Who else would she have used?
If you can think like the Huntress, you can do as she has done.
Laurel was on her feet and running almost before she realised it.
The stars were out in earnest, peeking through the forest canopy, then filling the sky where the path cut through a clearing. The fire seemed to have gone out at the Academy – it was cloaked in murky darkness – but other lights were visible in Spring and Summer; Laurel tried not to wonder how those quarters had weathered the attacks before the trolls had all collapsed. If she failed, it wouldn’t matter.
She stumbled a few times in the darkness, but soon she was approaching the strange, docile soldiers and David was reaching out for her, stopping her from falling into an enormous moat he had dug. She blinked in the darkness and, after a few seconds, realised what he had done for Avalon. Laurel threw her arms around him. “Thank you,” she whispered. Before pulling back she softly asked, “Jamison?” not wanting to bring him to Klea’s attention.
“Alive,” David murmured.
Laurel nodded before bracing herself on the edge of the circle, and then hopped over.
It took her a moment to make out Klea, lying motionless in the shadows, and Tamani, who sat in the middle of the circle with Yuki’s head resting in his lap. He looked up at Laurel with haunted eyes.
Laurel stared down at the unmoving faerie. “Is she . . . ?”
“I don’t see the Queen,” Klea drawled, pulling Laurel’s attention away.
But Laurel gave her only a moment. She turned her back and crouched down next to Tamani and Yuki instead. Yuki looked like she was sleeping, but her features were waxen and she wasn’t breathing. Laurel felt a stab of grief and a flash of panic; if Yuki was already dead, how much time did Tamani have?
“Take your shirt off,” she ordered.
Tamani obeyed.
Laurel nearly gagged at the sight that greeted her. From the tiny scratch near his collar, the black lines reached out across his shoulders and up his neck. The wounds on his abdomen were weeping green-tinged sap – a sure sign Klea’s infectious toxin was spreading through him internally as well. He didn’t have long.
“You failed, didn’t you?” Klea said, still motionless only a few feet away. “You failed, and now all of Avalon is going to die because of you.”
“I didn’t fail,” Laurel spat. “I never went to the palace. Did you really think I was going to help you? Jamison was right to send you to the Unseelie.” Laurel paused, her eyes shooting daggers at Klea. “I would rather die than live in your perfect world.”
Laurel heard a crunching sound as Klea clenched her fist, and oily droplets of serum dripped through her fingers on to her black shirt. “Wish granted. It’s a shame you felt the need to take everyone else with you.”
“Not today,” Laurel whispered under her breath.
It’s now or never.
Her intentions must have been painted on her face, because Tamani pulled back slightly. “Don’t!”
But her palm was already pressed to his blackened skin, fingers splayed, eyes closed. She could feel the life beneath his skin, feel it fighting – could feel the poison it struggled against. Klea’s toxin was like no potion Laurel had ever encountered, even more complicated and alien than the powder Klea had used to conceal the places she’d based her trolls. Laurel had successfully reverse-engineered that powder, but it had taken her a long time and no small amount of luck.
Fortunately, it had been a learning experience.
When she pulled back, Tamani met her gaze with tears in his eyes. “Why did you do that?” he asked, bringing his hands to her cheeks. “I’m supposed to be protecting you.”
“You’re the best protector a girl could wish for,” Laurel said, leaning forward, pressing her lips softly, briefly, to his. “But it’s my turn now.”
She could feel Klea’s poison working in her fingers and her lips, breaking down the chlorophyll and lysing her cell walls, commandeering her energy and turning it against her. She would have to work fast, but it was speaking to her, and she was ready to listen.
“Oh,” she said, rising to her feet. “Your dad says hi.”
Without waiting to see the look on Tamani’s face, Laurel closed her eyes, repeating the World Tree’s words in her mind. If you can think like the Huntress, you can do as she has done. “I’ll be back,” she said, hopping over the trench again.
“Laurel,” David said, stopping her. “Where did you go?”
“I went to the World Tree,” she answered, feeling time ticking away in her head.
“The tree that talks to you?”
