The Potion Diaries (14 page)

It should have been simple to find someone to marry her and to wear the crown. She’d known her whole life that one day the magic would become too much for her, and she needed to find someone to share the burden with. Her parents wouldn’t let her forget it. And when she turned sixteen they had started an audition process. Over a thousand young men had signed up to try out for the part of her future husband. The media went into a frenzy over the process.
Crown
magazine even ran a weekly ‘Hot or Not’ chart, ranking the latest suitors.

She entertained the idea because it felt like a silly game, right up until the magic overwhelmed her for the first time. She had a glimpse of what it would be like to lose control completely. Suddenly, the pressure felt real, intense, like she was trapped in an hourglass and the sand was quickly rising.

That was why it had to be Zain.

He was her best friend. She’d believed, foolishly, that he was her only option. She’d even asked him, once. They’d been seventeen and sitting between the turrets of the Western Tower, a wing her mother hated because no matter how many rugs they hung on the walls or magical heaters they fired up, draughts seemed to find their way through every crevice and set the china tinkling in their cabinets. Evelyn and Zain loved it though – the wind seemed to chase them into hidden parts of the castle, blowing open secret doorways behind tapestries and whistling up cobweb-covered stairwells. They’d found a staircase that led up to the very top of the Palace’s tower, and they could look down on the entire city of Kingstown.

Sometimes she wished she could join the world below, like Zain could. He would tell her stories of his life at normal school, although she often wished he’d attend the elite academy that she did. She respected his decision not to let his high Talented status offer him too many privileges. She used to tease him for being obsessed with history. Zain had the inside track to synth superstardom, but still he insisted on studying the old alchemical ways – and mostly behind his father’s back. That was another reason she and Zain explored the old wing of the castle. Zain wanted to see if there were any old books or grimoires hidden around, something that would give him an advantage that had nothing to do with his father.

She’d indulged him. She supposed that’s why she’d thought she’d fallen in love with him – because he was her only friend, and she had been desperate not to lose him. Now that she’d met Lyn, of course, she knew that had been a false assumption. She hadn’t loved Zain; she’d feared that getting married to someone else would mean spending a lifetime with someone she couldn’t stand. At least she knew she liked Zain.

Up on those turrets, her head leaning against the stone wall – warm still, from the sun – she’d worked up the courage to ask him. ‘Would you do it if I asked you?’

‘Do what?’

‘Marry me.’

He’d laughed, and at the time she’d found it cruel. ‘Some guy’s gonna sweep you off your feet and you’re going to forget all about me.’

‘What if that doesn’t happen?’

He must’ve sensed something in her tone of voice, because he grabbed her hand. ‘Hey, chill. I just mean it’ll never get to that point. You won’t ever ask me because you’ll have a million guys who want to say yes . . .’ He stared at her, his brow furrowed. ‘And because you know I don’t.’

Her heart had stopped at that moment, even though she’d known the answer all along. He already bore the weight of a hundred obligations to his father; she couldn’t force him into a marriage he didn’t want on top of that. The whole point was that the suitors had a choice.

She didn’t.

Marry or be married off.
But this was the twenty-first century
, she’d thought angrily. That’s why she created the love potion. She’d wanted to take destiny back into her own hands.

It seemed that destiny had other plans.

She stood up from the table and walked to the window. She could see Lyn just there, on the other side of the glass. She beckoned her over, but she simply beckoned back. Eve stomped her foot. She wished the other girl would stop being so stubborn and join her for dinner.

It was then that Renel entered. He was carrying a blanket, her favourite, made of the softest fleece and piped in silk. ‘Come, Evelyn. You’ve been in here for hours. You must be cold,’ he said.

She
was
cold. Her fingernails were tinged with blue and goosebumps flecked her forearms. Maybe this was why Lyn was not responding to her. Maybe she was repulsed by her? ‘Yes, quick Renel, please bring the blanket. In fact, why have you let me get so cold, you foolish man? Should you not have seen my discomfort before?’

Renel allowed his normal, restrained pose to slip and replaced it with a relieved smile. For some reason, this made Eve even angrier. ‘Are you sure you gave the invitation to Lyn? Why is she waiting outside?’

‘I . . . I don’t know, your Highness.’

‘And bring me a salve, man. Look what I have done to myself.’ She held up her hands, which were now bleeding more freely. ‘I barely have the strength to heal myself. I feel like I’ve had no food or water for days. Maybe we can entice Lyn in with delicious food. Bring it out now.’

‘At once, my lady,’ said Renel, resuming his neutral expression. He clicked his fingers and immediately a carafe of wine and a vast array of glistening fruit appeared on the table. Then he strode forward and made to place the blanket around her shoulders.

And as he did so, he stepped right in front of the window. Eve screamed and threw the blanket back in Renel’s face. ‘How dare you block my view of Lyn! You rude, disgusting man. Have you learned nothing from your time here, you baseless, classless slave? MOVE, you fool!’ Still he blocked her precious view, and so she willed a glass to her hand to prove to him she meant business. She directed the glass at his head with all the force she could muster. He ducked and the glass shattered onto the wall behind him. In the moment she caught a glimpse of Lyn again, and saw the distress on her face. She rushed towards her, pushing Renel to the ground in her haste. She clutched the window separating her from her precious love, and was relieved that Lyn had finally decided to join her. Eve reached out to touch her through the glass, and Lyn copied her movements, echoing her.

