This Wicked Fate (This Poison Heart #2)(32)

I stared into her face. “But you said—”

“I know,” she said, lowering her voice. “I know I said you couldn’t go—I just—I’m hoping I can convince Mo to let you come with us, because you are the only one who has actually seen Hecate. She spoke directly to you and that has to mean something. It’s your mother she’s sheltering. I don’t know if we can do this without you, but I did mean what I said, it is dangerous.” Worry drew her eyebrows together. “I could never forgive myself if something happened to you, and of course I would make sure you were as safe as possible, but look what we’re dealing with here. Ancient goddesses, power beyond our full comprehension. There is a risk.”

“A risk I can take.” I moved closer to her. “What did Dr. Kent show you? I’m just gonna assume that you wouldn’t let me come along if you knew I was gonna die, right?”

Circe gripped the handle of the case. “No. Of course not.”

A terrible thought occurred to me. Mrs. Redmond and Karter had both been kind to me. I’d trusted Karter and even thought he was my friend. I was wrong about him in ways I couldn’t stand to think about. But Karter and Circe were not the same. I could trust Circe to tell me the truth, and still, I wondered if maybe I was already too trusting. The thought grew in my mind like a ragged ugly weed.

“So, what’s in the case?”

She lifted the lid. Inside, the two halves were divided into smaller compartments, each containing miniature apothecary jars closed with corks. Some were no bigger than my thumbnail, but even the biggest ones were only an inch or two. There had to be a hundred vials set inside little velvet-lined cubbies.

“My mother taught me that I should never go anywhere unprepared,” Circe said.

“What do you mean? Like how my grandma is always telling me to make sure I have on clean drawers when I leave the house in case I get in a car accident?”

Circe laughed. “What is it with old folks? My grandma used to tell me the same thing. First off, who’s intentionally leaving the house with dirty drawers? And second, if I get in a car accident, the state of my drawers is probably the least of my worries, right?”

“Exactly,” I said, laughing along with her. I pushed my glasses up. “But I’m guessing that’s not what you’re talking about here.”

“Not really,” she said. “What she meant was that we have this power over the plants but I can’t bring the garden or the apothecary with me when I go places. So my mom taught me to use this.” She tapped the side of the briefcase. “She made this for me. It lets me keep everything I need close by. I can find sage and mugwort almost anywhere, but bloodroot? Blue flag? Lobelia? I can’t just run to the store for those, and finding them in the wild is almost impossible. Our garden is unique in that it can sustain plants that, normally, would never even grow on the same continent much less the same plot. I keep a little of everything in these containers. I only need the smallest fraction of the plant to grow a new one no matter where I am.” She plucked out a narrow jar as big around as a pencil, maybe an inch long. She pulled out the tiny cork and took my hand in hers, turning my palm up. She gently tapped the butt end of the jar and a fleck no bigger than a single flake of pepper fell into my hand.

“Make it grow, Briseis.”

I squinted at the flake. “I’ve never—” I stopped short. In the turret at the top of the house I’d inadvertently made a plant come back from what I assumed was just dust in the bottom of its planter. It had seemed impossible, and I thought the dirt and dust in the container had been hiding a leaf or root I’d overlooked. “This is almost nothing.”

“It is everything,” Circe said gently. She pushed my fingers closed around the speck of plant matter. “Everything you need is right there in that tiny piece. Try it. I think you can do it.”

I focused on the speck, took in a shaky breath.

Circe put her hands on my shoulders. “No need to be nervous or scared.”

“I’m not. I just—”

“You’ve just been hiding this gift your whole life except from the people you trust most—your parents. And your friends might have seen bits and pieces, but it scared them a little so you hid it away.”

I stared into her face and saw care and concern—but there was also a familiar sadness. She knew exactly what I’d had to deal with even if I hadn’t shared all of it with her yet.

“And now you’re here and I’m telling you that you don’t have to be afraid, but you’re not a hundred percent sure you can trust me.”

“Do our abilities cover being psychic, too?”

“Not that I’m aware of,” she said gently. She touched my closed hand. “I know what it’s like. And you can decide for yourself if you trust me, but right now, all you have to do is make it grow.”

I steadied myself and took off my glasses, setting them on the counter. I concentrated on the fragment of plant in my hand and breathed deep. The familiar tingling started in my shoulder, then flowed down to my forearm. As the warmth entered my wrist and settled in my palm, I slowly opened my hand and the speck shifted, doubling in size and sprouting roots like whiskers. A stem pushed its way through my fingers, and small waxy green leaves unfurled alongside fleshy red berries.

“It’s yew,” I said. “Me and one of the girls in my third grade class ate some of these.”