relaxing, slipping the blade into her sleeve.
Isabel asks the mother to hold her daughter’s mouth open, then puts a few drops from the bottle onto the girl’s tongue. The welts and discoloration begin to slowly fade as the girl’s rapid breathing steadies.
Isabel slumps against the table, looking worn out. Does healing always take this much out of her? Sapphira wonders.
“She’ll be fine with some sleep. Just make sure to stay out of the Jakartha jungle in the future.
” The pair nod, and Isabel straightens, pushing her curls back from her face.
She hands them the bottle. “In case it happens again, a few drops on the tongue immediately. In a week’s time, you should be past the critical stage. ”
“Thank you, Isabel,” the man sobs. Isabel’s face darkens in embarrassment.
Even after saving a little girl’s life, she appears sheepish.
She slips away from the woman’s embrace and pulls a book down from a shelf full of them.
She flips through and tears out a page. Sapphira leans forward to look as Isabel hands it to the father.
It contains hand-drawn images of a plant with scribbled words around its edges.
“This is what your daughter ate. It’s a Portfruit, spiny with a dark-purple peel. They are dangerous, even in small quantities, and could put down a Mammuverde. If you happen to come across it again, stay clear of it.”
“Don’t you need this?” the woman asks.
Isabel shakes her head. “This is a copy. I make multiples of everything I study.”
“Let me give you something as a token of my thanks,” the mother says, tucking the page into her sash as her husband picks up their daughter. Isabel tries to wave her off.
“There is no charge,” she says, but the woman insists.
She pulls out a few small, square coins and a packet of black seeds. “It would be ill-mannered not to repay you for saving my girl.” She presses the things into Isabel’s hands. “It’s not near what you deserve, but I promise we will return the favor as soon as we can.”
Isabel bows to the woman and then to the man. “Gracias,” she says in a language unfamiliar to Sapphira.
Sapphira’s eyes follow the couple as they leave, with the daughter cradled in her father’s arms. Isabel closes the door behind them and leans her head against it, sighing as if she forgot Sapphira was still there.
She turns, leans back against the wood, and tilts her head up with a smile. “Okay, threaten me again,” she says, and Sapphira is startled to realize she is baring her throat.
“I—” Sapphira croaks. She swallows hard, pocketing the blade with shame.
“I may have overreacted a bit,” she says, trying to keep her tone light.
She rubs the back of her neck. “But can you blame me?” she snaps.
“You kidnapped me in your—” she looks around at the cluttered cabin. “Your tacky little shack.”
Isabel doesn’t even flinch at the insult. They stare at one another for a prolonged period, then Isabel says, “What now?”
“Well, you said I still need some healing, right?” Sapphira huffs. Her breathing grows heavy as she realizes how exhausted she still is. Getting up and moving around so quickly wasn’t a good idea.
Nodding slowly, Isabel’s eyes flicker to Sapphira’s side, where blood is seeping through the wrap and staining the fabric of her borrowed clothes. Isabel says, “I did. Do you have someone at home who can help you?”
Sapphira shakes her head, frowning. She has no home anymore. Agath betrayed her, and she doesn’t know if Dorian is still alive.
“Ideally, I’d like to keep an eye on my patient for a few days to monitor their condition. If that’s okay with you.”
Sapphira’s cheeks heat, and she turns away.
She hates that she has to ask for help. It’s not a feeling she’s used to.
People usually just do things for her, and she often turns it down.
But now, she actually needs someone, and it doesn’t feel so good.
So, instead of thanking her, she says, “Great. I mean, it’s only right that you help me since you .
. . you . . .” Then she wheezes, her vision blurring.
“Are you okay?” Isabel asks right before Sapphira sways backward and slides down the wall as she loses consciousness.