Madly (4 page)

Chapter Nine

Samantha

GRANDDAD AND I SIT SIDE by side on the tram ride home. We left without joining the hunt and were escorted through the palace, ending up in the courtyard of the castle at the top of Kingstown, which was empty following the cancellation of Evelyn's concert. I guess there is a connection between the two buildings, after all.

Despite my granddad's stubborn refusal to join the hunt, my head spins with everything I know about love potions. There are endless myths surrounding them—it's going to be hard for the Participants to separate the truth from fact. But even though they were banned before his time, I'm positive that somewhere in our store there is a lead on the original recipe. Who knows, maybe the recipe itself is actually stashed away somewhere, amidst the hundreds of books and the significant archive of Kemi alchemist grimoires—or
potion diaries, as we call them now. This could be what the Kemi family has been waiting for—the chance to bring back honor to the traditional alchemists, the first potion-makers. And if it brings a little glory too, what's the harm in that?

I bring up the hunt again, but Granddad waves his hands at me and tells me to shush. He mumbles something about the “audacity of royals.”

“They think they can just drag me up to their palace, without even a word of apology for the interruption. Three mixes, ruined. I'll have to start all over. And I bet they won't reimburse us for that time either.”

“Granddad, this is the princess. Of course they think she's more important than our mixes. Is it because of Emilia that you don't want us to compete?”

“I'm not scared of some royal pretender.”

“Then what is it?”

He harrumphs and buries his nose in an old newspaper he finds on the seat. I give up until we reach the Kemi Street stop.

Our home is at the back of the store, so we walk past the front door and down a narrow alley, dodging the overflowing rubbish bins that are ready for pick-up. We enter straight into the kitchen, where Mum is dishing up a plate of fried rice and pork belly for Molly. Dad stands by the sink, his arms crossed in front him, eyes fixed on the back door.

“You're back!” shouts Molly. She jumps up from her seat and wraps her arms around my waist.

Granddad steps past me and continues in his slow, unhurried way, as if he hasn't just been called to participate in a Wilde Hunt. He ignores the rest of the family's curious faces and heads straight into his lab, shutting the door behind him. My parents don't look too concerned—­they're used to his surly moods, and they know they'll get more information out of me anyway.

“Sarah's mum sent me straight home as soon as we found out the concert was canceled,” Molly says. “I don't understand—why would the princess not want to have her party?”

I stroke her hair. “I'm sorry, Mols, I know you've been looking forward to the concert for ages. But I do know why the princess canceled her party. It's why Granddad and I were Summoned to the palace.”

Now I have their full attention. I sit down on the chair next to Molly and relay the entire story to her and my parents. At some point, Mum puts food in front of me, and the next time I look down, I've demolished it.

When I finish, they're speechless. Molly is the first to break the silence. “But is Princess Evelyn okay?”

“Of course she is—we just have to do our best to save her.” I smile at her, but I know my eyes tell a different story.

Mum interprets my look. “Molly, it's been a long night. Maybe you should get ready for bed?”

“But I want to hear what Sam has to do to save Princess Evelyn!”

“She'll tell you all about it in the morning.”

Molly huffs and shuffles up the stairs to her room.

“So how is the princess really?” asks Mum.

I shrug. “Strangely, she looked fine. But imagine: She's in love with herself . . . things could go from fine to terrible very quickly, and the royals are worried. But that's not all. We were also joined by Emilia Thoth.”

My dad turns to me sharply. “The king's exiled sister? How in dragon's name did she get through the palace security?”

I shrug. “Auden's Horn calls all eligible Novaen alchemists, even the ones the royal family has banished. I guess it didn't get the memo about her exile. The king didn't seem to have much choice in the matter.” I shiver. “She looked . . . unnatural. What kind of person would do that to themselves?” Only the darkest experimental potions would have the ability to change a person to look like Emilia.

“Someone with a big grudge to bear,” says my dad, his voice grave.

“How did Granddad respond?” Mum asks.

I almost don't want to tell them. But my face goes all red and blotchy when I try to lie, and I can already feel
heat pricking the bottom of my neck as I think about it.

“Sam . . .” My mum puts her hand on mine.

I sigh. “He doesn't want to do it. He doesn't want anything to do with the Wilde Hunt and won't be joining.”

