Madly (14 page)

I think I hear the luvy scream. Except, it's not a scream, it's a screech of vines unraveling themselves from around me. The leaves expel this slippery substance, an oil, which makes the vines slick—too slick to
grab hold of, too slick to keep hold of me. It hates me; it wants me out. It's wounded and I'm the cause.

And now I'm falling. The effort of keeping the luvy flower in my mouth works to keep me ridiculously calm, considering the circumstances. Why did I think I could go up there, with only a rope around my ankle for safety? At this rate, if the rope catches, my leg will likely be yanked from its socket before it saves me. That's going to be fun.

The canopy rushes past me, a reversal from a few moments earlier, as if I'm rewinding my life. Leaves, twigs, branches batter the back of my head, my back, but the luvy flower remains in my teeth as I try hard to resist the urge to swallow.

Maybe this is what death is like. My life flashing before me in reverse.

My muscles relax. I feel content with my decision.

Then there are no longer leaves beneath me, just open air. I'm through the canopy and now, with no resistance, I'm falling faster. Finally, I feel fear. My heart stops beating, literally.

There's a painful moment. I smack against a slightly flexible material and bounce. There's screaming around me, loud shouts. I bounce again, starting to roll off what I now realize is a net. I see Kirsty gesturing frantically at Dan, trying to lift the net up to capture me, but it's too late. I'm almost off the edge. But I reach out with a hand,
making frantic grabbing gestures until I catch one of the holes in the net. The rest of my body is flung over the side, and my wrist sears with pain as the rope burns it. But it holds. I'm there, dangling. I'm alive, still terrifyingly high above the forest floor.

The net dips again as Kirsty scrambles over. She throws down a rope to me. “Clip this to your belt.”

I do exactly as she says. Once I've safely clipped the carabiner onto my waist, she nods grimly, then pulls me up onto the relative safety of the netting. On the other side, I can see Dan, his face white with shock and his forehead damp. Kirsty rolls her eyes at him. “I told him to keep the net slack, not pull it taut, useless idiot.” Then, she pulls me into a huge hug. “You're a crazy girl, you know that?”

I don't answer. She pats me on the back, then gestures across the net and toward the tree trunk. From there, we are able to rappel down the trunk and back to the rainforest floor.

I almost fall to my knees and kiss the ground. I've never been so happy to see it.

“Well,” Kirsty says. “I don't know about you, but at least I managed to grab at some luvy while you were being sucked away.” She holds out three strands of the evil substance. “It's not much, but it should be enough for the potion. I can't believe it . . . all that work, and that's all we come away with.”

I take her hand and hold it palm upward. Then I open
my mouth. Out drops the luvy flower, glistening with my saliva.

Both Dan and Kirsty stare at it, their mouths dropping open too.

Then Kirsty pulls me into another massive hug. “Sam, you're a genius.”

I finally allow myself to grin, before my body gives up and collapses onto the forest floor.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Samantha

KIRSTY AND DAN TAKE TURNS driving the van, and it's late evening by the time we check ourselves into the most extravagant hotel Kirsty can find in Loga, with views overlooking the Red Palace. It's so luxurious it even has its own transport lift from the lobby to the penthouse suites. The best thing, though, is that they've got a separate entrance so we can avoid running into the paparazzi—and avoid alerting Emilia to our location.

I gaze up at the intricate gold filigree that covers the ceiling, sparkling against cold white marble. In a way, it reminds me of the luvy, but from this distance I can admire it rather than fear it. Any closer and I might change my mind.

Kirsty is closing the transaction on the sale of the luvy flower. She sold it through one of her rare goods agents, not having the contacts herself to find the right buyer for such
an ingredient. The amount we get is enough to pay for the next leg of our journey, this hotel room—an extravagance that Kirsty insists upon—and still have some left over.

Dan writes up my experience in the jungle and posts it on the
Novaen Times
blog as “The Hunt Heats Up for Sam Kemi.” Kirsty ensures he obscures any references to the actual ingredients and our location, in case any of the other Participants read it.