Laurel nodded.
“What did it say?”
“It told me to save Avalon.”
The garden behind the Academy was dimly lit as Laurel crested the hill and let herself into the greenhouse. The remaining faeries were sitting among their fallen comrades, who were starting to wake. The sound of coughing and rasping breaths was loud, but so were the murmurs of the Mixers calming and comforting their friends.
Laurel noticed that they had removed the stone panel between the greenhouse and the dining hall, but it looked like few of the Mixers felt confident enough to re-enter the Academy.
She picked her way through the faeries, looking for Yeardley, careful to not so much as brush anyone as she passed. She wasn’t sure the viral toxin had taken hold of her enough to be contagious just yet, but she didn’t want to take any chances. She finally spotted the fundamentals instructor near the centre of the greenhouse and was relieved, if unsurprised, to see Chelsea standing near him.
“Laurel!” Chelsea said, as Yeardley reached out a hand to grasp her shoulder.
“Don’t touch me,” Laurel warned, bringing her hands up in front of her. “I’m infected with Klea’s toxin.”
“Why do you have it?” Chelsea asked.
“Long story,” Laurel said. “But don’t worry; it won’t hurt you, only faeries,” she added. Her mind was being bombarded with the sensations of how the poison was killing her, and all of them had to do with chlorophyll. Both Chelsea and David would be fine.
She turned to her professor. “I need your help and I don’t have much time.”
“Of course,” Yeardley said.
“Two summers ago there was a faerie – I think she was a little younger than me, dark brown hair – who was working on a viridefaeco potion. Do you know who she is?”
Yeardley sighed. “Fiona. She is so determined, but hasn’t made any real progress since then. She decanted a promising base with the help of some old records, and I admit, we all had extremely high hopes. But since then, nothing.”
“Is she here?” Laurel asked, hoping against hope that the young faerie had not been one of Klea’s many victims. Thinking like Klea might save Avalon, but if the viridefaeco required lengthy fermentation or exotic curing methods, Tamani wouldn’t live to see it happen.
Yeardley’s face fell and Laurel almost couldn’t breathe. “She’s alive,” he said softly. “She breathed in a lot of smoke and, honestly, she isn’t doing well. But she’s still conscious. I’ve been caring for her myself. This way.”
Laurel nearly collapsed with relief. She followed Yeardley to the far end of the greenhouse where she recognised the dark brown curls and knelt beside a small faerie reclining against a planter box with her eyes closed.
“Fiona,” Yeardley said softly, crouching by her side.
Fiona opened her eyes and, realising Laurel and Chelsea were also there staring at her, struggled to sit up a little straighter.
“How are you feeling?” Yeardley asked.
“The viridefaeco potion,” Laurel said, interrupting before Fiona could answer. She didn’t have time for niceties. “Do you have a base made?”
“I – I – I did,” she stuttered.
“What do you mean, “did”?” Laurel asked, fearful of the answer.
“I was in the lab when the trolls attacked. I don’t know if my bases survived.”
Laurel tried to stay calm and cool. Klea didn’t fly off the handle when the pressure went up. If anything, she rose to the occasion. Laurel had to maintain that kind of control too. “We need to go to the lab right away. Can you walk?”
Yeardley helped Fiona to her feet. She was a little wobbly but got her bearings quickly. “Can you help her?” Laurel asked Chelsea. “Please? I can’t.”
“Of course,” Chelsea murmured, ducking under the faerie’s arm and helping to support her as Yeardley led the way.
As they approached the entrance David had cut only hours earlier, Fiona drew back. “It’s OK, the fire is out and the toxin is gone,” Chelsea assured her, then added, “And I’m right here with you.”
The young faerie nodded and took a deep breath before plunging back into the warm, sooty darkness.
Walking through the shadowed Academy hallways with a single phosphorescing flower felt like walking in a massive tomb. The hallways were scorched and decimated and bodies were everywhere, some whole, some burned, a few disfigured by the first wave of trolls. A fluttering panic settled in Laurel’s throat; would there even be anything left to work with in the lab? As they turned down the last hallway Laurel was relieved that at least the door was still intact.
