Page 17 of A Witch’s Guide to Love and Poison

17

X ander took Bisma into the Chapman Estate, which was a sprawling mansion unparalleled in grandeur and beauty. She felt just as intimidated as when he’d previously tried to usher her in. Whereas other cottages were old and worn in with splintering stones and soft edges, the Chapman Estate looked newly constructed. Everything was immaculately clean and polished, sparkling with crisp lines made of the finest materials.

As they walked up the winding staircase, Bisma ran her hand along the dark wooden banister; it felt like silk under her fingers. She wondered what it would be like to grow up in a place like this.

She adored the Enchanted Forest and their treehouse, but this place was undeniably gorgeous. There were servants quietly bustling around, taking care of anything that needed attention.

Xander was clearly the apple of his parents’ eyes. There were paintings of him everywhere, capturing different ages, some solo portraits and others with his parents and grandparents. Alongside them were framed certificates from his school days, as well as awards.

It was sweet—so sweet she felt a sharp pang of envy along with it, as though her teeth were rotting from sugar.

There were other portraits as well: an older couple that she assumed were Xander’s grandparents; the same couple many decades earlier, with two children standing before them (this pair she deduced to be Eleanora and Frederick); then portraits of Eleanora alone, as well.

To make the perfect home with the perfect family even more complete, there were also numerous portraits of his parents, who were clearly besotted with one another.

Bisma had never seen a healthy relationship, and wondered what it was like. She knew the older girls had had such paramours, but she had never witnessed any of the couples together. It was an unspoken rule to keep such romances away from the Enchanted Forest and their home.

‘This way,’ Xander said, leading her down the hall. He opened a door to reveal a spacious guest room, double the size of her room at the treehouse. It was tastefully decorated and fastidiously clean.

‘Thank you,’ she said.

He smiled. ‘If you need anything, just ask any of the servants,’ he said. ‘I’ve told them you’re my guest. I’ll see you when I get back.’

He closed the door behind him, leaving her alone. For a moment, Bisma was sorely tempted to lie down on the plush bed and sleep; she had an inkling it would be some of the best sleep in her life.

But she had more pressing matters to attend to.

Exiting the guest room, Bisma walked around, familiarizing herself with the building. Under the guise of needing a glass of water, she ambled over to the kitchen, where cooks were busy preparing the evening meal.

Goodness, the stove was the size of their entire kitchen at the treehouse! And everything was so neat and clean, perfectly orderly and matched. Bisma tried not to gawk.

After finishing her water, she continued her survey, spotting the laundry, which led out to a courtyard where clothes were hung out to dry. It seemed to be a weak spot in the estate’s security; if she ever needed to sneak in later, this would be where to do it.

‘Can I help you with anything, miss?’ a cleaning lady asked her when Bisma headed toward the main area.

Bisma smiled. ‘No, thank you. I just needed to quench my thirst before I take a nice long nap.’ As Bisma went up the stairs to the second floor, a few servants gave her strange glances. Making a show of yawning, Bisma closed the guest room door loudly. Then she waited a good few moments before sneaking out again.

Upstairs, she walked down the hall, quickly and quietly checking each room only to reveal more guest rooms, a library, a study, a gallery.

Until finally she found it: Eleanora’s office.

It was in the wing opposite that of the guest room, next to what she assumed was Xander’s parents’ bedroom. There were a few more bedrooms in this wing, and Bisma guessed one would be Xander’s, and another his uncle’s.

Checking to ensure none of the servants had come up, Bisma snuck into the office.

The room was as neat as the rest of the house but a bit more personal and lived in than the guest rooms. The walls were decorated with certificates and awards in Eleanora’s name, and Bisma was distracted by Eleanora’s many accomplishments.

If Bisma was not investigating Eleanora’s possible hand in the poisoning of Bisma’s sisters, she might have even been impressed. Bisma had never had another garden-witch to look up to, to aspire toward, but Eleanora could easily fill that gap.

