Nada's Escape: Fighters' lies

14.2 Special

The wheels on Darcell's chair squeak as he inches forward. He's twisting his head from side to side, assessing.

"I know there's something... different about you. If we can just prove it to the council... Well they love Talents."

I gulp. "Talents? As in Huntsmen super powers? Are you insane?"

"No," he shrugs, "It's simple enough to test. You can trust me."

The tiny words hit me with a tingling dose of déjà vu. I remember the burn across his cheek and the way his eyes had opened wide in my dream. Trust me. You have to trust me.

I shake off the memory. This is ridiculous.

"Where do we start?" He muses, taking my silence as agreement.

"Screw it. We're here anyway." He reaches across the desk, giving me a full view of his arse in black jeans as he fumbles there. I avert my eyes.

I barely catch a vial he sends sliding across the desk. Another potion.

"Yeah," he settles back into the spinny chair and watches me through steepled fingers, "So tell me what it is."

"I don't know."

"I think you can do better than that," He parrots my own words back to me. I raise my eyebrows and turn my attention to the vial.

This one is in a brown bottle so I can't even see the colour of the liquid inside. It's dark, thicker than water. I unscrew the cap cautiously.

"Can I look inside?" Is that allowed?

"Sure whatever you like." He shrugs, constructing an image of ease.

I sniff with trepidation. It smells strange; chemical and earthy. I slide my finger inside the rim, lifting a spot to observe. Its red, I notice. Brilliant red.

"Is there food colouring in this?" I frown. He giggles back across at me.

I lift the spot up to my tongue. It's a potion, right? It's meant to be ingested. I brace for the impact of magic. It tastes... Spicy. Warm. But also familiar like...

I screw up my nose, "It's blood isn't it?"

"Well obviously." Darcell's non-plussed but I hurriedly screw the cap back on. As tight as it will go.

"Anything else?" He asks.

I cringe. You let me put that in my mouth. Whose blood is it, I wonder?

"Let me see the others." I demand, weaving past him to the drawer. He hovers excitedly at my shoulder.

"Have you thought of something?" The drawer is packed with tiny vials. Some are light, some dark. There's brown and clear glass. I pick up the amber liquid in clear glass that he'd been playing with earlier. Maybe it's more pink that I'd originally thought.

The sinking feeling of realisation percolates through me.

"It's the same, isn't it? They're all blood of some kind or another. This one's diluted, but that one wasn't." I point back to the vial I'd tasted.

I'm not really asking him. It fits like a puzzle piece straight into the Huntsmen's story. Maybe I hope he'll deny it. It would be easier not to know.

"Yep that's apothecary." Darcell shrugs.

I put a hand over my gaping mouth and walk for the door. My mind's churning. I had no idea that the Huntsmen used blood in their potions. I'm horrified. But not surprised, I tell myself, swallowing hard. I storm back and forth by the door.