Chapter 4: The Poisoned Well
777 Words
The basement lab was a strange mix of worlds. Dante had built a high-tech chemical facility, but he’d also brought in the raw, earthy tools of my grandfather’s trade.
Gleaming steel tables sat next to heavy stone bowls. Expensive machines hummed beside bundles of drying roots and jars of stinking oils.
I worked in a fever. My hands moved on their own, guided by the memory of a woman who had spent half her life in a surgery room and the other half in a village garden.
"The Ash leaf has to hit exactly eighty degrees," I whispered, my eyes glued to the burner. "Any hotter and it’s useless. Any lower and it won’t wake up."
The liquid bubbled a deep green. I was so focused I didn't hear the door open. These weren't the heavy, steady boots of Dante or his right hand man, Enzo. These steps were light and fast.
"Dr. Vance?"
I spun around. It was the girl from earlier, the one who had brought the crate. Her face was bloodless, her eyes darting toward the security camera in the corner.
"The cameras are on a loop for three minutes," she hissed, stepping into the light. "My name is Bianca. My brother is a guard here. You have to be careful with the supplies coming from the city."
I froze, my stirring rod held mid air. "What are you talking about?"
"Dante’s inner circle they aren't all loyal," she said, her voice shaking. "They think he’s weak. They think a leader who trusts a village witch is a leader they can replace. I saw a man at the gate mess with the crate before I brought it to you."
My heart hammered against my ribs. I turned to the crate and grabbed an uncut root from the bottom. I sliced it open with a scalpel.
Instead of a clean, white center, it was stained with a greasy, black streak of Aconite.
"They didn't just mess with it," I whispered, the horror hitting me. "They coated the healing herbs in a paralyzer. If I’d injected this into Dante, his heart would have just stopped. It would have looked like the original poison finished him off."
"Who did it, Bianca?" I moved toward her.
"I don't—"
Crack.
A bullet shattered a glass beaker inches from my hand. Blue liquid sprayed across my white coat.
"Get down!" I lunged for Bianca, dragging her behind a heavy steel cabinet. A second shot pinged off the metal, the sound deafening in the small room.
The lab door was kicked open. It wasn't the police. It was a man in a villa security uniform, wearing a black mask. He wasn't there to make an arrest. He was there to bury the evidence starting with me.
I looked around frantically. I didn't have a gun. I was a surgeon, not a soldier. Then my eyes hit the high pressure tank of liquid nitrogen.
"Close your eyes!" I screamed at Bianca.
As the shooter rounded the corner of the cabinet, his gun raised, I kicked the valve of the tank wide open.
A freezing white cloud exploded into the room. The man stumbled back, blinded by the mist. The gas hissed like a broken steam pipe. I didn't wait. I grabbed a heavy glass jar of acid and smashed it onto the floor in his path. It smoked and sizzled, creating a wall of burning fumes.
I grabbed Bianca’s hand and bolted for the exit. My lungs burned from the cold air.
We burst into the hallway and slammed straight into a wall of muscle. I screamed, swinging my fists blindly, until two strong hands grabbed my wrists and pinned them to my chest.
"Easy, Little Doctor," a dark, raspy voice growled.
I looked up, gasping for breath. Dante stood there. His face was a mask of pure, cold rage. He was holding a submachine gun, his eyes glowing with a lethal light.
"Someone poisoned the herbs," I choked out, my whole body shaking. "They’re in the lab. They tried to kill us."
Dante’s grip on my wrists tightened. It wasn't a threat, it felt like he was checking to see if I was still there. He looked past me into the foggy lab, then down at Bianca.
"Enzo, take the girl," Dante barked. He looked back at me, his gaze softening just a tiny bit. "And you stay behind me. I told you, Amara. I don’t let my treasures get broken."
He stepped toward the lab, his boots clicking on the marble like a funeral bell. The patient was gone. The Shadow King was back, and he was hunting.
- Writer
