Page 24 of A Witch’s Guide to Love and Poison

24

L una had given Mei the freeze potion, so she was alright, but it meant that there was no time to mentally unpack the brief evening she’d had with Xander.

They went to his greenhouse, straight to work, and Bisma hoped Luna would stay safe. With Mei poisoned, Luna was the only one left other than Bisma.

But then, a day after Mei was poisoned, while Bisma was away, Luna drank the freeze potion, leaving behind a note.

I’m sorry, Baji, but it feels inevitable that I will be poisoned again next, and I can’t live with the fear. I thought I would get ahead of it and take a nice long nap. The house is terribly boring, anyway. I know you’ll find the cure. I’ll see you soon.

Kisses,

Luna

So Bisma was the only one left in the Enchanted Forest, which made her feel utterly alone and afraid. The treehouse was cold and empty, and the next morning, she did not want to get out of bed.

But she needed to keep working; there was less than a week left, now. The harvest festival was in a few days, and the poison would reach Deeba’s heart two days after that. She kept at it all day, which at least kept her away from her silent home, kept her away from her thoughts. She worked herself to exhaustion, hoping that the moment she returned home, she would be able to sleep.

And yet she could not get any rest.

I cannot sleep, not without my sisters here. Our home always seemed to be cramped—in a cozy way but tight nonetheless. We never had any concept of personal space; we were always sitting with our elbows and knees touching round the table, or on top of each other on the sofas, or huddled beneath the same blankets. I rarely got through a meal without one of my sisters snagging a bite from my plate or even directly from my hand. I used to think it would be nice if we all weren’t so close all the time, but I realize now that things were just right.

I miss everyone desperately. I feel so utterly alone, more alone than I have ever felt before. That was not real loneliness, I can see that now, not when I compare it to this. This is a living thing, and I fear it will eat me whole. It makes me afraid, and I have never felt afraid in the Enchanted Forest before, which only makes it worse.

My home no longer feels like home.

She wrote to her friend, hoping that might ease her heart, but it did not help much. The Forest seemed as upset and lonely as her; everything felt strange and wrong, not the way it was meant to be. There was an absence of noise; the trees were still, and even the birds and forest critters were quiet.

She spent all night twisting and turning in bed, until exhaustion took over and she slept for two hours before dawn arrived and she woke again. Even then, it seemed all the color was gone from her world.

All day the fatigue scratched at her, wearing her down. She was so tired she could hardly see straight. She wanted to cry—no, what she really wanted was to sleep.

But even that night she couldn’t.

Finally, she gave up, lighting a candle, and that was when she noticed she had received a letter.

It is not strange that your home no longer feels so without your family. What is a home without its inhabitants? But do not think of yourself as entirely alone, I implore you.

You are not as alone as you think.

Your friend

He was right; she was not entirely alone. Which was why she got out of bed and descended the stairs of the treehouse, letting her feet carry her along the familiar path until she had left the Enchanted Forest, going to the one place that might feel like home.

‘Bis, is everything okay?’ Xander asked, worried. It was late, later than they had ever worked. The candles in the greenhouse were blown out, there was just the one in Xander’s hand now as he held it up between them.

He looked as though he’d been asleep; his hair was messy, his shirt hastily pulled on, open at the neck.

She didn’t know what to say, so she said nothing. As if understanding, Xander stepped aside from the doorway, letting her enter. Like a ghost haunting her family, she floated to where her five sisters lay.

They were all sleeping peacefully behind a wall of sheets, closed off. She checked each of their heartbeats, feeling them beat in tandem with her own. Xander trailed after her, saying nothing, just patiently holding up the candle so she would have light.

When she was done, she left that section of the greenhouse, pulling the curtain behind her.

‘Bisma, is everything okay?’ Xander asked, a hand on her arm.

She turned to face him, looking into his eyes. Moonlight streamed into the greenhouse, shafts of white light illuminating his face.

‘I didn’t know where else to go,’ she whispered. ‘The Enchanted Forest doesn’t feel like home anymore.’

He set the candle down, then pulled her into his arms. She didn’t hesitate; she hugged him back, bringing her hands up against his shoulder blades. His skin was deliciously warm. She inhaled the sweet and spicy scent of cloves.

Placing her cheek against his chest, she listened to his heartbeat, the sound like the steady fall of rain, just as comforting and sure.

Xander pulled back. He cupped her face in his hands, tilting her head so he could look into her eyes. He scanned her face. ‘Feeling a little better now?’

‘Yes,’ she breathed. She had immediately felt better once she saw him, like he was the cure to chase the poison from her veins. ‘I’m just so tired.’

‘Come,’ he said, leading her to sit down. Her shawl slipped from her shoulders, but he reached out and caught it, adjusting it, his fingers warm on her skin. He sat beside her, their knees bumping against each other.

‘I never asked,’ he said, ‘but what’s your story? I know all the others’ now.’