Because of the time difference, it hits Nova just as the morning news is breaking. And then it's like the internet explodes before our eyes. Before I know it, the blog has received thousands of hits and shares on Connect, TalentChat, and every other social media on the planet. My in-box is flooded with email.

Almost instantly, articles are posted in response, some calling me a hero for risking my life to save the princess, others claiming that I'm just in it for the free publicity for the store and I have no hope against the likes of the superior ZA Corp. Obviously the hunt is even bigger news than we realized. I can't stop scrolling through my phone to read all the messages, which thrill and sicken me in equal measure.

In the end, Kirsty has to confiscate my phone and laptop just to make sure I get a good night's rest.

The next morning, refreshed after a night in one of the comfiest beds ever, I deliberately avoid the internet except to send an email to my dad saying that we'll pay
for him to come here. He's bringing along several key pieces of equipment and ingredients so I can start mixing the potion. And, after all that I've been through, a hug from my dad wouldn't go amiss.

To get here quickly enough, he's going to have to transport. At first, he balks at the suggestion. He's never transported before, and this is the longest distance he could possibly make. He suggests flying instead, but we don't have the time.

Finally, I convince him. We can pay for the very best Talented porters in Loga to pull him through, along with all the safeguards money can buy, so there's no chance of him falling. I watch through the screen as he steps into the Summons. It's a pretty incredible thing to see, and I'm so proud of my dad. He barely flinches throughout the journey, even though the world must be flying past him at unprecedented speeds.

Only fifteen minutes later he's with us in the hotel lobby. When he lands, I rush forward and throw my arms around him. He squeezes me tightly back.

We opt for the stairs; my dad doesn't feel like porting even a few floors up after his journey. When we reach the hotel room door, I finally feel myself relax.

The door opens out into our suite. I spy Kirsty's ponytail draped over the arm of the sofa. She's completely conked out. Still asleep. I smile. I don't think she's really slept for ages, especially not since my narrow escape with the luvy, and I'm glad that for a little while, she can get
some rest. Plus, for where we're going next, she's going to need all the energy she can get.

And there's the fact I get to have my dad to myself for a little moment longer.

I put my finger to my lips and point at Kirsty. Dad nods, picking up the bag again, and I direct him into the office room (yeah, this hotel room is so big it has its own office), which we've completely checked over for bugs. Dan made us paranoid about that—after he logged onto his email and saw that yet another team had dropped out because of Emilia's interference, we realized we couldn't take any risks.

In the office, the luvy rests inside a wicker basket, the wood keeping it contained. Even looking at it turns my stomach, as if it might multiply under my gaze until it's big enough to consume me again. Kirsty assures me there is no way it can get to me in the other rooms, and I'm grateful that she doesn't make fun of me for thinking that a mere clipping might morph into the monstrous plant we encountered in the jungle.

Dad unpacks his bag, carefully removing each piece of equipment. There is a small ceramic pot, a portable heater, a mortar and pestle, the glass jar filled with merpearl. The last item is a bulbous jar filled with a dusky-pink liquid: the patented Kemi rosewater potion base.

“So, what's first?” Dad asks, once he's finished laying everything out.

I let out a short, sharp breath. This is the real deal. Not
apprentice level. This is alchemy master level stuff. “This kind of fresh luvy can't be left out for too long, or else it will dry up.” I think of the vial of synthetic luvy powder I have. Another reason why synths gained promi­nence: The powders aren't nearly so temperamental. “You have to mix it into a paste first.”

Luvy is best mixed with rosewater. But how will that apply to a love potion? How can I draw out the secure, safe, comforting aspects of love, which the eluvian ivy feeds on, and use it in this potion? I feel sure that it is a key ingredient, but something is missing. I open my diary up, laying it flat to the love potion page.

“To make the paste I'll mix it with the rosewater base and then add the pearl,” I continue. “I think some people might save the pearl until the end, but if we do it this way around, the luvy will have the chance to absorb some of the beauty from the Aphroditas pearl. They will enhance each other.”

