I sigh and grimace. Looks like I’ve got my work cut out for me. One way or the other, however, I’ll be getting that dagger to Luciana. The only question left is just how long it will take to convince Dane it’s a good idea.
I glance at my brother. I don’t even have to wonder.
We’re going to be here all night.
Luciana
I watch, fascinated, as poison slowly drips into the small vial I’m holding, wearing thick gloves that had been given to me at Warwick’s insistence. I’m glad of it, now, as I can still feel the intense heat of the freshly drawn poison even through the gloves. It’s absolutely fascinating.
“And this is the only thing that can kill you?” I ask, eyeing it.
“Even a single scratch from another phoenix is fatal,” Warwick says with a nod. “It works fast and there’s no hope of being saved.”
“Unless there’s an antidote,” I say, my eyes gleaming.
“Don’t get your hopes up,” he warns. “An antidote would have to be administered within seconds of being poisoned. Even if you did manage to develop one, you would have to be standing right beside a phoenix to save them.”
“Is that the same for other phoenix animals?” I ask.
“All of them,” Warwick says solemnly.
I stare down at his hand, which, beneath my eyes, had slowly turned into a sharp, clawed talon, one that the poison could be drawn from. Warwick had said that his nails would have also worked, but he and Dane always made sure to keep their nails blunt for that very reason.
“How do the two of you care for the other phoenixes?” I ask now. “Many of them have sharp talons or claws.”
“We have to wear special material, made from the scales of a dragon,” he explains.
I try not to jerk at the mention of a dragon. After all, why wouldn’t dragons be real as well? I have a literal phoenix sitting right in front of me. In fact, I’m probably wearing the dragon scale gloves right now, since Warwick had given them to me.
We sit in silence as I collect the rest of the poison, getting as much as I can before I pull away and allow Warwick’s talon to return to a normal hand. I hold up the vial. It isn’t a lot, because Warwick was wary of giving me too much (and he had said that Dane, who wasn’t happy at all with what we were doing, would probably never forgive him), but it would be enough for me to test it.
“Will this cool down?” I ask.
“I have no idea,” he admits. “I try to avoid using my poison if I can.”
I hope it does get cooler, or I might never be able to test it; I have a feeling that many of my tools will melt if I try now. Carefully, I stopper the vial and put it down carefully on a heat proof mat that I’d collected from the kitchen.
“I’ll take a look at it later,” I promise. “I’m confident in my ability to develop an antidote for this.”
“I hope so,” Warwick says, but there’s no denying the doubt in his voice.
I can’t really blame him. With how fast acting the poison actually is, it isn’t something that he would want to experiment with. On top of that, he’s probably seen other phoenixes die from the poison before, he would know just how horrible it is.
My heart clenches at the thought. I love the challenge of studying poisons and working on more effective antidotes, but I’m definitely not unaware of just how dangerous poisons actually are. I’ve seen so many different poisons, both fast and slow, and I’ve seen the effects on many different people. There’s no denying that poison is horrendous, and, often, not something I can save people from.
But I want to do this. Discovering the plight of Warwick, Dane and other phoenixes; a purpose had begun to burn within me. I might have been enjoying the relative peace of being on this farm, and I had found that I may not entirely miss the danger, but I’m a toxicologist. Being faced with a challenge like this excites me and makes determination settle in the centre of my chest. I will find an antidote, no matter how long it takes.
It was all about helping others, I realise. I had joined Doctors Without Borders because I wanted to protect those who had no help otherwise. But even I can’t deny that, in the last few months, I had lost sight of that. My feverish search for David and an understanding of what had happened to him had prevented me from doing my job properly. In the end, my obsession had resulted in me abandoning my duties.
In many ways, I definitely can’t blame my superiors for sending me on a forced vacation. Being here has helped me clear my mind, and part of me feels utterly mortified at how I had acted. How many people had I neglected to treat properly because my mind had been elsewhere?
In a way, helping Warwick and Dane feels like my chance at redemption. I can prove, to myself, that I can still care for others.
And not only that.
I steal a glance at Warwick. He’s inspecting his own hand, and sending curious but wary glances at the clear poison in the vial. Had he ever seen his own poison before? I doubt he has.
Sleeping with Warwick the other night, despite the fact that I certainly hadn’t planned on it, had opened me up to a frightening vulnerability. But even stronger than that, is the slowly burgeoning feelings that I can already sense growing within me the more time I spend with Warwick. I’d finally gotten the full story about what had happened with the milk pail, and we had had a good laugh over his nervousness.
I like spending time with him. I enjoy seeing him smile and hearing him laugh, and it makes me feel good to know that, sometimes, I’m the cause of his cheer.
On top of that, he’s here all the time, now, coming around in the mornings to help me out before going back home to his brother and his own farm. Getting to spend at least a few hours every day with him has definitely lifted my mood.
After I lost David, I had honestly thought I would never love anyone again. I certainly don’t love Warwick, yet. But the more time I spend with him, the more I can see myself falling, if I let myself.
A large part of me wants to.
“Are you going to head back home?” I ask Warwick, mentally shaking myself.
“Yeah, Dane’s waiting for me,” Warwick replies. He snorts. “You should have seen the way he glared at me!”
I smile, but it’s a little strained.
“He still doesn’t trust me?” I ask.
“Don’t take it personally,” Warwick says. “He doesn’t trust anyone. Even when we were kids, he didn’t have any other friends, and he was always suspicious of mine.”
“I guess your history wouldn’t have helped with that,” I murmur.
“No, it wouldn’t have,” Warwick replies quietly. Then he shakes his head and grins. “But, even before that, he was antisocial. With how responsible he is, you’d think he was the older one.”
I can’t help but laugh. Finding out that Warwick was actually older than Dane by two years had been a bit of a shock. Looking at the way they acted, I honestly would have believed that Dane was the oldest.
“That’s because you’re hopelessly immature,” I tease, laughing at him.
“I like to think that I just know how to have fun,” Warwick grins.
I laugh aloud. That’s another reason why I like spending time with Warwick. He has a wicked sense of humour, and he never fails to make me smile.