Chapter Twenty-Two

Disclaimer:  Same as all the last times.  No profit, yada yada yada.

            Nire forced herself to wait until school was out before attempting her latest venture.  Often, the only ting that got her through the days of pain was the knowledge that it would soon be over.  She was so occupied with the thought that she didn't notice how worried Raistlin and Caramon were for her.  She didn't notice how Azrael was almost sick to death with fear of something.

            She *did* notice how Jander was pulling away from her.  And she, too, was rebuilding the walls that kept everyone out.  She tried to tell herself that what he was doing didn't matter to her, that it didn't hurt.  She had lost enough best friends over the years.  Admittedly, none so close as the elven vampire.  But still!  It didn't matter, nor did she care.

            And she was almost able to convince herself.

*  *  *  *  *

            On the very last day of school as the last bell rang and ecstatic children poured from classroom doors, Nire walked sedately to her locker.  It was an empty metal box, devoid of anything personal.  She took out her backpack, shrugging it onto her shoulders, and went to sit in her mom's classroom.  For once, her mother was ready to leave soon after the end of school.  They drove the hundred feet to her house in silence.

            As soon as she got inside, Nire went to her room.  She changed into the clothes she felt most comfortable in - Faerûnian garb, adventurer garb.  She put on a couple of weapons, for the comfort value.  Then she gated to her room in Raistlin's tower.  He had been thoughtful enough to give her a windowless room, which she was never more grateful for.

            She unlocked her cabinet and began lining out all of her supplies on her table.  Tiny vials of fluid, dried herbs, a mortar and pestle, various bowls, and an empty vial with a stopper.  She regarded everything silently for a moment, then turned in a circle, looking around the spacious workroom/bedroom, thankful for Raistlin's generosity.  Once she was done being fatalistic, she removed two parchment envelopes from the recesses of her closet and laid them out near the empty vial.

            Then began the work.  She crushed up dried herbs and flowers with the mortar and pestle, combining them together in a single bowl.  It was just like cooking - dry ingredients and wet combined separately.  Once everything was mixed and thoroughly pulverized, it looked like a batch of greenish-gray dust.  Knowing that if she lost too much to drafts coming into the room that she would have to start all over again, she covered the bowl with a piece of cloth.

            Nire was not a stupid child.  She knew how to bake.  She couldn't cook to save her life, but if someone handed her a recipe for some sort of baked good, she could whip up a mean batch of whatever it was.  And she had a suspicion that the potion was jus that – a baked item.  Probably needing the precision of candy making.

            Keeping that supposition in mind, she began measuring out the various amounts of the liquids that were needed.  As each item was added, the concoction became muddier.  The addition of basilisk saliva –which had cost her a pretty penny – abruptly changed the color to a vibrant purple.  An interesting reaction.  When the mixture called for a few drops of blood, she cut her own finger open and added the three drops.

            Finally, that part was done.  She began sprinkling the dried ingredients in, stirring slowly and constantly.  The powder was quickly dissolved into the murky purple liquid.  As soon as the last bundle was put in, Nire stopped stirring, positive that everything was fully dissolved.

            Before she could finish, she had to let everything sit for half an hour.  To pass the time, she put everything away.  All that was left was a piece of cheesecloth, the empty vial, the bowl of liquid, and the envelopes.  With everything away, she took out a clear jar and a saromika root.  She had to make a tincture of the root to add as the very last ingredient.  This would supposedly make the potion palatable to a vampire, and her power would invest it with what was needed to cause the changes.

            She set about making the tincture.  This wouldn't be a very strong tincture, seeing as how it would only be sitting for about twenty minutes.  But that was all the directions called for.  Taking out her special, hidden supply of 100 proof rum, she added some of it to the jar containing the diced root, stopping when it was fully covered.  Then she added another couple inches of water and screwed the lid on tightly.  That done, the jar was put in a paper bag that she pulled from her closet.  Every few minutes, she shook up the jar.  When the half hour that the liquid needed to sit was almost up, she grabbed out a clean bowl, and put a piece of cheesecloth at the bottom.  Then she poured the contents of the jar in and lifted up the cheesecloth by all four corners.  Quickly, she wrung out all of the liquid that she could get.  Then she dumped the liquid back into the jar and put it back in the paper bag.  Once again, she cleaned up her workspace so that only a few things were left on it.

            Almost too soon, it was time for the final step.  To say she wasn't nervous would be lying, but Nire was committed to her course.  She knew she was taking the coward's way out, but that didn't matter.  Just because some people were able to cope with life didn't mean that she could cope with hers.  At least she was doing something good, doing one thing right before she died.  Even if Jander hated her, even if he was almost exactly the same as the rest, at leas he had pretended to be her friend.  And perhaps it had been the truth, until her big mouth had destroyed what they were building.

            She wished that there were something she could do for Raistlin, too.  She would love to be able to give him normal sight again.  Unfortunately, she did not have the power to alter a curse bestowed by the gods.  Just doing this might be too much for her, but she sure as hell was going to die trying.  And, even if she could do it, she knew she would die.  That was what she wanted.

            Carefully, she picked up the last piece of cheesecloth and yet another clean bowl.  Putting the cloth over the top, she poured the liquid, and the debris gathered at the bottom, onto the cheesecloth.  She lifted it up, the purplish liquid dripping from the bottom.  Squeezing and twisting carefully, she wrung every last bit into the bowl.  Then, she tossed out the goop and cloth.  The murky purple liquid, very watery, was poured into the vial.

            Now was the time.  She took the tincture in one hand and began to pour it into the vial.  Upon the first droplet landing inside and spreading in miniscule ripples in concentric circles, the potion turned clear and a faint mist began to rise from the top.  She hadn't thought such an abrupt color change to be possible, but this was magic.  With such craft, anything was possible.

            She began to pour her power into the potion, pouring everything she was and could be into the fluid.  Everything went into making this work.  Soon it was being drawn out of her and into the spiraling depths of the vial.  The empty glass clattered to the table, falling from her nerveless fingers, ands till she was putting everything she was into the vial.  Soon there would be nothing left.  It felt as though she was soda being sucked through a straw, an intriguing sensation.

            She could only hope that it was enough as she distantly felt her knees buckling, still pushing out everything she had.  Her body felt like a separate entity now.  She was separated from everything, distant, unattached.  If this was dying, she wondered why she hadn't tried it sooner.  Black flowers, death posies, blooming in front of her eyes, she knew she had to call out to Jander, to get him here before the power dissipated.

            Jander, she mentally gasped as she finally succumbed to he emptiness inside of her.  Her limp body thudded loudly to the floor, collapsing like a puppet whose strings were cut.

*  *  *  *  *

            Jander woke abruptly, unsure of what had disturbed his rest.  A vague uneasiness filled him as he looked around the sparse room.  The feeling was growing as nothing became apparent, yet he knew that something must have interrupted his sleep to be awake this early in the afternoon.

            Jander… Nire's mental tone was weary to the point of a coma.

            That was what was wrong!  The little place in the back of his mind where he kept track of Nire, that piece of him he didn't remember about most of the time, was fading.  Something happened to her, was happening, something bad.  For the moment, he forgot about how distrustful he was of her now, and desperately searched for where she was.  It took less than a nanosecond for him to ascertain that she was at Raistlin's tower, and to think, What the hell is that bastard doing to her?

            As the thought, more a feeling, was completed, that emptiness was abruptly in his skull, the feeling of Nire was completely gone.

            And he knew she was dead.