The Potion Diaries Read online

  That should have been a clue.

  Back when she’d first met the Gergonian Queen, she’d been reminded of a harpy, and the impression wasn’t much different now. The Queen was also dressed in old-fashioned clothes, but these were much finer than the ones worn by the people on the street. On top of her piles of thick braided hair was an ornate gold crown, far too elaborate for a casual breakfast.

  Evelyn let out a strangled cry as she looked down at herself. Why hadn’t she checked what she was wearing before – where was her brain? Fortunately, she was decent. She frowned as she ran her hands over the heavy black woollen fabric she was wearing. She’d never seen this dress before, she was sure of it. She knew every single item of clothing in her wardrobe, and there’s no way she would have chosen to wear something so dowdy and plain out of choice.

  ‘What does this mean?’ the King asked, banging the end of his fork into the table. In his high-necked cloak and with his pasty skin, he looked like a vampire – every inch the Gergon King. It turned Evelyn’s stomach to see but she was practised at controlling the expression on her face. These were her parents-in-law. (That thought, too, twinged her heart – but at least that why was obvious – she had not married for love, but for convenience.) She should at least try to be gracious.

  The older Prince, however, did not look happy. He glowered at Evelyn, his dark eyes narrowed.

  ‘It means he’s failed. She was supposed to bring us out of this mess.’

  ‘Not yet failed, my dear Ilie. We must trust in Stefan . . . that he has a plan.’

  Evelyn had had enough. ‘Excuse me, but is this how you greet your new daughter or sister-in-law in Gergon? Because it strikes me as extremely rude.’ She put her hands on her hips.

  ‘Oh do be quiet, girl,’ said the Queen, waving her hand dismissively. Even her voice, her accent, sounded like something from a different time. Evelyn wondered if she’d learned Novaen while only reading literature published before this century.

  Prince Ilie’s eyes flashed at Evelyn. ‘You don’t know?’

  ‘Know what?’

  He laughed, but she couldn’t find any joy in it. ‘Why, you’re dreaming.’

  ‘Dreaming?’ She frowned, staring at the Prince, waiting for him to explain the joke. She pinched the inside of her wrist, hard, but the scene in front of her didn’t change. ‘What do you mean, dreaming? Isn’t this . . .’

  ‘Real? No. Sorry. You’ve been trapped in this world same as us. All because my brother had a soft spot for that brat and my parents didn’t have the courage to finish her when they should have done.’

  Her eyes narrowed. ‘Who’s “her”?’

  ‘You’ll find out soon enough.’ He ate a forkful of food and grimaced. ‘Wow, could we not have dreamed of better food?’

  The Queen snorted and turned her nose up. That didn’t bother Evelyn. What did bother her is how comfortable they all appeared to be in this twisted dream state.

  ‘Prince Ilie,’ she said through gritted teeth. It couldn’t hurt to be polite. ‘How long have you been here?’

  ‘Months. Maybe even a year. It’s hard to tell time in here.’

  ‘What?’ Evelyn felt her heart stop inside her chest. Months? Then she shook herself back into her senses. ‘Well if this is a dream, then I’m sorry, but I have no desire to see you in mine.’

  ‘Do whatever you wish, but if I were you, I would stay here. It’s better than what’s . . . out there.’

  ‘I’ll take my chances,’ she spat back.

  Ilie smiled sadly. ‘We’ll be waiting. Don’t worry, Princess. We have all the time in the world.’

  She clenched her fists together, closed her eyes tight and, with all her might, blasted the scene away – and along with it, the nasty inhabitants.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Samantha

  ‘SAM, DO YOU HAVE A MOMENT?’

  I look up from where I’ve daydreamed into a cup of coffee, my eyes unfocused. I frown for a moment, then remember where I am. In the store, a few minutes before closing. My normal routine is to take over from Mum so she can pick Molly up and take her to her after-school activities. If it’s quiet, I’ll use the time to catch up on homework but often I’m too busy mixing.

  ‘Oh, sure, Grandad.’ I pick up the coffee, my fingers tingling from the heat, and follow him into the library.

  ‘Don’t worry, I already asked your mother to close up,’ he says, answering my unasked question.