“Trust your instincts, sweetheart.”

A small smile appears on my face, but then my brow furrows. I remove the stopper from the jar containing the pearl and pour a little of the fine powder into the bottom of the mortar. I then eye the wicker basket and swallow. “Dad? Do you think you could cut the luvy up for me? It needs to be in about inch-long strips, just to release the oils. But I don't want to touch it.”

Dad doesn't know the details of what happened in
the jungle—but even on video chat my parents could see the scratches on my face, neck, and arms from where the vines had gripped my bare skin. And the fact that I had a luvy flower can only mean I put myself in danger. He knows better than to ask me about it now, but I'm sure that when the hunt is over, I will hear a proper lecture about managing my risk . . .

While I mash tiny drops of rosewater into the pearl with the pestle, Dad cuts up the luvy, dropping the strips into my mixture one by one. As he adds the luvy, more and more of it takes up the color of the pearl, softening into a gentle pink-white. I grind and grind, encouraging the ingredients to form a thick paste.

When the paste is ready, I scoop it out of the mortar and scrape it into a glass jar. I then seal down the lid and hand it to my dad.

“Are you worried about not having the jasmine?” Dad asks.

“Mixing the jasmine will come in toward the end, I think. But for the same reason that I wouldn't ever use anything but fresh luvy, I want to know exactly where the jasmine is sourced from, how it was grown, before we buy it.”

My stomach lurches as I think about everything Emilia destroyed—not only a place of great religious significance for the Patels and the other villagers, but also the perfect ingredient to use in a love potion. The Daharama legend
told that pink jasmine has a great propensity toward love. Whatever we buy will never be able to replace that potential, and that bothers me more than I realize.

“That paste will be stable for a few days, but might need to be stirred every so often,” I say.

Dad nods, but a frown line appears between his brows. “I have to stay in the hotel for twenty-four hours before I can port again. Can you two not stay a bit longer?”

“Unfortunately not.” Kirsty appears at the doorway, fully dressed. I swallow hard, but I know it's true.

Dad smiles at Kirsty, but I know he's worried. “So, do you know where you're going next?”

We both nod. “Up north,” I say. “The next ingredient is hair. From an abominable.”

His jaw drops. It scares me to see my dad, normally a pillar of strength in my world, look so scared for me. “You're going up into the mountains? That's . . . insanity!”

“It's a Wilde Hunt, John. It was never going to be a walk in the park.”

“But Sam's not prepared for this! People train for years to tackle those mountains.”

“Dad, it's okay,” I say, even though I can hardly believe I'm saying it myself. In a snap, I know Dad would let me come home, forget about the hunt, go back to eating homemade lasagna and mixing prescriptions for the pensioners of Kingstown. He wouldn't judge. “This is my choice. I'll be careful.”

“This isn't about being careful anymore. This is about being prepared for dangers you can't even imagine!”

“Sam, we'd better go,” says Kirsty.

“At least give me a couple more minutes alone with my daughter before you head off?”

Kirsty holds up two fingers—two minutes—and then spins on her heels.

Dad looks over at me and sighs. “Look, I'm not going to lecture you any more about the mountains. But your mother and I think it's a shame about the Patels. I preferred it when they were around to keep an eye on you. That you guys were looking out for each other.”

“I know, Dad, but—”

“Wait, I wasn't finished. We're proud of you, Sam. Really proud. You've already done so much, and the whole family believes you might do this thing. Even Granddad. But it's not just us. The world is behind you now, Sam. Even the press, after seeing the challenges you've overcome so far. You're the underdog, and this time, the underdog is going to win. So let's make sure we see this whole thing through. Kick some synth butt for us, okay?”

I nod, trying not to cry. He pulls me into a bear hug, and eventually pushes me away, but not before a last kiss on the forehead. “I'll get this paste back to the store. It'll be waiting for you. We all are. Stay safe, my heart.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Samantha

WE LEAVE THROUGH THE KITCHENS of the hotel, out into a back alley where a flatbed truck is parked. I cringe when Kirsty makes me hide in a tiny crawlspace between several large boxes on the bed of the truck. She and Dan hide as well, and it gives me a little comfort to know their journey will be as uncomfortable as mine.

