Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
DIORA
It’s humid in my little old greenhouse. The moisture in the room is high today, since the air outside is particularly dry. My hair gets as big as my tallest plants and sweat covers my forehead and fingers.
I smile as I twist a stem of my first angel trumpet between my gloved hands.
I picked the plant this morning when the flower bloomed.
White delicate petals imitate a trumpet’s bell, skinny then wide.
When I hold the flower upside down, I can see a ballroom of beautiful women twirling around in swishing ball gowns.
This is my happy place. This is the one place where no one can hurt me. Tending to my plants here is the only way I stay sane.
My plants are protected here. My plants can grow and bloom within these white glass walls found off the abandoned forest trail. It’s supposed to be just my plants and me here, yet uninvited guests keep appearing within these four walls.
“Diora Moss.” His voice is instantly recognizable to my ears.
Chills cover my arms as a blush covers my cheeks.
I can’t begin to understand why or how I can be hot and cold at the same time.
Why it only happens when Elliot Jay comes into the room.
How I’ve never felt the reddening of my cheeks before.
I turn to face the stranger on my territory.
He stands under the metal door frame as his eyes meet mine.
Hot boiling eyes travel over my frame, and the wish to have worn a better outfit fills my coming thoughts.
His golden hair is dull yet alluring, nonetheless, in the midmorning light and pushed back, as if he ran his hands through it before he walked in here.
I hold the smile that tries to break free at seeing Elliot Jay again so soon. As beautiful as this man is, I still make note of where my foxglove is. It’s not enough to save me, but if I can get him to consume enough, it’ll take him out eventually.
I’m not stupid enough to think I can outdo Elliot Jay. He’s got years of experience, training under the monster that he calls Mother, and a chip on his shoulder because of it.
It doesn’t take a genius to imagine the kind of training she put him through, even at the young age of twelve.
She’s been hard on me, sure, making me run for an impossible length of time to improve my stamina and recall facts off the top of my head, where the wrong answer earns me a slap across the face with her jewelry still on.
But I saw the training rooms. The brass knuckles, whips, and blood-stained mats.
I’ve seen the kids in the halls, devoid of smiles and that fucking light.
A creak snaps my attention back to the real world. Elliot comes inside. His predator-like stride inside my space is enough to let me know this would be a flight situation and not a fight one. I know he was going easy on me during our spar yesterday.
Even if I could stuff an intense amount of foxglove poison into his mouth, Elliot would probably find a cure within minutes and get ahold of it within an hour, but those sixty minutes would be torturous. In those sixty minutes, he would think of me.
I like that.
“Elliot, how may I help you?” He’s the Son of Mrs. Jay, and for that, he is my superior.
I respect him enough to know my limits with him.
Even after our conversation yesterday, he never answered my questions; even after I offered my own answers.
That’s always worked with Juliet, but maybe she’s a special case.
“I need something,” he says, coming closer. In the light, I see he’s dressed in the same casual attire. This time, a simple black t-shirt and plain slacks. He doesn’t waste time and is direct, without so much of a knock or hello as he approaches my work bench where I’m sitting.
“What could you possibly need from a newbie like me?” I ask, turning around to fully face the predator in front of me. Yesterday solidified the point that Elliot Jay is not someone I should let my guard down around. Even if he makes my face hot and fingers shaky.
The careful steps of his leather dress shoes are calculated and avoid any loose vines and leaves of my plants. I can’t tell if he is being careful not to leave traces of his presence here or care that these are… mine. My plants.
I’m supposed to keep my distance from the man in front of me. I shouldn’t crave his presence the way I do. He’s not part of my plan. The kind of change Elliot Jay brings isn’t one I think I can handle.
Too many people in my circle could cause it to disrupt.
But here he is. In my space, deeply hidden in the trees, I wonder, if one of us screamed, would anyone hear?
“Can you build a resistance to poison?” he asks, as he gazes over the single room that is my greenhouse. I’ve filled it with many colors, mainly greens, pinks, and purples, as my plants grow into full bloom weapons.
“Mithridatism?” I ask as my brows scrunch. Why would he want to know about that?
“Yes, is it possible?”
“It depends on the poison. You can’t be immune to all kinds of poison.