  My eyebrows rise in surprise as I follow him into the back, and he slips the key to the rare books section of the library from its customary hook. He heads over to the lock, hidden behind one of the library shelves. I haven’t been in the hidden library since the early hours of the Wilde Hunt.

  He beckons me to follow and, once I’m inside, he shuts the door behind us.

  ‘Take a seat,’ he says, gesturing to one of the cavernous leather armchairs in the centre of the room. The leather is so worn in places it’s faded from its original chestnut brown to golden yellow. Out of habit, I run my hands over the arms, the oils from my fingers working back some of the original colour.

  Acacia oil – to buff marks and stains out of tough leather. Also works as a perfect base for skin-healing lotions.

  The remedy pops into my head, and I make a mental note to give the chair a rub-down later.

  Grandad doesn’t sit; instead, he walks over to the bookcase and reaches up on his slippered toes at something on the highest shelf.

  ‘Let me get that for you, Grandad,’ I say. ‘At least that’s one benefit to being tall.’ I jump out of the chair and easily stretch out to reach the shelf. My fingers brush up against a hidden catch.

  ‘Pull that out,’ he says.

  I do as he instructs, and the shelf expands into a hidden screen. It pulls down until it covers two shelves-worth of books, and I step back, my mouth wide open in awe.

  ‘Ah, I’m still able to keep some secrets from you, I see,’ Grandad says with a laugh.

  ‘This is amazing!’

  ‘Well, you are a Master Alchemist now – so that means I will be letting you in on one more secret tonight. And it must remain a secret – we alchemists are very private, you know.’ He stares up at me from beneath his bushy eyebrows.

  I gulp and nod. ‘I promise.’

  ‘Good. Now sit again.’

  I sink back down into the chair, grinning with anticipation. I don’t know what secret Grandad is going to reveal next, but frankly the sight of a hidden Summons is cool enough for me. It reminds me never to take anything in this house – and in the shop especially – for granted. I eye up one of the paintings, wondering if it’s hiding a safe of ultra-rare ingredients.

  Grandad coughs loudly to get my attention back. He’s standing in front of the Summons, frowning. ‘I never quite understand how these things work,’ he grumbles. I would help him, but I don’t know what he’s trying to do. ‘Ah! There we go.’

  He steps back to reveal three faces on the Summons and the room suddenly fills with voices. Everyone is speaking on top of everyone else. And then I realise that I recognise the face in the middle: he’s looking right at me and waving.

  ‘Oh, hi, Mr Patel!’ I say with a smile, waving back. It’s my best friend Anita’s dad.

  ‘Hi, Sam,’ he says. ‘Everything okay at home?’

  I nod. But before I can say any more, Grandad claps his hands together loudly. ‘Right! Settle down, settle down, everyone.’ The voices stop as Grandad steps back and slowly sits in the chair next to me. He clasps his hands under his chin, leaning his elbows on the arms of the chair. ‘Thank you all for taking the time today. Let me introduce my granddaughter – Master Alchemist Samantha Kemi.’

  A chorus of ‘nice to meet yous’ greets me, and I am too stunned to reply with anything more articulate than a mumbled ‘thank you’.

  ‘Sam, welcome to your first Master Alchemist cabal!’ says Mr Patel. I grin back at him. Mr Patel might be the second greatest alchemist in Nova (I still gotta
give the nod to my grandad), but he brought ancient techniques from Bharat and adapted them to modern Novaen society – he wrote a textbook on it that is on Zain’s Synths and Potions curriculum.

  A blonde woman with bright pink lipstick replies in heavily accented Novaen. ‘It’s hardly a cabal, Bikram.’ She turns back to me. ‘I am Madame Charron, maître d’alchimie from Laville. Just think of us as a group of old friends.’

  ‘Each of these individuals has helped me in the past with a tricky potion – or if a mix is not coming together as I would like,’ says Grandad. ‘Madame Charron, for example—’

  ‘Eradicated a variant of fae-pox that had jumped to humans and was spreading like dragonfire,’ I finish for him. Of course I know who Madame Charron is. She’s amazing.

  The woman onscreen beams.

