Descendant (Secrets of the Makai) (3 page)

"He stood right here," said the clump of black needlerush in his high-pitched whistle. "Right on that rock, didn't squash anything. Just that rock."

"Clothes black as night," added the mother of all the buttercups. "One of those...what did you call it?"

"Armani," said the oak, sighing wistfully. "Excellent condition."

"What's Armani?" Dorian asked, afraid to ask the real question.

"A suit, dear child. They are worn to give a person a respectful status. A sense of fashion. A sense of wealth."

"I've seen a suit before," she said. Surely one of Gram's clients had come into the shop wearing such a thing.

"I saw him first," the cereus said, yawning. "I don't mean any disrespect, but the day...can't stay awake."

Dorian clenched her jaw. "Tell me what you know."

"I wouldn't have seen him at all if he hadn't thrown the light. It glowed, it did. Right into the water. Just a drop. Then he was gone. No path. Just gone."

Everyone stayed silent as Dorian confirmed the lack of footprints leading anywhere.

"We like to make things exciting," said the huckleberries, "but there's no need to hype this one. Nope. No survivors. None. A drop of pure poison killed them all."

"Shut up! Don't you think I can tell?" Dorian paced along the water's edge, willing anything from within to communicate. How far did the silence go? She stared downstream toward the ocean.

The surrounding forest watched her. Waiting for her conclusion. Thousands of water plants were dead.

Dorian eyed the spring, then uncorked a glass heart hanging from her neck. She put her tongue against the opening and tipped the tiny flask for a drop.

"You're going in?" Nervous chatter rose from the mosses.

"Of course," said Dorian. "Relay messages downstream until you find something alive. I'll get samples from here."

"You'll pass out if you don't calm down," added the worrisome ferns.

Dorian found a place to sit on the bank while excess oxygen coursed through her veins, magnified and multiplied by the potion she'd invented to make her job easier. She closed her eyes, hoping she wasn't making a huge mistake by going under alone. What if the man came back? She hadn't told anyone where she was going, or what the trees witnessed. And it wasn't like the trees could tell anyone.

Too late now.

She tied her hair in a knot, then slipped into the cool water with a slow, final breath.

The overwhelming lack of awareness from the water plants filled the pool with a gloomy darkness. Faded colors and an unnatural murk churned with the current. How could all these deaths possibly contribute to the Circle of Life Gram always spouted on about?

Dorian drew a six-inch knife from a sheath around her thigh and swam toward Baoo, the dominant grass in the deep. He didn't look dead, but when she ran her hand through his silky blades, and those of his offspring...she had to suppress a sob.

Even now, the poison in the water might be seeping through the ground. She mentally ordered the trees and shrubs to resist taking in the liquid, but they could only go against their natures for so long.

Dorian quickened her movements to gather roots, dirt, blades, petals, and anything else she could find for samples. She made her way to the top of the pool and surfaced to get a glass vial from her workbag for a sample of the water itself, not daring to breathe while the oxygen potion still ebbed in her blood.

* * *

"Gram!" Dorian cleared the central workspace with one swipe of her arm and dumped the contents of the bag onto the table, trying to keep the samples separate as she rushed through the morning's events. She had three survivors and placed each in their own jar of water.

Gram stepped through the doorway with a mug of steaming tea cupped in her hands. "Slow down, or you'll have to start over," she said, lifting a lock of Dorian's damp hair to give it a sniff.

"We need a cure! I don't know if it's finished killing things, or diluted to something harmless by now. What if it's biological and growing?" She grabbed a basket and rushed to the front of the store for supplies.

"What you need is the antidote."

"That's what I've been saying!" Dorian listened to the active ingredients stocked on shelves. They'd all heard about what happened, but none of them seemed to know if they could help or not. "Why would someone do this deliberately?"

"Oliver will be furious." Gram smiled, more like a pained expression that deepened wrinkles and doubled her age. Oliver had become obsessive with island security after discovering the first boundary breech, when someone broke into the sacred cave four months ago.

Dorian bit her lip. "What if I use the sand from the cave?" She'd secretly taken a jarful after her last security shift, curious about the properties that glowed like tiny colored flames, dancing behind white gossamer.

Gram's eyes widened and her mouth stayed open for a few ungraceful moments. "You know that's not sand!"

Dorian tried not to roll her eyes. "But there's plenty of it, and it doesn't seem to be helping security much anymore. Proved last night. What's the harm in experimenting for a good cause?"

"More than half has lost its shine since someone stole the fang, and you'd be desecrating what's left of the dragons by stealing their remains. That cave is not to be fiddled with. Ever." Gram's expression grew more fierce with each word. "You are never to use that bone dust. Not to plant things in, not to consume, and certainly not for the sake of curiosity."

"Fine." She'd just sneak the jar back to the cave. "Seems pointless to take cave shifts if security is going to fail anyway."

"I can think of no other way. Everything living needs a source of life. And the cave is, well...the cave is a living burial ground. Show some respect. Are we clear?"

"Yes."

"Good," Gram said. "Now that that's settled, let's get back to the problem at hand. This man had a purpose. Did he need this much death on his hands, or did he attack the plants knowing how you'd react?"

"Nobody would've known I'd—"

"Act so reckless? Of course you'd jump in without telling anyone first."

"But I—"

"I'm sad about the plants, really I am. But the balance would be affected more greatly if
you
were the target. If you are out of the way, there will never be an antidote and this poison can carry on unhindered. It's
you
who needs the antidote, not these samples."

Dorian glanced at her hands, coated by the gray murk from the water. Her scolded pride trickled away with the realization. "But we needed samples. How was I supposed to get them?"

