I replace the cover and crumple over my knees. My eyes fill with hot tears, and Mother’s words ring in my head. Her ability to smell faded away like summer sweet peas.
Pushing open the workshop door, I run around the garden, smelling plant after plant. I step onto a stool and inhale the blue star juniper tentacling out of a hanging container. It’s an unmistakable scent, like a baby Christmas tree, but today I can barely distinguish it from the skyrocket juniper growing beside it.
I jump off the stool and crouch by the common herbs rosemary, tarragon, oregano, sage—notes that are notorious for bossing other scents around. Tearing off handfuls of the plants more carelessly than I should, I crush them under my nose.
It’s useless. They’re a bunch of shrinking wallflowers, all of them. I collapse onto a patch of dwarf grass and put my head in my arms.
I tempted fate by going to school. I lied to Mother, defied the rules, and gave Larkspur the finger. No wonder my nose is becoming ordinary.
Mother would understand that I needed to save Court’s life, but not why I lied to her. For that matter, did I have to kiss him? A little spit on his bee sting—that might’ve done the trick. Why didn’t I think of that?
I didn’t think of that because I wanted to kiss him. That was my undoing. My stomach roils at the thought that I may never smell again. I wouldn’t be able to help Mother with the elixirs. I’d only be able to clear branches and weed like Kali, but unlike Kali, I don’t have anything else to aspire to, no other talents to build on. Plus, I’d have to face Mother’s disappointment in me, day after tedious day.
I drag myself back to the kitchen where Mother left the number to the cell phone she carries in case of emergency. I pick up the receiver of our old kitchen telephone with the curly wire and begin to punch in the numbers. Before the call connects, I hang up. I need some Kali therapy, first. She would know what to do. At the very least, she could recite a last poem of solace before I march to the gallows.
But before Kali’s phone rings, I replace the receiver. She can see that I called not even an hour ago. She must not want to talk to me. A hot colony of misery blooms inside me.
I dial Mother’s emergency number. As I wait for the line to be connected, I knead my knuckles into my temple. Mother, you might want to sit down. No. If I say that, she’ll think someone died. That’s what they always say when someone dies.
The phone rings. Once, twice.
Mother, I blew it. No, too much too soon. Ease into it. Make small talk first, ask how the palm trees are.
Three rings, four. Finally, an answer. I squeeze the phone to my ear. “We’re sorry, all circuits are busy right now. Please hang up and try your call later.”
Busy? This is an emergency! I hang up and dial again.
Same message. After trying for a third time and getting nowhere, I suddenly worry about her safety. I hurry to the workshop where we keep our only computer.
The old PC whirrs to life. Egypt’s latest headline: record-breaking heat of 108 degrees. Nothing newsworthy is happening in the Middle East either besides the usual oil-price acrobatics.
I try calling again, but no luck. Even if I did reach her, the most she could do is scold me. It’ll take her at least a day to return, maybe two, and that’s assuming she gets the jet. By then, Alice could be baking Mr. Frederics a wedding cake.
I pace the length of the workshop, forcing myself not to panic. Maybe it’s a cold. It’s flu season, isn’t it? My ears are ringing, too, and my head feels like someone stuffed it with Styrofoam peanuts. I am a human being after all, and I did nearly drown yesterday.
Ten. I was ten the only time I had a cold. I could hardly smell my breakfast, and the loss immobilized me as much as if I had suddenly gone blind. Mother wiped my tears and tucked me into bed with The Complete Fairy Tales by Hans Christian Andersen. By the time I finished the last one—The Steadfast Tin Soldier—I was good as new.
Only time will tell. Meanwhile, I’m wasting daylight wearing down the floorboards. I need to get on that elixir. If my nose is on the way out, I have to make it before it fades completely.
Staring through the fist-size indentation in the floorboard, I review the plants I will need for Alice’s elixir. Moss oak, protea majora, Jupiter grass . . . I groan. I still need to collect that one from the school field. Jupiter grass needs to be harvested when the sun’s shining and its oil’s at full potency. Of course, it’s just my luck that the day is overcast.
Grimly, I head back to the house. Guess I’ll be going to school after all. At least I won’t arrive until after Cardio, which might be the only good thing I can squeeze out of this day.
TWENTY-THREE
“TWO HEARTS IN SYNCHRONICITY HAVE
LITTLE USE FOR OUR MAGIC.”
—Wisteria, Aromateur, 1935