Madly (7 page)

Chapter Fifteen

Samantha

BLUE AND RED FLASHING LIGHTS flare over Kemi Street, and my heart pounds in my chest. My thoughts instantly jump to Molly. I dash past police vans and fire engines mounted up on the curb and burst through the front door of the shop.

The scene inside is a disaster. There's paper strewn everywhere over the dark hardwood floors. A man in a navy-blue uniform barges past me, carrying a toolbox. Forensics. More men in suits stand behind the till; I still haven't seen my family.

“Oh, thank goodness you're here,” says Mum, coming through the door to the library. She has to shove the door to get it open over the debris. I finally breathe again once I spy Molly standing open-mouthed behind her. And for good reason. If I thought the shop floor was a mess, the library is worse. Pages scattered to the wind, hardback covers ripped apart and strewn across
the room. No shelf has been spared the torture—no matter how ancient the book, how delicate its contents, all of it is in complete and utter shambles. We pick our way through what was once Granddad's prized collection, over to where the forensics team are clustered around an open bookshelf. The door I unlocked before Molly's ceremony.

The door I'm not sure that I locked again.

The very ancient room, by contrast, isn't in shambles—­­at least they had that much sense. But there are gaps in the shelving like a mouth with teeth missing, and black scorch marks on the walls. Then the smell hits me. It's acrid, metallic. I reel backward from the ancient library and away from the stench.

“Who did this?” I whisper. This is Granddad's whole world and it's been violated. And it's my fault.

One of the detectives approaches me. “Are you Samantha?”

I nod, but my actions feel separate from my mind. Like I've disconnected.

“I know this is hard, but you have to help us out, here. Whoever broke in to steal your books also attempted to burn the store down. Luckily you have some kind of built-in security system that put out the fire.”

A security system? I didn't think we had anything other than an old-fashioned deadbolt on the front door.

“Samantha?”

I've drifted away. I try to focus on the detective. “Um, this morning I was in the library as I thought I would do a bit of research on love potions . . .” I look sideways at my mother, chewing the corner of my lip.

“But you're out of the hunt,” says the detective, scribbling in his notebook. “You do know that love potion recipes were banned over a hundred years ago. If your family was hiding one of them, that could mean serious consequences . . .”

Heat rises in my cheeks. “We weren't hiding anything! Sometimes those censoring spells disintegrate over time. It was a long shot but I wanted to see. Then I thought the book might be in the ancient library, and then I had to leave . . .” Tears well up in my eyes. “I'm so sorry, Mum!” I bury my face in my hands.

“It's not your fault, honey.” Her voice turns hard as she speaks to the detective. “You've got the answers you need from my daughter, now you just focus on figuring out who did this.”

“Yes, ma'am. We've had some petty vandals loose in this area. We think they saw this as an easy target.”

“Vandals who steal only books?”

“We don't know yet what books are missing, which will make them harder to track down. Mr. Ostanes is being . . . less than cooperative.” He scribbles down some notes. “Well, we think whoever it was saw you all leave the house.”

“So you think this was premeditated?” my mother squeaks.

The detective hastens to soothe her. “Nothing is certain yet. We're working on a number of theories. For now we're going to have to close your store for a few hours, dust for prints, do a thorough investigation . . .”

“Absolutely not!” Granddad appears in the doorway. “Out, out, out. I don't need all you Talented busybodies in my house. We'll let you know if we want you.”

The detective holds his hands up. “I think we're just about done here anyway. If you don't want us to do any more . . .”

“You've done quite enough, thank you.”

The detective stares at him for a few seconds, and then nods. Not many people are brave enough to argue with my granddad when he's in one of these moods, and the detective is no exception. He snaps his fingers at the rest of his team, and they all shuffle out of our front door. The detective turns around to say something, and Granddad shuts the door in his face.

“Dad, are you going to tell us what's going on?” my dad asks.

“No. And we don't need any of those pesky policemen around because I know exactly who did this. John, Katie, I need you to take Molly and leave us,” says my granddad to my parents.

“Why?” my mum asks, flabbergasted.

“Dad, be reasonable! This is our home that was attacked too.”

“No. This is alchemist business and my apprentice is the only one who can stay. Now all of you, leave!” My granddad is at his most terrifying when he's like this. They obey his order. I want to reach out to them, to ask them to stay, but if this is important Kemi business then I know I have to listen.