She takes her hand away and shares a look with my dad. They might have a secret old married people language all their own, but I know enough about those looks to interpret their meaning. “But why? I don't understand. Why is Granddad so against the hunt when it could be a chance for us to prove ourselves to the whole world? At least it would be free publicity for the business! We could actually get the till ringing again!”

“If your grandfather says no, he has a good reason,” says my dad.

“Plus, Emilia Thoth? She's what nightmares are made of. I don't want you anywhere near her warpath,” Mum says.

“So I'm just supposed to let the princess go steadily insane even if I have the chance to cure her?”

“Someone else will help her, honey.”

“But I could help her! You keep telling me I have this gift, but now that I actually have the chance to use it, you're not letting me!” My cheeks prickle with heat. All I can think about is the silent till in the store. The empty jars on the shelves that will never be filled. The years of pinching pennies, just so that Molly and I can have an education. Granddad taught me to be a proud Kemi,
but how can I be proud? We've been offered a chance to prove ourselves, and we're just going to throw it away. It's typical. “I'm going to my room.”

“Sam—” Mum tries to call me back to the table, but I'm already up the stairs, my eyes blurring with tears.

I throw myself onto the bed. I don't know why my family is being so difficult about this.

There's one other family I know who must be going through the same thing. I drag my laptop off my nightstand and onto the duvet. As soon as I log on, Anita pops up on the video chat, her face flushed with excitement. Her dark hair is tied back into a ponytail, and I can see the thick straps of a backpack over her shoulders.

“I've been waiting for you all evening, Sam, what took you so long? Dad said he saw you at the palace! We don't have much time to get to—”

She must register the look on my face, because she stops midsentence.

“Granddad said no,” I say.

The image of Anita shakes as she reaches out and grabs her computer screen. “What? You're kidding? You haven't joined yet?”

I shake my head. “I know, I don't get it either.”

“But a Wilde Hunt! It's practically a Kemi family tradition!”

“Maybe back in the day . . .” I take in more of Anita's
outfit, and it's clear she's dressed to go find an ingredient. I swallow down my jealousy and force a smile. “Now it's the Patels' turn.”

Anita sees through my act, though. “Oh, Sam, you should be here. My dad was hesitant too. He won't actually participate in the hunt either; he's got commitments at the store he can't leave. But he made me his apprentice and Auden's Horn accepted my entry just a moment ago. Arjun is coming along as our Finder. We never thought we'd get an opportunity like this in our lifetimes. We might not have a hope of winning, but we're going to try.”

There is a commotion on the screen, bringing into focus the familiar dark-eyed features of Anita's brother, Arjun, as he forces himself into the frame, his hair stiffened with just a bit too much gel.

“Hey, Sam, I overheard. That sucks.”

I nod, but I have to bite my lip to stop myself crying.

Arjun looks at Anita. “Okay, sis, we gotta go.”

“Good luck, guys,” I choke out, waving as the computer screen goes black.

Our video chat over, I snap down the lid on my laptop. I change into my pj's and jump back on my bed, flicking on the TV that sits on the dresser in the corner of my room. There, in front of me, is Evelyn's shining face, her pearly white teeth bared in a perfect smile.
EVELYN CANCELS BIRTHDAY PARTY, REASON CURRENTLY
UNKNOWN
, the scrolling caption reads. So, the news of her poisoning hasn't broken to the media yet.

I feel a twinge of guilt. What could've driven Evelyn to mix a love potion when the consequences could've been—well, I guess not much worse than what actually happened to her? But then there is something else—a spark of admiration. She'd mixed it on her own—unearthed the formula for a potion so many try and fail to produce.

Someone will cure her.

It just won't be me.

They switch to a show reel highlighting the princess and Zain.
IS A FALLING-OUT WITH A FRIEND THE CAUSE?

The newscaster's voice drones over the images. Speculation mounts as Zain Aster was seen entering the castle only hours before Princess Evelyn canceled her eighteenth birthday party. The images show Zain whispering in Evelyn's ear, his arm draped casually around her shoulders. They look so comfortable together, like co-conspirators or old friends gossiping. But then something catches Zain's attention and he pulls his arm away from Evelyn. I catch the barest of flinches from her, and the look in her eyes as she stares at him is full of longing. She really did love him. My finger hovers over the remote, but I can't bring myself to change the channel while Zain is on the screen.

The potion was meant for him. That must be what
the Queen Mother meant. He could've become instant royalty. I wonder why he didn't want that.

