Madly (12 page)

Chapter Twenty-Three

Samantha

I KEEP MY TORCH TRAINED on Kirsty's back as we run. The last thing I want to do is flash it at the jungle darkness and see some huge spider staring back at me—or the glowing eyes of a carnivorous jungle cat.

More worrying, though, is that it's getting lighter, even as the smoke is getting thicker and heavier. The light seems to be coming in bursts from between the trees.

Suddenly one of those bursts is right in front of us, a python of orange and yellow flame writhing through the foliage. I can't help myself: I scream. Loudly.

The flames stop, cut off abruptly, just as Kirsty and I freeze. Then a woman's voice whispers a word, and a spray of blue light bursts all around us. The lights drift to the ground, illuminating the surrounding trees.

The spots take a minute to clear from my vision as my eyes adjust to the new light.

Kirsty adjusts faster than I do.

“Emilia.”

“Miss Donovan, good to see you.”

My vision clears. I see Emilia, her long gray dress and cape replaced by a sleek gray jumpsuit. She no longer looks like a burned-out alchemist, but more like a fierce Finder. I turn to Kirsty. “You know her?”

It's Emilia who answers. “Finding is such a small world, isn't it? Of course I know the famous Kirsty Donovan, independent Finder to Nova's once most prominent alchemists. She's a dying breed. When I wanted to learn how to find, I knew I had to learn from the best. The man who trained Kirsty trained me as well.”

“Before you murdered him.” Kirsty spits on the ground, which sizzles. “How did you find us here?”

“You might know how to cover your tracks, but that other team isn't so clever. I've been tracking them since they left Kingstown—although it was only when they picked up you two that they really became interesting. Now I can finish two teams in one—I do love being efficient. I mean, who knew those mild-mannered Patels were hiding a patch of pink jasmine up their sleeves. It seems like such a shame to have had to destroy it all.”

Her formerly straggly hair is tied up into a sleek ponytail, and on her back is a terrifying-looking flamethrower. All around her, soot is falling like some kind of perverse snow.

“It's not fair!” I cry, unable to help myself. All I can think of is the jasmine and our chances both going up in smoke.

“Nothing is fair in life or a Wilde Hunt, honey.” Emilia steps toward me, but Kirsty is one step ahead.

“Don't come any closer! I have salamander dust and I'm not afraid to use it.”

I shudder. Salamander dust—a nasty compound that burns eyes and skin, causing insatiable itching.

Emilia stops in her tracks. “This is your warning, Kemi. Today I destroy the ingredient. Stay on this hunt and I might not be so lenient with you next time.” She pulls out a glass vial from her belt and throws it down in front of us.

Kirsty pushes me as thick smoke fills the air.

I fall to the ground, the heat of it burning my knees. There's a rush of sound through the forest and I almost expect it to be Emilia, back to gloat some more. But then the smoke clears and there's a sharp inhale of breath from someone surprised, shocked, at the scene in front of us: Anita. And an anguished howl from the next person to arrive: Vijay.

Emilia is gone.

A stream of Bharatan words spill from Vijay's mouth. It doesn't take a linguist to figure out what he's saying.

Anita sinks to her knees next to me. She buries her hands into the ash, swirling it around, as if she's searching for something.

“Well, she's really set us back now,” says Kirsty.

“Wait, you're still planning to continue after that?” Anita asks. “She's not going to give up.”

“And neither are we.” Kirsty pulls anxiously at the end of her braid. She notices me noticing, then whips it around her shoulders. “Come on, Sam.” She storms past us and heads back toward the village. I scramble after her.

“Can we track down more pink jasmine?”

“No. We're running out of time. We'll have to settle for golden. Source it somewhere else. It's the easiest ingredient on your list. We haven't been careful enough. This is a Wilde Hunt we're talking about here and we've committed the worst crime: underestimating our opponents.”

Back in the village, Kirsty heads right up to a shack with a motorbike outside. She knocks, and talks to the man who opens the door, gesturing at the bike. They exchange heated words and there's a lot of gesticulating, but they come to some kind of agreement. Kirsty stands the bike up. “Grab your stuff,” she says to me. “We have to go now.”

“But what about Anita? And Arjun?”

“Look, only one team can win the hunt.”

I'm momentarily stunned. “But they told us about the pink jasmine.”

“And you told them about the ivy. You're even.”

“What if we split up, like you suggested . . .”

