Page 14 of A Witch’s Guide to Love and Poison

14

B isma remained lost in thought as she and Mei walked to the blacksmith’s. She did not notice someone approaching until she felt a gentle tap on her shoulder. She turned to see Xander. He wore a navy-blue waistcoat, and with the sun shining, he painted a radiant picture, though the expression on his face was quite frazzled.

Bisma turned to Mei. ‘Why don’t you go in, honey? I’ll be just a second.’

Xander waved at Mei, smiling at her. She looked at him with curiosity, then at Bisma, then back at Xander again. Something must have clicked in her mind, for she gave him back a slow, sweet smile before giggling at Bisma.

‘Inside,’ Bisma said, not amused in the slightest. ‘And don’t bother Diego, alright?’

Diego was the blacksmith who had taken over the shop after Luna’s father was unable to continue. He was not an outright friend, but not an outright enemy either, and that was much more preferable to Bisma.

Mei went on ahead, while Bisma turned back to Xander. He ran a hand through his copper hair, and it flopped to one side. She took a closer look at him and despite his usual smile and glittering eyes, he looked exhausted.

‘Sorry, I’ve just got a moment, then I need to head back, I’m helping Uncle Fred with his plans,’ he said, words rushing out of him. He reached into his pocket and held something out.

It was a narrow bottle full of iridescent liquid that shimmered pale blue and purple.

‘What’s this?’ she asked, inspecting it.

‘It’s a sleeping potion,’ he explained. ‘Well, a sort of “freezing” potion, really, but it’ll seem like whoever drank it is asleep. At least, that’s what it’s supposed to do. If anyone else gets poisoned, give them this; it’ll put them in a frozen sleep state so the poison can’t spread.’

She looked up at him, shocked.

‘I’ve been working on it since you left and I’ve finally cracked it,’ he continued, speaking fast. ‘I’ve been trying to suss out a cure, of course, but it’s been giving me trouble, since the poison mutated. I tried to work on the blood we extracted from Luna, but since the blood was cut out, the poison seemed to die as well. So that’s always an option!’ He stopped, eyes wide. ‘That was a bad joke, forgive me, of course I am not suggesting … I mean I didn’t … ahhh.’

He broke off, rubbing a hand over his face while still holding the potion in his other hand.

Bisma stared at him with wide eyes. It was a brilliant idea, rather than attempt bloodletting again. It had been a close call with Luna, and she did not wish to take that risk again.

‘I haven’t rested, so forgive the profusion of words,’ he said. ‘I’ve been working on this, and Uncle Fred’s been working me nonstop, as well.’

Bisma was overwhelmed by the urge to throw her arms around him then. She should have been working on a cure and coming up with such precautions, but she’d been so busy making sure everyone was alright.

‘How did you have time for this?’ she asked, incredulous.

‘I make time for what’s important,’ he said, giving her an easy shrug, but there was an intensely genuine quality in his green eyes.

Their gazes met and held. A current ran down her spine, like lightning striking a tree.

Xander looked away first, suddenly nervous. Then he added, as a joke, ‘Unfortunately my beauty routine has suffered, so do not look at me too closely.’

He was trying to make her smile, and it worked: the corner of her mouth lifted.

‘Hmm, I can tell you’ve missed a step or three,’ she said, pointing to under his eyes, attempting levity herself.

‘Ah!’ He covered his face with his hands. ‘I said, don’t look at me!’

She smiled, nearly laughing. He peeked out at her between his fingers and saw, which caused him to laugh.

‘Truly,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’ She wanted to simply be grateful, but old habits died hard. Suspicion rose in her. Her smile vanished. ‘Xander, why are you helping us?’

He blinked. ‘Isn’t it obvious?’

Time seemed to slow down as he stepped closer, his expression softening. His eyes were warm, and she felt his gaze deep in her core. Her heart skipped a beat, which agitated her to no end.

‘No,’ she said, feeling stupid, which made her angry.

He smiled, shaking his head. His soft expression was replaced by something closer to his usual mischief as he considered her question.

