The Artist's Alchemy

by Amorette Anderson

  They all agreed, and we parted ways. I headed for Asti.

  “Is it time for my speech?” she asked when I reached her side.

  “Almost,” I said. “But first, I need to have a word with you. There’s been an incident.” I led her toward the edge of the room, away from the crowds.

  “What happened?” she asked. She still had a glass of red wine in her hand. She lifted it to her lips and took a sip.

  “It’s Robert,” I said, slowly and carefully. I watched her expression, to see if there were signs that she knew what I was about to say next.

  I saw one of her thick brows dip downward as she lowered her glass and frowned. “Oh dear,” she said. “He’s not up to his usual nonsense, is he? I was worried about this. What has he done?”

  I wasn’t sure what she was referring to. Her voice sounded slightly edgy and anxious.

  “Asti, Robert is dead. His body fell from the roof, and the impact with the ground below killed him. I think someone pushed him.”

  She inhaled sharply. Her eyes widened. Her voice came out as a whisper. “Robert!” she said softly. Even though it was just a whisper, the word was sharp on her tongue.

  Then it became more gentle. “Poor Robert,” she whispered again. “When? When did it happen?”

  “Just after we talked about how you capture light so well in your paintings,” I said. “About 5:15.”

  “He was up on the roof... why?” she asked.

  I wasn’t sure I wanted to get into specifics with her, so I deflected her question with a question of my own. “Asti, when was the last time you saw Robert?”

  “I caught sight of him across the lobby, just this evening,” she said. “Right before I went to use the bathroom. He was talking to you.”

  “And you didn’t see him again after that?”

  “No,” she said. She eyed me warily. “Why? You’re not thinking that I had something to do with this, are you?”

  “I’m just trying to collect some information,” I said. “When I was just outside, Robert said that—”

  “Wait a minute—you talked to him?” she asked. “I thought you said he died on impact?”

  I nodded. “He did, but I can see ghosts. It’s kind of a new thing.”

  “Robert is a ghost... and you talked to him?” Her voice sounded strained and tight. Was she nervous because she was guilty, or merely upset? I couldn’t tell.

  “So he’s running around here as a ghost?” she sounded horrified. She looked over her shoulder as if he might be haunting us at that very moment.

  I nodded. “Yeah—and the last time I saw him, he was out on the lawn, near his dead body. He actually said that...” I swallowed my sentence with a big gulp. I didn’t want to tell Asti about Robert’s threat, but I knew that I had to.

  She eyed me expectantly. I forced myself to go on. “He said that, um, if I didn’t figure out who killed him, he’d assume it was you, and he’d get revenge. He mentioned the concert on the last day. He said that that’s where he’d... um... exact his revenge.”

  I felt really bad saying this, but at the same time, I knew that not telling her would be dangerous.

  If Asti was innocent, she deserved to know what she was up against.

  Her face paled. “Revenge...” she said. “What kind of revenge?”

  “Kill you, actually, is what he really said,” I told her. “I don’t know how he’d manage it, since he’s non-physical, but he seemed intent on pulling it off.” I pictured his black beady eyes and his cold, calculating tone. “I have to say, I believe he’d really give it a go. He seems like sort of an intense dude.”

  Just then I felt a tap on my shoulder.

  It was Annie. “Dear, I think the guests would like to eat soon. Shall we initiate a dinner spell, or wait until after our announcement?”

  I looked past Annie and saw that she was right. The crowd was clearly getting restless.

  “Asti better give her welcome speech first,” I said glumly. I was feeling more than a little bit discouraged, as well as overwhelmed. I now had two worries to contend with—Robert’s murder, as well as the possibility that he might still try to attack Asti at the close of the weekend. I felt terrible for telling Asti about her ex-lover’s death, and his wish for revenge. On top of that, I had to ask her to give a speech.

  “This was certainly not how I expected this weekend to start out,” I said with a frustrated sigh. “I’m really sorry about all of this, Asti. But do you think you could manage a short speech anyways? Everyone is expecting it. After you speak, I’ll make an announcement about the incident.”

  Asti nodded solemnly. “You hired me, and I’m here, so I might as well,” she said resolutely.

  “Thanks Asti,” I said.

  I watched her walk toward the center of the room, her spine straight and her chin held high, the posture of a ballerina. She deposited her wine glass on a tray for dirty dishes as it floated by, and then took up a position in the middle of the room, near the tall tree that extended up all the way to the ceiling. Beings flocked around her, as naturally as though she was a magnet and they were iron. The artist-types gathered on one side of her, while the scientific-type folks clumped together on the other side.

