The Potion Diaries 2 Read online

  ‘Aqua vitae.’ He spits the words out. ‘You really think any Kemi worth their pestle and mortar would keep that kind of discovery to themselves? We’re far too proud for that.’

  I think about it for a split second, then I shrug. He’s right. Who would hide that? It would be the greatest alchemical achievement.

  ‘But . . .’ he continues, and the word hangs in the air like a loaded weapon. He sighs. ‘Come on, let me show you something.’

  He takes me into the library, to the shelves that house the collection of Kemi potion diaries. Some of the diaries date back hundreds of years, though there are a few gaps where diaries have gone missing or been damaged. Grandad walks straight to the end of the shelf, where his own diaries are. One day I’ll add mine to this shelf too.

  His fingers quiver over the spines until he finds the one marked ‘1948’. The year of the Wilde Hunt before mine. And the year that my great-grandmother’s diary went missing.

  He slides the diary down off the shelf, then passes it to me. I hold it as if it were made of crystal and might shatter in my hands at any moment.

  It feels wrong; taboo – even though he’s here with me. There’s something sacred about another alchemist’s journal. I get twitchy when someone picks up the bag that holds my diary – let alone the thing itself. It’s like my mind outside of my body. It’s full of my private thoughts – my questions, observations, experiments – all intensely personal. I’m nearly coming to the end of my first one, filling every page with my neat, round letters.

  ‘There,’ he says. ‘Everything I remember about her missing diary is in there. I warn you, it’s not much.’

  I nod. I place the diary on one of the wooden trestle tables in the centre of the library and sit down on the long bench. I open it to a random page.

  The altitude from her trip to Mount Hallah has taken its toll, but she has brought back the glacier water the potion requires. What lengths must she have gone to to get it? At least she wasn’t on her own – Mr Pringle accompanied her on the arduous journey.

  She’s off already, to hunt down whatever is next. I am running the glacier water through the essence of spiderweb to prepare this part of the mix. I am learning, even if I do not know exactly what she is trying to do. I sense there might be more to this potion than even she realises.

  Mount Hallah. Of course – I think back to my own experiences at the base camp of that mountain, and how I saw the picture of my great-grandmother Cleo hanging on the wall of the lodge where we were stationed. My heart still swells with pride at the thought. I used to think being a Kemi meant staying cooped up in the lab, studying books, following tradition. Cleo showed me it could also mean being adventurous and exciting. It could be cutting edge. It could be different.

  But Cleo also suffered for her adventures. She lost her potion diary. She never mixed again. No wonder Grandad hadn’t been keen on me joining the Wilde Hunt – not when it destroyed his mother so completely.

  I look up from the page. Grandad has taken the seat opposite me, but his eyes are closed; he is lost in thought. I was not prepared for the words to be quite so . . . diary-like.

  Could my great-grandmother’s diary have been lost on the mountain? No, that can’t be right – Grandad would have mentioned it in the passage. I flick through the next few pages.

  The mix for the Wilde Hunt is looking thirsty – it is ready for the next ingredient. I don’t know where Mother has gone – to Runustan or Zhonguo or some far-flung place – she refuses to keep me informed. I feel certain that if we could work together, we would figure the recipe out more quickly. But no.

  No matter, when she comes back, I will look over her journal and figure it out for myself. She will allow me that, because that is the only way I will learn.

  Wait – someone is outside. It might be her.

  The ink changes colour, and his handwriting turns even more scrawl-like and slanted – written in a hurry.

  I’ve never seen her like this. Wild-eyed and wild-haired – I’ve hardly ever seen her anything less than pristine, even on weekends! She looks as if she has aged fifty years – her hair is all streaked with grey. I will record the conversation now, quickly, so I don’t forget anything.

  ‘Mother? Are you all right?’

  She stares at me as if seeing me for the first time, then shakes her head – not in disagreement, but as if to shake cobwebs from her mind. She runs her hands over her hair, to smooth it. ‘I’m fine, Ostanes. And please, you know – in the store, it’s Master Kemi.’

