Witchy Sour(69)

“I’m sorry, that’s not allowed either.” Thomas twisted his lips into a mock-apologetic grimace. “You and I are searching right here in The Forest. I have a timer set on Gus’s location, and if I don’t check in with a friend in time, it will open up a Suffocating Spell. The air will flow, leaving Gus thirty minutes to breathe before…”

He trailed off, the implication enough.

I opened my mouth to argue, but Thomas held up a hand.

“I wouldn’t do that,” he said carefully as he waved a hand in front of my body. The ribbons vanished from around my wrists. “You want to argue? I’ll sit here and talk to you all day long, but that doesn’t help either of us. Do you want your friend alive? Give me what I need.”





Chapter 24



Thirty minutes of stumbling through the underbrush had gotten me nowhere except lost. Thomas followed close behind, his gaze piercing enough to bore deep holes into the back of my skull as I ducked under bushes and shimmied up tree trunks.

I needed to put on a good enough show to stay alive. The second Thomas sensed I was useless, I had no doubt he’d get rid of me for good. Not to mention Gus.

For Gus’s sake, I ran through every plant name I’d learned since stepping foot on The Isle. Herbs and flowers, foods and drinks—none of it relevant. All I could recall about Hog’s Vein was its “common” name. On the street, folks referred to it as the Switcheroo—named for its ability to turn a spell from good to bad in a heartbeat. For this reason, it wasn’t kept in our storerooms. There was too much potential for accidental misuse.

Because the ingredient was not kept in stock, my knowledge of it was limited. I knew it grew in The Forest, thanks to Thomas, but that was about it. The Magic of Mixology, my beloved spellbook, had been left behind near the miniature cauldron.

Pausing for a breath as I stepped over a fallen log, I pictured the page of the book featuring Hog’s Vein. Only a paragraph was featured there, along with a picture. The image of Hog’s Vein was of a dainty little flower, contrary to its name. With long, skinny stems and teensy yellow flowers, it looked like a miniature daffodil.

“Are you going to stand up there all day?” Thomas shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Time’s a ticking, you know. For Gus, that’s bad news. For you, that’s bad news. For me? I can stand here all day.”

“I was thinking,” I growled. “I have never seen Hog’s Vein in person, let alone gathered it in the wild.”

“What were you thinking about?”

“I’m trying to recall a page from The Magic of Mixology! I’m sure you’ve read it—after all, you stole the book. If there’s one thing that I’d hate more than having the book stolen in the first place, it’d have to be having the book stolen and knowing the person didn’t appreciate it. At least do your due diligence and read the thing.”

Thomas had the grace to blush. “Quiet.”

“You haven’t even read it.”

“Tell me what it says!”

“I can’t remember,” I said dryly. “I just recall the picture.”

He gave a derisive snort. “Those who live in glass houses—”

“There!” I pointed before he could finish his saying. “That yellow flower, do you see it?”

His gaze darted across the expanse of underbrush to where I pointed. He must have seen the photo in the book too, since his eyes widened at the sight. “You’ve found it.”

I beat him to the small patch of flowers growing in the shade of a large, beautiful weeping willow. As soon as I bent over, I sensed something was wrong. “Wait,” I said hesitantly. “These look correct, but I don’t think they are.”

“What are you talking about?” He kneeled next to the flowers and gently touched the stem of one. “These are perfect. In full bloom, just like I need.”

“No.” I shook my head, confident something wasn’t right. I just couldn’t put my finger on what. “Don’t touch it.”

“You’re tricking me. You want me to believe this isn’t right. I haven’t had time to read the whole book, but I looked at the page on Hog’s Vein. This is it.”

“No, no, no,” I murmured now to myself more than anyone else. “There’s something wrong.”

“Get out the vial. We’re picking some.”

I reached into my pocket, pretending to dig around for the vial, stalling for time as I fumbled with the fabric. What is it about those flowers? I closed my eyes, struggling to recall the text on the page next to the images of the tiny, sweet-looking flowers dressed to kill. “Wait!”