Bisma hadn’t spoken about it in a number of years, but she found she wanted to tell Xander about it now. She wanted him to know everything about her, every single tiny little thing. She wouldn’t mind being dissected by him.

‘I came to the Enchanted Forest when I was three,’ she said, ‘but I didn’t learn my story until years later, when I began looking into it. Before then, what I understood was this: I never knew my father. All I knew of him was that he was the source of all our problems, my mother’s and mine. He had left us destitute, for we never had food, or money, or clothes, or warmth, or anything, really. My mother left one day when I was three and didn’t return, so then I didn’t have her, either.

‘I don’t remember much from that time, just that I waited for her for days, weeks maybe. I remember the hunger and a fear I’d never felt before—I was so afraid. The hunger eventually got so bad that I went in search of food and saw a crop of carrots in someone’s backyard garden. Well, I stuck my hands in the soil to steal one, and when I did, I felt this strange pull.’

A smile played on Xander’s face. ‘Magic.’

‘Precisely. I followed it and ended up in the Enchanted Forest. It wasn’t scary, like it was for the other girls. The Forest didn’t frighten me at all. I was just following the magic, and it led me there. I passed through the fog, and, once I did, I felt safe, at home.’

The memory warmed her, then brought a harsh pain to her chest as she thought of the stark difference between then and now. Tears pricked her eyes, and she blinked against them.

‘The Enchanted Forest doesn’t feel like home anymore, not when it’s so empty,’ she said.

‘Did you ever find out what happened to your parents?’ Xander asked.

‘My mother was hanged,’ she said. ‘My father had apparently drunk himself into an early grave, leaving my mother and me penniless. She turned to crime for cash: theft, prostitution, and a long list of other crimes. Apparently, it was well known she was bad news, but she was never directly caught—well, until she was. It was only a matter of time, really.’

‘What was the final crime?’

‘She killed someone,’ Bisma said. ‘Apparently she had stolen a lady’s purse and when she was caught, she tried to fight her way out with a knife and ended up killing the lady, who was rich and important enough for the authorities to have my mother hanged for it.’

‘God,’ Xander breathed.

‘It’s why … well, it’s why I can’t be good, no matter how I try. I’m just like my parents; I have their blood in my veins after all. My mother didn’t mean to kill the lady; all accounts said it was never her intention. But what could she do? It’s why I don’t mind making poisons, being the monster. Someone has to do it.

‘Even my sisters—they all have their demons to battle, and I don’t have any of my own, so I want to fight theirs for them. It feels like I owe them somehow, for coming to the Enchanted Forest so easily. Not everyone survives the Forest, you know; it chooses who to keep.’

She stopped. ‘I don’t know why I’m going on and on,’ she said, sighing. She didn’t want him to say anything, though she could tell there was a lot he wished to say. ‘I’m tired. I should go.’

She stood, but he squeezed her hand as she was about to leave.

‘Don’t go,’ he said. ‘Your home is here, too.’

He gestured to where her sisters lay asleep on their cots, but she felt the deeper meaning in his words as he pulled her closer to him.

‘Please stay,’ he whispered, looking up at her.

She yearned to, desperately, and she couldn’t think of a reason why not. She reached for his face, and he closed his eyes, leaning into the touch.

‘Alright,’ she whispered. Her gaze went to his rumpled bed, where he had been sleeping not long ago.

‘I’ll go into the main house,’ he said, swallowing. His eyes were dark. ‘You sleep here.’

This time, it was Bisma who grabbed his hand as he made to leave.

‘No,’ she said, voice quiet. ‘Stay.’

His eyelids fluttered.

They went to his bed, slipping in on opposite sides but facing one another.

She stared at him, feeling unsure.

‘Close your eyes,’ he whispered, touching her cheek.

She did.

Finally, Bisma slept.

The next morning, she woke with her limbs entwined with Xander’s.

She lay on his chest with his arm around her, gently rooting her in place. He did not lock her there; if she wished, she could slide out, but she didn’t want to. She watched him breathe, so comfortable that a sense of peace enveloped over her.

In these quiet moments at dawn, she could almost believe this was all a dream.

She looked at his throat, his jaw, the cut of his cheekbones, the fall of his hair. His copper locks were messy, and she wanted to reach out and smooth them. That blasted hair of his—she always wanted to run her hands through it.

But she didn’t want to move her hand from where it was resting against his chest, in the empty space of his open shirt. Her fingers were directly on his bare skin, which was warm, and she could feel his heart beating just beneath her palm, so steady and sure.

She loved the feel of it. If she closed her palm into a fist, could she capture his heartbeat forever? It sounded like the melody of magic, the energy that pulsed through the earth when she grew plants.

Bisma watched him for some time, tenderness overcoming her with such a force that she ached. But it was a lovely ache, the kind that came after a day of hard work that had yielded immeasurable success.

She looked at him with such fondness, such peace, that she fell asleep once more.