  I expected to see more luggage – or at least catch sight of Mr Pringle. But there is no one, and nothing. I close the door. Something about her demeanour makes me lock it, too.

  There is a loud crash. I race from the front of the store, through the door and into the laboratory. Mother has pushed the entire mix for the Wilde Hunt into the sink. Smoke rises as the acidity of the potion warps and melts the basin. I cover my mouth with my apron, then grab her back from the noxious fumes.

  ‘Master Kemi, what are you doing? What about the Wilde Hunt?’

  ‘It’s over, Ostanes. We are out.’

  ‘Out? How is that possible?’ Nothing she is saying seems to make any sense. How can we be out of the Hunt? ‘Is it something to do with the mix? Are you stuck? Show me your diary, maybe I can help . . .’

  ‘You can’t,’ she says, roughly pushing me aside.

  ‘Why? Why can’t I help you?’

  She turns back towards me, her body silhouetted in the doorway. ‘I’m done.’ Her voice softens. ‘But at least they are saved.’

  ‘They? Do you mean the Queen?’

  ‘Of course I mean the Queen,’ she snaps. Her mood changes in an instant.

  ‘Somebody else won?’ I say. I can scarcely believe it.

  ‘Not yet. But soon.’

  ‘Soon means there’s still a chance for us!’

  Her face darkens. ‘There is no hope for us.’

  ‘But why not?’

  ‘Because my diary is lost.’

  My heart sits in my throat as I read, hardly allowing me to breathe. This is the moment . . . and yet, there’s no indication of where Cleo has been. The next few pages don’t help either. They document Grandad’s attempts to get Cleo to mix again, and her stubborn refusal. I take several deep breaths.

  ‘You see?’ he says. He opens his eyes, blinking slowly.

  I shake my head. ‘I don’t understand. You always told me that my great-grandmother had created the world’s most powerful potion, but since her diary was lost it could never be confirmed. You don’t mention that anywhere here . . .’

  He tugs at his beard and I clench my fists under the library table. He won’t catch my eye, which makes me even more nervous. ‘When she came back, she couldn’t even mix the simplest of potions. Even a cup of calming tea eluded her! I couldn’t understand it. Then I remembered a legend I once read that said some potions are so powerful, they destroy the mind of the alchemist who dared to mix them. I told myself that she must have mixed one of those, because I couldn’t admit to myself that she was embarrassed to lose the Wilde Hunt and simply lost her touch. That’s all it was.’

  ‘So it was a lie.’ A lie I spread on national television. My great-grandmother hadn’t created the world’s most powerful potion after all. It was just another way for us to keep our family pride.

  That cursed Kemi pride. It will be our downfall.

  ‘I’m sorry you had to find out this way. She was, and still is, the best Kemi alchemist there’s ever been.’

  ‘Better than you?’ I ask. It’s almost unfathomable to me.

  ‘Oh, much,’ he says with a chuckle. ‘I wish you could have known her. She would have been so proud of you. You are the one who will surpass her, my dear Samantha. That much I know.’

  My heart swells and I can’t help it: I fling down the diary, run around the table and give him a big hug.

  ‘Just keep your head down and study the old books.’ He pats my head with his han
d. ‘Alchemy rewards the scholar – not the explorer. You would do well to remember it.’

  CHAPTER SIX

  Samantha

  TODAY IS THE FIRST DAY we’ve been able to open in the week following my disaster of a morning television appearance, but when I return to our store from picking up a few things for Mum from the supermarket, it’s practically empty. The only occupants are my grandad and a woman with a frown so deep you could abseil down into it. ‘The Kemi diaries have never been shared outside of this family, and that’s not going to change now,’ says Grandad. ‘Hold the door, Sam. Ms Slainte was just leaving.’

  Tension fills the air as Grandad and the mysterious Ms Slainte stare each other down. I know who is going to win that war. The woman purses her thin lips and the frown gets even deeper, but her clipboard snaps up and under her arm. ‘Don’t think this is the end, Ostanes.’

  ‘It’s Grand Master Kemi to you.’

