“Relax, okay? The easiest way to float is to relax.”
“Relax. Got it.” Laying my cheek on the board, I command my muscles to melt. Just another comatose sea lion here. Nothing’s going to happen.
He treads water beside me for a moment, then smoothly glides away.
When Court reaches the channel, the water pulls him behind the rock and out of sight. I push myself up to try to see better, causing the board to slide around under me. Don’t panic. Relax. “Court?”
One of the sea lions barks, then flips onto its other side.
What if the water current’s too strong? What if it drags him out to sea? The seconds plod by. This was a bad idea, a very bad idea. So I’m locked in the tower, it’s not worth Court’s life. Why didn’t I think this through a little more? “Court!”
No response.
The board starts to turn to the left so I no longer face the channel. Water chases itself around the black rock, throwing up white mist and seafoam. Cupping my hands the way Court did, I dig in and try to turn the ship around. The water numbs my arms but I keep going, until finally I’m facing the channel again.
Court’s head pops out of the surface. He drags himself by long strokes toward me.
I whimper in relief.
“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 IN both 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 stomach drops 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 strength than 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.