‘Well?’ she prompted, getting annoyed.

Which was why he was pretending to think for so long.

‘It’s an interesting case,’ he finally said. ‘From an academic perspective.’

She frowned—her sisters were not a case study! As she geared up to say as much, she looked at the potion in his hands and softened slightly. Besides, him helping her because of personal curiosity was better than him helping her for other reasons.

Part of her was disappointed, having expected a more … personal answer. But perhaps he had finally grown tired of trying to entrap her. He’d certainly had the perfect opportunity to kiss her senseless the other day and had not taken it, she remembered (with some disappointment).

What other reason could there be?

‘Where did you learn all this?’ she asked, curiosity of her own taking over. ‘Most of my magic is just intuition, nothing this disciplined.’

‘I apprenticed under a garden-witch in Whitebridge,’ he told her. ‘Just for a few years, but I learned a great deal. While witches here are one in a hundred, in Whitebridge, it’s easily double or triple that number. It’s a great place for learning, a true metropolitan hub, for witches come there from all over Fairendelle to apprentice and learn.’

‘You have your mother to learn from, don’t you?’ she asked.

‘Yes, of course, and my mother is very skilled, indeed,’ Xander said. ‘She studied in Whitebridge as well before coming back to work with my grandfather. She never continued her studies, but I’d like to.’

Bisma’s brows knit together. ‘Well, why don’t you? You obviously have the funds and the free time; you could do whatever you wanted.’ Such freedom seemed impossible to her. ‘What’s keeping you here?’

‘Ah, an excellent question.’ He smiled.

He took another step toward her, that same intensity returning to his glinting green eyes. Something about the way he was looking at her made her feel very uneven. Her pulse scattered.

‘Well, someone has to be your competition,’ he finally said, teasing.

‘Please.’ She exhaled shortly. ‘You’re not competition—you’re a nuisance.’

He laughed. ‘Thank you for the reminder of my inadequacy. In truth, I was away for so many years—I missed my parents, and, old as it is, Old Town is home. For now, I think I’ll stay.’

That sounded absurd to her. She would have jumped at the first opportunity to go to Whitebridge and study, to be as skilled and knowledgeable as the witches there. She would miss her sisters, yes, but once Luna turned eighteen, Bisma would have no chance but to leave the Forest, anyway. Of course, she did not say any of this to him, but it was as if he read her mind, for he gave her a conspiratorial smile.

‘Perhaps one day we’ll go to Whitebridge together,’ he said.

She rolled her eyes—that was never going to happen.

‘Didn’t you say you were in a rush?’ she asked.

He jolted, remembering, and the frenzied energy returned to him. ‘Ah, yes,’ he said, holding out the potion for her to take. ‘Here.’

She hesitated.

‘Come now!’ he said. ‘Take it just in case.’

‘I don’t—’

He tsked. ‘Must you argue about everything?’

‘I don’t argue!’

He gave her a pointed look. ‘Then prove me wrong and take the damn potion, Bis.’

‘Fine.’ She took it, slipping it into her basket. Begrudgingly, she added, ‘Thank you.’

His face lit up. ‘If I knew all it would take for you to be civil was to bring you gifts, I would have tried much sooner.’

‘The civility is a one-time thing,’ she informed him. ‘Don’t test your luck.’

‘Ah, but when it comes to you, I am always testing my luck.’

She covered her mouth so he wouldn’t see her smile, feeling more normal than she had in days. Giving him a wave goodbye, she entered the blacksmith’s, but she must have not done a good job hiding her smile, for when Mei saw Bisma, she began giggling again.

Bisma tried to give her a stern glance. ‘Come now, let’s hurry and get home.’

They paid for the cake pan, then skipped on home. At the treehouse, Bisma kissed everyone hello. Luna was watching Deeba as she folded laundry. Azalea and Nori were cooking; their home smelled like brown butter and sage, which would be spread over potatoes. Nori layered tomatoes onto a sheet of pastry for a galette.