“That was a possibility before, but the stakes have just been upped. Who knows how many of the other Participants Emilia has stopped already.”

I'm about to protest again, but Kirsty continues. “Sam, they're slowing us down. We should have gone straight for the pink jasmine tonight. Emilia told us she traced us here because of them. Now I do know where to find eluvian ivy, so let's go.”

“But eluvian ivy might not be an ingredient. It's just a theory!”

Kirsty holds me square by the shoulders. She stares me straight in the eye. “It's your theory, and that's good enough for me. If your instincts aren't right about this, then we're out of the hunt anyway. I trust you.”

Her blind faith in me makes me proud and nervous all at once. But the more I think about it, the more the ingredients make sense—merpearl, jasmine, eluvian ivy, abominable hair. There's something else that I can't quite put my finger on, but those ingredients seem to fit in my brain, the jigsaw coming together. I can sense how they would mesh together to form the love potion, how each ingredient brings out a different quality in another. And more than that, I can visualize the mix, and my fingers itch to get started. I feel like I'm right, and Kirsty thinks so too. She nods, a slight smile on her face, and walks past me, back to Vijay's house, where she
ignores the questioning faces of the family and grabs my backpack.

I want this. I want to win this hunt. We knew an alliance couldn't go on forever, that at one point we would have to separate—whether it was now or further down the line. So does it really make a difference when? And together we seem to have no luck whatsoever . . .

Arjun and Anita break out of the jungle as we're loading up the bike, the biggest backpack in between Kirsty's legs, the other on my back.

“Sam?” Arjun loads my name with accusation; he's already guessed what's happening.

“Where are you going?” Anita says. “I—”

Arjun stretches out an arm to stop her, to cut off whatever she's about to say. “They're leaving,” he says, matter-of-factly. “Let her go.”

“I . . . I'm sorry, guys. Kirsty—”

Now it's me he cuts off. “You're the Kemi, you don't have to do what she says. We're stronger together. I thought we said that if one of us wins it, that's better than some synth. And now we have an even bigger reason. We know that Emilia is trying to sabotage us. If we work together . . .”

I make a decision, throwing my legs over the back of the motorcycle. “There's no time. And we'll be safer apart. Emilia can't catch both teams at once.”

It hurts seeing the angry look on Arjun's face, and
even more the wounded one on Anita's. “Wait,” she says, dropping whatever it is she's been holding in her hands and running toward me. At that moment Kirsty fires the engine and pulls away. Anita yells out again, over the roar of the bike, and she reaches us in time to throw herself at my back, but then we start to gain speed and pull away from her. I look back over my shoulder to see her on her knees, with Arjun rushing over to help her, and a deep pit of guilt fills and overflows in my stomach.

When we stop to fill up with petrol, I pull the backpack off my back. There, imprinted on it like a slap, are Anita's handprints, blackened by soot and soil, staring at me in accusation.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Princess Evelyn

AH, NOW THIS WAS BETTER.

She had finally, finally been allowed in a room alone with the beautiful Lyn. In fact, everywhere she looked, she could see her, reflected again and again in beautiful mirrored glass. It was what she had asked for. “Take us to the dressing room,” she had told Renel. “So I can show her my beautiful clothes.” But it hadn't been because of the clothes that she wanted to take Lyn there. It was because of the mirrors. That way she could see Lyn reflected in 360-degree glory.

She felt emboldened, now that they were alone. She reached out her hand to touch Lyn, and Lyn did the same. But a barrier, a little spark of electricity, kept them a hair's breadth away from each other.

Lyn blushed. She actually blushed at the thought of a single touch.

She was so modest. And even more beautiful for it.

Eve wondered if this is what it had been like in older times, when a mere glance could have been deemed inappropriate. She had laughed when she was told that men once swooned over the sight of a bare ankle. That women would faint over a lingering glance.

Now she thought there might be something to that. An exquisite agony that could be ignited by the smallest thing.

She wanted to try something. She held up her palm and looked at it. Just a palm. Nothing aggressive, nothing offensive. Then she offered it to Lyn. Lyn reciprocated. But as they got closer and closer, it was as if a magnet held them at a tiny distance apart. She could feel Lyn's hand, but not in the physical sense . . . She could feel the chemistry between them, so solid, like a wall. She could push against it, but she still didn't get closer to Lyn's palm. It sent shivers running up and down her spine, it made her blood run cold and then searing hot again. Could you really be in love with someone you had never been able to touch?