  As she passes, she gives me a small smile, inviting me to join her in eye-rolling at stubborn old alchemists with long-held grudges. I don’t accept. I give her my best stony glare, and she scuttles out of the door.

  ‘Who was that?’ I ask, locking the door behind me. It’s clear we’re not going to be open today, after all.

  ‘Some government stooge,’ Grandad says. ‘On about some kind of petition . . .’ He waves his hand, dismissing the notion.

  I roll my eyes for real this time, then bring the groceries through to the kitchen.

  I’d almost, almost been able to forget about the petition. ‘MAKE THE KEMI ARCHIVES PUBLIC’ is the title, and it picked up a few thousand signatures in the aftermath of the aqua vitae speculation. It was started by the Nova Mail, a newspaper that seems to be aiming for the complete-and-total annihilation of our family. I swear one of their reporters has nothing better to do than to scour the Wilde Hunt Theories forums until a newsworthy story pops up.

  But it’s insanity. An alchemist’s diary is his life’s work and protected by Novaen law – the Alchemy Secrecy Act. Like Grandad told the government woman: there’s no way anyone is getting their hands on our family’s diaries that contain thousands of unique recipes dating back hundreds of years, especially not to search for a cure that doesn’t exist. Not surprisingly, the Nova Mail is sponsored by synth money. What is surprising is that they’ve managed to get the government involved. My heart sinks.

  ‘They can’t make us, can they?’

  Grandad snorts. I take that as a no.

  My phone buzzes in my pocket. Once I’ve dropped the bags off on the kitchen table, I take it out.

  Weathering the firestorm? It’s Evelyn.

  Barely, I reply. Someone from the government came here to try and get us to open our archives. Not. Going. To. Happen. So I guess for now we’ll stick to being ‘Nova’s most evil family’.

  WHAAAAAAT?! Who said that????

  I’ll give you one guess.

  The Nova Mail?

  Yup. They said if we’d been hiding a universal cure all these years then we should be tried as murderers.

  I shiver just thinking about it. My sleep has been plagued with nightmares – visions of death by millions of flashing camera bulbs and long lines of newspaper print that wrap around my neck like a python, squeezing the life out of me. I quickly head up to the sanctuary of my bedroom.

  By the time I get there, Evelyn’s replied.

  Ouch. Well, don’t worry, it’ll die down soon enough. They’ll move on like they always do.

  Yeah. But it’s been a *week* already. Can you be spotted out in public in a dress you wore once last year or something?

  :P

  How’s the mystery crush?

  Still mysterious ;) But seriously, glad you’re okay.

  Just about.

  As long as you’re ready for the tour tomorrow . . .

  I hesitate for a moment. The truth is that I haven’t even started packing yet. It’s been way too hard to focus on anything except the scandal that’s been swirling around us. I’ve barely been able to leave the house, and the only time I’ve seen Zain or Anita has been when they’ve been able to brave the crowds to get to me. I’m not so sure that going on a Royal Tour and abandoning my family to this madness is fair.

  As if she senses my reluctance, Evelyn sends me another message. Trust me . . . this will all go away soon enough.

  I text her a thumbs-up emoji, and vow to pack ASAP.

  I sigh and slump down on the bed. How do you even begin to pack for a Royal Tour?

  Before I can answer my own question, my little sister Molly comes flying up the stairs. ‘Sam, Sam, come look at this!’ Her flushed face appears in my doorway, her braids flying out behind her.

  ‘What is it, Mols?’

  She doesn’t reply, just gesticulates wildly for me to follow. I take the stairs two-by-two, racing down to catch up with her. When we reach the kitchen, she points to the TV.

  SECRET LOVER FOR THE PRINCESS? HOPE FOR THE KINGDOM OF NOVA AT LAST!

  Accompanying the headline is a grainy video of Evelyn locked in an embrace with a mystery person, shrouded in the shadows. My heart jumps into my throat and I feel a rush of gratitude. Our story doesn’t even make the scrolling headlines below. Only Evie could have leaked that video.

  I take my phone out.

  Thank you, I write.

  It still feels inadequate, and I wonder how I will ever pay her back.

