Chapter 2 #3
If Astin were here, he would encourage me to be realistic.
He’d tell me strangers don’t put adverts in the paper announcing they’ve found a cure nobody is sure exists.
And if it was real, it would beg the question of why this Emerald King doesn’t retrieve it himself.
Finding the cure would only be worth it if I’m alive at the end of the mission, and I’m not convinced something requiring me to be a daring soul won’t end in a painful demise.
‘Besides, if the offer’s real – which it’s not – it sounds dangerous. I can’t risk it.’
‘Well, it’s not like you couldn’t handle a bit of danger. I remember when you were eight years old and you sat in that corner shooting shadows around. Cleaned my cobwebs, I suppose, but –’
‘Mum.’ I leap several inches into the air, heart pounding so hard it might fly out of my chest, and run around to check nobody’s at the front of the store, lurking between the shelves, listening to her reveal – I can’t even think it.
Thinking about it would mean admitting to it.
‘You can’t say things like that. People could hear. They’ll talk. They’ll know.’
It’s too late. My breaths are unsteady; my thoughts too loud. I can’t fake a smile to dim the noise.
‘Daisy’s right,’ Dad says. ‘Shouldn’t talk about that here. If anybody finds out what she can do –’
‘There’s nothing to find out,’ I snap. ‘I can’t do anything. I’m not sure I ever could. You probably imagined the whole thing.’
Their concern smells like sweet tea that’s stewed for too long and turned bitter.
My fingers flex. I want to take it, to sink my nails into their skin and channel the magic within them.
Every part of me trembles with the effort of resisting.
My eyes well with tears, because it’s been so long since I felt this way, so long since I had an urge this bad.
I’ve become such an expert at pretending I’m normal I’d almost convinced myself I was.
And the moment I’m reminded I’m not, this happens.
Because I’m not normal. I’ve never been normal. Michael should never have been anywhere near me, because even without being hexed, I’d have found a way to hurt him.
I can deny it all I want, but I am a Souleater.
I back up against a cabinet. It wobbles precariously, a bottle bouncing off my shoulder before tumbling to the floor and spraying purple liquid everywhere. My parents jerk, but make no move to come closer to clean the spill.
They’re scared of me. Deep down, I think they’ve always been scared of me, and it’s only become worse these last two years, like that Souleater attacking the festival opened their eyes to what I’m capable of doing.
‘Sorry,’ I whisper. ‘I’m sorry.’
Unable to look at them, my gaze locks on the paper instead. Attention Cure Seekers.
If the cure is real, it’d fix everything. I’d be a normal girl – hex aside – and not the kind of creature that would contemplate harming her own parents. I’d take a sip before handing the rest over to this fake king, claim my reward, and save both myself and the inn in one fell swoop.
But who knows how many people will arrive at the ruins, smelling of expectation and greed, ripe for the taking.
Or what I’d have to go through to retrieve the cure; how much magic I’d need to give myself an edge over every other competitor.
Magic I refuse to use, knowing what it’ll cost someone else.
I know first-hand how awful a hex can be, and I will not be the person who inflicts that on another.
I can’t risk it.
There’ll be another way to get the money I need. A safer way. There has to be.
‘I should go,’ I say, unable to witness the wariness in my parents’ eyes any longer, let alone the way they smell.
I’m halfway to the door when Dad calls out, ‘Daisy, wait.’
I halt, but don’t turn, instead fixating on a bright blue potion that’s supposed to soothe an upset stomach. Honestly, the way I feel right now, I wouldn’t mind taking a swig. The sound of paper tearing fills the room, followed by floorboards creaking and a light tap on my shoulder.
By the time I’ve spun round, Dad has already stepped out of reach, the torn-off advert extended between us.
‘Take it,’ he says. ‘Think about it. The festival doesn’t officially start for another two days. You’d have time to make it to Rerta, if you left tomorrow. If it’s a scam, you can come straight home. And if it’s not, you can use the reward to save your inn.’
It’s nice he’s pretending the reward is all that’s at stake.
Our fingers graze as I take the paper from him, and he can’t hide his grimace. My urges have faded, but I snatch my hand back quickly anyway, in an attempt at saying, See? Nothing to fear here.
I stare at the advert one final time. Attention Cure Seekers.
My chin wobbles. I have no intention of going.
I don’t. But then I watch Dad return to Mum and wrap an arm around her shoulders, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
Gestures of love I’d give anything to receive.
For someone to know all of me and say I deserve them too.
I fold the scrap of paper into four and tuck it into my cloak pocket.
Just in case.