What else breathes inside this mysterious garden?
By the time we head back, I’m astonished by my haul. I’ve collected four of the lizards that I’ve coined Spatters for their patterns and five purple beetles. I’ve never seen this type of lizard or beetle before. Each beetle has a set of curved antlers as big as my thumbs, each with scalloped ridges along the underside! I inaugurate the breed as Antlered Purples after their shade. I’ve also collected two Fireseed flower heads, four leaves, and a brimming bag of crimson pollen I’ve coaxed from the stamens.
As I head back, I see Vesper and Bea up ahead. Their arms are full of bagged samples, and their angular burn masks glimmer as they laugh and talk. Jan, Radius and Blane are right by them, jostling each other. “Have you seen Thorn?” I ask them.
Only Bea answers me. “Not since we first came out. Why?”
“Oh, nothing, thanks,” I say.
Has he already gone inside with Armonk? I’ll worry about that later. Right now, I need to find somewhere private to squeeze out the venom from the lizards’ jaws and release them back to the field before they get sluggish and sickly. Lizards are hardy creatures, but sensitive to human touch—too much of it and they wilt.
I wonder if these Spatters produce anything close to Oblivion. I’m running out, which makes me quite anxious though I’d really like to stop this constant need. I hate being tied to anything not of my choosing, especially after being tied to Stiles for so very long. But my night terrors … I can’t quit … not quite yet.
The only room with a lock is the bathroom. I’ll have to do the deed in there. Bad idea; Bea starts knocking impatiently. “Don’t be a hog, we all live here,” she complains.
Normally I can milk venom in a few expert moves, but I’m rattled because now Vesper’s knocking too—hard raps on the worn door. “Turn’s up, Cult Girl, we’re late for dinner.”
Tiny jar in one hand, I squeeze the jawbones of the last lizard with the other hand, and shoot a strong line of chartreuse venom into the jar. I breathe in through my mouth in order not to smell the pungent vapor wafting up as I secure the top. Its odor is stronger than the Dragon Elixir, does that mean it’s poisonous? Hard to say.
I pop the Spatter Lizard back into my latchbag, where he slithers in among the others. This feat is not easy with three missing fingers but I’ve learned to compensate. The moment I unlock the door Vesper pushes her way in. “This place stinks,” she snorts. “Your idea of perfume?”
It’s true; the Spatter venom is a nose-bristling mix of rotten moss and armpit sweat.
Now, what to do with the Antlered Purples? Most everyone is down for dinner, so the project room should be empty. I dash up to tier three. As gently as I can, steady a beetle by its cycling legs and examine it under the magnifier. I’m supposed to be examining Fireseed but it’s these creatures living in their garden that have snagged my imagination. Ah! As it rubs its antennae together it secretes a powdery toxin, which falls like fine spice onto the lab glass I’ve put under it. I repeat this with each beetle.
I think of Dad and his Cure Mead. How popular it was with our people, still is. I remember our family, in the kitchen helping him stir steamy vats of the stuff. And before that, asking the beetles’ permission before adding them to the mix. This time, it looks like I’ll be able to release them back to the garden.
My father taught me how to make other concoctions: wing powder for seasoning Fireagar stew; mica salt and Spidersoothe fashioned from spider legs and northern tea, used as a poultice for the nasty burn of Fireseed brands. My mother would help me package it.
With a sharp pang, I picture her back at home, fending off questions about my and Thorn’s whereabouts. She must be so worried. I’m a terrible daughter for running off. But then, in an unexpected surge of frustrated anger I wonder why she didn’t protect me from Stiles? Couldn’t she have? Somehow? She could’ve made me ugly or told him I had a strange, catching illness, or have wheedled him so much he figured that I wouldn’t be worth the trouble. I sigh. My parents did try, and if they’d pursued it more, they would’ve paid a terrible price. Lord only knows what the elders might be doing to my mother now. Ripples of fear pass through me when I think of Stiles searching for me. I was pledged to him so young. How far would he go to get me back? It’s all too dreadful to picture.
“Ruby, are you up there? You’re late for dinner,” Bea calls up.