"What's done is done. I'll ask that you not shower, lest we spread more toxins. I'd also suggest you don't touch anything. I'll handle the plants and you guide me for a change."

"Do you really think I—" Dorian didn't dare finish the thought. If the man arrived in the dark and the plants were dead by dawn, it had to be less than eight hours. "You touched my hair."

"So I did." Gram dropped the gloves she was about to put on and took another sip of tea. "So let's figure this out. What could be so driven?"

"I'm so sorry, Gram. I wasn't thinking."

"It's alright, dear. Focus on what you know."

Dorian took a breath. "Plants seeking a destination with a purpose is reasonable. But I'd never be able to convince them to be so destructive against something so harmless. Its own life energy would have to be, I don't know, mutated or something."

"By man or nature?"

"Does it matter?" Dorian raked her fingers through her damp hair, determined to find a solution as quickly as possible. She could handle paying with her life for her own stupidity, but never Gram's.

"You've persuaded plants to survive against nature. Why, I'm surprised you don't have the water dwellers roosting up in the trees. Couldn't you convince them there's plenty of water in the air?"

"Gram—" Dorian stopped herself. She probably could get the water plants to survive in the trees. "It's the objective that bothers me. It'd be like telling the lilacs that the periwinkle plotted to kill you, therefore killing the periwinkle would be the right thing to do."

"Ah, but the lilacs and periwinkles would never do such a thing. Or would they? From what you've said, the periwinkle can be quite mischievous at times."

Dorian raised an eyebrow.

"Not even as a personal favor?" Gram patted Dorian's hand and smiled. "I'm only trying to get you thinking, dear. If nothing could be so cruel...."

Dorian sucked in a breath, shocked by a thought. "What if I'm not the only one who can understand the will of a plant?"

Gram's sudden silence drew her attention to a figure standing at the doorway partitioning the front and back of the store. A man in dark clothing.

Dorian mentally instructed the trees within visual range to relay his description to the plants by the dead spring. Gram remained where she stood—frozen, expressionless, snared in some invisible trap.

Every instinct screamed for Dorian to run while she still could, but she stayed motionless.

"I'm here on business," the man said, his tone making her retreat a few steps. His narrowed eyes wouldn't let her turn away—not even to get closer to Gram.

The back door slammed shut on its own.

Gram walked stiffly to the corner of the room and lowered herself onto her rocking chair with her face remaining blank. She shut her eyes.

Dorian glared at the intruder.

"She's fine," said the man. "I assure you."

"I assume you'll free her only after I do what you want?"

He tossed a small black bag of coins to the workspace. "Gold."

Dorian almost objected. They usually traded for essentials and nothing more. "You can't just barge in making demands—"

"I want the antidote."

A million things raced through her mind. The man had to be the one who poisoned the water—the description fit. "Antidote?" How could she free Gram?

"Don't play dumb."

"I haven't had time!" Dorian watched the man's eyes skim over the samples on the table, then very close to where she'd hidden the jar of glimmering sand. She clenched her teeth to keep from speaking.

"Then make one. Quickly."

"What if I don't?"

The man circled the workspace with his hands clasped behind his back, taking in everything on shelves. "People will die."

"Gram?"

"Among others."

A prickly power in the room stabbed at Dorian's skin, fueling her anger more than fear. She couldn't stand it anymore. She had to know. "You've already killed thousands, what's a few more?"

He stopped walking and turned to face her. "To you, or me?"

Dorian gritted her teeth and snatched a basket. "I'll need supplies from the front."

The man stepped aside as she stormed by. All of the plants on shelves wanted to be part of the cure now, if it meant getting revenge. She selected the most aggressive items, giving silent permission for them to run as wild as they wished.

The man didn't question her selection of materials when she started chopping. She glanced at Gram—a sleeping statue. Could Oliver wield that kind of power? Not likely.

"Would you…?" What was she thinking? He was the one in a hurry, not her. "Forget it."

"If I can be of service, I'm more than willing to speed things up."

"Great." People could be so stupid. "I need boiling water. You can use that." She pointed the tip of her knife at a glass pot, still drying upside down in the dish drainer.

The man filled the pot and had the water at a raging boil before he set it on the workspace. Dorian noticed dried blood staining his hands. "Occupational hazard?"

"I suppose."

Her gaze traveled up the sleeve of his jacket and across to his crisp white shirt. "Armani?" The word popped out before she could stop it. The man cocked an eyebrow and turned to the sink to wash his hands.

Dorian clenched her jaw tighter and transferred the mix of chopped leaves into a silk pouch. She then hooked the pouch on the end of a spoon and suspended it in the steam.

"I didn't think you'd ever been off the island."

"Go to Hell." Dorian dumped the leaves into a glass bowl of oils and extracts, then slipped protective gloves on as she studied the last vial. Urushiol, oleandrin, and mezerin—and a fourth ingredient she couldn't identify, not even by aid of the plants. The oil substance had come from a woman whose father was an African witchdoctor, one who would only teach a son the ways of medicine. It was an oil that could melt through cartilage and cauterize damaged cells at the same time.

The first drop from the vial made a circle of thready yellow smoke when it hit the paste. The vapors hovered a few inches before settling. The second added a thin slick of orange silt, breaking down the steamed leaves with sizzling hisses.

"How does it work?" the man asked, drying the nape of his neck with one of Gram's favorite towels.

Dorian opened her mouth to give the standard rundown, then promptly shut it when she remembered what the man had done to her spring. Deliberately. She took off the gloves. "Did you poison yourself when you poisoned the stream?"