As Mei went straight to the kitchen to put her new cake pan to use, Bisma went up to her room to set down her things and saw there was a letter on her bed. Catching her breath, she rushed to unfold it, but then hesitated as she recalled how she had spilled her guts after the ordeal with Luna. Embarrassment spread through her, but as she read, she realized there was nothing to be ashamed of.

Dearest Bisma,

I wish you would not speak of yourself in such a manner as you did in your last letter. It is not your fault, not in the slightest! You must not blame yourself, I beg you. If not for your own sake, then for mine: please be kind to yourself.

I cannot bear to think of you so unhappy. How is your sister doing now? She is strong and brave, just as you are. I know it.

I saw you in town today. I wished I had the courage to tell you just how beautiful you looked. The sunlight was touching your cheeks in a manner that made me most envious, and leaves were blowing in the breeze around your head, making a golden crown just for you.

You looked fit to be worshipped.

Your reverent friend

Bisma’s cheeks heated up, reading that last bit. She touched her face and the skin was, in fact, warm; she pressed her cold fingers against her cheeks, hoping she wasn’t red.

Not for the first time, she wondered exactly who the writer was. She did not usually like being seen by the residents of Old Town; she kept their glances at bay with her dark clothes and permanent scowls.

But something about the way this stranger saw her, really saw her, made goosebumps rise on her arms as potent desire simmered deep within her.

She thought this feeling was a disease she was cured of, but now she realized the craving to be loved and wanted was something that had not left her.

It had gotten her into trouble before, and she was afraid it would get her into trouble again.

The last time she had yearned for a connection this deeply, she had been sixteen. Though Bisma did her best to keep the memories of that time locked away, today the box slipped open and the memories unfurled.

She thought of another boy. He was a year older than her and had been in Old Town for the summer, accompanying his father, who had come to sell his landscape paintings.

Bisma saw him in town one day as she was running errands; the sight of him immediately made her stop in her tracks. He was beautiful, with curling brown hair the color of bark and deep blue eyes a gorgeous shade of twilight.

And it wasn’t just her who saw him; he saw her. When she left the fabric store, a gust of wind loosened the ribbon from her hair and it flew off. As she turned to catch it, he already had.

‘I’m Gregory,’ he said, stepping close to hand the ribbon back to her. He smelled like parchment and paint.

‘Bisma.’

She found excuses to go to town nearly every day, and the next time Gregory saw her, he asked her to go on a walk together. They meandered through the woods, then sat and ate the picnic he had packed for her, and talked and talked.

She loved listening to him speak of Springfield, the village in Huntington where he was from, and all the other towns he’d visited with his father, who sold paintings.

She fell in love. She did well to make sure he never found out she was an Unwanted Girl, nor about her reputation as a garden-witch, and with him, she felt like a different person. Like she could be normal, just another girl. She was so careful.

Or so she thought.

One evening, after their walk, he brushed the hair from her face and pressed his lips to hers. It was her first kiss, and it awakened something in her, a deep hunger. She snuck away daily to see him, and they would explore each other’s bodies.

Then, a few weeks later, on a blanket in a hidden corner of the woods, they went all the way. It was painful, but she had never been so connected to someone, and finally she felt that there was someone all for herself, someone who could be hers and she could be his.

She had never felt happier.

Until the next day, when he didn’t meet her at their spot.

A day passed, then two, then three.

Finally, she paid another visit to Old Town, hoping to spot him, worried that something terrible had happened to him or his father. It was then that she found him, surrounded by other village boys, laughing. He looked fine. But then why hadn’t he come to see her?

She snuck closer, hoping to catch his eye and that was when she overheard the others congratulating him for bedding the most unwanted of the Unwanted Girls. At first, she was confused; she didn’t understand who they were talking about, until, with dread, she realized they were talking about her.

Her older sisters had been right. Gregory did not love her; he had used her.

She was just a plaything to him, and now that he’d had his fun, he saw no need to entertain her anymore.

Tears burning her eyes, Bisma stepped back, but as she did, a branch broke. The boys heard; they all turned to look at her. The moment they recognized their eavesdropper, they began to laugh, clutching at each other with glee. Gregory turned to her tear-stained face and for a second she thought he might show some remorse, and if he did, she would forgive him, of course she would.