You’d have to pick and choose which you’d like to build on,” I say absentmindedly.
It’s not a practice I partake in, but many scientists do.
It’s tricky and hard to tell if it’s real.
I’ve never had an issue with someone trying to poison me, let alone poison me enough to kill me.
Most poisonous plants are used to weaken the body, and if someone had actually gotten to me, I’ve thought it would be cruel to rob them of the win.
“Okay, so it’s not possible?”
“No one can say for sure. You have a better chance at weakening your body over time than building a resistance,” I say.
It’s hard to tell with the human body. We get sick on a whim.
We die so easily, it would be hard to determine if it was really our time to die or if the buildup of whatever poison became too much.
“What would you use to weaken someone over time? What do you and Mother use?” Something clicks in his eyes, and he nods a single time before continuing his line of questioning.
“Mrs. Jay and I talk about a range of plants. We use fast-acting poisons; she likes a more immediate win…”
“Which is her favorite?” he quips, raising his eyebrows. As if I owe the man an answer.
To ask why is on the tip of my tongue. My eyes search his.
Not that I can read them, but so maybe I’ll pick up on something he’s not saying.
The man could have figured this all out on his own without asking me.
His skill in information is part of why he is a Son in the Mrs. Jay’s higher ranks, so why is he involving me?
“Are you trying to get me in trouble?” I ask, stepping closer to my foxglove plant. Mrs. Jay’s shit list isn’t a list I plan on being on. Not this soon. I can’t afford to be. I can’t determine his motive, his larger objective.
Is this for his personal agenda, or is he secretly working for Mrs. Jay? He acts like he can’t stand the woman, yet still calls her Mother. They could be conspiring against me; his hatred of her may be an act. Is she using Elliot to test me?
“Diora, if I wanted to get you in trouble with Mother, I’d simply kiss you.
” He sighs, sitting on the stool I’d previously sat on.
This makes me taller than him, and his golden hair and deep brown eyes shine in the sunlight.
I want to run my hand through it. It’s smooth and airy.
I breathe heavier when he’s this close, but the air I breathe is cleaner.
More enticing with notes of his smell in it.
“Mother is an extremely jealous woman, remember?”
My mind jumps back to the conversation we had yesterday when he mentioned Mrs. Jay’s adherence to female Strays. How she feared they would turn into competition. What did he even mean by that?
“I need the name of the poison you give Mother. The one that she works with alone.”
“Without me?”
“Without you. The one she takes home.”
My mouth is dry, and I swallow as he towers over me. Once again, the question why is fighting against my lips, but I hardly think he’ll tell me. Are he and Mother working on something else? Why doesn’t he ask her?
“She doesn’t remember the name?” She should know. This simple question will tell me if they are working together or not.
“No.”
“Oh.” A lie. Why lie? “What’s going on?”
“Darling, you could barely scrape the surface.” He chuckles darkly, and his eyes narrow at the question. I watch his face as hints of emotion dance across his cheekbones and eyebrows. I enjoy looking at Elliot Jay’s face.
“Then tell me,” I whisper as now he’s leaning forward.
“Why?” The word falls off his lips in a seductive tone. Not can I trust you, not it’s not your business. This man asked me why. Why would he tell me? I… I don’t know.
I hold his gaze as his honey brown eyes peer into me. I slightly shake my head. No answer I could give him would persuade him to tell me.
“What poison are you giving Mother?” he asks again. This time, he’s leaned up so close, he’s whispering and his words hit against my check.
I remain stock still. Hoping the predator doesn’t attack. I don’t have time to go back and forth. I have a choice to make and it’s not one to take lightly. I can take the risk and betray Mrs. Jay by telling him, or I can protect Mrs. Jay.
I should choose Mrs. Jay. I know her more than I know him. She’s been helping me since she discovered my itch. Even with her less than ideal ways and blackmailing, she’s still helped me in her own way.
The good thing would be to stick by her.
But I’m not good, now am I?
And Elliot’s a way hotter alliance.
“What do I get in return?” Our faces are mere inches apart, and I like the intoxicating smell of his cologne wrapping around head. I could close my eyes and be whisked away to a world where only I exist. More so his scent and me. A dreamland where we were free. Where I was free.