  ‘Your grandfather is being too modest,’ says the final alchemist. He has a shock of short white hair, a long dark moustache and friendly eyes that crease when he smiles, but it’s his high-collared white robe, edged in blue silk, that distinguishes him. He must be from Zhonguo, where they have a uniform for their alchemists. ‘Ostanes has helped us far more times than we have helped him. I am the Waidan of Long-shi.’

  I blink in surprise. These people aren’t just any Master Alchemists – they’re legends. Long-shi is the birthplace of alchemy and one of the most powerful centres for mixing in the whole world. The Waidan is the title for their Grand Master. In taking up the role, he would have shed his real name and any ties to his family, dedicating his life to the art of mixing.

  I’m surrounded by geniuses of my field.

  ‘Well, tonight, we need your help,’ Grandad tells them. He turns to me, gesturing at the screen of faces. ‘Do you want to go over the symptoms you’ve described to me? I promise you what is discussed here will remain a secret. In this case, I think we want the best minds thinking about a possible diagnosis.’

  I bite my bottom lip, trying to remember everything that Stefan told me when I was his prisoner in Gergon. ‘I’m worried that Prince Stefan has brought a strange virus to Nova. The first symptom appears to be a cough, often accompanied by a white – sort of powdery – residue. Weakness in the limbs, tiredness, also reported. But the most alarming symptom is a drain of magical ability in the Talenteds that are afflicted. I’ve been trying to research what could be behind it but I’m having no luck.’

  ‘That is very alarming!’ says Madame Charron, echoing my thoughts exactly. ‘In Pays we have heard rumours along our border with Gergon that something was very wrong inside the country, but no one has been able to go in or out.’

  Mr Patel rubs his chin. ‘I’ve heard of certain plagues that weaken a Talented person’s ability temporarily, but not one that removes it completely. Do you know if anyone has recovered their ability after the illness has passed?’

  I shake my head. ‘I . . . I’m not able to examine the afflicted, and I don’t know if anyone’s recovered.’ This is the first time I’ve found myself regretting not asking Stefan more questions about the virus when I was in Gergon. But then, I never expected it to come into Nova.

  ‘We should demand access to Gergon so we can get to the bottom of this,’ says Mr Patel. ‘Surely if we cause enough commotion they will have to let us in.’

  ‘Trust me, we have tried to contact anyone we know in Gergon. Silence. It’s as if the entire country has gone dark!’ replies Madame Charron.

  ‘Then I will do what research I can from here,’ says Mr Patel.

  ‘As will I,’ nods the Pays alchemist. ‘If this virus has been seen before, we will have record of it somewhere.’

  The Waidan says nothing, but he gazes off into the distance.

  ‘Thank you, friends – and please, use the emergency call signal if you find out anything,’ says Grandad. ‘It is imperative we get to the bottom of this.’

  ‘Yes, thank you,’ I say. My shoulders slump. I don’t know what I expected, but I hoped there would be a breakthrough.

  ‘Until next time,’ says Mr Patel.

  ‘Au revoir,’ says Madame Charron.

  They sign off, until it’s only the Waidan left on the screen. He stares right at me, his face shifting until it is dark with anger. ‘Who is affected in Nova?’ he demands.

  ‘I . . . it . . . the Princess,’ I stutter, shocked at his sudden intensity.

  ‘Is she in quarantine?’ he asks.

  ‘I don’t know. No one has heard from her.’

  ‘Then you must come to Long-shi, as soon as you can.’ He turns towards my grandad, and the anger on his face shifts to concern.

  ‘You know something?’ Grandad asks.

  ‘If this is what I think it is, then it could be the start of something very serious indeed. Even deadly. But I didn’t want to say in front of the others. It concerns an ancestor of yours . . .’

  ‘Tao Kemi.’ Grandad locks eyes with the Waidan, and a tense silence fills the air. Eventually, Grandad sighs. ‘Samantha will go.’

  ‘To Zhonguo?’ My eyes dart between the Waidan and my grandad, confused by the sudden turn of events.

  ‘Yes,’ says Grandad. ‘I would come with you if I thought my old bones could handle the journey.’