But there was not an ounce of guilt on his beautiful face; he only laughed.

She had never been so humiliated. She ran all the way home, not stopping until she reached the Rushing River, letting the roaring waters drown out the sound of her crying.

Worse than the humiliation was the heartbreak, and worse than that was the hatred she felt for herself. She had been so stupid . To think he had meant all those pretty things he’d said, to think he could actually want her—that anyone could.

Well, she had learned her lesson.

Too embarrassed, she didn’t mention it to her sisters; instead, she buried it. Soon thereafter, the summer ended, and Gregory left. She did not even get a chance for revenge; she was too busy being heartbroken and ashamed.

After he left, she thought that was it, but the village boys still snickered whenever they saw her.

So Bisma did what she did best. She poisoned them.

She noticed that they all liked to chew on a particular plant while they stood around and talked in their corner of town. It didn’t take long for her to deduce the plant to be betel leaves. And so, the night before the harvest festival dance, with a simple bit of magic, she modified the leaves.

The boys didn’t notice. Not until it was too late.

The festival dance was notoriously the most romantic day of the year, with many couples spending the night together. None of the boys received such an auspicious fate.

Bisma watched as the effects of the plant kicked in just in time and one by one of the village boys soiled their pants on the dance floor. All the village girls avoided them as though they had the plague. While ordinarily the Unwanted Girls did not attend the festival dance, Bisma snuck out just to see her handiwork. She stood in the dark edges of the woods, her smile like a wolf’s.

The boys did not snicker after that.

She thought Gregory had understood her, but of course he hadn’t, not really, not truly. She was just projecting what she wanted onto him, her own light reflecting off him in a convincing facade. She had deluded herself into believing that he was all that she desired, settling for the crumbs of his attentions and affections.

It made her furious to think back on now, to see how little she had accepted from him, how highly she had regarded him. He had not deserved any of it.

She was always there for him, whenever his father scolded or yelled, she was the one he came complaining to, and she’d felt so important, so special, that it was she he unburdened his heart to. But, no, she was not special; he was just using her.

He did not care about her, not at all—not like this mysterious letter writer seemed to. It filled her with a strange sort of hope, that foolish romantic part of her heart that she thought had withered away, coming alive once more.

All these years she’d convinced herself she was content with stolen kisses, secret rendezvous, purely physical things, nothing more, but deep down, she craved affection. She yearned for love, even though she’d been smited by it.

Bisma wrote back, then went down to join the girls. As she went down the stairs, she saw Luna’s light on. Bisma entered, holding the cake Haru had given her. Luna had a blanket wrapped around her shoulders and was reading.

‘Special delivery,’ Bisma sang, smiling as she deposited the pumpkin cake onto Luna’s bed and sat down. Luna looked up from her book. ‘Haru sent this and said to tell you that he’s thinking of you.’

Emotion crossed Luna’s face, so quickly that Bisma couldn’t decipher it.

‘I don’t want it,’ Luna said, turning back to her book. ‘Give it to the others.’

‘What?’ Bisma asked, confused. ‘You’ve never turned down a cake before, and from Haru, no less.’

‘I’m just not hungry.’

‘Luna, what’s going on?’ Bisma took a closer look at her sister, and Luna buried her nose deeper into her book. ‘You’re not going to ask me exactly what Haru said and how he said it?’

Luna shook her head.

Bisma didn’t understand. Luna had been cured; she was alright, now. The scars on her arms had all but healed and Bisma had offered her a salve that would make the deep lines disappear, though Luna had refused.

She frowned. ‘Lu, tell me what’s wrong,’ Bisma ordered.

‘Nothing,’ Luna mumbled. She absentmindedly ran a hand over the scars on her arm, which concerned Bisma. ‘I just want to read.’

She would not look up, even as Bisma lingered. Sighing, Bisma stood. She placed the cake on Luna’s bedside. ‘Alright.’ She didn’t understand why Luna was acting so strangely. ‘Why don’t you come read downstairs?’