It's hard to believe that only a few hours ago Zain and I were in the same room together. Thinking about him, I almost blush, even though I'm alone. I roll my eyes at my own reaction, then finally switch over to a sitcom about a mixed group of Talented and ordinary friends who hang out together in a local bar. It was a pretty radical show in its time and I've seen all the episodes a thousand times. I don't take any of it in. All I can think about is the love potion. I wonder which ingredient the princess wrote down. I wonder where Anita and Arjun are off to. I scold myself. I need to forget today ever happened.

A few episodes later, and the house is silent. I tuck in under the duvet, but I've barely shut my eyes when I hear a tapping sound on my window, like stones are being thrown at it. I sit up in bed, pull the curtain aside, and find myself staring straight into the face of Kirsty Donovan, the Kemi family Finder.

Chapter Ten

Samantha

“KIRSTY!” I PUSH UP THE window and help her crawl through into the room. She must have climbed up the outside of the house to my window using the drainpipe. Kirsty never does things the normal way. “What are you doing here?” I whisper.

I haven't seen her in months, but she looks just the same—glamour-free, tanned skin, dark-blond hair pulled to the side in a braid that looks practical but still beautiful, her toned arms on show as they always are except in the darkest months of winter. She's wearing her trademark uniform too—black vest top, gray-green trousers with innumerable pockets, tall boots. She's the epitome of a Finder. I suddenly feel incredibly awkward in my yellow polka-dot pajamas.

“I'm here to talk about the hunt, of course!” I can see her eyes are shining, catching the light from the street lamps outside.

“You heard? How?”

She winks. “Friends in low places, I guess. I'm a bit insulted that you haven't already asked me to be your Finder in the hunt, but I'll let you off. What's the first ingredient? We need to get ahead of the competition if the synths are involved.”

I slump back down onto my bed. “We're not joining. Granddad doesn't want anything to do with it.”

“Don't be ridiculous,” says Kirsty. “Why do you think I came through the window? Of course Ostanes won't allow it; I've known dragons who bear less of a grudge than that man. But a Kemi has been called to the hunt. That could be you.”

“They want my grandfather, not me.”

“But you could do it.”

“No way,” I scoff.

“Why not? You might try to deny it, but you've got the Kemi gift. You know how to mix with the best of them.”

“I'm nowhere near as good as Granddad, and I won't be able to compete with the synths. When they get those ingredients into their big labs . . .”

“Then think of it this way. You're the Kemi apprentice. I don't really get it since obviously you should be going to Kingstown Uni to study synths and potions because this is the twenty-first century, but fine. Your choice. But this is your chance to make that decision count. To make your name as an alchemist and put the
Kemis back on the map. You need my help, of course. And I'm offering it to you—free of charge.”

Hearing Kirsty say this out loud makes the opportunity seem real, tangible—something I can reach out and grab with both hands. I'm surprised she's offering her services for free. Business is tough for her too. In the old days, every great alchemist would have their own Finder. If you were the Kemi master, you had a team of people you trusted to go out into the Wilds and collect ingredients. Simple, right? Sure, when you can only pick a certain leaf on the third new moon of the year, and if you miss that window, the next one's not going to be for another twelve months. Or when you have to track a sabre-tooth lion through the Aluptian mountains, risking death by mauling. It's a specialized skill too—to know what equipment to take, how to survive out there in the Wilds, and also to recognize the ingredients when you see them. The best Finders go out on assignment and come back with a million things you didn't ask for, but all of a sudden realize you need.

Synths don't need Finders, not when they can create the ingredients in a lab. Against her better judgment, Kirsty's been forced to become more of an entrepreneur, peddling pretty but useless trinkets like amethyst pendants and gullfish eyes to eager tourists. She even had a market stall for a while along Royal Lane, but Kirsty is no good at sitting still, and she knows it.

“I heard Emilia was at the palace,” Kirsty says.

I nod slowly. The thought of Emilia's body, tainted by those dark potions, still turns my blood cold. “She says she's a master alchemist now.”

“She hasn't wasted a moment of her exile. I've heard stories about her, too.” Kirsty hesitates. “In addition to her alchemical training, she's spent all these years exploring the Wilds. I heard a ranger say there was no better Finder in the world. She could be a step ahead of the hunt already.”

My eyes widen. “Alchemist and Finder in one?”

