“You didn’t miss me, did you?” His voice carries across the water.
“A little.” Now the board’s turning away again. I hoist up my arms and let it. He’s halfway back to me when I hear him cry out. I jerk my head around. Court, not ten feet away, puts a hand to the side of his head. His face pinches like he’s in pain.
“Mim,” he gasps. “A bee.”
TWENTY
“THE AROMATEUR’S POWER LIES NOT IN HER ABILITY
TO SMELL, BUT HER POWER TO GIVE.”
—Ferne, Aromateur, 1832
I DIG INboth arms and paddle furiously. “I’m coming!”
My floating platform threatens to derail at my frenzied splashing. I can’t help Court if I don’t calm down. Relax. One arm after the other like he did.
The water is thick as cement, and each stroke leaves me breathless. Bees don’t like the ocean. One of the bees buzzing around the California lilac must’ve fallen asleep in my hair and then awoken when I got splashed.
Court struggles to keep his face above water. Where is his EpiPen? Left back on the shore when he changed. There’s not exactly anywhere to put it on a wetsuit. Who knows if an EpiPen is even waterproof?
The ocean swells and when it drains back out of the cove, it pushes us toward the channel, toward the whirlpool. My stomachdrops at the movement, and I break into a cold sweat. “Hang on, I’m almost there.”
Gritting my teeth, I redouble my efforts to paddle toward Court but a wave hits me from the side, and the board flips over.
I remember to close my mouth just as I plunge into the icy depths. In a panic, I clutch at the board, but I can’t get a grip. It’s too slippery. My head dips underwater. Madly bicycling my legs, I try to pull myself up, but the water pushes me back. Shoving aside thoughts of imminent death, I try again.
If I die, so will Court.
With a last burst of effort, I reach up and grasp the edge of the board with my fingertips. Hoisting myself back out of the water, I fling my arm over the board, filling my lungs again with air.
Court’s submerged to his nose.
“Court!” I use my free arm to pull myself closer to him. My limbs feel numb and sluggish. Move faster! Just a few feet more.
I reach out to Court, but miss and the board flips again. Back under the water, I sink. Court’s body dangles in front of me, the collection bag with the bladder wrack floating next to him. His leg kicks out once, pushing his head above water.
I wiggle and thrash my way back to the surface as well, desperately flinging my arm over my fickle raft once again. Got it. Keep going.
Finally, I catch him under the shoulder. With more strengththan I thought I owned, I lift him up a few inches and lug him toward me. Gasping, he heaves his arm over the board, somehow managing to tuck it under him again.
I yank off my glove with my teeth and comb my frozen hand through Court’s hair in search of the stinger. It’s right behind his ear. I dig it out, though I know it won’t do much. The poison has already spread.
My eyes fill with tears as Court struggles to breathe, his grip on the board weakening. To help keep him afloat, I jam my arm under his and pedal my legs back and forth so I don’t sink, racking my brains for a solution. No plantain weed, no EpiPen, only salt water, seaweed, and myself.
Myself.
Human saliva is a powerful thing, and the secret ingredient for our elixirs. How powerful, then, is a love witch’s saliva? Mother says our bodies contain the memories of the plants we handle. It’s why we never get sick and heal so quickly. But kissing him? It’s anyone’s guess where Larkspur drew the line, but clearly kissing lies on the other side of it. I could end up like Aunt Bryony.
I almost laugh out loud. Who cares at this point? The ocean has closed a fist around us anyway. We will die here and no know will know except the sea lions.
Court blinks as if trying to straighten his vision. His mouth hangs slack, lips blue with cold or shock, probably both. I wait until he draws in a breath, then without wasting anothersecond, I press my lips into his.
Since this will likely be the only kiss I ever get, I give it all I’ve got, despite the tangle of hair covering my face, the salt burning my eyes. Ours noses bump together and his lips, half-parted already, yield under mine. He tastes sweet as apples, his mouth deliciously warm despite the frigid temperature. My stomach drops as if I’m in free fall, and for a moment, I think I have joined the cormorants diving somewhere near. But then his gasp catches in my throat and vibrates down to the deepest chambers of my heart.
The sea swells again, lifting us higher, but the movement doesn’t break our connection. Finally, though I want to stay there longer, I pull my head back. Court’s skin loses its bluish cast, and his eyes regard me like I startled him out of a dream.
I cry out as another wave yanks the board from my one-armed grip. Then the water swells over my head, cutting off sound and holding me in place. I kick my body upward, but the sea squats on me like a twenty-ton giant. I stop moving to preserve breath.
