September was a perfect month for dying. The drop of parched leaves from the sycamore outside Bryony’s kitchen window matched the shrivelling of her heart. Circumstance had made her choose this time of year. There was a limited window for getting everyone together and now was the time to act. While the last drama had taken place in the July heat, this time she would revel in the autumn sting. Already, plans were falling into place. Invites accepted and bait taken.
She checked for the final time that she had everything for the poisonings. Her luggage was already stuffed to bursting and she’d had to repack it once to fit everything in. She’d divided the carefully prepared potions between her shoulder bag and case. She was paranoid that one of her belongings might get lost on the island boat, which looked worryingly primitive. Once she was on Eldey, the opportunities for replacing her supplies would be limited so she was hedging her bets. If one piece of luggage went missing, she’d have reserves as backup.
She’d spent the previous week scrutinising her doses. It was vitally important that her calculations were as accurate as possible. A single error, where the drug failed to work its warped magic, would throw everything into disarray. Concoctions would need to be made on Eldey, but that could only happen if she had the right ingredients. There was just one chance for her to target each of her victims, although she might have a little fun too. That was what she’d really missed. The enjoyment of being at the centre of things. She was now desperate to get to the island, eager to initiate the plan that had been fermenting in her mind for a very long time. The years of incarceration culminating in this.
She was going to Eldey, the magical island of saints and sinners, if the stories were to be believed. The place that had captured her imagination as a child. Eldey, in her beloved Wales that had induced a desperate yearning while she’d languished in the secure centre. Eldey, where she would finally get her revenge.