Yes, absolutely yes.

She withdrew her hand and placed it demurely back in her lap.

When she had nothing, what she wouldn't do for a glimpse of Lyn's ankle.

A touch of her palm.

A glance from her eyes.

That, she could have. She looked up, and yes—there it was.

There was a knock at the door, and Renel entered. Eve looked at him coolly. “I told you I did not want to be interrupted.”

“I know, my Princess—”

“How dare you disobey me? After what happened last time?”

“I know—”

“Are you still interrupting me? Leave, you horrid man!”

But he did not.

Eve felt an anger building inside her, and she could see fear rise in Renel's face. Good! Let him feel fear! He should fear her wrath. He should obey her. She would not appear weak in front of Lyn.

The mirror behind Renel's head cracked, and with it one of the reflected images of Lyn. “Look what you have done!” Eve shrieked.

Renel did not turn and leave as she expected, but instead ran toward her. “Evelyn, you must calm down.”

“Get off me! What are you doing?” He had her by the shoulders, and it hurt.

“You're losing control!”

“I am not! You're the one doing this!”

The mirrors all around the room kept on breaking, a million shards falling onto the floor, raining glass and
silver onto the stone pavings. Searing heat coursed through her body, sending waves of power through her fingertips. Did Lyn like this display? she wondered. Was she impressed?

Maybe she could do more.

She gathered the sense of heat in her palms. One clap of her hands and she could send earthquakes cracking through the floors, she could break the barriers that sepa­rated her and Lyn. But then Renel covered her mouth with a cloth, and she swooned. The last thing she did was stare into Lyn's eyes and think,
I love you
.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Samantha

WE RIDE FOR ALMOST FOUR hours
straight,
pulling up eventually at a decrepit-looking hotel on the outskirts of a small village. We have been heading steadily north, according to Kirsty, and the air around us is definitely colder by a few degrees. Kirsty bangs on the door until a sleepy-looking man opens up. He reluctantly agrees to rent us a room, but when he shows it to us I get the distinct impression no one has stayed there for years. Decades maybe. There are huge cobwebs everywhere—but then the spiders in Bharat are probably big enough to spin webs that size every night without breaking a sweat. It sends an involuntary shiver down my spine.

But hey, at least the Wi-Fi works.

Once I'm online, I call my parents to fill them in on the news. Kirsty reminds me not to mention any details of where we are. I also decide to leave out the part about Emilia, but it turns out we aren't the only team to have
had trouble. Kirsty and I haven't had a chance to catch up on the casts yet, so Dad fills me in.

“Everyone knows you're back in now—a girl posted a picture of you at the airport on TalentChat. Then there were cameras in Bharat following Anita and Arjun and they spotted you leaving the airport and getting into their car—although they couldn't get good shots of your faces. But they lost you thanks to some pretty crazy driving. I thought Kirsty was supposed to be keeping you safe?”

My stomach drops. So Kirsty had been right. The media had been trailing Anita and Arjun. That meant it wouldn't have been too difficult for Emilia to find us. “What are they saying about me?”

“They say you're . . . flying under the radar at the moment.”

“So they think I don't have a hope.” The thought fills me with disappointment, even though I know it shouldn't. Kirsty would say it's a good thing. And if Emilia is coming after us herself, then she thinks we're a threat. That gives me a strange sense of satisfaction.

“What about the other teams?” I ask.

“Two of the Participants have dropped out,” says Dad. “Not ZA,” he adds, anticipating my next question. “Their stashes of merpearl powder were stolen in separate raids. One of the alchemists was the CEO of a small synth firm just starting out, and their lab burned down. Arson, apparently.”

“That's beginning to seem like Emilia's signature,” I mumble.

“What was that?” Concern appears on my mum's face. “Did Emilia do something to you? That's the rumor, but no one has found any evidence yet to point to her.”

“No, Mum, I'm okay,” I say, hating myself for every lie.

“The CEO is trying to claim compensation from the royals, being really vocal about it, but apparently it's in the risks of the hunt.”

“All I can say is thank goodness you and the Patels can look out for one another,” says Mum. “Maybe it's best if you come back . . .”

“I can't, Mum.” My voice breaks as I relay why we've split from Arjun and Anita, and niggling doubt begins to gnaw at the back of my mind.

