Page 9 of Losing The Vampire King

Still, Halia is nowhere to be seen. I respectfully remain put, not wanting to offend her by looking at the personal things with her not in the room.

“So, you decided to come in then?”

The voice comes from behind me, taking me completely by surprise, because I know that there is only the entrance to the hut behind me. Nothing else. That must mean that she was also outside, watching me from the darkness.

I immediately turn to face her, and I realize that my mother’s description did not do her justice. Her purple robe seems too big for her small stature, almost as if it wants to wrap her up entirely. Her long white hair is tied into a loose braid, that falls all the way down to the back of her thighs. Every single hair on her body is white. Her eyelashes, her eyebrows, everything. Her eyes are a striking mixture of blue and red, making it an almost purplish hue. She doesn’t look like a nymph at all. She looks like a being that is the descendant of every supernatural being that has ever walked the face of the Earth.

I am mesmerized by her, and I suppose she could tell I am. She passes right by me and heads towards the cauldron. She opens the lid, which I can only assume is scorching hot, but she touches it with her bare hands. She gazes into its contents for a moment, then shakes her head.

“Not done yet,” she says, more to herself than to me. Then, her attention is back on me again. “How is your mother?”

“She sends her regards,” I tell her.

“I would have preferred it for her to come and give them to me on her own,” she says, and at this moment, I realize that she isn’t trying to be rude. She is simply direct and honest. Everything about her is so different. It requires you to completely shift your perspective, so you could best understand her. “I suppose this will have to do. What is your reason for seeking me out?”

“I have a loved one who is being poisoned by deadly nightshade, and not the regular kind,” I explain in as few words as I can, because my mother has also warned me that Halia doesn’t like it when people drown her with explanations. Direct and succinct, that was her advice.

She lifts her eyebrow at me. I wonder if I managed to capture her interest.

“How do you know it’s not the usual kind?”

“I… I’m only assuming,” I say. “I mean, when I was talking to my mother, I told her what happened, and she said that– “

Halia lifts her hand, with the palm open towards me. It is a sign for me to stop talking. I don’t want to be disrespectful, so I turn silent.

“Your mother would know nightshade,” she says. “How long has this been going on?”

“Three days,” I tell her, quickly recapping what’s happened in my mind.

“They still have a miniscule chance of surviving,” she says, not sounding very optimistic. “If you reach them in time.”

“How much time do I have left?” I ask, dreading the answer.

She clicks her lips together, then looks up, her eyes quickly rolling back down.

“It is the full moon in four days. That is how much time you have left.”

“Fourdays?” I repeat aloud. “Four days isn’t a lot.”

“A lot can happen in four days,” she corrects me. “Make them count.”

“What do I do when I find him?”

She doesn’t say anything to this. Instead, she starts pacing about the room, gathering stuff from the shelves and hanging from the walls. Once she is finished, she brings me a small pile of branches, dried leaves, herbs and something else I can’t even decipher.

“You brew tea from this,” she tells me. “It won’t be enough to cure him at once, though. You will need to make it several more times, but don’t worry. You have enough ingredients there. But hurry. The longer you wait, the less the chances are of him fully recuperating from the poisoning.”

“He lost his memory,” I tell her.

“That doesn’t surprise me,” she says disinterestedly, approaching the cauldron again, for another look.

“Will he remember me again?” I ask. These questions are too difficult to even think about, let alone to find out the answer to, but I must know, whatever they may be. If there is anyone who should know, it is her.

“That depends,” she says, turning to me, those purple-hued eyes piercing right through me. “On how strong your love is.”

“The strongest,” I say, without the shadow of a doubt.

This time, she smirks. “Ah… young love. So foolish.”

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