She explained the plan to me earlier. There are only a few mountain passes that will be accessible enough for me to climb with zero training. But not only does Kirsty know that—Emilia knows it as well. If abominables are the right ingredient and she knows that's where we might be heading next, we have to cover our tracks as much as possible. She would expect us to transport to the mountains, or fly, so we're taking the long route. When I'm finally able to escape from the back of the truck and stretch my aching limbs, we've arrived at a bus station.

And I'm so glad we choose the long way. By the time
we arrive in the bustling town of Pahara at the base of the mountains, there's a high wind blowing, so strong that the airport and main transport portal are both closed. The wind buffets the bus, but the driver navigates the climbing, twisting roads with ease. Maybe a little too easily. I huddle into my down jacket and grip the armrest, praying the bus doesn't skid around the next mountainous bend and just tumble off the side completely. No matter how unsafe I feel, the seats and aisle are so packed full of people and bags—I swear I even saw a chicken—that there's nowhere to escape even if I wanted to.

It felt really odd to be buying thick winter clothing in Loga, where the temperatures hovered between hot and boiling, but now, as I look outside, I see how necessary it was. Snow covers the ground, and delicate fingers of frost spread across the base of the windows. Locals we pass on the road are wrapped up in fur-trimmed hoods. And we haven't even reached the start of our trek yet.

Kirsty has already called ahead and lined up our very own Sherpa who will lead us up the mountain. He won't take us directly to where an abominable might live, though. Kirsty and I are agreed that meeting an actual abominable is not on the agenda. Though naturally reclusive, they're fearsome creatures. Sightings are rare, and often end in a gruesome manner. Recently there's been a spate of attacks, as it becomes more and more popular to climb the mountains. Talenteds
checking “adventures” off their bucket lists.

No, all we need is a patch of their fur, and for that, we need to find a cave or a rock where an abominable might have stopped for a scratch. This is the beginning of summer, so the abominables should be shedding. If they're not, we're in trouble.

Despite the precautions we've taken to cover our route, I wonder if any of the other teams will be here. Kirsty seems to think I'm the only one who has a feel for the ingredients, but putting the combination together wasn't so hard. Arjun and Anita know about the abominable—maybe I will see them here too? My heart aches with guilt, although it's mixed with the tiniest spark of hope. Hope that they will forgive me. And the Zs have all those researchers working for them. Surely one of them will have figured it out.

Kirsty's done this trek before. She's known for it; it's her signature. So for once, I feel totally confident in the fact that we're going to get this ingredient without much trouble. The bus pulls up to its first stop at a village halfway up the mountain. Thankfully, the majority of people get off here. Just beyond is the official entrance to the Wilds, and we have to show our passes.

Kirsty puts her legs up on the now-empty seat between us. “Not long now,” she says. She tosses a bottle of water to me, and another to Dan. “Drink up. You need to stay hydrated up here. You've had a slow adjustment to
the altitude—yet another reason why we chose the bus instead of flying. Anyone who flies—or worse, ports—up here gets the most terrible altitude sickness, especially if they go out on a trek right away. At least we've had a slow build. Ideally, we'd spend a couple of nights in this village, but we don't have that luxury.”

A gust of wind rattles the bus on its (probably) rusty axles, and Kirsty grins. “Well, hopefully this weather means that some of our competition has been stranded. The next bus up isn't for another twenty-four hours, and hopefully we'll have the fur and be back down the mountain by then.”

“How close do you think you are to the cure?” Dan has been interviewing me on-and-off on the way up. “After the abominable, what's next?”

This is the question I've been asking myself. I spend every spare moment writing in my diary, working through my suspicions about ingredients and my own gut feelings. The physical act of writing, of putting pen to paper, helps me solve problems my brain can't work out on its own. But formula after formula has flowed out of the pen and onto the page, and none of them feel right. I can't put my finger on the next thing. “I'm not sure. We're close, but not there yet.”