Mum clearly disapproves but is trying hard to let me figure out how to resolve my mistakes by myself. The overwhelming desire for them to be with me, here, in Bharat, hits me so strongly I don't have time to stop the tears. Mum's face is immediately concerned again. I wipe the tears away hastily. “Any news on the princess?” I ask, breaking the silence.

“No, but they're not letting the press near her. There was a freak lightning storm last night, which they think might have come from her. There's even talk about evacuating some of old Kingstown,” says Mum.

“Sounds dangerous. Now it's your turn to be careful,” I say.

“You concentrate on you. What's your plan now?” says Dad.

“Tomorrow we're going to head out to find the eluvian ivy.”

“We'll be in and out of the jungle in an hour, tops,” says Kirsty from the other end of the bed, where she is studying some maps.

Suddenly there's a loud pounding on our door. Kirsty jumps up to open it. I can see Mum and Dad craning their necks, as if that would help them see beyond the confines of the screen. “Okay, Mum, Dad, gotta go—talk as soon as we have the luvy.” Kirsty turns back to grin at me; I'm even speaking like a Finder now, using their slang for eluvian ivy.

I blow some air kisses their way, which they return, and then snap the lid of my laptop shut.

I raise an eyebrow at Kirsty, who shrugs and opens the door.

It's a man—another guest, it looks like. His face is red and puffy with sweat and exertion. “Are you the Kemi team?” He whips out a notebook, and that's when it dawns on us both: He's a journalist.

“Get out of here,” Kirsty says, and slams the door shut.

He knocks again, but we ignore it.

“How did he find us?” I ask.

Kirsty waves her hands frantically. “I have no idea.”

His knocking becomes more urgent.

“Go away!” shouts Kirsty.

“Please!” says the man through the door. “I swear I didn't track you here—this is just luck. My media team was ambushed outside the jungle by that crazy exiled woman. She took everything: my money, my equipment, my ID . . .”

“Not our problem!”

“She knocked me out, and when I woke up I was all alone. Luckily she didn't find my van or else I would have been trapped, but I've run out of petrol . . .”

“Still not our problem!”

“Please. Have you heard what they're saying about you on the casts? They're calling you weak. They're trying to discredit you. I can tell your story.”

Kirsty and I exchange a look. “He's got a point,” she says. “Better to have someone on our side. We need to take control of this media circus before it takes over us. Who do you work for?” she says, more loudly so that the journo can hear.

“The
Novaen Times
.”

“Talented or ordinary?”

“Ordinary!”

Kirsty opens the door again. “Fine. Look, we're running from an Emilia attack too. We're still in the hunt.”

He looks relieved that he's managed to get some kind
of statement, and now that he's calmed down, I can see that he's a lot younger than I thought he was. If he wasn't breathing like he'd run a marathon, he might even be attractive.

“Now that you've got your quote, how about a beer? Off the record, of course,” says Kirsty, who sounds like she's just come to the same conclusion I did.

“Sounds like a plan.”

“Sam, you coming downstairs?”

I shake my head. “I'm going to hit the hay . . . or the cobwebs, as it were.”

“No problem.” Kirsty shuts the door behind her, taking the journalist far away. Thankfully.

As I flick off the light and am about to jump into bed, my phone goes off, the vibrations bringing scraps of paint from the ceiling down onto my head. I snatch it from the bedside table, but don't recognize the number of the text. Fear shoots through me as I wonder if the media have found my private number, but it's not a journo.

It's Zain.

Hey,
reads the text.

My heart beats rapidly even as I read that one little word—and I'm appalled by my incredibly pathetic emotional response, even if I can't seem to control it or stop it.

I'm running through the best way to reply when it buzzes again.

Are you in Bharat? I saw you on a cast, you were in the airport. Sorry for taking you off Connect. My dad found out and threw a bit of a fit.

Now the excited butterflies turn a little sour. Is he just texting me to find out where I am? And to tell me his dad hates me (not that that's a surprise)?

I haven't even typed anything, and the phone goes off one more time.

Oh god, that came out wrong. My dad is threatened by you. Actually so am I, but not for the reasons you think. Do you hate me now?

I can't help but laugh. Not only because it's like Zain has a window into my brain, but because he actually seems nervous. His bumbling texts seem more like something I would write.

I finally write a reply.

Don't hate you. I'll show your dad in the end.

A few seconds later, it buzzes.

Don't doubt it for a second.

I fall asleep, dreaming of boys with jet-black hair and bright blue eyes.