“Can you smell that?” Granddad asks me once they're gone. His wide nostrils flare. “Whenever a Talented performs magic, they leave their own scent, a trace. It's normally undetectable, but not in here. Not in our store.”

“A Talented did this?” I open my eyes wide in alarm.

“Don't you recognize the smell?”

I concentrate. It takes me a couple of beats, but my memory catches up with my senses. I do recognize it. It's the same sickening metallic scent that invaded my nose back in the palace.

“Is it . . . Emilia? What would she want with our library?”

Granddad nods. He reaches out and touches the black powder that streaks the wall. They're not scorch marks at all. “Most likely the same thing you hoped to find. When she couldn't get what she wanted, she attempted to set fire to all these ancient books. But this powder neutralizes spells.”

“How is that possible?”

“Because the knowledge contained within these walls is worth more than either of our lives to protect. Every Kemi has known this. And when Thomas Kemi won the first Wilde Hunt, he spent his prize-winnings building this store and with it, many special protections against magic interference, reinforced with every win since. So that no Kemi would ever have to worry about the likes of Emilia Thoth.”

“And so the missing books?”

“I took them so that the police would call it a robbery and be done with it. But nothing ever gets taken from the store while a Kemi master is in charge. Nothing.”

Chapter Sixteen

Samantha

THE NEXT DAY MY ALARM blares, and I curse myself for not turning it off. I feel like I could stay tucked up in bed for a hundred years. Instead, I delay the inevitable by staring at the glow-in-the-dark stickers on my ceiling. I stuck them up after I'd been to a party at my classmate Ella's house—one of the few Talented parties I've ever attended.

Her house was one of the massive mansions almost at the base of Kingstown Hill, and I had pulled up on my bike, cycling past limo after limo queuing to swing around the semicircular driveway and drop off their dressed-up inhabitants. When I had heard “house party,” I'd automatically thrown on my favorite T-shirt, dark jeans, and scuffed-up ankle boots—turned out, this was the wrong look. As Wilhelmina stepped out in a sparkly strapless ballgown, I almost made a U-turn right then and there. But Anita had spotted me, and she was as dressed down as I was.

“You're not leaving me to face them all alone,” she'd said, and I'd grudgingly gone with her through the vast double doors, feeling stronger with her by my side.

Strangely, I can barely remember the details from that party now—the beginning of it swallowed up by my nervousness, but the rest dominated by a single detail: Ella's bedroom. Her parents had opened up the whole house and Anita and I had gone exploring. A few times that made us the unwitting interrupters of closet hook-ups, but most of the time it led to rooms more magnificent and wondrous than the rooms that came before it. But Ella's bedroom—I will never forget it. I opened the door and gasped—the ceiling was completely enchanted to look like the night sky. But not just the night sky as you would see it on a normal night in Kingstown—a fuzzy gray-black background, stars drowned out by the light pollution or clouds—but the kind of sky you could only see from the top of a mountain, the pitch black cut by swaths of stars, milky-white galaxies shot through with purple, and dark, swirling nebulas.

That night I'd come home and plastered plastic stars all over my bedroom ceiling. It didn't quite have the same effect, but it was the closest I was going to get.

Now I shut my eyes tightly and try to convince myself that the past two days were just a dream, a blip easily wiped from my memory. Well, except for the fact that I know when I go down for breakfast I won't be able to watch the news—that part of the routine won't be added
back in for a long time. But maybe going back to work in the store, helping to restore some order after the chaos of Emilia's attack, will make me feel normal.

The first few hours of the morning tick by in blissful solitude. I fix the bell above the door and get started on clearing up the mess. The terrifying thought crosses my mind that maybe the media will come by the store, bearing flashbulbs and voice recorders, to capture the Kemi family's misery on air. Yet obviously our early exit from the hunt isn't even news enough for that. We are forgotten as quickly as Princess Evelyn's early suitors.

Once I've piled up the scraps, I tie back my dusty hair and sit down cross-legged on the floor, trying to match them up like some enormous jigsaw puzzle. A line of text on a torn corner catches my eye—I swear it matches with another scrap of paper I've seen. I absentmindedly clamp the first bit of paper between my lips while I reach across the floor for the other.

As luck would have it, that's when the bell rings for the first time that day. I snatch the paper from my mouth and yell out, “Excuse the mess, but we're just clearing up from—”

The words die in my mouth as I take in who has walked in the door. Zain Aster.

