Chapter 80: "Slap!"

Talia's long, manicured nails dug into Roberta's face. "You witch," she hissed, "where do you think you're going with that bag? Planning to see your crazy mother, or run away?"

"Mrs. Walsh..." Roberta's voice was weak, but her gaze was firm. "I'm not your prisoner. I have the right to go wherever I want. Besides, haven't you always hated me? My leaving would be perfect for you."

Talia cackled. "The witch learns to talk back! You've forgotten what happened in that village, haven't you? Need a reminder?"

With a few taps, she played a video on her phone. The screen showed a horrifying scene: a young woman begging for mercy while men laughed cruelly.

Roberta's face drained of color. Her courage crumbled. She clutched her ears, shook her head frantically, and cried, "Stop it! Stop it! Please, don't play it anymore!"

Talia sneered, pocketing her phone. "Listen, you're nothing but my lowly follower. You'll do as I say. Defy me again, and I'll send your crazy mother to hell. Understand?"

"I understand," Roberta choked out, her voice hoarse from crying. Prostrate on the ground, Talia's foot crushed her dignity and pride; even her soul felt shattered.

Finally satisfied, Talia withdrew her foot. "I'm going to the front to distract Mr. Walsh Senior," she commanded, her tone like that of a dog handler. "Get me that thing. Fail by today, and you know what happens."

"I'll do my best," Roberta pleaded. "Just don't hurt my mother."

"That depends on how well you do!"

Talia strutted away, her twin children trailing behind. These precious darlings of Noah's family, Roberta's step-siblings, had enjoyed mimicking their mother's bullying. They'd secretly followed Roberta, reporting her packing to Talia.

Roberta's hatred burned, but the thought of her mother in the sanatorium weakened her resolve. She unclenched her fists. Rising, she moved like a puppet toward the library. Felicia held the key to the pharmacy.

To obtain the poison, she needed Felicia to open the door. Felicia, having just finished two books—a habit of skimming, memorizing, and then mastering the content—was about to begin a third when there was a knock.

"Aunt Felicia," Roberta's voice called, "I brought you fruit and juice. Come out if you're hungry."

It was a Walsh residence rule: no outsiders, no eating in the library.

Felicia ignored her, continuing to read. But Roberta persisted. "Aunt Felicia, you've read all the library books. How about the pharmacy? I heard it's full of Great-Grandpa's old prescriptions. Some are priceless!"

Clive, Mr. Walsh Senior, Felicia's grandfather, had been a legendary figure, saving countless lives with his silver needles. His prescriptions were famed, his skill with medicine rivaling his skill with poison—a skill he'd sworn off. Had he not, he might have been the world's top assassin.

Felicia's interest was piqued. She hadn't been to the pharmacy. Why not?

She walked out, raising an eyebrow. "Where's this pharmacy? Show me."