Garden of Thorns Page 3

  “It should probably sit for one more day—”

  “I’m sure it will be just fine now,” she says with a laugh, grabbing the lid and jamming it back on the bottle, pulling it protectively to her chest. “That will be one-fifty, right?”

  I sigh but nod. She hands me the cash and hastily shuffles out of the shop.

  “Does that stuff really work?” Kai asks as he walks out of the lab.

  “To some degree,” I shrug. “Everything in that mixture is geared toward relaxation, happiness. The familiar scents should induce feelings of comfort and euphoria. The pheromones certainly have some effect. But half of it’s mental, truthfully.”

  Out of everything in my shop, my Adore Me “love perfume” is the least scientifically based, the product I’m least confident in, but the one that sells the very best.

  I also make custom batches of it, based on an individual’s specific scent and hormone levels. Teresa has been buying mass amounts of it from me for the past six months while she tries to get this James character to marry her.

  I’m sure it has nothing to do with the large amounts of money he makes.

  “Everything look good?” I ask as I open the folder on the counter, which contains my schedule.

  Kai nods with a little grunt. “I’ll be back tonight to make sure the guy in the basement made his way out.”

  “You have your keys?”

  He mumbles an affirmative. I look up as I hear him walking to the door. “Hey,” I call out. He looks back, his eyes hopeful and ready for whatever I ask. “Thank you. I mean, it wasn’t necessary, you staying around last night, but I appreciate it. It’s nice to have someone who cares.”

  There’s something weighty in his eyes when he offers me a small smile and a nod. He turns and walks out, headed to work for the day.

  I sigh as the door swings closed and I watch him walk off.

  My relationship with Kai is very simple. He’s always around to some degree. I see him nearly every single day. He’s the first person on my speed dial in case I need someone, and I swear, he’s never more than a few minutes away.

  Over the past few months I’ve come to suspect he has feelings for me that run deeper than friendship, though. He’s never acted on them in any way outside the boundaries of our friendship, but it’s just something I can feel. He would like what is between us to be more.

  But he’s waiting for reciprocation from my end.

  The problem is that I just don’t feel the same way. I love Kai, because he’s always there for me. But there’s something missing. We don’t talk, not like lovers should. Not like two people in love would. Not like I see Ian and Alivia do.

  And there’s no electric spark that shoots through the air when we’re together.

  Not that I really know what that is.

  Having grown up in a town that associated my name with hunting in the dark and the sad tale of a baby who lost her parents, everyone pretty much avoided me. The boys never looked my way.

  Not that I’d ever been interested in the same dozen boys from my class that I’d known since we were all in diapers.

  There were very few fish in the sea in Silent Bend.

  The bell above the door rings and an elderly woman hobbles in.

  “I sure hope you can help me,” she says. Her Boston accent is thick. Sometimes it’s fairly easy to tell the natives with deep roots. “I’ve tried everything to get this rash to clear up and nothing has helped.”

  “Why don’t you give this a try,” I say, stepping from behind the counter and walking over to one of the shelves.

  Some of my products are boring and mundane, like stuff that clears up rashes. The tea that clears up any cold within two days, or the lavender oil that calms people down.

  But then I get to pull out the lab equipment and deal with the deadly plants.

  Nightshade is the basis for my vampire toxin. Along with a mix of other plants and chemistry, it’s done the job of taking down any vampire, Born or Bitten, putting them through twelve hours of intense pain and inability to move.

  I pull the microscope closer, peering down at the slides.

  The cells from a Born are fascinating to study. They reproduce and replicate at astonishing rates. Like, a thousand times faster than a human’s. And they don’t look the same. It’s a little more like a fossilized cell.

  But the Bitten are entirely different. Their cells replicate and reproduce just like a human’s. They’re just…stronger.

  The poor Bitten. They never stood a chance against the Born.

  The Born are so much…more than the Bitten.

  I pull out new petri dishes, scraping cells into each, one for the Born, one for the Bitten.

  So far I’ve tested oleander and water hemlock. I’ve been trying to find anything that will affect the Born, but not the Bitten.

  Unfortunately, that’s working backwards. Trying to find something that harms the stronger of the two, but not the weaker.

  Turning to the vials on a shelf, I pull out the white snakeroot. With a dropper, I suck up just a tiny amount. Dripping just a tiny amount onto each set of cells, I move them back under the microscope.

  The cells of the Born are completely unaffected. No changes, no reaction whatsoever.

  The cells of the Bitten have contracted somewhat, but other than that, no reaction.

  White snakeroot would cause the Bitten some pain, but that’s about it.

  I’m not surprised, when it comes to supernatural uses, snakeroot is fairly useless.

  I lean back in my chair, closer to the space heater running full blast, propping my feet up on the table. It’s a problem I’ve been working on for six months now, and one I have yet to find a solution to, if there even is one.

  My eyes wander around the lab that sits at the back of my shop. Counters line all four walls, shelves stacked above them. A row of refrigerators sit beneath the counter to my left. Vials and beakers wait in boxes. Slides and burners. A huge table in the middle of the space for working.