Blood rushes up to my cheeks and I am immediately annoyed with myself in case he mistakes my flushed look
for being attracted to him. So I throw him a good scowl just in case.

To his credit, he flinches. “Hi, Sam.”

I move behind the counter, putting a big, solid object between us. He's wearing a black T-shirt and jeans, which is so different from the school uniform I was used to seeing him in before he graduated. Purposefully avoiding eye contact until the last possible moment, I catch a glimpse of glamoured tattoos shifting round his bicep. If he were anyone else, I'd say they were cool, but I keep my mouth firmly shut.

Finally I make eye contact. “Can I help you?”

“Nice store. I mean . . . I'm sorry about the vandals. I heard about that. Did they take anything important?”

“No,” I say curtly. Zain jams his hands in his pockets and rocks slightly on his heels. It's such a self-conscious move that I realize he must be nervous. I almost laugh, but quickly stifle the smile in case he thinks it's for him, rather than about him.

“Look, I came by to say sorry 'bout what happened. At the Rising. That wasn't very . . . sporting of us.”

“Yeah, generally cheating isn't considered to be ‘sporting.'” What century did he think he was from, anyway? “But hey, you got what you wanted, I'm out—though I'm not quite sure why you've bothered to come all this way to remind me of that.”

I'm expecting him to turn around and leave now his
apology is over, but instead he comes further into the store. He even dares to bend down and pick something up. If this counter wasn't between us, I'd snatch it right out of his hands.

“Don't touch anything,” I snap.

“I'm just trying to help.”

“I don't need your help. Besides, I have it mapped out where each book was torn up and I don't want to get the pieces mixed up.” I don't even know why I'm telling him this; I want him to leave, but I can't seem to shut up.

“Look, I feel bad for what happened. Can I make it up to you in some way?”

“Aren't you supposed to be on the hunt?”

A flash of annoyance on his face. I finally feel like I might have got through to him.

“Yes, I am. But we have our researchers working on figuring out what the next ingredient is after the merpearl, and I wanted you to know that I tried to stop us blocking you at the Rising.”

“And I'm supposed to thank you?”

“Okay, whoa.” He holds his hands up. “You don't get it. My dad wants ZoroAster Corp. to cure the princess, no matter what. But I want to make sure she's cured, no matter who does it. We should all have a fair shot. That's why I came here, to tell you I'm sorry you're out. And to ask for your help.”

“Well, the answer to that is no.”

“Aren't you going to hear me out?”

“No. Why do you even want my help? Don't you have your researchers to do that?”

He leans forward on the counter and gives me a conspiratorial grin. “They're all right, but I think you're better.”

I raise an eyebrow and lean away from him. His blue eyes are full of mischief, and he's too close for comfort. “You do? Why?”

He laughs. “Come on, you're a legend!”

“No, my family is the legend. I'm just an apprentice.”

“Don't deny it. I saw the concentration-boosting mix you were making for that competition. I came by your school a couple days before judging to look at how the entries were going. You're good. I don't know why you threw the competition, but I know you're the real deal. Look, I get if helping us is a step too far. But let me make it up to you for what happened at the Rising. I can show you around the main ZA lab, if you want?”

Despite myself, I'm interested. A tour around one of ZA's labs would be an incredible experience. Synth or not, I would give anything to see those mixers at work. It's also very hard to get an invite—the labs are normally closed off to the public, and the company likes to keep it that way.

But then I pull myself back to reality. “Thanks, but no thanks. I'm not going to work for the synths. Ever.”
I suddenly feel self-conscious standing here in the rundown store, the ever-present reminder that this is what my life will amount to.

“Sometimes I wish I could work more with natural ingredients.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, I mean, my dad trained as an alchemist, but he rejects all the traditional ways in favor of the synths. He hates that we have to go out into the Wilds too. If he could stay in his office and pay someone to go, he would. He doesn't trust me to go alone.” A frown flickers on his face. “Plus, magic behaves differently out there.”

I shiver, despite myself. “I guess when you're so used to relying on magic, you forget basic survival stuff.”

“Something like that.” His attention turns to a piece of crumpled paper on the counter. I'm aware of how close he's got since we started talking. I could reach out and touch the line of his strong jaw if I wanted to. Of course, I don't, but I feel almost as awkward as when I met the Queen Mother. Even at school, Zain always seemed more intangible than the royals. But he's not as perfect as I once thought. His hands are rough, and one finger is blemished by a nasty-looking chemical burn.