  I frown. It’s true that Grandad hasn’t been quite the same since recovering from the attack by Emilia Thoth that resulted in the loss of his memories. The doctors advised against any strenuous travel but it hadn’t mattered at the time – Grandad never travelled very far even before the incident.

  ‘You don’t have a choice,’ he continues before I can put together any sort of counter-argument. ‘You must go if you are going to figure out what is wrong with the Princess.’ He turns to the Waidan. ‘She will come out to you as soon as she can.’

  ‘I will start the preparations,’ he replies solemnly.

  The screen goes dark, and Grandad hurries to put it away.

  ‘What do you think the Waidan knows?’ I ask. ‘What does Tao Kemi have to do with this?’ Tao Kemi was the last of our family to be named Waidan of Long-shi, before his brother immigrated to Nova. He disappeared at a young age, along with his diaries, so not much is known about him.

  ‘That is what you are going to have to find out.’

  I gulp. Dragons, I’m going to Zhonguo . . . A country half a world away from Nova, beyond Pays and Runustan and Bharat – it will be the furthest place I’ve ever travelled. It’s a place I’ve always longed to visit – and I had secretly hoped that Grandad would take me one day. I force myself to take a deep breath. At least we’ll be able to stay in touch throughout the journey. Maybe I can convince someone else to come with me instead . . .

  ‘It will take a day or so to get everything in order – you’ll need a visa and a Wilds pass. Thursday morning should do it, and in light of the circumstances, you should Transport there. Much faster.’

  Thursday. Only two days away. My brain suddenly wakes up with the realisation of what I’m about to do. ‘What about school?’

  ‘You’ll miss a week, no more.’

  ‘And what about the documentary? They shot the promos today and they wanted to start shooting tomorrow . . .’

  ‘They’ll live. They can film it when we get back.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Samantha Kemi, you are a Master Alchemist now and if your hunch is true, then the Princess could be in grave danger. This documentary is about you – it can fit around your schedule. Now, let me go prepare.’ He swings open the bookcase leading to the main library, and I’m left alone with the rare books and my thoughts.

  Then, I can’t help but smile. Even though this has all happened so quickly, the sooner I get to Zhonguo and find out what’s going on, the sooner I can work on a potion to cure it.

  I pull my phone out of my pocket and scroll through the messages I’ve sent to Evelyn, all getting increasingly more desperate. Just one word from you, Evie. Just let me know you’re okay.

  Still, I’m not giving up.

  I’m going away for a few days, I write to he
r. Stay safe for just a little while longer.

  One week. The trip is only a week.

  And when I’m back, I hope I’ll know exactly what is wrong with the Princess.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Princess Evelyn

  TO HER RELIEF, WHEN SHE OPENED HER eyes, everyone was gone, replaced by a serene space in tones of white and blue.

  If she hadn’t been convinced before, she was now.

  A dream, then.

  She relaxed. Well, a dream was okay. That meant that soon she would wake up and all would be different.

  As always in her dreams, her mind turned to her friend and bodyguard, Katrina. But no longer were those gentle thoughts of wonder, or excited sparks of desire. Now she felt supreme guilt. Especially at the memory of their last conversation – the day after the wedding.

  ‘You’re . . . you’re married?’

  Evelyn could see the look of devastation on Katrina’s face as clear as if she was standing in front of her. Then she realised she was looking at her – an almost-perfect vision conjured up by the dream world. The same tall, strong body – honed by her bodyguard training – clad in the sleek navy suit that was her uniform. Her bright copper hair was in wild waves around her shoulders, free from its regulation braid. The only thing that threatened the illusion was that she kept flickering in and out of existence like those old-time ordinary television shows.

  Then she saw a vision of herself standing opposite Katrina. She still hated the sight of herself – it reminded her of the time she had accidentally taken that love potion. She’d spent a couple of weeks head over heels in love with her own reflection – and now she couldn’t stand to look in mirrors.

  ‘I didn’t have a choice,’ vision-Evelyn explained. ‘You saw me, Trina! I was out of control! I had to marry someone or else my power was going to destroy me. The Prince is as good a choice as any, and he wanted to marry me now.’

  ‘I wanted to marry you, too.’

  ‘Don’t make this harder than it already is. Marrying you was not an option. It was never an option. You’re ordinary.’