the garden with Mrs. Redmond prodding my mom along behind me. Vines slithered around my ankles; groans and rustling surrounded us on all sides as we staggered down the path.
“If a single thing comes toward me, I’ll slit her throat,” Mrs. Redmond said.
I moved forward as quickly as I could, but the Heart’s poison had spread into every joint of my body. Every step was excruciating, like my bones were grinding together.
When we finally emerged onto the rear lawn, my arms and legs were heavy, my vision blurry through my glasses. Mrs. Redmond shoved my mom toward the house, and she groaned. She hadn’t said a word since she’d regained consciousness, and she still had a dazed look on her face.
When we got inside, I attempted to set the plant down again, but Mrs. Redmond shook her head. “To the apothecary.”
She marched us back and sat my mom in a chair, keeping the knife trained on her.
“Go get something to tie her with,” she ordered.
I put the Heart on the counter and tried to steady myself. Was this really what being immune to the Absyrtus Heart felt like? There was no way anyone else could have come in contact with this plant without dropping dead.
I found a roll of duct tape in the hall closet and took it back to Mrs. Redmond.
“Lie down on the floor,” she said, shoving me in the chest. “Face down, with your hands behind your head, and don’t even think about moving.”
I didn’t hesitate. Mom was still bleeding from the wound in her arm, and a trail of dried blood traced down her forehead where Mrs. Redmond had struck her. I lay still and Mrs. Redmond secured my mom to the chair with the tape, then stood behind her with the blade at her throat.
“Get up,” she said to me. “Get the oleander.” She motioned toward the ladder.
I clung to the rungs, barely able to coordinate my arms and legs enough to climb up and grab the jar. When I finally managed to retrieve it and set it on the counter, I felt like I’d run a marathon. My bones ached. My muscles spasmed. My hand throbbed. The gash in my palm looked like a bloody, toothless mouth. Mrs. Redmond took out her phone and made a call.
“Come to the apothecary,” she said.
A few minutes later, there was the sound of a car door closing and the front door opening. Footsteps came down the hall, and Karter appeared in the doorway.
As he stood there and looked over the scene—my mother duct-taped to a chair, bleeding, me on the verge of collapse—his expression didn’t change. He closed the door and turned the big brass lock. As it clicked closed, a new rush of panic set in.
“I thought you said no one else was going to get hurt.” Karter stared at my mom.
“And I thought you said you were going to stop complaining,” Mrs. Redmond said coldly. “I wouldn’t have had to hurt anybody if they’d cooperated. Did you bring the other supplies?”
Karter set down a bag he’d been carrying. He rummaged through it and pulled out a stone bowl carved with strange symbols, two small vials of liquid, and a mason jar full of amber-colored honey, setting them on the counter.
“Karter, what are you doing?” I asked. “How could you do this to me?”
A wicked grin spread across Mrs. Redmond’s face. “What, you thought he liked you enough to betray his own mother? You thought you had a friend?” She laughed. “He’s been helping me this entire time. Slashing your tires, keeping you busy when I needed him to.” She shook her head. “Why are all the people in your family so stupid?”
“Mom—” Karter began.
“Shut up,” Mrs. Redmond snapped. “Come over here and hold this.”
Karter walked over and took the knife from her. He pressed it against my mother’s neck without any hesitation. Mrs. Redmond went to the counter and arranged the items he had set out.
“Do you have any idea how long I’ve dreamed of this moment?” she asked, her voice trembling. “Collecting the rarest ingredients on the planet, bringing them together, only to feel like a failure because I couldn’t get this one missing piece.” She smoothed out her hair and pressed her hands to the countertop. “Selene was stubborn. So was Circe. Their convictions, their loyalty to Medea’s memory, and their affection for the ancient ways wouldn’t let them stray from their course. When they were out of the picture, I thought my