She understood why Xander was so close with his mother; she’d seen them together a handful of times in town, not to mention that time in the greenhouse when Mei was poisoned, and it was clear he held his mother in the highest esteem.

Guilt needled Bisma for a moment; surely Xander wouldn’t be happy to find Bisma snooping around his mother’s office. Bisma quickly shoved the thought aside. She would do whatever it took to find out who was hurting her sisters; she would always do whatever was necessary when it came to the ones she loved.

After a quick scan, Bisma approached the mahogany desk, the main feature of the office. Behind it was a portrait of the Chapman family: Xander’s grandparents, his parents, and, in the center, Xander himself. He looked to be about ten years of age, before he went away for school, and he still had that same boyish grin. On either side of the portrait were floor-to-ceiling shelves of books pertaining to garden-magic, potions, and horticulture.

Desire swept through her. What it would be like to sit in the sunlight and read all those books! That vast wealth of knowledge within her reach. Unfortunately, right now she needed to focus.

Under the portrait were wide drawers. She pulled the top one open, then the bottom, parsing the files, skimming through the papers. There were lots of recipes and notes, as well as accounting files for the Apothecary strewn with numbers and balances.

Shutting the drawers, Bisma turned back to the desk, where something caught her eye. On top of the desk, beside candles and a framed picture of Eleanora and her husband, was a beautifully carved wooden box. It looked special, and when Bisma went to open it, she found it locked.

Special, indeed.

Bisma searched the desk drawers for a key, but found none. Hmm . There were little potted plants atop the drawers under the portrait.

Putting the wooden box beside a pot, Bisma slipped her hand into the soil of one of them. With magic, a little twig sprouted. Concentrating, Bisma grew the thin, twisted twig until it reached into the keyhole. The lock resisted, but she morphed the twig until it fit perfectly.

The box clicked open.

Anticipation laced through her. She opened the box, finding it filled with keepsakes. There was a twisted lock of copper hair that must have been Xander’s from when he was a baby. Bisma touched a finger to it; the hair was feather soft.

There was also an old pocket watch, which had perhaps belonged to Eleanora’s father. Beside that, there were dried roses stuck to a piece of paper with a date on them, dating back twenty-two years; she wondered if they were the first flowers Xander’s father had given to Eleanora.

The box held other trinkets but none piqued Bisma’s interest until she spotted a small painted portrait of two girls.

One was obviously a young Eleanora, but what made Bisma pause was that the other girl looked a little familiar. She had brown skin and long, wavy hair. Bisma could not quite place who she was, but the image remained in her mind even as she closed the keepsake box, using the twig and magic to lock it once more.

She searched through the desk drawers, finding even more notes and old letters. Her eyes skimmed the words. She did not know exactly what she was looking for, and part of her hoped she would find nothing, while another part of her knew deep down that there was something to be found.

And indeed there was.

A letter made her halt her search. It was from a friend, clearly a very close one. The writer seemed to be angry with Eleanora for not helping her, saying she would find help elsewhere; none of which meant anything to Bisma—until she saw who had signed it.

Leilani.

Memories turned over in Bisma’s mind. A few months ago, a woman had come to Bisma for a slow-release poison. The woman’s husband was abusive in every sense of the word, and she wished to kill him slowly so as not to raise any alarms.

Bisma had not known the woman’s name, only that she signed her letters L . Now she recognized that handwriting. She recognized, also, that the woman was the same girl in the portrait with Eleanora.

Bisma had only met L —Leilani—once, but she was clearly wealthy, so it was no surprise she was Eleanora’s friend.

As with all her other customers, Bisma completed the order, giving Leilani what she needed. Bisma did not hear from her again, but she didn’t exactly follow up with her clients.

Now she wondered what had transpired. Had something happened to Leilani? She was evidently a close friend of Eleanora’s. If something had happened to Leilani, did Eleanora blame Bisma? She could have easily worked out it was Bisma who had given Leilani the poison.