‘In a little while,’ Luna replied quietly. She still did not look up.

Bisma nibbled on her lower lip. With a sigh, she went down to the main area, where Mei was now playing with Deeba, having put her vanilla cake in to bake.

‘Baji, why is Mei telling me Haru gave her a pumpkin cookie and yet I see no cookies for the rest of us?’ Azalea asked, arching a brow. She and Nori were done cooking. While Nori played with her stuffed dolls, Azalea was making candles at the table.

‘Goodness,’ Bisma said, bringing the box forward and setting it on the kitchen table in front of Azalea. ‘If you would only wait a moment.’ She opened the box, and the room filled with the scent of cinnamon, ginger, and nutmeg.

Nori cheered, rushing to the table to take the first one. Mei left Deeba in the living room, coming to get a cookie herself, and Bisma took one, as well. It was delicious, and the girls were all exceedingly happy.

Bisma was bone tired, having been up most the night working on poisons, but all that hard work was worth it when it meant she could afford a treat such as this.

Deeba whimpered from the other room. ‘Baji.’

‘Aw, no,’ Bisma cooed with a laugh. ‘Did we forget to give Deebs a cookie?’ She picked one up and went to her.

The cookie fell as she stopped in her tracks.

Both Deeba’s pudgy little hands were covered in dark blue veins.

‘Deeba!’ Bisma cried, going to pick her up. Deeba’s skin was hot like Luna’s had been, the dark veins tracking up her arms.

‘Mei!’ Bisma called from the living room. ‘Go up to my room! There’s a vial on my bedside table. Get it. Quickly!’

‘What’s—’ Mei poked her head in, then saw Deeba. She froze, petrified.

‘Mei, now !’ Bisma called, rocking Deeba back and forth. Azalea and Nori came in to see what was happening, then stopped in their tracks with similar horror.

‘What’s happening?’ Nori asked.

Azalea held Nori to her side, anger contorting her face. ‘Who’s doing this?’ she cried.

But Bisma was not focusing on their questions, not as Deeba held onto her tightly, fussing. She did not cry out, but fat tears rolled out of her eyes.

Bisma’s heart splintered. ‘Shh, it’s OK, baby, it’s OK,’ she cooed, holding Deeba’s head against her.

Bisma heard Mei run down the stairs, then Mei was beside her, holding out the potion Xander had given her.

‘What’s happening?’ Luna asked, coming down the stairs. She froze when she saw Deeba’s hands. ‘Baji, do something!’ she cried.

Bisma tuned them out, focusing solely on Deeba, who was whimpering in her arms.

‘I know it hurts, I know,’ Bisma said, holding Deeba tight as she wriggled. This hurt her more than her other sisters getting poisoned—Deeba was just a baby.

‘Azalea, come hold Deeba’s head steady,’ Bisma ordered. Azalea came and did as she was told. Bisma held Deeba steady, then said, ‘Mei, feed her the potion now.’

Mei brought the bottle to Deeba’s lips, but the smell must have been strange, for Deeba tried to twist her face away.

‘Shh, it’s OK,’ Bisma said, as Azalea held Deeba’s head back. ‘Mei, now.’

Mei poured the liquid into Deeba’s mouth. Bisma hoped Xander being a know-it-all would pay off as Deeba swallowed.

After Deeba drank the potion, Bisma set Deeba down on the couch, holding a hand over her heart. It beat steadily as Deeba closed her eyes, but slowly her body froze completely. Her skin turned gray, as though she had turned to stone; it was a horrifying sight.

Nori screamed, then burst into tears.

‘No, don’t worry!’ Bisma said. ‘Come, look, she’s alright.’

Nori haltingly came forward, and Bisma brought Nori’s hands to Deeba’s little chest, where she could feel her heart continuing to beat. Luna, Azalea, and Mei came to do the same, needing reassurance as well. The poison had also been frozen in its tracks.

‘She’s alright,’ Bisma whispered, exhaling. She sat back, heart hammering.

The question was: now what?