Killer Frost (Mythos Academy #6)(39)
Nickamedes started flipping through the book. “Remember how we thought you actually had to find a way to grind up the leaves in order to get them to work?”
I nodded. In their attempt to poison me, the Reapers had used a plant called Serket sap, by drying and then grinding the plant’s leaves and roots into a fine white powder. So Nickamedes and I had thought that maybe we had to do the same thing to the laurel leaves. Of course, the only problem was that the leaves on my bracelet were made of solid silver, so they weren’t something you could throw on a cutting board and chop up with a knife. In fact, we hadn’t figured out any way to use the leaves so far. Otherwise, I would have used as many as it took to heal Nickamedes’s bum legs, since I was the reason he’d been injured.
“Well, it looks like we don’t have to grind, boil, or do anything like that to the leaves,” Nickamedes said. “Here. Take a look at this.”
He reached the passage he wanted and stepped aside so that I could read it.
Not much is known about how to use silver laurel leaves to heal or injure. However, one thing is clear. The leaves’ metallurgic properties make it impossible for them to be administered in the way one might boil, cut, or grind up a more typical plant, herb, or root. There is one school of thought that suggests getting someone to swallow one of the leaves is enough to activate their power, although that is a risky proposition at best. But another, more interesting idea is that the leaves can actually be used in conjunction with other artifacts to augment or influence their power, or perhaps even intensify a person’s own magic . . .
The book went on to give a few examples of how laurel leaves had been used in combination with other artifacts. The Greek goddess Hera had added a leaf onto a jeweled ring that her husband, Zeus, had planned to give to one of his many mortal lovers. Only when Zeus had given his lover the ring, she had dropped dead because of Hera’s jealousy and the malicious intent with which the goddess had used the leaf.
But apparently, the most famous example was of the leaves being stitched onto a pair of long, white silk gloves that Sigyn, the Norse goddess of devotion, had once worn, in order to help heal some horrible wounds. She’d gotten the injuries on her hands and arms while being splattered with snake venom when she’d been holding the Bowl of Tears up over her husband, Loki’s, head while he’d been imprisoned by the other gods.
“Great,” I sniped. “So all I have to do is tie one of the leaves to Loki’s finger, and he’ll drop dead. No problem. I’m sure he’ll let me close enough to do that, not to mention hold still while I slip the laurel onto his finger in the first place.”
“There’s no need for sarcasm, Gwendolyn,” Nickamedes said, picking up the book and shutting it. “Of course, I will research this further, but I thought you would want to know. I thought it might take your mind off . . . things.”
I tried not to look at it, but my gaze still flicked down to the key. That was what I needed to take my mind off things. Or at least to start working on the rest of my plan to rescue Grandma Frost—
Too late, I realized that Nickamedes had noticed me staring at the key. He frowned, then stepped forward and read the index card inside the case.
“Janus’s Master Key,” he murmured. “A very unusual artifact with some very unusual magic. Not the sort of thing most warriors would look at for more than a few seconds. They’re far more interested in weapons that kill people, rather than simple objects like keys.”
I didn’t say anything. I didn’t know what to say to get him to go away and not think about what I was really doing here.
“But then again, you are not most warriors, are you, Gwendolyn?”
Nickamedes looked straight into my eyes, and I could see the knowledge of my own scheme reflected back in his icy blue gaze.
My breath caught in my throat. He knew exactly what I was up to. Of course he would. Nickamedes knew everything that went on in the library, from the kids hooking up in the stacks to the professors who always returned their books late to why I would suddenly be so interested in an artifact that opened locks.
I sighed, fully expecting him to tear into me for even thinking about taking the key out of its case and using it to help me steal the candle. But to my surprise, Nickamedes kept staring at me. Finally, after what seemed like forever, he reached into his pants pocket and drew out a ring of keys.
My breath caught in my throat again because I recognized these keys too—they were the ones to the library doors, as well as the artifact cases. Nickamedes flipped through the ring until he found the right sort of key, then inserted it in the lock on the case, and opened it.
He reached inside and pulled out the Janus key. I expected him to walk away with the artifact, saying that he was going to move it somewhere else for safekeeping. In other words, far, far away from me and my thieving hands. But instead, Nickamedes shut the case and slowly placed the key down on top of the smooth glass. “You should take that downstairs and make sure it gets a good cleaning,” he said. “It needs polishing. Take
your time, though. There’s no rush—no rush at all.”
I couldn’t keep my mouth from gaping open. Of all the things that I thought might happen, Nickamedes actually giving me the key had never crossed my mind.
“Why do you think that it needs polishing?” I asked in a careful, but curious tone. “It looks fine to me the way it is right now. You know how . . . clumsy I can be with things, especially artifacts. Who knows? I might . . . lose it or something.”