  ‘Did you know about this?’ Molly asks.

  ‘About what? That Evelyn was going to leak THE news story of the century to take the heat off us?’

  Molly rolls her eyes. ‘Uh, no, silly. About the fact that the Princess is in love. For real this time.’

  I raise an eyebrow. ‘One kiss doesn’t automatically mean “love”, you know . . .’

  ‘But it could do!’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Aw, spoilsport,’ says Molly with a pout. But then her eyes light up again. She sidles up to me. ‘Why, what do you know?’

  I hold my hands up. ‘Hey, patient-alchemist privilege!’

  ‘She’s not your patient any more though . . .’

  When I don’t answer straight away, Molly’s jaw drops. ‘Don’t tell me, you’re working on another potion for the Princess?’ I try to think up an explanation, but Molly’s brain moves even faster than mine. ‘That means the forums were right after all!’

  I shake my head. ‘Wait, you know about the forums?’

  ‘You’re not the only one who knows how to use the internet,’ she says, before flouncing off.

  I stare after her in disbelief.

  Then it comes to me. I remember exactly how I can help repay the Princess. And I might just have time to do it before the tour starts.

  I text Zain.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  www.WildeHuntTheories.com/forums/THEKEMIFAMILY

  ORDER BY: MOST RECENT POSTS

  [NEW POST] FinderFace says: Zain and Sam spotted leaving Kemi’s Potion Shop together. Any speculation they’re finally going on a real date?

  3 replies

  [Most recent] SantaClara says: Anyone considered this might be related to the ‘secret’ Royal Commission? Maybe the first ever synth-ordinary collab?

  [NEW POST] OrdinaryRelicHunter says: KEMI SIGHTING – Ostanes Kemi heading towards Kingstown City Hall. Anything to do with the petition do we think?

  8 replies

  [Most recent] Parzie33 says: Nah, your source is probably wrong.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Samantha

  ‘ALMOST THERE,’ SAYS ZAIN. WE’RE in his car, heading straight out of the city to a small village at the edge of the closest Wilds. His wand is sitting on the dashboard, glamoured to point us in the right direction.

  ‘Perfect,’ I reply. I secretly cross my toes inside my boots. I really hope my source is correct. For once it would be nice to just show up and buy an ingredient rather than having to hunt it down in some obscure corner of the globe.

  Not that that isn’t fun
but, you know. A girl needs a break.

  When we pull up in front of a ramshackle cottage, I have my doubts. Once it might have been called cute – back when the thatched roof wasn’t rotten and patched up and the rose garden wasn’t so overgrown it looked like a nest of thorns. There’s even a tree growing out through the middle of the roof, where a chimney might have been. I double and triple check the address on my phone, but this is the right place.

  ‘Uh, how about I go check this out and you wait here?’ Zain puts his hand over mine and squeezes it tight.

  ‘No. If he’s anything like other Finders I know, he won’t be happy to have the heir to a huge synth corporation on his doorstep.’

  Zain grimaces, but doesn’t move to get out.

  I squeeze the tips of his fingers back, then get out of the car before I lose my courage. Resisting the urge to look over my shoulder every five seconds, I walk purposefully towards the cottage. When I knock on the door, it creaks open, and I regret all the horror movies I’ve watched with Anita in her parents’ basement. They all seem to begin like this.

  After I take my first step, curiosity overtakes fear. The room would be almost completely dark, were it not for the sunshine streaming through the hole in the roof where the tree has sprouted. As my eyes adjust to the light, more details emerge. It’s kind of how I imagine the store might look if I didn’t organise it religiously every week. Every space is crammed with jars and containers, stacked haphazardly on top of each other, spread out across the floor. I could spend hours picking through the collection if I had the time.

  Maybe this guy got so addicted to the thrill of Finding, he needs to hide ingredients just so he can search for them again.

  Personally, I couldn’t work like this. The longer I stay in here, the more I want to start tidying up.

  Oh, dragons. I really am becoming my Grandad.

  ‘Who’s there? Stay back! I have salamander powder and I’m not afraid to use it.’