After a moment of hesitation Yeardley pushed open the door, leaving a wide handprint in the black ash. As they passed through the doorway Laurel heard Fiona gasp. The room looked like someone had picked it up and shaken it. Broken glass littered the floor, potted plants had been overturned, and instead of furniture there were only piles of splintered wood. Atop everything was a fine layer of soot.
Laurel tried not to stare at the faeries on the floor – or the dead troll at the end of the room. Yeardley’s expression was stoic, his jaw tight, and Chelsea’s face was a little pale. Fiona was actually managing pretty well, focusing on the task at hand in typical Autumn fashion.
“My station is – was – over here,” she said, hiking up her calf-length skirt as she stepped over and around the destruction. The floor was littered with broken instruments and shattered vials Laurel figured had once covered the top of the station, so Laurel was relieved when Fiona bent to open a cabinet set beneath the table. Several large beakers were nestled safely within.
“One was knocked over and cracked, but two are left,” Fiona said, emerging from the cupboard clutching two bottles filled with a clear solution the consistency of fresh honey.
“Perfect,” Laurel said, wearily resting against the table’s edge, making sure only her skirt, and none of her skin, made contact with the surface. It was late, she was exhausted, and the toxin was taking its toll. She looked around the half-destroyed classroom. “Do you think we can find everything we need?” she asked, not really convinced.
“Over here.” Laurel startled at Yeardley’s voice and turned to find him wiping down a spot at one of the tables with a handkerchief. “You two discuss the base,” Yeardley said. “I will gather everything I can find. The specimens on the shelves should still be clean.” Laurel nodded and Yeardley set to rifling through cupboards.
Fiona put the two bottles on the clear bit of table in front of them and told Laurel how she had come up with the base. It was much the same as the explanation she had given in the circle the first time Laurel was in Avalon, but after two summers of study, Laurel actually understood much of what she said. Fiona rattled off a list of ingredients she’d found in an old text: cured Joshua tree nettles, blended ficus and cucumber seeds, passion-fruit extract. The list was extensive and after a few minutes of recitation, Laurel stopped her. “I need to feel it. Can you pour a few drops in a small dish for me? If I touch the base in the bottle, I’m afraid the toxin will destroy it completely.” She looked over at Chelsea. “I’m going to need you both to be my hands.”
Chelsea glanced around and found a small, shallow dish as Fiona carefully unsealed the top of one of her bottles. She poured a few drops and Chelsea handed the dish to Laurel.
“I know that I have the base right up to this point,” Fiona said, shaking her head. “The text was very clear, and the whole thing came together perfectly. But the remainder of the instructions had been removed and no matter what I try next, I can’t seem to complete it. There’s something I’m missing and I have no idea what it could be.” She sighed. “The things I’ve tried. It’s ridiculous.”
As Fiona outlined her experiments and failures, Laurel dragged her finger through the small puddle of solution in the dish in front of her. Her fingertips were black and a little swollen, and she focused on the way Fiona’s mixture was reacting to the toxin in her body, how the toxin was reacting to the viridefaeco base. She felt the potential of the minor components, how they were suppressed by the major ones. There were several ingredients she would not have thought to put together – much like Klea’s vanishing powder, the viridefaeco base was a mess of tension. What it needed was an outlet. And somewhere at the back of Laurel’s mind, she felt like she’d encountered the proper element somewhere before.
It was the same feeling she’d had when she first analysed the powder Klea had made from her own amputated blossom – not that the missing ingredient was part of a faerie, in this case. She remembered that day with Tamani, sensing the things she could make from him – toxins, photosynthesis blockers, poisons. The serum Klea had made to defend the trolls against faerie magic; that had used faerie blossoms, too. Potions that used faerie blossoms did not help faeries, but hurt them. That wasn’t what they needed for the antidote.
