Potion ingredients are exceptionally hard to find and prepare
Of all the magical disciplines, it is the least understood by the government and the most protected process in Skadra.
This research topic is of particular interest because skilled potioneers were often employed back before the War, in the times humans were ruled by the fae, when the rich and powerful were cursed. While the potioneers often couldn’t break the curse, they could help manage its symptoms through their concoctions.
Too bad I’m sick and tired of taking medicine.
Under any other circumstances, Gentry would have been fascinated with the moving underground bunker. Even in her current state, she had a million questions because, whileshe’d researched magical artifacts from the war, she’d never read any texts about the underground bunkers.How did the magic last for over 200 years? Did they find anything else privy to the War in the bunkers? Were these the original bunks?But even as the questions circled in her head, she didn’t have the energy to ask the witches. Her feet hurt from their hike, and her heart was in a worse state.
She sat on the bunk as Visha worked on her injured arms, her head reeling.
Her father was dead. If anyone had asked her how she'd feel about her father bleeding to death from a stray spell, Gentry would've said it would've made her happy.Good, because he'd wasted five years of her life by betraying her.
If he hadn't grabbed her shoulders and looked into her eyes with his own crazed ones, Gentry would have never believed her father's innocence, or at least his partial innocence. Her father had loved her almost too much, to the point where he damned other girls to be given to the Nethertons. And somehow, Gentry didn't think that they'd all been sold to be cursed and tied to a rich politician. No, she suspected those fates had been far worse and all because they threatened Gentry, her sister, and her mother. Her father had damned himself and several others just to protect them.
It shouldn't have made a difference how she'd gotten cursed, but somehow that distinction made all the difference. She no longer hated her father, but she wasn't so sure how she felt. For the first time since she'd escaped Mage headquarters, she didn't know what to do, and that terrified her.
"Turn your wrist over," Visha murmured to her, and Gentry acquiesced to the request, turning her wrists over and allowing the strange witch to prod at her with careful fingers. While those fingers had started out cool, they had now turned piping hot.Magic always lets off excess heat in the hands and arms, Gentry recited to herself,so healing must take quite a bit of energy.
"You have an awful number of scars," Visha said, her tone neutral.
Gentry shrugged, not really in the mood to talk to Kit’s ex-girlfriend about her odd incidents over the years. The woman clearly didn’t want her here, and wanted to know exactly what she was to Kit. But Gentry had watched Kit dodge all those questions in that polite, charming way of his. And Gentry knew from looking at those text messages of Kit’s that his relationship with Visha was anything but normal. Fights, lengthy silences, and obvious manipulation had more than painted the picture.
Getting caught up in a domestic wasn’t really in Gentry’s plans, particularly as she had bigger problems. Even if she’d hated to see that Kit’s ex was an absolute stunner, and hadn’t liked how much the other woman touched Kit as he’d helped her gather up some supplies to make Gentry a salve. He was clearly uncomfortable with the contact.
Your father just died, she reminded herself,and it’s none of your business.
And so she sat silently, shell-shocked and meek, until Visha at last dropped those piping-hot hands away from her flesh.
"All done. You're healed." The other girl dismissed her with a tilt of her head. She then focused on Kit. "Were you scratched or bitten or anything?" she asked as Kit’s tall figure leaned against the kitchenette, his eyes distant.
"I think I'm all right," he said.
Visha stood up. "Let me check." She then proceeded to walk up to Kit and tug at the hem of his shirt in a silent command. Kit rolled his eyes, but took his shirt off nonetheless. Gentry's mouth went dry. His arms had always been nice, his shoulders big and broad, but she'd never realized that Kit was just the right kind of lean and muscular that she dreamed about all thoselonely nights at Mage headquarters. Unlike his face, which only had that long scar stretched across the middle of it, Kit's body had plenty of scratches and scars riddled on it. Some looked to be small dents while others were slashes. Instinctually, Gentry knew he got every last one of those scars by dueling another witch, just as he’d slaughtered four today. His jeans also rode ridiculously low as he needed a belt, which gave her a peek into just how chiseled he was.
It was only when Gentry realized Visha was watching her with dark, furious eyes that Gentry ripped her eyes away.
"See?" Kit said. "Unscathed.”
"Oh, that's not completely true." Visha’s voice was as sharp as a whip, and it took Gentry a second to realize what she meant: the marks left by the Favors, two on either side of his collarbone, and the other at the center of his throat. He'd been wearing a turtleneck, so she'd forgotten he'd had it. The two on his collarbone were filled in with a circle to complete the pentagram. But the one at the base of his neck was angry and red, an unfulfilled star for an unfulfilled promise. It looked painful.
Kit hissed when Visha touched it. "That won't go away so easy," he said. "Healing magic doesn't work.”
“She bound you like a slave." Visha was all the righteous anger.
"Well, I did try to kill her," Kit said dryly, "so I guess I don’t quite hold a grudge."
"Well, I can!" Visha whipped around on Gentry. "How dare you!" Gentry didn't have the energy to fight with someone who made no sense. Kit was right. He'd tried to kill her, had almost succeeded. Asking for three Favors, even at the expense of his life, felt like a small atonement to say the least.
Kit said, "Leave her be," and the two proceeded to have a conversation without saying any words, and then Gentry was right back to feeling jealous again. She'd had someone like thatin Mykel, but who knew where that other girl was and how they'd punished her for helping them escape.
Her eyes burned as she remembered just how much she messed up. Mykel and her father were already victims to her selfishness. And her little sister and mom were in far more danger than she realized if the Cobalts had been using them as a way to control her father. Could she do anything right? A dam broke and a tear slipped out and then another until Gentry had no other choice but to bury herself into the hard, thin cot of the bunker. Its blankets scratched against her cheeks and didn't even feel wet as those tears turned to silent sobs. She'd never been alone for the last five years, so crying silently was second nature. She was only distantly aware of the two witches in the room, who'd moved all the way to the other side of the barracks, as if she were a plague. She was too overwhelmed to eavesdrop, even though she knew she should. She was just useless.
Gentry stayed like that for some time, face down on the cot as she cried her eyes out about everything she'd lost and all the uncertainties in her life that were her own fault. It was a blur when a very kind Kit gave her a cold can of beans to eat with a plastic fork. It was even longer when she heard the other two retreat to their cots in the furthest corner away from her. There were whispers of connection, the perfect ambiance to her misery.
The candles which lit the bunker flickered off, their smoke wafting in the darkness.
