Page 2 of Tanglewood Magic (The Three Sisters 2)
“Circe!”
She rushed back into the lab, carrying the container he’d asked for.
“Place it here,” he ordered, pointing to the table beside him. “And be careful to wash your hands. Even a bit of this stuff can befuddle your mind.”
Despite knowing she hadn’t touched anything but clean, dry glass, Circe left the container beside him and washed her hands in the sink. Still, her mind skipped right over the bossy comment and sent her a lovely vision of sweeping all the herbs and equipment off Rhys’s worktable and using its hard surface to crawl on top of him. She’d never had a lover, but she was certain that Rhys would be a thorough and attentive one. If he focused on her with a fraction of the intensity that he gave his work, her blood would positively sing.
A funny swooping feeling happened low in her torso. She shook her head. She was being completely ridiculous.
“What are you working on?” she asked tentatively.
Those piercing blue eyes darted to her, his expression initially annoyed but then morphing into something softer as his gaze swept over her. “Developing an antidote for gila vine poisoning.” He gestured toward a potted plant beside the cauldron. “Gila vines are growing out of control along the border of Rogos. Viktor Franwise’s sheep keep eating it.”
Circe didn’t know anything about Rogos, but she remembered Viktor. The elderly man rarely came into the apothecary, preferring to send a falcon to procure Rhys’s services. He’d been friendly and kind the last time she’d run into him, though. That was more than she could say about most people here.
Circe sniffed at the gila vine with its variegated, four-pointed leaves and winced. It smelled of anise and something bitter.
Rhys used tongs to drop a few pieces of snail shell into the cauldron. “This ivy is native to the Mystic Wood in Rogos. It’s not meant to flourish at higher elevations and hasn’t spread into Darnuith in the past. Franwise has been doing his best to keep his sheep away from the stuff. He’s moved the herd inland, but the vine is encroaching on his property faster than he can adjust.”
“What happens to the sheep when they eat it?”
“The first signs of illness occur about an hour after ingestion. The animals die within twenty-four hours.”
“No treatments help?” Circe narrowed her eyes on the vine. “What about inducing vomiting?”
“Doesn’t work. Nothing works. Franwise says he’s been lucky so far to weed out infected sheep from his herd. Of course, we are both concerned that the poison could make it into the meat supply. No witches or wizards have been harmed by tainted meat thus far, but with the vines coming closer and closer to town, we’d both feel better having a cure on hand.”
“Is there no way to contain the vines themselves?”
“Not one with any lasting effectiveness. Rogos is struggling with overgrowth as well this season. I’ve been working with a scribe there named Daluk on a containment potion, but neither of us has found a permanent solution.”
He turned his attention back to his work, and she had to swallow her disappointment. The room seemed to grow colder without the intensity of that gaze on her. Rhys gave his potion three counterclockwise stirs and then nodded as it turned a lighter shade of gray.
“Bring me a narwit,” he demanded, without even a glance in her direction.
She retrieved one of the small pink creatures from the cage in the corner. It wiggled its four pink ears at her. With their high metabolism, narwits made the perfect test subjects. Their fast reproduction and short life-span allowed Rhys to collect vast amounts of data quickly. Still, Circe was reluctant to hand the creature over. She did not want to watch it die.
Rhys used the tongs to pluck a leaf from the vine and feed it to the creature, whose tiny nose wrinkled as it chewed. No sooner had the animal swallowed than it fell on its side, its muscles clenching in involuntary spasms.
“Now the antidote.” Rhys drew up a dropper of the light-gray elixir and dribbled it into the narwit’s mouth. The animal stopped seizing, but its breathing slowed almost to a stop. Rhys put on his work glasses, the ones he’d enchanted to see inside his patients, and examined the creature inside and out. “Fates’ fury,” he cursed. “It didn’t work. It’s dying. Heartbeat is barely detectable.”
No. Circe couldn’t bear to stand by while the creature suffered. She reached out and stroked the leaves of the gila vine, running her fingers along the plant from the base, where the roots disappeared under the soil, over the branches, and along the leaves.
“What are you doing?” Rhys snapped.
She drew her wand and, with a flick of her wrist, sent an analyzing spell over the plant. “This is how I came to understand plants in the Garden of the Hesperides,” she said. “Through touch and magical analysis.”
Rhys studied her, scowling.
“Of my three sisters, I always had the strongest inclination toward herbs and potions,” she explained. “It’s inherent in my magic. Transformation is my forte, but in order to transform something, you have to take it apart and put it back together. That’s what I’m doing now.”
Rhys ran his hands through his hair. “I need that sample, Circe—”
“Oh, I’m not going to take your sample apart. I’m just shining my magic through it to understand it better. For example, the poison does not bleed through the surface of the leaves. One would have to ingest this to be poisoned by it. Touching it is harmless.” She glanced at him and smiled.
His brow furrowed. “How do you know that?”
With a swish of her wrist, the light faded. She stowed her wand inside the special pocket built into the sleeve of her tunic. “The same way I know that the reason your potion isn’t working is because you need something to warm the blood. You have an analgesic for the pain, an astringent to keep the venom from spreading, and an antidote to neutralize the poison, but this plant kills by dropping its victim’s temperature. So, your narwit is suffering from hypothermia while your tonic works to take effect. But the lower temperature has slowed its circulation, making it impossible for its body to make use of the cure.”
