She shoved the ledger back into its hiding place, her heart a frantic drum against her ribs. Through the crack in the shed door, she watched him walk past the mangosteen tree, his shadow stretching long and predatory across the spice-laden air.
“April 3: Subject F. Given tea with double-strength long pepper and mace. Became intensely amorous toward a reflection. Woke confused, with scratches on her arms. Fascinating.”
The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, releasing a wave of humid, fragrant air that was utterly at odds with the steel-and-glass skyscraper behind Mia. She stepped out into the private vestibule of the penthouse, her sensible flats silent on the cooled limestone floor. The key, warm from her pocket, turned in the lock. Penthouse- Tropical Spice
Mia’s blood ran cold. She looked at her own tea cup—the one Leo had insisted she drink from every evening. The ginger. The black cardamom. The something deeper .
She sipped. The heat spread through her chest, clean and sharp. For the first time in months, her chronic anxiety loosened its grip. She shoved the ledger back into its hiding
“Mia?” Leo’s voice was cheerful, echoing off the limestone. “I brought fresh soursop. I thought we could try a new infusion tonight.”
Mia woke to sunbirds tapping at the glass, misted the ferns in her bathrobe, and cooked with ingredients she harvested ten feet from her bed. She learned the personalities of the plants: the dramatic chili orchid that drooped if its soil varied by a single degree, the stubborn clove tree that only fruited after a simulated thunderstorm (Leo had installed a sound system for that). Given tea with double-strength long pepper and mace
“March 12: Subject inhaled nutmeg oil at 8 PM. Reported ‘floating dreams’ and a metallic taste. Pupils dilated. No memory of the following three hours.”