Page 66 of Gift from the Stone

“Willow, what’s going on?” Oakly’s forehead wrinkles from the frown that takes over her, just a second ago, glowing smile.

“I’m sorry, Oak. I can’t tell you.” I plead with my words and eyes for her to understand.

“Ugh damn visions… Jamie, are you okay doing this?” she asks him.

He takes a moment, examining me, weighing his options and best course of action before he finally nods.

“Okay, Willow. I have no doubt this must be important if you’re asking this of us. Is that all you need, a few vials of blood?”

“Yes, that’s all,” I whisper, feeling like the world’s shittiest friend and Primary.

“I’ll be back in just a minute.” He leans over, gives Oakly a quick kiss to the forehead, then transports out.

“I’m so sorry, Oakly. I’m an awful friend asking this of you and Jamie,” I say with regret shining in my eyes.

Corentin warned me how awful the sight could be as a gift, if it is my gift and not a variation of my stone, but I didn’t think they’d be so dreadful and heart-wrenching. It’s killing me carrying the knowledge of what’s coming, and I can’t warn the others. It also doesn’t help that I can’t gain control over it. Gaster has warned me that unlike any other gift in the realm, the sight is by far the hardest to control, taking many, many years to master.

“Don’t say that, Willow, I know how hard this is hitting you. I don’t know if it’s because your feelings are so strong right now and that’s why I can feel it so keenly, but I can feel the weight of your guilt in my chest. You got to let that go, babe. We all understand what it means to have the gift of sight. We know you can’t always tell us everything, and we don’t hold you at fault, especially not your Nexus.” Oakly wraps her arms around me in a hug, one I return equally tight. It means a lot to hear that coming from her, and it does help a little, but I still feel guilty I can’t tell anyone about what I saw last night.

Jamie poofs right back in the spot he just left with a medical tray in hand, giving us both a sad smile as we pull apart.

“Everything’s going to be okay. Come on, let’s get started,” he says, ushering us over to the couch.

With Oakly on one side, holding my hand, Jamie cleans the veins on my arm, and as gently as the first time he did this, draws four vials of my blood, healing the area over immediately, like it never happened.

“Thank you. Do they need to be kept somewhere or in something to keep the blood fresh or potent, whatever the word is?” I ask, causing everyone to chuckle.

“Here, let me see them.”

I feel his magic roll across the vials I just placed in his hands, and I can’t help but step a little closer to observe, causing another laugh to come from Gaster.

“Curious as ever, child.”

“I can’t help it. What did you do?” I ask Jamie.

“I infused them with my magic. This will preserve its vitality,” he says with a smirk.

“That’s the word. Thank you.”

“No worries,” he grunts, following up with telling me and Gaster goodbye and swinging Oakly around in his arms, kissing her dizzy before he leaves to head back to the lab.

“Okay, girls, to the secret room. Time to vial up some cures,” Gaster orders.

It’s perfect timing, seeing as that was where I was planning to hide my vials of blood anyway and having the cures on hand will make me feel so much better.

Gaster commands his pocket dimension to open for us and we make our way down the dimly lit brick hallway. My nerves calm as I take a deep breath of the lavender and musty scent, letting it seep through my whole body.

I feel worn down, exhausted. Oakly was right; this guilt is weighing on me. I know in my heart no one is mad at me for not telling them about my visions, but that’s only because they have no clue what I’ve seen, who knows how any of them will react once the visions come to fruition.

There are multiple paths to all three of the visions I’ve had, all with very few positive possible outcomes, so it’s prudent that I keep all the possibilities intact. And the only way to do that is to keep my mouth shut. I’ve seen the alternatives. Those aren’t an option. They can’t be.

Stepping into Gaster’s seating area that we redecorated yesterday as our makeshift lab. Four cauldrons—which me and Gaster argued over because he calls them pottles and that’s wrong, plain and simple—are set out, holding the four cures we need for the Dark poisons.

Since yesterday, their compositions have changed drastically. Yesterday, they were indistinguishable. Each looked like muddy swamp water, green and goopy with different herbs floating around. Today, they’re glowing with different luminescent colors, each striking and giving off a sweet smell.

We labeled the cauldrons to be on the safe side, but now that they’ve finished fermenting, their colors give away which cure goes to what poison. Swirling the Necrotic Lotus cure around inside the black cauldron is like looking at the galaxy; it’s bright bluish purple is cosmic.

The Wymfire cure is a slow-moving, orangish-red whirlpool that looks so much like lava, if I didn’t know what it was, I could convince myself that’s exactly what it is. The Tarring cure looks so much like the black sludge I saw pouring from Lyker’s wound it makes my throat close up. Stirring it gently, though, it’s smooth, not thick or sticky, and it has a hint of midnight blue swirling with the black.

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