But Bisma didn’t have time to think about it further just then. She heard something—someone—heading in her direction. Slipping the letter back into the desk, Bisma ensured everything was back in order before quickly sneaking out of Eleanora’s office. Luckily, the hallway was empty, but she saw a shadow rounding the corner.

Bisma ducked into the first room she saw. It was larger and more lived in than the guest room Xander had shown her to and there was more furniture. There were bookshelves and a desk, and the side tables had various knickknacks. She realized with a jolt that this must be Xander’s room.

She wondered if he had a box of keepsakes, as well, and what might be inside.

Before her curiosity allowed her to search for such a thing, she heard someone approaching. She froze, trying to figure out what to do. Should she hide? Jump out the window? Pretend like she was meant to be there? The options paralyzed her.

Just as she was deciding, the door opened. She prepared to explain herself until she saw who it was.

Xander.

‘Oh!’ he said, surprised to see her. His cheeks and nose were flushed, as if he’d just come in from outside. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Um …’ She looked around, biting her lower lip.

He took off his coat, giving her a sly look. ‘Intrigued, were we?’

She rolled her eyes. ‘Not in the least.’

He smiled as if he didn’t believe her and almost looked … pleased. Well, it was as good a cover as any, and it wasn’t exactly a lie. She was intrigued by him. That wasn’t a crime. Bisma held her chin up, unrepentant, then assessed her surroundings.

His room was quite bare compared to the greenhouse, which felt more like him. This room did not even smell like him; she could only faintly catch the scent of cloves.

‘If you’re going to snoop, at least light a candle,’ Xander said. He walked past her to the desk, reaching into a drawer for a pack of matches.

Outside the windows, the sun was setting, casting the room in dark shadows. She hadn’t even noticed.

Xander pulled out a match to light the candle when someone called for him.

‘Xander, dear!’

It was Eleanora. Bisma’s heart leapt.

‘Oh, good, Mother’s here,’ Xander said, long strides heading directly for the door. ‘We can all have tea and I can introduce you properly!’

‘No!’ Bisma cried, grabbing his arm and pulling him back. He gave her an alarmed glance, his green eyes wide, but before he could object, she shoved him into the closet, following behind him and shutting the door.

‘Xander, are you home?’ Eleanora’s voice came closer.

Bisma covered Xander’s mouth with her hand before he could consider replying.

‘I’m meeting Lady Charlotte for dinner,’ Eleanora continued, ‘but the cook’s prepared a roast and potatoes for you, so do—’ This last part she said as she knocked and opened the door. Seeing the empty room, she said, ‘Oh, I must be hearing things.’

She closed the door and left, and a few moments later, Bisma and Xander listened as the house’s front door opened and closed.

Bisma released a breath.

It was then she realized just how close she and Xander were standing; their chests were practically touching. Her hand was still over his mouth; she felt his lips brush against her palm as he shifted.

Heat bolted through her.

She snatched her hand back, trying to step away from him, but there was hardly any room, and the clothes merely pushed her right back.

‘Well, that was dramatic,’ Xander said, giving her a funny look. But then he seemed to notice how close they were, how her head tipped back so she could meet his eyes, and his voice turned husky. ‘Not that I’m complaining.’

Her heart skipped a beat.

‘You’re ridiculous,’ she breathed, trying to regain her senses. ‘Why do you have so many clothes?’

‘On? Or in my closet?’

He gave her a wolfish grin, to which she responded with an unamused glare.

‘In your closet, you idiot.’

It looked like he had seven of the same white shirts and an array of colorful waistcoats. She spotted her favorite, the emerald-green one, and almost reached out to touch it, before she recalled she was not a lovesick fool.

‘Nothing wrong with a man who cares about his appearance,’ Xander replied easily. ‘As much as I’m enjoying this, can we get out of here now? My arm is cramping.’

She didn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, Bisma threw open the closet door and hurried out, Xander close behind her.

‘Let’s get back to work,’ she said, trying to catch her breath.