Chelsea and David would be fine.
She turned to her professor. “I need your help and I don’t have much time.”
“Of course,” Yeardley said.
“Two summers ago there was a faerie — I think she was a little younger than me, dark brown hair — who was working on a viridefaeco potion. Do you know who she is?”
Yeardley sighed. “Fiona. She is so determined, but hasn’t made any real progress since then. She decanted a promising base with the help of some old records, and I admit, we all had extremely high hopes. But since then, nothing.”
“Is she here?” Laurel asked, hoping against hope that the young faerie had not been one of Klea’s many victims. Thinking like Klea might save Avalon, but if the viridefaeco required lengthy fermentation or exotic curing methods, Tamani wouldn’t live to see it happen.
Yeardley’s face fell and Laurel almost couldn’t breathe. “She’s alive,” he said softly. “She breathed in a lot of smoke and, honestly, she isn’t doing well. But she’s still conscious. I’ve been caring for her myself. This way.”
Laurel nearly collapsed with relief. She followed Yeardley to the far end of the greenhouse where she recognised the dark brown curls and knelt beside a small faerie reclining against a planter box with her eyes closed.
“Fiona,” Yeardley said softly, crouching by her side.
Fiona opened her eyes and, realising Laurel and Chelsea were also there staring at her, struggled to sit up a little straighter.
“How are you feeling?” Yeardley asked.
“The viridefaeco potion,” Laurel said, interrupting before Fiona could answer. She didn’t have time for niceties. “Do you have a base made?”
“I–I — I did,” she stuttered.
“What do you mean, “did”?” Laurel asked, fearful of the answer.
“I was in the lab when the trolls attacked. I don’t know if my bases survived.”
Laurel tried to stay calm and cool. Klea didn’t fly off the handle when the pressure went up. If anything, she rose to the occasion. Laurel had to maintain that kind of control too. “We need to go to the lab right away. Can you walk?”
Yeardley helped Fiona to her feet. She was a little wobbly but got her bearings quickly. “Can you help her?” Laurel asked Chelsea. “Please? I can’t.”
“Of course,” Chelsea murmured, ducking under the faerie’s arm and helping to support her as Yeardley led the way.
As they approached the entrance David had cut only hours earlier, Fiona drew back. “It’s OK, the fire is out and the toxin is gone,” Chelsea assured her, then added, “And I’m right here with you.”
The young faerie nodded and took a deep breath before plunging back into the warm, sooty darkness.
Walking through the shadowed Academy hallways with a single phosphorescing flower felt like walking in a massive tomb. The hallways were scorched and decimated and bodies were everywhere, some whole, some burned, a few disfigured by the first wave of trolls. A fluttering panic settled in Laurel’s throat; would there even be anything left to work with in the lab? As they turned down the last hallway Laurel was relieved that at least the door was still intact.
After a moment of hesitation Yeardley pushed open the door, leaving a wide handprint in the black ash. As they passed through the doorway Laurel heard Fiona gasp. The room looked like someone had picked it up and shaken it. Broken glass littered the floor, potted plants had been overturned, and instead of furniture there were only piles of splintered wood. Atop everything was a fine layer of soot.
Laurel tried not to stare at the faeries on the floor — or the dead troll at the end of the room. Yeardley’s expression was stoic, his jaw tight, and Chelsea’s face was a little pale. Fiona was actually managing pretty well, focusing on the task at hand in typical Autumn fashion.
“My station is — was — over here,” she said, hiking up her calf-length skirt as she stepped over and around the destruction. The floor was littered with broken instruments and shattered vials Laurel figured had once covered the top of the station, so Laurel was relieved when Fiona bent to open a cabinet set beneath the table. Several large beakers were nestled safely within.
“One was knocked over and cracked, but two are left,” Fiona said, emerging from the cupboard clutching two bottles filled with a clear solution the consistency of fresh honey.
“Perfect,” Laurel said, wearily resting against the table’s edge, making sure only her skirt, and none of her skin, made contact with the surface. It was late, she was exhausted, and the toxin was taking its toll. She looked around the half-destroyed classroom. “Do you think we can find everything we need?” she asked, not really convinced.
“Over here.” Laurel startled at Yeardley’s voice and turned to find him wiping down a spot at one of the tables with a handkerchief. “You two discuss the base,” Yeardley said. “I will gather everything I can find. The specimens on the shelves should still be clean.” Laurel nodded and Yeardley set to rifling through cupboards.
Fiona put the two bottles on the clear bit of table in front of them and told Laurel how she had come up with the base. It was much the same as the explanation she had given in the circle the first time Laurel was in Avalon, but after two summers of study, Laurel actually understood much of what she said. Fiona rattled off a list of ingredients she’d found in an old text: cured Joshua tree nettles, blended ficus and cucumber seeds, passion-fruit extract. The list was extensive and after a few minutes of recitation, Laurel stopped her. “I need to
Chelsea glanced around and found a small, shallow dish as Fiona carefully unsealed the top of one of her bottles. She poured a few drops and Chelsea handed the dish to Laurel.
“I know that I have the base right up to this point,” Fiona said, shaking her head. “The text was very clear, and the whole thing came together perfectly. But the remainder of the instructions had been removed and no matter what I try next, I can’t seem to complete it. There’s something I’m missing and I have no idea what it could be.” She sighed. “The things I’ve tried. It’s ridiculous.”
As Fiona outlined her experiments and failures, Laurel dragged her finger through the small puddle of solution in the dish in front of her. Her fingertips were black and a little swollen, and she focused on the way Fiona’s mixture was reacting to the toxin in her body, how the toxin was reacting to the viridefaeco base. She felt the potential of the minor components, how they were suppressed by the major ones. There were several ingredients she would not have thought to put together — much like Klea’s vanishing powder, the viridefaeco base was a mess of tension. What it needed was an outlet. And somewhere at the back of Laurel’s mind, she felt like she’d encountered the proper element somewhere before.
It was the same feeling she’d had when she first analysed the powder Klea had made from her own amputated blossom — not that the missing ingredient was part of a faerie, in this case. She remembered that day with Tamani, sensing the things she could make from him — toxins, photosynthesis blockers, poisons. The serum Klea had made to defend the trolls against faerie magic; that had used faerie blossoms, too. Potions that used faerie blossoms did not help faeries, but hurt them. That wasn’t what they needed for the antidote.
Yeardley had told her when she first came to the Academy that knowledge was the essence of her magic — the place from which her intuition drew its power. The missing component was something she knew, something she’d encountered many times before — something she’d failed to recognise as a useful element, perhaps something Fiona had never encountered. That seemed to point to an ingredient that wasn’t common in Avalon.
“OK,” Laurel said. “I think you were on the right track with dried wheatgrass. Are there any varieties you don’t usually use? Maybe some they have to bring in from the Manor? Let’s go in that direction.”
Yeardley had gathered more herbs and supplies than Laurel would have guessed could survive the fire. But she didn’t question it, just set to work, directing Fiona and Chelsea in gathering and preparing additives, letting them do the actual work and testing samples as the potion progressed.
“It’s so close. Everything is here,” Laurel said after adding a tiny mist of rosewater, the only other thing she felt it could possibly need. She traced her finger through yet another sample. “It’s ready, it’s just not enough. The toxin is still overwhelming it. It’s like… like the ingredients are inert and they need something to activate them.” She