Yeardley had told her when she first came to the Academy that knowledge was the essence of her magic – the place from which her intuition drew its power. The missing component was something she knew, something she’d encountered many times before – something she’d failed to recognise as a useful element, perhaps something Fiona had never encountered. That seemed to point to an ingredient that wasn’t common in Avalon.
“OK,” Laurel said. “I think you were on the right track with dried wheatgrass. Are there any varieties you don’t usually use? Maybe some they have to bring in from the Manor? Let’s go in that direction.”
Yeardley had gathered more herbs and supplies than Laurel would have guessed could survive the fire. But she didn’t question it, just set to work, directing Fiona and Chelsea in gathering and preparing additives, letting them do the actual work and testing samples as the potion progressed.
“It’s so close. Everything is here,” Laurel said after adding a tiny mist of rosewater, the only other thing she felt it could possibly need. She traced her finger through yet another sample. “It’s ready, it’s just not enough. The toxin is still overwhelming it. It’s like . . . like the ingredients are inert and they need something to activate them.” She sucked in a breath. That felt right. “A catalyst,” she said softly. “Something to unlock its potential.” But what?
Fiona shook her head. “This is why I had to move on to other projects. I even had the same idea you did – I travelled to the Manor. They told me humans have driven many plants into extinction over the last few centuries. The final ingredient must be one of those.”
“No,” Laurel insisted. “No, I know the final ingredient. It’s on the tip of my tongue. What grows in California that doesn’t grow in Avalon?”
“Laurel,” Chelsea said hesitantly. “Your face – it has dark spots on it.”
Laurel reached her hands up to touch her cheeks, remembering the way Tamani had done the same thing. How long had it been? It didn’t matter – she couldn’t think about it now.
If you can think like the Huntress, you can do as she has done.
The viridefaeco potion had been lost for centuries. But Klea had figured out how to make it again. What made her so special? She was always willing to push boundaries. She had probably tested both toxins and antidotes on herself, risking everything for her work. And hadn’t Laurel done that? Hadn’t she taken the poison into herself, to better understand it? But the more she understood the poison creeping through her body, the more
she feared she couldn’t overcome it after all. Laurel picked up a fresh sample of the base and closed her eyes, continuing to run her finger through the solution, chanting her mantra in her mind. Think like Klea, think like Klea.
Avalon has forgotten how much humans have to offer.
Laurel’s eyes popped open as Klea’s words echoed through her head. “Chelsea,” she said softly. “I need Chelsea!”
“What?” Chelsea said. “What do you need?”
“I need you. Some hair, some spit . . . no, better make it blood. Human DNA.” She sorted through the supplies Yeardley had gathered. “The viridefaeco potion was lost after the gates were sealed – after all human interaction was cut off, right?” she asked, turning to Fiona, who nodded. “That’s not coincidence – it’s the reason it was forgotten; the reason they destroyed the second half of the instructions. The catalyst for this potion is human DNA. Chelsea,” she said, turning to her friend with a small preparation knife, “may I?”
Chelsea nodded without hesitation, holding out her hand.
Laurel held the knife close to Chelsea’s fingertip. Just a tiny poke, she told herself, but it was still difficult to lay that blade against her friend’s skin and press down just hard enough to cut.
“Should I do this part?” Fiona asked quietly.
Laurel shook her head. “No. I have to do it,” she said, strangely certain. She pulled the large vial in front of her, touching it for the first time. A tiny crimson bead was pooling on Chelsea’s finger; she looked even more exhausted than Laurel, but too excited to see what happened next to suffer much pain.
“Avalon’s last chance,” Laurel said under her breath. And Tamani’s, she added to herself. Then she tipped Chelsea’s finger and carefully let one drop of blood fall into the vial, stirring it with a long-handled bamboo spoon.
As soon as the blood hit the solution, it changed. Laurel continued stirring and a sense of exhilaration spread through her as the translucent mixture took on a purple hue that matched the vial Laurel had seen ever so briefly in Klea’s hand. It was working! All of the ingredients seemed to awaken as one and the potency of the base increased tenfold – a thousandfold! A giggle bubbled up in Laurel’s throat and Chelsea grabbed her arm.