Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Tempest
The day flew by in a blur of pain, blood, and death.
Jack had informed us when I arrived that a witch had been admitted overnight, but even more alarming, there were reports of a vampire suffering from the same symptoms. Witches were mortal, like shifters, but vampires were not—they shouldn’t be affected by this virus.
Another wolf shifter died during the night, and we lost a fox shifter this morning.
We had seven pups in intensive care, and they were getting sicker by the day.
We were close to losing them as well. Every healer had been working around the clock and burning through their magic to heal in whatever way we could.
My magic was waning. I was close to being drained, and so was everyone else.
I moved around the clinic, going from ward to ward, bed to bed, doing what I could to help.
I was checking vitals when Jessica whimpered on the other side of the room.
I rushed to her bedside. Her lips were cracked and dry, her eyes dull, her gaze distant.
We were giving her fluids intravenously, but dehydration was one of the main symptoms of this virus and nothing we did seemed to be enough.
I lifted a cup of water to her lips. “Try to drink,” I said.
“Just sip.” Jessica was only sixteen, and one of the large cat shifters we had on this ward.
She blinked up at me, her fevered and dazed eyes not really seeing.
She tried to drink, then cried out in pain.
She was in the final stages. Jessica was going to die.
Helplessness and rage filled me. I’d truly believed there was a chance, that a vaccine or antidote could be made to stop this. Now I knew that wasn’t going to happen, not in time for Jessica or the pups in intensive care, anyway.
How could I live with myself if I stood by and did nothing? I had to do something. I had to help these people. My heart slammed almost violently in my chest when I realized what I was about to do.
Luka and another healer, Fiona, walked in. Both their shifts were about to finish. “Could you cover for me?” I said to Luka before I gave myself time to think. “Just for thirty minutes. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”
“Of course. Go,” he said. “I’ve got you covered.”
“Thank you,” I said and rushed down the hall and into the staff room.
Grabbing my bag and making sure no one saw me, I rushed into the bathroom.
As soon as I was closed in, I took my door handle and pressed it to the door, sending a gentle rush of magic through it.
I was almost depleted, and I still had to make the potion and get back as quickly as possible. Hopefully, my magic held out.
Light shone around the handle and I turned it, opening the door into the cottage. Glinda yowled in greeting from her spot on my bed when I walked in but didn’t bother getting up. I kissed her head and rushed outside to get my spade from the garden shed, then headed to the graveyard.
A dark onyx stone sat at the back of the fenced-in area, one with no name.
This wasn’t a grave site. This was where I’d buried Agattealia Pontella.
If ever there was a whisper about the plant, we hunted down the source.
Matildas had collected the flowers since our inception.
We also had the only archive of seedlings for the plant.
There had been no such whispers since I became the Matilda.
I’d been forced to hunt down a secret store that Matilda the Marked had hidden when she feared the cottage had been compromised.
It had taken me months to decipher her clues, maps, and riddles, but I had, and I’d brought it back here where it belonged.
Thrusting the spade into the earth, I began to dig.
To anyone else, if they ever managed to find my cottage, this would look like any other grave in the cemetery.
Grunting, I heaved the shovel up and dumped the soil to the side.
In the wrong hands, Agattealia Pontella could be used to raise the dead, to corrupt, and to control.
It was the kind of power no one should possess.
We used it for only one purpose: survival until we found our replacement.
If taken a certain way, it could extend a person’s life indefinitely, and that was a strong incentive for people to do terrible things to get their hands on it.
I kept digging. I’d buried it deep to keep it safe.
I’d used it once, when Matilda W had passed the mantle to me.
It did what it was supposed to; it joined me with the previous Matildas and it would keep me alive.
I didn’t need it anymore, not until I was ready to pass the mantle on to whoever would take over from me.
This wasn’t something I was supposed to do.
Digging it up now, before it was time, was forbidden.
But what other choice did I have? I couldn’t stand by and do nothing.
I couldn’t let people die. It was hard, with my magic as drained as it was, but I kept my mind closed off to the others, so they wouldn’t know what I was doing.