Witch hazel—to reduce scarring, blended with crushed anemone powder for skin reparation.

“Wow, wizard's beard? I didn't think anyone stocked that anymore.”

I look up sharply from his hands and see he's studying the inventory list I'd been making before the Wilde Hunt started. This time he is close enough for me to snatch it away. “We don't have it either. I'm making a stocklist.”

He's barely listening to me, though, because his eyes are cast upward and a look of awe descends on his face. He's taking in the shelves upon shelves of bottles, jars, and ingredients that disappear up into the high ceiling. I turn around myself and look at it all, trying to imagine what it must be like to see it for the first time.

“May I?” he asks, gesturing to come around the back of the counter for a closer look.

I actually nod, because seeing Zain in awe sends a surge of pride through me that I can't ignore—and I want him to be up close to really understand it.

“And none of this is categorized magically? Or digitally?”

I shake my head. “No, it's done by hand.”

“Who maintains all this?” he says, releasing a whistle of amazement.

I shrug. “I do.”

“Wait, seriously? I was joking! I thought it'd be impossible . . .”

I smile. “I've got a lot of time on my hands.”

“Clearly.”

I shoot another glare his way, but my face relaxes
when I see that he is smiling. “It is tough,” I say reluctantly. “But I work in the store every weekend, so my goal had been to go through the shelves and take a proper inventory of everything. Hence the paper.”

“Well, hey, you got as far as
W
. That's not bad.”

I shake my head. “No . . .
M
, actually. It was labeled as ‘Merlin's beard.'”

“Oh, I see. I'll help then. I'll start up from
Z
and you can work your way down again.”

He seems totally genuine in his offer, but I'm still suspicious. “Won't your dad be wondering where you are? What with the hunt and all . . .”

“Yeah, but he knows how to get hold of me. And my dad thinks I'm visiting Evie.”

It takes me a second, but the name clicks. “Wait, Evie as in Princess Evelyn?” I can't imagine being so close to a member of the royal family that I could casually drop their nickname into conversation.

He winces. “Yeah. I saw her first thing this morning, but she doesn't want to talk to me. At the moment she just sits there. Staring at herself. It's so strange.”

“I'm sorry. I know you guys were good friends. Were you there when she . . . ?”

He nods.

My curiosity burns bright, but I don't pester him any more. I sweep my hair up into a bun and secure it with the pen that's in my hand. “Right, well, look at the
labels, write down what's there, and if there's nothing in the jar itself, then put the ingredient on a separate list for the next Finding.”

I search around the desk for another piece of paper for him to use, but he's already started jotting things down on a fancy tablet that I've seen advertised on the casts but have no hope of ever affording. “I'll flick the list across to your in-box when we've finished,” he says, without turning around.

“Um, thanks,” I say. I force myself to move, rather than stare at the back of his head. Anita would jump to all sorts of conclusions if she was here, watching him casually help me with the inventory. And Granddad would kill me—and probably Zain too—if he found him in the store. But I realize I don't care. He's already picked up his first jar. I would be suspicious of his interest in the Kemi family stock if I didn't also recognize the meticulous—scientific—scrutiny and care he has that I have myself.

We settle into a comfortable rhythm, Zain checking the stock while I settle back down to my shredded book puzzle on the shop floor. He occasionally mentions something interesting he finds or lets me know what's missing. He also talks about the stockrooms in the megapharmacies, and the braver I feel, the more I start to ask about ZoroAster. “I hope to work in Research and Development after I graduate,” says Zain, after I quiz him about the different departments. “Researching new kinds
of drugs, new formulas—there are so many places in the Wilds that not even Finders have dared to explore. With new, more advanced magic and technology, I bet we'd be able to find even better cures—stronger, faster, cheaper medicine for everyone. And who knows what new illnesses there will be in the future. Did you hear about that supervirus in Jung province?”

Words of agreement fill my throat, but I'm suddenly shy and don't want to agree with him. We keep working along the stacks, until his chuckle disturbs me. I look over and glare at him.

He catches my eye and laughs again. “I'm sorry,” he says, stifling his laughter. “I didn't realize you had such a good singing voice. Big Damian fan, are you?”

I want to bury myself under the pieces of paper I'm holding. Then I can't help but laugh too. “Oh god, I never know when I'm singing to myself! I'll shut up.”