“My mom was a Bear. If you look at me closely, you will see that,” I say quickly, and immediately redirect my thoughts away from my mom before I reveal anything more.

The apothecary pulls a vial out of a pouch on her belt and uncorks it.

My eyes widen. “And…a-and…,” I stammer, inching along the table, trying to put distance between us. “What I’m doing is what the Bears have been attempting to do for decades. I’m trying to stop the Lions, stop Jag from using his power to hurt the rest of the Strategia.”

She raises an eyebrow.

I grip the table, aware that every second counts, and aware that if it comes to a fight, in my current state I will most certainly lose. “The Latin phrase I said to you, the secret code, is specifically about helping those who are fighting the Lions. It means don’t surrender; never give up. With a code like that, I have to believe that stopping the Lions matters to you.”

She shakes her head like the conversation is growing tiresome, and she dips the tip of her blade in the bottle. “As it turns out, I’m stopping a Lion right now.”

Sweat drips down my temple. What if she paralyzes me before she cuts me up? What if I’m awake for the whole process?

“Lions. Jag. Fighting,” I say quickly, trying to get my thoughts and my mouth moving in the right direction.

She corks the bottle and puts it back on her belt, returning her focused gaze to me. She takes a step forward, and I once again lose my train of thought.

For a brief second I look around me, searching for a weapon or something to block her path, but even that slight twist of my head makes me wobble. I eye a set of shelves that are ten feet away. If I lunge, I could potentially grab hold of them and pull them down before she reaches me. Of course, I might get pinned beneath them. And even if I could get past the shelves with my stumbling movements, I seriously doubt that I could get through both locked doors and into the store before she reached me and slit my throat.

“I wouldn’t if I were you,” she says in a harsh tone, following my eyes.

I bite down hard, shaking my head, so frustrated I could cry. I return my gaze to the apothecary, who is steadily approaching. “Fine. Okay. You win. You win. I can’t think my way out of this and you’ve made it impossible for me to control my own body. So here I am, stuck with you and that awful dagger. And maybe—”

A small smile appears on her lips. “It’s shocking how simple your thoughts are. Base, even. I would expect more from a six-year-old Strategia.”