I hadn’t called the coven forward, but this was enough to bring them to me on their own if I wasn’t careful.
The shovel scraped steel. I dropped it and climbed down, pulling the box out of the ground and lifted it up to the edge. Scrambling out, I swiped my hand over the lid, forcing my magic into it, and recited the spell I’d created to lock it. The lid popped open.
Something pinged against the wall in my mind. Oh gods. They knew I was doing something I shouldn’t.
Ignoring them, I slid the tiny packet of seeds to the side and palmed the linen pouch that held the only two dried flowers in existence, then I carried it inside.
Opening the small pouch, I removed one flower and, hand shaking, placed it in my cauldron.
Closing the pouch, I carried it back outside.
This remaining flower would be for my apprentice.
My hands shook as I returned the pouch to the metal box.
The flowers varied in potency, and the seeds were fragile.
Not all the plants, when we attempted to grow one, bloomed.
We only ever planted one seed at a time.
That was to ensure they couldn’t be misused, which was exactly what I was doing now.
If after ten years the plant failed, and no flowers were produced, we started again, planting one single seed.
Without the second flower head for backup, if several plants failed, one after the other, the Matildas would be in serious trouble.
I was jeopardizing our very existence.
My stomach churned as I quickly closed the box and buried it again, then headed back inside. I’d made my choice. It was too late to back out now.
Our grimoire held the recipes for Agattealia Pontella.
I’d used one, the only one we were to use, the rest were forbidden.
I told myself they were there for a reason, and this wasn’t me attempting a power grab or seeking eternal life, I was trying to save everyone from this virus that threatened to wipe out the entire city.
I’d sworn to protect those who couldn’t protect themselves, the other Matildas might not agree, but that’s what this was—I was still upholding my oath.
Not helping when I knew I could have wasn’t something I could live with any longer.
Turning to the page I needed, I ran my finger down the recipe.
This could mean the end of my life as I knew it, but that was something I’d think about later. There wasn’t time to wait for a cure. There were children suffering, people dying. I couldn’t help the humans, but I could save the others.
I rushed around, gathering the ingredients I needed, and got busy making the potion. There was no guarantee this would even work, but it was the only thing I had.
When I returned to the clinic, everyone was run off their feet, far too busy to notice what I was doing.
I entered Jessica’s room, and it was easy to see her time was almost up.
She was unconscious. Gods, she had deteriorated so much in the short time I’d been gone.
I wouldn’t dream of using the Agattealia Pontella on her if there’d been another option, not when I’d never used this recipe before and had no idea how it might affect her.
The grimoire had called this potion a cure-all.
I prayed to the mother that I was doing the right thing, then taking the dropper, I opened her mouth and placed one drop on her tongue.
Something cold slid over me and I froze.
A dark shadow caught my eye, and I spun toward it.
The man I’d seen last week, the one who’d grabbed my wrist hard enough to bruise it, strode past the door.
I rubbed my throbbing wrist, trying to force the pain away.
Jessica remained still and unconscious. I didn’t want to leave her, but something wasn’t right—he wasn’t right.
I rushed to the door, catching a glimpse of him as he rounded the corner. Breaking into a run, I went after him, but he was gone.
Someone shouted. I spun back, terrified it was Jessica, but the sound came from another ward.
I ran toward the sounds of panic. Jack, Mags, and several other healers were frantically working on the patients in the room.
Four of them were crashing. I dove in to help, but they’d already advanced past any help.
They’d been in only the early stages this morning, this shouldn’t be happening.
Jack cursed and tore off his gloves. “Time of death. Eight forty-seven p.m.”
“Which one?” I said.
“All of them. They all died at exactly the same time,” he said, sounding confused and horrified. “What the hell is going on? What the fuck is this? How is this possible?”
He said what we were all thinking. No one had an answer.
What I did know was this wasn’t some random coincidence. I rubbed at my aching wrist again. Someone, or something, had made this happen—they’d wanted these people to die, and they’d wanted us to know they’d caused it.