“I’m working up my appetite.”
My mother chuckles, finding a carrot and snapping off a piece with her teeth. She tosses the rest of the carrot down on the plate and waves over her shoulder. “Best of luck, everyone.”
Odie signs, “Here goes nothing,” and pours herself a glass of wine. She takes a sip and shrugs as she sets her glass down. She walks out signing “hurry up” to the rest of us before she opens up the door.
Andrew Bartleman steps up to the table next. He begins to count, and it dawns on me that he’s literally doing eenie meenie miney mo. I guess that’s one way to do it.
“Statistically, there should be a certain percentage of clean food.” I don’t know if he’s talking to himself or us, but I watch as he continues to count off the food. I suppose he’s correct, in a sense, but we have no idea what that percentage is, and he doesn’t appear to be taking into account the food that’s already been eaten and has been fine. His finger hovers over a cookie. He lifts it with a smile and takes a delicate bite.
He grins as he heads for the door, but his steps falter. He sways and then his knees give out. Roman manages to catch him and eases him down to the floor as a loud snore gurgles from his throat. Just like that, Andrew is out of the trials.
“What about you, Niece?” Tucker takes a step toward the table, ignoring Andrew as if nothing just happened.
“What about me?” Piper asks. Her voice is steady, but there’s a tremble in her hands as she clasps them together behind her back. I press into her side, dropping my hand to her waist and giving it a squeeze. Her hands immediately unclasp and her fingers curl into the back of my shirt.
“Such a coward. Waiting for everyone else to go first,” Tucker taunts, smirking at my wife.
“And what are you waiting for?” I demand. “Please, take a bite.” I gesture at the table. Tucker throws me a dirty look. He doesn’t like someone interrupting when he’s trying to shame and belittle others.
He picks up some prosciutto and smells it. Popping it in his mouth, he starts toward the door. With each step he takes, his feet begin to drag. His head spins round and he glares at Piper as if this is her fault. His body is shaking, and his footsteps turn to shuffles as he stumbles before falling into a potted tree,knocking it over. The ceramic pot shatters, cracked pieces and shards littering the floor along with a spill of dirt.
Tucker slams his hand against the glass window, cracking the pane as he fights to stay on his feet. The rest of us watch in horror as he rips open the door and stumbles outside. The door slams behind him and there’s a loud thump that is presumably his body falling to the ground.
“Does that count?” Piper asks. “Or is he eliminated?”
Roman sighs. “He made it out the door. He’s likely safe. She didn’t say we couldn’t eat something poisoned, just that we needed to get out the door.”
“Maybe he’ll die,” I add hopefully.
I step up to the table and look down at the assortment of foods. This isn’t illusion magic. This is something different entirely. I have a feeling half of the people just selected food by chance. I pick up a croissant and smell it. “Floral,” I mutter.
“Don’t eat that.” Piper shakes her head, and then dips it down to smell. “Deadly nightshade.”
Roman steps up beside me, also inspecting foods. He has shadow magic and can literally rip the souls out of a person, but I don’t know that he can identify poison in foods upon smell or even taste.
Roy is on the other side of the table. We’re the last four to go. I have no idea what his magic is. I pick up a different croissant and hold it out to Piper. “You prefer chocolate over vanilla?”
“That’s not chocolate.” Piper frowns the pastry. “It’s shadow’s bane. It may smell similar, but it causes paralysis of the lungs. You wouldn’t be able to breathe within seconds.”
I drop the pastry back on the table. Roy picks up a cracker and licks it. That’s all he does. He doesn’t even take a bite. He collapses on the floor, his whole body seizing and spasming. Foam spills out of his mouth and his eyes roll back in his head.
“It’s liquid death,” Piper gasps. “Look at his fingertips.”
The tips of his fingers have already started to turn black. Piper cries out and rushes around the room, inspecting each of the shelves, searching for something.
“What do you need? What are you looking for?” I don’t know how to counteract poison, but I can help her find whatever she’s looking for.
Roman drops down to the floor and holds Roy’s head, trying to keep him from cracking it on the cement.
“I need mint and citrus of some sort. Nothing from the table.” I don’t need the reminder not to take anything off that table. Roy’s choked sounds are enough. “Grab one of the lemons.” Piper points to the downed plant that Tucker crashed into. She scans the shelves, her fingers rapidly fluttering over the potted plants as she looks for the mint.
“Here,” she cries out as she rips leaves off the plant and drops to the floor beside Roman.
“I’m really sorry, Roy. This is going to be gross.” Piper shoves the leaves in her mouth and chews them up.
“I need the juice,” Piper calls out to me, her mouth full of half masticated leaves. I dig my fingers into the lemon and rip it in half.
“Open his mouth,” Piper commands Roman. He pries open Roy’s mouth without question. Piper spits her chewed-up mint leaves into her hand.