28. Quill #2
I found a piece of cloth in one of the crates and scraped together as much of the mold as I could, trying not to think too hard about what I was doing. This was insane. This was possibly the most reckless thing I’d ever attempted.
But Aeron was upstairs, chained and suffering. And I was tired of being weak.
I set about arranging my supplies on the cleanest crate I could find.
The mushrooms, the mold, the vial of Magical Accelerant, and several other odds and ends I’d scavenged.
There were old leather straps that had some residual magic, though I couldn’t identify it, a handful of dried herbs that had somehow survived in a sealed tin, and even a dead rat I found in the corner that was already partially mummified with strange mushrooms curling out of its skeleton.
My hands trembled as I prepared the pot, positioning it carefully on an old piece of metal I’d salvaged. I used one of the oil lamps to create a small but steady flame beneath it. The heat rose quickly, and I added water from a basin I found that still had moisture collected in its depths.
As the water began to warm, I started adding my ingredients one by one.
The mushrooms first, crushed between my palms. Then the mold, scraped carefully into the pot where it dissolved into the water like ink spreading through parchment.
The smell that rose from the pot was absolutely foul.
It was earthy and rotten and wrong in a way that made my stomach turn.
I pulled my shirt up over my nose and kept stirring with an old pewter spoon I’d found amongst the utensils.
The dead rat was next. I tried not to think about where it had come from or how long it had been lying in this basement as I dropped it into the bubbling mixture. The mushrooms growing from its skeleton dissolved almost immediately, their spores clouding the water with a sickly purple hue.
I added the dried herbs last, watching as they unfurled in the heat, releasing their essence into the concoction. The smell intensified to the point where the shirt didn’t help anymore. My eyes watered as I stirred, my stomach churning with each rotation of the spoon.
This was poison. Real poison. Not the kind my mother made for medicinal purposes, but something designed to hurt, to corrupt, to destroy.
I thought of the Purity Front witches who’d thrown me down here. Of Morgana and her white mask and her casual cruelty. Of Aeron chained to that floor, his golden eyes burning with helpless rage.
This was for them. It wouldn’t affect the undead, but the living would definitely not enjoy it.
The liquid in the pot had taken on a murky greenish-black color, and I could see small wisps of vapor rising from its surface. It needed to simmer, needed time for the components to fully merge. I adjusted the oil lamp, trying to keep the heat steady without letting it boil over.
While I waited, I searched through the remaining crates for anything else that might be useful.
More vials, preferably. Something I could pour this poison into so it didn’t just splash uselessly when I threw it.
But the storage room seemed determined to deny me even that small mercy.
I found nothing but more dust and decay.
Then my fingers brushed against glass.
I pulled out a bottle from beneath a tangle of rotted fabric.
It was small, maybe the size of my thumb, with a cork stopper still firmly in place.
The glass was thick and dark, designed to protect whatever had been stored inside from light.
Carefully, I worked the cork free. It crumbled slightly in my hands, ancient and brittle, but the seal had held. The bottle was empty.
Perfect.
I waited what felt like hours for the potion to finish brewing, though it was probably only thirty minutes or so.
The concoction in the pot had thickened slightly, becoming almost syrupy.
The smell had changed too, becoming less putrid and more distinctly earthy.
But there was also an acrid, electric quality to it now that made my skin prickle.
Using another piece of cloth as a makeshift filter, I carefully poured the poison into my small bottle. It flowed like liquid shadow, dark and viscous. I corked it immediately, sealing in the fumes that tried to escape.
I held the bottle up to the weak light. Even through the dark glass, I could see that the bottle was only half full, the potion inside murky and thick.
Now came the dangerous part.
I uncorked the Magical Accelerant and readied my hand, trying desperately to keep myself from shaking.
With the other, I pulled the poison’s cork free and poured in not one drop or two, but the entire fucking bottle of accelerant as I held my breath.
As soon as the last drop fell, I corked the bottle again, holding it over the oil lamps flame so the wax would reseal.
Through the dark glass I saw the potion change in a matter of seconds. It went from dark and murky to opalescent and shimmering, like it was full of crushed up pearls. I couldn’t help but chuckle as I lifted it up, swirling it in the air.
It was so beautiful and probably strong enough to kill an entire room full of people in a matter of seconds, including myself.
I just hoped I’d get the chance to use it before it was too late.