Eve closed her eyes so as not to show to Lyn the extent of her sadness. Still, she couldn’t help the tears that welled up despite her efforts. ‘I am so sorry, Lyn, dear. I would never have expected Renel to do such a thing. I thought I could trust him. I will not be making that mistake again. I could never bear to be separated from you.’

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Samantha

Z
AIN COULD HEAD TO ONE OF THE transport links to get to the ZA headquarters, but he opts to take the tram with me. It galls me that
I,
the poor ordinary one, have to pay for the rich Talented’s tram fare because he hasn’t the sense to carry any cash with him and he can’t buy a single ticket with his fancy credit card.

We change three times to get across town to the heart of the science district. In contrast to the ancient stone buildings on Kingstown Hill, glass and metal skyscrapers dominate the landscape here, their sharp, shard-like silhouettes glittering in the sunlight. Most of the major synth companies have their laboratories in this district, each competing for the tallest tower or the most impressive architecture, but none of them manage to compare to ZA. If the other buildings are huge, ZA’s headquarters are immense, dominated by a massive Z balanced precariously on the roof by magic. The Z is said to house Zol’s office, and I wonder briefly what it must be like to have an office bigger than most ordinary people’s houses.

Zantium – to reduce ego, maintain normal worldview, for empathy.

Thinking of the cure makes me giggle – the letter Z and lack of ego aren’t two things that normally go together – and Zain looks over, one eyebrow raised. I shrug and turn back to the view.

The tram takes us straight into the building, and there are a few people in lab coats milling around, maybe on their lunch break. The workers on the tram must be ordinary, or else why would they be taking public transport? I want to ask Zain how many ordinary folk the company hires, but I also don’t want to appear too keen.

We step off the tram and onto a platform that is so squeaky clean I almost have to shield my eyes from the brightness. My eyes dart to a man in a dark green jumpsuit, pushing along a machine that is buffing the surface. So there’s one source of employment for an ordinary, then.

Zain uses his wand to open the door to the entrance. I wonder if it bothers him that his object is a wand. Wands are the most common object, and known for being unsubtle. Aggressive. A basic object for someone with such high Talented blood. His father’s object is a stone ring. In the casts he’s always wearing it around his neck rather than on his finger.

I once read about this experiment ZA had done to swap natural wands for synthetic ones, made of some kind of plastic. It hadn’t worked – something about the magic only being conducted through organic substances, like wood. The fact still fills me with glee, and a hint of sadness – if only it was the same for potions, then the Kemi family might be as successful as ZA.

‘So, is this like the son-of-the-CEO’s entrance?’

Zain grimaces at me. ‘It’s like the unpaid intern entrance.’

My mouth forms an ‘O’ of surprise, but then the door opens and saves me from having to say anything else.

Even for an intern entrance, it’s impressive. The ZA logo shines out everywhere in a mix of glass and polished stainless steel. Zain heads straight towards a lift, so I follow him. In the warped reflection I catch a glimpse of myself, hair still up in a ragged bun, scruffy work clothes covered in a layer of grime. My breath catches as it dawns on me that some people would pay a fortune for the privilege of seeing what I’m about to – and I’m waltzing in with the owner’s son like it’s no big deal.

The lift travels down, not up, and I sense that the lab is bigger – much bigger – than I’d imagined. It beeps at us, thanking Zain for travelling by name, which weirds me out. ‘This is the R&D level,’ he says. ‘Thought you’d be most interested in this area.’

I am, but I tell myself that’s not that hard to guess. If Kemi’s Potion Shop had any new customers, I would spend as much time researching new cures as I do mixing prescriptions for existing customers. My diary is as close as I get – my personal grimoire of formulas and mixes – annotated based on my experience with each ingredient.

I glance back at Zain, and he’s typing away on the little tablet I saw him using at the store earlier. That’s the rich person’s version of my tatty journal. I’m not envious at all.

We’re on some kind of walkway above the labs, but with full, almost 360-degree views of the workstations. I’m glad I’m wearing jeans. I think if I were one of the scientists down there I’d be a little unnerved to see a bunch of interns looking down on my work, but then the glass is probably glamoured to hide any spectators.

One of the scientists has a series of glass jars lined up in front of him, each one carefully labelled. He places them one at a time into a machine, which I assume is some kind of centrifuge. I squint through the glass, trying to read the tiny writing on the labels and figure out what he is making . . .

Zain’s hand on my back makes my muscles freeze.

‘Have you thought about applying?’

I scuttle sideways along the walkway, separating his hand from my back. ‘Applying for what?’

He frowns at me. ‘For an internship. Here.’

‘No,’ I scoff. ‘As if my parents would allow me . . .’

‘Have you asked them?’

‘What’s the point?’

‘But you’re the real deal.’ He pauses for a second. ‘In fact, you’re the best I’ve ever known at mixing.’

Now it’s my turn to frown. ‘And how would you know? The only time we’ve ever really talked was during that potions fair in high school. And I intentionally failed that.’

Zain looks up and down the corridor. ‘I told you, I came by your classroom before the potions fair and saw your study aid cure. But there’s something else. I took some of it. To be honest, I don’t think I would’ve got through finals without it.’