  I’ve got a massive loan from the House of Conrath backing the cost of everything in this space.

  It’s not quite as impressive as Henry’s lab, but it’s not too shabby.

  The computer that sits in one corner dings and I walk over to open the new email that pops up.

  My skin rises with goosebumps when I see it’s from Rose Salazar.

  Miss Jones, please make me up another batch. This time increase the citronella. I’ll be in to pick it up just before you close.

  A shiver works its way through my body as I click from this new email to the first she sent me two weeks ago.

  Rose contacted me, asking me to make a very specific oil she called Van Van Oil. She listed out all the ingredients, though there were no measurements. She described the consistency and the general process, the rest I had to figure out on my own. But she was offering to pay over a thousand dollars per bottle if I got it right.

  I quickly dart out into the shop to be sure no one is waiting to be helped, before ducking back into lab. Pulling all the ingredients out, I fight off the shiver that wants to run down my spine once more.

  I did some research once as to what Van Van Oil was. Words like hoodoo, voodoo, wiccan, and pagan came popping up all over the place. The info wasn’t necessarily clear cut, as far as I could tell there were many things the oil was used for. Sometimes it was the basis for other oils. But other sources claimed it was used for clearing evil spirits, purification, protection, good luck.

  It gave me the creeps making it.

  I had hoped it would be a one and done deal.

  Until just a few minutes ago.

  But the money is impossible to ignore.

  I scurry around the lab, gathering the ingredients I need: lemongrass, citronella, vetivert, palmarosa, lemon verbena, and lastly ginger grass.

  Half of them aren’t plants I work with on a regular basis, and it took me a week last time to gather everything. But with enough leftovers from the first go around,
I’m ready to roll.

  Mixing all the ingredients together, I pour them into a beaker and set it over a burner. Slowly, I turn up the heat, and wait for a minute until it all begins to simmer.

  Over the next hour, the concoction slowly begins turning black.

  Removing it from the heat, I drop in just one tiny drop of vetiver. The entire bottle instantly turns perfectly clear.

  I swirl it around, watching its oily consistency stick to the side of the beaker.

  Every now and then I get strange, custom requests. And usually I can somewhat figure out the scientific basis for what they’re going after.

  But Van Van Oil escapes me.

  I set the beaker aside, letting it cool before I transfer it to a bottle.

  A customer comes in while I wait and for the next six hours it’s a steady flow of people coming in and out.

  I’ve been in business for almost two years. I’ve never been against modern medicine, far from it. But the chemistry behind it all fascinated me. I wanted to learn my own methods. And I knew the capabilities of the plants I grew, and the ones I yearned to get my hands on and give a try.

  I loved the experimentation of it all.

  For me, opening the apothecary was a natural step and a dream come true. I loved experimenting and creating things that I knew worked, but seeing them work for others too? Incredibly satisfying.

  Most of my customers are regulars. They came to me when they either couldn’t afford the things they were prescribed, or they couldn’t find anything that quite fit the bill. Or they were scared of doctors and pharmacies.

  I’m out of the ordinary.

  Something from a different time.

  Tourists occasionally wander in, always smiling and ogling over the old wooden shelves filled with glass bottles and custom labels. They buy things as gag gifts for others, unaware that they are scientifically based and that I put my heart and soul into their development.

  The tourists aren’t my favorites.

  But they do help pay the bills.

  Mr. Peterson walks out with his remedy for insomnia, a satisfied smile on his face, just as the tall woman with the perfect hair steps inside.

  “Rose,” I say, the name escaping my lips in a breath. “Hi.”

  She gives a little smile, her lips curling in a sinister way. She gets under my skin and she knows it. I get the impression she’s the type of person who enjoys making people uncomfortable.

  She’s about five foot ten, slender and athletic. She wears black leather pants and always some kind of elaborately layered top. Her dark hair is always set in perfect waves, framing a beautiful but intimidating face.

  “Hello, Miss Jones,” she says as she stops in front of the counter. “Were you able to complete my order?”

  “Of…of course,” I say, barely managing to not squeak. “Just one second and I’ll go get it for you.”

  I duck into the lab, glad to have the break from her for a moment.

  She’s probably only a year or two older than me, but everything about her sets me on edge. Like a cloud of electricity and ferocious wind follows her wherever she goes.

  I handwrite Van Van Oil on the label before rolling it onto the bottle. It’s a big one, sixteen entire ounces of it.

  I walk back out, setting the bottle on the counter. She grabs it, pulls the cork, and takes a deep inhale. The scent of lemongrass drifts through the air, clean and crisp smelling.

  “Perfect,” she says with a smile, looking hard and deep at me. Like she can see straight through my skin.

  “Would you like to pay with cash or a card?” I ask as my hands fumble at the register.

  “I would have expected you to ask me what this stuff is for,” Rose says as she pulls a wallet from her purse and produces a card. “I get the impression this isn’t the kind of custom order you get often.”

  “It’s not,” I say as I ring her up. “And sometimes I’ve found it’s better to just not know.”

  I hand her card back to her, and she pulls that smile again.