Kirsty tells me to cut myself some slack. “You'll need all your energy for the climb,” she says. “Save your brain and get as much rest as you can.”

But by the time the bus pulls up to the lodge where we're going to launch our expedition, it's clear our efforts to be alone have failed. Zol stands outside, red in the face and yelling at some poor Sherpa.

The bus doors open, and his screams jump in volume. “We paid good money, and we're going up the mountain tonight! Do you see these passes? Do you see them? It's not our fault that the ports closed just before our guide arrived.”

I grab my bag down from the rack above my head. By the time I look back out the window again, the shouting has stopped. But still, my heart catches in my mouth. If Zol is here, that must mean Zain is too. That's when I see him: He's wrapped in a snug-fitting bright red jacket, trying hard to calm his dad down.

At that moment he looks up at the bus and sees me staring. A blush immediately rises to my face and I turn away.

I shuffle off the bus, lagging behind Kirsty. I'm hit with a blast of cold air, and I'm thankful for it if it gives me an excuse for the redness in my cheeks. The Sherpa who Zol is arguing with sees Kirsty and races over to her, bowing deeply. She bows back. Then they embrace.

“Jedda!”

“Kirsty, miss, it is our honor to have you back here again.”

Kirsty smiles warmly. “No, no, the honor is mine.” She
raises an eyebrow at Zol. He's obviously not feeling the cold—in fact, it looks as if steam is going to pour out of his ears.

Jedda shakes his head slowly. “He wants to trek in the mountains, but even with his pass I cannot let him through without a guide.”

Fearless as ever, Kirsty laughs while looking at Zol. “Are you serious? You're thinking of going up there without a Sherpa? That's madness.”

Zol crosses his arms. “Our guide couldn't make it up through the storm. But my son and I have enough Talent between us that we don't need help in these mountains.”

“Talent only goes so far up here. Altitude does crazy things to magic. I'd be more cautious if I were you. Why not take another?”

“Because there is no other Sherpa, you blasted woman. For some reason this godforsaken place only has one at the moment.”

Dan stands directly behind Kirsty, taking notes on a pad and paper.

“Who is that?” Zol asks.

“That's Dan. He's a journalist from the
Novaen Times
.”

“You brought a journalist up here? Are you mad? As soon as he posts anything online, that insane woman Emilia will know where we are.”

“We thought it better to have someone along to tell
our side of the story. And don't worry, he's not stupid enough to geotag his posts up here.”

“That's still a ridiculous risk!” splutters Zol, but Kirsty ignores him.

“Jedda, about the other Sherpas?” she asks.

The man shrugs. “It is Summer Festival. Most have gone home to celebrate with their families. One is currently up at base camp. I am only here because you reserved me, Kirsty miss. Abominable season doesn't start for another two weeks. It is still very dangerous on Hallah.”

Hallah. The great mountain, and the first in an immense range that stretches across the northern border of Bharat. A good potential home for the elusive abominable. I look up for the first time and really take it in. The little lodge is perched at the bottom of one of the main routes up. The mountain looks far away from here, and I can hardly believe I will be walking up there soon. The thought is enough to take my breath away.

“I told Master Zol that he could wait two days for the other Sherpas to come down, but he does not want to. And, if I may say, it would be best for all of you if you went as a group together. It is safest that way.”

“No!” I shout, before I can even think. But my protest is almost drowned out by Zol's own.

Kirsty is silent, though. Then she nods. “Fine, yes. It is safer that way.”

“What are you talking about?” I say to Kirsty. “You don't want to cooperate with the Patels, but now it's okay to team with ZA?”

“You don't know what it's like up there, Sam. The mountain can turn on you in an instant. It is so much safer in a bigger group.” She looks past me, at Zol and Zain. “Look, no one likes this arrangement, but we'll go up to base camp together. Then we can go our separate ways, and ZA can use the Sherpa who is up there. Deal?” She extends a hand to Zol.

He doesn't take it. “Fine,” he says. “But the journalist stays behind.”