She looked at the next pot. No, there was theMandragora. But it was in the wrong pot—that one had held St. John’s wort, hadn’t it?
And theMandragoraleaves—were they moving? Yes, it looked like they were shifting, burying themselves deeper into the pot. A small chittering sound came from within, beneath the soil.
Elswyth concentrated vitæ into her hand. She sprouted thorns from her fingertips, and then fabricated witch-hazel beneath the base of each thorn—one of Kehinde’s tricks. Gas filled the space between thorn and finger, the same mechanism the witch-hazel plant used to shoot its seeds as quick as bullets. Tension built at her fingertips, the thorns ready to burst. With her other hand, sheslowly reached toward theMandragorapot, ready to pull the plant from the soil.
The pot holding theMandragoraexploded. Dirt flew into her eyes, and she stumbled backward.
A shadow bolted from the ruins of the pot and toward the door. Elswyth thrust her hand downward. The thorns burst from her fingers, spraying across the room, landing in a line against the hardwood floor.
The thing yowled, almost earth-shattering in its volume. She clapped her hands over her ears. How could something so small produce such a sound? The scream slowly faded, followed by that strange clicking sound again. The creature had skidded across the floor, thrown back by the force of her witch-hazel thorns.
Elswyth stepped forward. The room was dark, and the creature was just a smudge of black on the white tile. It twitched, trying to pull itself away from her with small, humanlike arms.
Elswyth summoned foxfire to her hand. The mushrooms illuminated the room before her and the creature with it, where it lay in a pool of green blood. “That,” she said, “is certainly not a mouse.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The mandrake plant, a member of the nightshade family, is known for its curiously human-shaped roots. It was said to scream when pulled from the soil, killing any who heard the sound. Mandrake produces several hallucinogenic alkaloids, including scopolamine, a frequent component of truth serums. In floriography, mandrake meanshorror.
The creature crouched in a large jar, scraping at the glass. It was morning now, but Elswyth still sat at the writing desk in her bedroom. The dim light of dawn bled through the balcony doors and made her head ache from lack of sleep. A cup of tea grew cold at her side, next to three identical empty glasses, a few loose leaves staining the porcelain black. And still, she refused to let the creature out of her sight.
Elswyth busily sketched the creature: Its plume of green-purple leaves, sprouting from a malformed head. Its bulbous body and chubby limbs, made from a woody, rootlike material. She’d already dissected it when it was unconscious; she’d had a hunch that the thing—like the plants it was made from—wouldn’t dieif it were cut open and stitched back shut, and she’d been right. It awoke not hours later, angrier than ever. How it actually moved, she had no idea. But it moved frighteningly fast.
“Elswyth?” Mrs. Rose’s voice came. “Elswyth, your guest is here!”
Elswyth scarcely heard her. The creature had started scratching at the glass with its strange, bud-like claws—
Mrs. Rose screamed. The sound made Elswyth lurch from her seat, nearly falling backward. The creature, also startled, screamed back at her. The glass vibrated, muting it slightly, but Elswyth still clamped her hands over her ears.
“What in burning, bloody Eden is that!” Mrs. Rose asked. She threw herself against the wall, hat falling askew. The creature’s “face” had opened—not a face at all, not really, but a twisted bulb in the vague shape of a head. It split like a Venus flytrap, down the middle, and showed its true face within: two large lobes with red, wet flesh and small sharp teeth. The scream shook out of the creature’s throat, making the flytrap mouth flutter like wings.
Beside Mrs. Rose stood Dr. Gall. He held his bowler cap in one hand, eyes wide behind his spectacles. In the other, he held a large jar of yellowish liquid.
“Dr. Gall! Thank goodness you’re here. Did you bring the formaldehyde?” Elswyth said. Dr. Gall looked concerned. He looked to the jar and then said, “Well, yes, though I’m not sure. Is… everything all right, Miss Elderwood?”
“Yes, yes, I’m perfectly fine. But I believe I’ve found something spectacular.”
Elswyth moved to Dr. Gall and took him by the sleeve. She gestured to the creature, and Dr. Gall stepped forward uncertainly. Then his eyes widened beneath his spectacles.
“Is that…”
“A homunculus. A botanical homunculus.”
“A plant humanoid,” Dr. Gall said. “Did you create this?”
“No. I found it. It was in the bath.”
Dr. Gall looked at her curiously. “You found a homunculus… in your toilet? Does that not concern you?”
“Oh, immensely,” Elswyth said, “but regardless. Look at it, Doctor. A hybridization of the plant and animal kingdoms! It should not be possible.”
Dr. Gall bent down, glasses almost against the jar. The creature seemed to quell, examining him in return, hissing slightly.
“Can it see me?” Dr. Gall asked.
“It seems to have photosensitive clusters of cells on the headlike structure. Almost like eyes, but I can’t imagine it can see very well. It doesn’t even have a brain.”
Mrs. Rose huffed. “Well then you shall get along splendidly. Really, Elswyth, what are you thinking, keeping this thing in the house? And keeping it alive?”