“She's going to be a formidable opponent. Even if she isn't trying to find the cure, she'll know exactly how to stop us.”

I swallow hard. I hadn't considered the possibility that someone wouldn't want to cure the princess. But if the princess dies . . . then Emilia would be the next queen. And life in Nova would never be the same again.

I'm not sure if I'm cut out for this. Joining the hunt would mean going out there . . . into the Wilds. The untamed lands outside of the major cities and towns. The Wilds are carefully protected sanctuaries of nature, where streams of magic can flow unchecked. Access to the Wilds is strictly controlled. Granddad thinks the regulations around the Wilds are a joke—once the entire world was Wild, of course, but towns and cities have spread like fungus until only comparatively small
acreages of wild land are left. There are reasons for this, of course. This is a modern world. Magic is unstable out in the Wilds, and cities are much safer places for Talenteds to live. Something about the more people pulling on the stream of magic, the stronger and more stable it gets. Like a rope made up of many twisting strings. Out in the Wilds, those threads get spread further and further apart, and become more likely to fray—or even break—with violent consequences. The magic in the Wilds is just too powerful for most Talenteds to control. In some places, it would be like turning on a tap and expecting a stream—but instead getting an ocean.

Of course, the Wilds are dangerous for the ordinary among us too: full of creatures waiting to bite your head off. And plants that might do that too.

The Wilds are for the adventurous people of the world, like Kirsty. They're not for people who would rather live their adventures through characters in books. I like staying home, thank-you-very-much, where I know I can always find a plug point for my laptop, I'm never ten steps from a kettle to boil for tea, and I can go to sleep wrapped up in the comfort of my own duvet.

“Alchemists belong in the lab,” Granddad says, and he only leaves the building to play pétanque with the other old folk. Everything else he needs is here.

Sometimes we're more alike than I care to admit.

You've got the Kemi gift.
Kirsty's words ring in my ears.
Maybe I do. And I can't keep holding on to these dreams without at least trying to make them come true.

I jump up from the bed, feeling more confident than anyone should in their pajamas. Adrenaline floods my system: it's impulsive, it's rash, but if I take any more time to think about it, I'll talk myself out of it. “Okay, I'll do it. First thing tomorrow morning,” I tell Kirsty.

“Do it now,” she says. “We need to plan for the first ingredient.”

The clock on my bedside table reads 11:09 p.m. “It's late . . . ,” I say, but then I know the royals won't be sleeping. “Okay, give me a second.”

“I won't move a muscle,” she says with a grin.

I tiptoe out into the hallway. The house is deathly quiet. When I was younger, Granddad used to make mixes deep into the night, but now he takes a sleeping draught at ten p.m. on the dot, so I know he won't waken.

When I reach the shop floor, I take a deep breath. The shop has an eerie appearance at night, the muted light from the street reflecting off the innumerable glass jars that line the back wall. The air is still. There's a dark screen in the corner, our Summons, and I place my palm on the glass. It's cool to my touch. I've never done this before, so I hope it works.

“Renel Landry,” I say to the glass.

Renel's face appears beneath my hand, and I have to bite down on my tongue not to yell out in shock.

“Cutting it close, Samantha Kemi.” He reaches his hand through the glass. I take it and brace myself. He pulls me hard, and within a blink of an eye I've arrived in the palace. It's not nearly as hard as last time.

The surprise must show on my face as he tuts at my ignorance. “Once you've visited a place, it's much easier to transport there again. You left an imprint of yourself along the magic streams.” He walks briskly over to Auden's Horn, which appears to breathe in the flickering candlelight of the palace room.

“You know what to do,” he says.

I step forward and place my finger on the screen. Just like it did with Zol and Zain, smoke pours from the mouth of the horn as if it is on fire. I feel heat on my face. “I'm in . . . but my grandfather isn't,” I say.

Renel raises an eyebrow. “No Ostanes? I will have to talk to the family about this.” For a moment I think they'll refuse to let me enter on my own.

But then he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a scroll. “Your Wilds pass, and the first ingredient,” he says, then turns me round and I fall sideways into the wall behind me. The wall bends and breaks, then I'm back on the shop floor, skidding on the stone slabs, panting heavily. The Summons screen goes dark.

I take a few deep breaths, then run my finger along the edge of the scroll to break the seal. My heart stops.

I might have already missed my shot.