Kiela barged into the back room and threw the quilt off the third crate. She began pulling out books and piling them on the bed. “Green cover. Two authors.” He joined her and helped pull books out of the crate. “It was mostly a collection of spells for sick livestock—it was published as a veterinary companion—but there was a section on magic-infused creatures.” She hoped the mermaid wouldn’t be offended. Merfolk were people—classifying them as “creatures” was rude, though common in earlier texts—but knowledge was knowledge, and that was the closest bit that Kiela had.
She and Caz dug deep into the crate. The cactus darted around the room. Kiela had the sense that it wanted to help, which was a surprise, but she didn’t have time to think or worry about what it meant for the cactus to be so alert and aware. She filed the oddity in her head to mull over later, when there wasn’t a life at stake.
“Aha!” Caz held up a slim green book with his tendrils.
Kiela plucked it out of his leaves, dropped cross-legged onto the floor, and began to read as fast as she could. Storm sick, storm sick, storm sick . . . Yes, there was the chapter! She skimmed it quickly. There had to be a cure . . . Why write about it in a book like this if there wasn’t? “We need these ingredients.” She held the book up for Caz to see. The cactus scooted beside him and appeared to be peering at the book. Kiela wondered if the cactus could read. She still wasn’t clear how Caz knew how to read. He’d been created with the knowledge. She guessed it was a side effect of being created by a rogue librarian. Looking at the cactus, Kiela wondered if that was the case here as well.I supposeI’mthe rogue librarian now.
Most of the items on the list were natural and easily obtained: sap from a tree struck by lightning (she’d seen one on her journey back to the cottage), spit from a grown human (she could supply that), a feather (she hoped the chicken was still in the backyard), a handful of soil (plenty of that in the garden or even attached to Caz, though she wouldn’t take that, of course) . . . but it also called for the leaves of a verisad plant. “What’s a verisad plant?”
“Rare, shiny leaves, very tiny plant that grows in the shade of other plants.” Caz’s leaves rustled. “I haven’t seen any in the garden. I don’t know if it grows on Caltrey.”
The cactus darted out of the bedroom with a “Meep!”
“Then we’ll research substitutions.” She wasn’t going to let the mermaid down, not when she had all the knowledge of centuries around her. “You want to start on that? I know where to find a pine tree struck by lightning.”
“On it,” Caz said.
Rushing out of the bedroom, Kiela told the mermaid, “We have a plan. Just . . .” She didn’t know what to tell the mermaid to do—make sure her child didn’t die? “We’ll be back. We need supplies.”
The mermaid flopped her tail and hissed, “Go.”
Kiela raced out of the cottage, skirting the broken jam jars. Where exactly had she seen the lightning-burned tree? It had been on the path to the cliff . . . She plunged into the forest without a backward glance. Around her, the birds called, and she realized this was the first time she’d heard them since the storm. She hoped they’d weathered it okay. Scanning the trees, she looked for the apple-blossom bird but saw only sparrows. She wondered if the cloud bears were okay. Was there one attached to the damaged tree? Would her pine cone spell help heal it? First, though, she needed the sap—
She found the lightning-struck tree, a third of the way down the trail. Skidding to a stop, she murmured an apology to whatever tree guardians were out there watching her. She grasped a bit of the bark and ripped it off, taking care to get some bark with char and some without. She didn’t know which exactly the spell called for, but it was safest to have both.
Kiela pivoted and darted back toward the cottage. She beelined through the house, past the mermaid in the copper tub and the merbaby on the hearth, out the back door, and into the garden. Several of the plants had been flattened in the rain. Mud stuck to her shoes. The chicken was still in her muddy pen. She had survived fine. Kiela plucked a feather from the hen’s back.
She squawked and ruffled her feathers.
“Sorry.”
Kiela scooped up a bit of soil that was at least partially dry from being close to the house. Running inside, she dumped the dirt, the feather, and the bark into a bowl on the counter. Behind her, the mermaid splashed in agitation as the merbaby let out a weak moan. Kiela spat in the bowl and mixed. The only ingredient missing was the leaves.
“Any luck with a substitution for the verisad leaves?” Kiela called to Caz.
Emerging from the bedroom, Caz waved his tendrils in the air. “No! No luck at all! I can tell you the substitute for basil, for goat cheese, for goat hooves, for goat spit—why do so many spells involve a goat? You can use a chicken egg to substitute for a goose or swan egg so long as you are okay with the result only taking effect close to home. Apparently chickens don’t like to wander and that’s why? Except for our chicken, though she seems happy enough now. But no mention in any books of any viable substitute for verisad leaves, because no other spell requires it, and I can’t—”
“Meep.”
Kiela turned around.
In the garden doorway was the cactus, with a collection of small, shiny leaves stuck to its needles. “Caz?” Kiela asked. “Are those—”
“Oh, you beautiful genius,” Caz said to the cactus. “Verisad leaves.”
Kiela plucked the precious leaves off the cactus’s spines and mixed them with the rest of the concoction into a paste. “You’re a hero,” she said to the cactus. “Thank you.”
“Meep.”
Carrying the paste to the hearth, Kiela knelt beside the merbaby. He’d curled into ball. His tail was wrapped tight around himself, and he was trembling. His mother had to stay in the tub to keep her skin moist, but she couldn’t bring him into the water with her—the magic lightning from the storm still skittered over his body. If he submerged, it would worsen the effects. But if he didn’t . . .
“It’s going to be okay.” She didn’t know if that was true, but she had to say it. Aside from the storm sickness killing him, he’d been out of the water for far too long. His skin looked flaky and pale, and his breath wheezed as if every inhale and exhale hurt. “Caz, would you hold the spellbook open?”
The merbaby whimpered in pain, and his mother wailed again.
His outer leaves trembling, Caz held the book steady beside Kiela.
Carefully, she spooned the concoction onto the merbaby’s back, along his spine as the book instructed, and then she read the spell out loud. She pronounced each word as clearly as a bell, focusing all her attention on the child.