  “Fair enough,” she responds as she puts her card away and carefully slips the bottle into her bag. She starts walking back to the door. “You walk to and from work, right?”

  I swallow once. I don’t know how she would know that. “Yes.”

  “Don’t take too long,” she says as she pulls the door open, looking back at me just once. “It’s going to rain here in just a little bit.”

  She walks out without another word.

  Slowly, I cross the shop, just as the grandfather clock chimes five o’clock. I gaze out the window, watching as Rose walks down the road a little way to a black car that is parked on the side of the street. I can faintly make out the shape of two other women in it before they pull away and head down the road.

  A brilliantly sunny day shows traces of only a few white and fluffy clouds.

  I turn the sign on the door over to CLOSED and walk back into the lab. Carefully, I put all the vials and bottles back in their place, cleaning out the beakers and vials I used throughout the day.

  Not the most productive day in the lab, but a good day in sales.

  I grab my coat from the hook, pulling the strap of my bag over my shoulder. I pull out my phone to text Ian as I head for the door. When I look up to step outside and lock the doors, I freeze.

  The skies that were blue and sunny just a few minutes ago are now dark, heavy and threatening clouds hanging over Boston.

  I hurry out, locking the door securely behind me.

  Everything going okay so far? I text my brother. Just as I hit send, a fat raindrop lands on my screen.

  I pick up my pace, looking up as the sky continues to darken.

  I’ve seen some weird stuff. Dead trees in the middle of Silent Bend where an innocent man was hung. A swamp that was once a producing cotton plantation. A storm that was centered directly over my hometown with swirling clouds and freezing temperatures that brought six-foot deep snow.

  So this sky kind of freaks me out a little bit.

  I’m just a block away from home when my phone dings, and my heart jumps a little higher in my chest. But I find a text from Kai instead of Ian.

  Getting stuff ready for what looks like a bad storm. Working late. You good?

  I shake my head, even as a tiny smile comes to my lips. I’m good. Stay dry. Let me know if there are any problems with the patient tonight. See you tomorrow.

  Will do.

  I check my messages again, but no response from Ian.

  The rain starts pounding just as I run up the steps to my place. I’m half drenched by the time I dart through the front door.

  I pull open the drawer in the kitchen that contains the takeout menus. Lula taught me to cook everything under the sun, and I spent the last year of her life cooking her endless meals, because she never ate anything that wasn’t homemade. I have skills when it comes to the kitchen.

  But I can’t say I like to cook. Certainly not for just one person.

  As I order some Chinese, I wonder for the thousandth time if I should get a housemate. A little company might be nice now and then.

  But when I shower and climb out, checking my phone immediately out of habit, I remember the reality of what my world is really like.

  Ran into an innocent on the way to VT today. Sent her your way. Will probably be there in the morning, early.

  Henry.

  It happens pretty frequently. I get heads-up texts, letting me know he’s met some Bitten who needs my help.

  I never ask them questions. I purposefully don’t even try to get their names and don’t tell them mine, because that creates connections that can be traced back to me, and I do have to be careful.

  But I always wonder how they’re actually able to get to me.

  When a vampire turns someone into a Bitten, whether on accident or on purpose, a link is created called the Debt. That Bitten will do anything the other vampire says and won’t be able to fight the command. They’d murder their own sister if
they were told to do so by their sire.

  They also generally have an insatiable pull to be close to their sire. Alivia accidently created one when she was first Resurrected, and the poor girl woke up alone, no idea what she was. But she had this irresistible urge to search for someone she didn’t even know. She looked, until she finally found Alivia.

  I know most of the Bitten who come to me travel some distance. How they’re able to leave is a testament to how much they want to be free of the life most of them didn’t ask for.

  Got it, I text Henry back. I’ll be there before sunrise.

  My food arrives and I curl onto the couch to read while I eat. But I can’t focus. I keep checking my phone every few minutes, silently willing Ian to text back.

  It’s dark outside now. I can feel the countdown ticking down to when my brother walks up the stairs to Charles’ front door.

  I know my brother. Know he doesn’t often settle ordeals without getting physical.

  I know Alivia. How when push comes to shove, she doesn’t back down, even if the enemy is bigger than she is.

  I know how loyal those House members are to her, and how they’ll do anything she asks.

  I jump hard when my phone vibrates from the coffee table. My hand whips out, snatching it to my chest.

  Patient has left the building, Kai texts.

  Not the words I was hoping for.

  I look at my phone once more as I head up to bed that night. I set my alarm for four forty-five the next morning so I can meet the new Bitten Henry is sending to me, knowing full well the wake up won’t be needed.

  I won’t be getting any sleep tonight.

  It’s the longest night and day ever. The only distraction comes from the woman who I meet down in the basement, Kai there to assist, but that only lasts a short amount of time. She didn’t even try to bite me.

  The day felt exceptionally long as I sat in the shop, too distracted to work on anything in the lab. Not many customers came in. Kai stayed at the shop all day, watching me, keeping one eye on the door the entire time, his headphones in and I just know he’s blasting his island music.