  Even though the crowd was divided, they closed in on Asti and looked interested in what she was about to say. The magnetic quality that she emanated was very strong, and I could see how she’d broken Robert’s heart.

  He must have loved her very much, all those years ago, I thought as I watched her. And he must have been a wreck after they broke up. Interesting that he joined this Order of Anti Art right after their breakup. Was it really his way of coping with his feelings, like Asti said?

  It didn’t work that well, if that was the case, I thought, because he still seemed awfully distraught over the relationship.

  The crowd hushed in anticipation of Asti’s speech. Even the scientists seemed interested in what she had to say. She let the hushed silence linger for a moment, and then she began to speak.

  “Good evening, friends,” she said. “I’m Asti Rose, and I’m an artist. I look at the world through the eyes of an artist, and that is what I’m going to guide you to do this weekend as well. It’s my hope that seeing the world as an artist does will help you access a greater depth of your magical capabilities.”

  She paused there, and a scattered round of applause rose up from the artist’s side of the crowd. The scientific-looking folks were eying one another with confusion.

  Asti continued. “As an artist, I see a world of shapes and colors. Beauty is everywhere—even in darkness and pain. I give meaning to the forms that I see. The forms have no inherent meaning. I’ll teach you how to do this as well. I’ll also teach you to see the space between things. This is a magical space, filled with possibility. Once you shift your vision to account for this space, great magic will happen in your life.”

  A man from the scientist’s side of the crowd raised his hand, and a few beings turned to look at him. “I thought this weekend was about alchemy?” he said. “I have a theory about transmutation that I want to verify with other alchemists.”

  Asti addressed him fearlessly. “The word ‘alchemy’ in the title of this weekend’s workshop refers to the skill of transforming one way of seeing into another.”

  “That’s so woo woo!” the man responded. “I’m only interested in facts, not mumbo jumbo about spiritual stuff!”

  Asti lifted her chin. “I’m sorry if this comes as a disappointment to you,” she said to the man, “but this weekend is not about cold, hard facts that can be measured and labeled. I am not interested in taking physical matter apart and examining the bits and pieces.”

  There were a few groans and head shakes from the scientist’s side of the crowd. I crossed my fingers behind my back and wished fervently that Asti would be able to pull off the rest of the welcome speech without ostracizing one half of the room.

  As she went on, her voice remained smooth, confident, and clear. “Thoug
h I don’t approve of or resonate with science, I do think that scientists can benefit from learning about the fluidity—the undefinable, limitless emotionality—of art. There’s no need to classify, label, break apart, and study... I look at the stars and I don’t see galaxies a certain distance away, with specific names and densities and heat levels and whatnot... I see the depths of my own soul.”

  “Pff... no thanks,” one of the scientists said with a wave of his hand and a shake of his head.

  “I study subatomic matter,” said another. “I don’t care about seeing my soul.”

  “I think I’ve got better things to do this weekend.”

  “When’s the next shuttle up to the portal gate? I think I’ll go back to my lab.”

  Uh oh, I thought.

  I stepped forward and held up my hand. I gave a rather weak wave. I felt apologetic, and I think it showed.

  “Excuse me everyone... could I just interject for one moment?” I said. “My name is Marley Greene, and as you all know, I’m the founder of this retreat center. I have a few announcements which might influence your decision to leave—for those of you who feel that you’re not interested in the topic for the weekend. The first announcement is that a man I’m sure a lot of you know, Robert Elgin, has passed away. He was actually killed. Pushed from the roof.”

  I paused to let that sink in. I saw a ripple of shock radiate through the crowd. Several gasps rose up, and a few cries of “oh no!” and “that’s dreadful!”

  I went on. “The second announcement is that, because of Robert’s murder, it would be really helpful if you could all stick around. My friends and I are going to try to figure out who killed Robert, and we can’t really do that if half of you leave. I’m sure Robert would like to know who ended his life. He deserves that.” I didn’t mention Robert’s ghost. The weekend was on thin ice as it was, and I didn’t want to upset anyone. I went on. “So, I ask you to stay. For Robert.”

  A hubbub of discontent rose up. Rather than convince the guests to stay for the weekend, I seemed to have made them even more eager to leave. Even the artists looked upset. “Robert Elgin was killed!” one being cried out.

  “And you don’t know who did it,” a fairy with long dreadlocks said. “That means we’re all in danger!”

  “I’m going to go pack my bags right now,” a man in a beret and paint-splattered overalls said. “Just you try to keep me here with some crazed killer on the loose!”

  I gulped. This was not going as I hoped.

  Thankfully, Asti spoke up at that moment, and raised her voice so that it was loud enough to carry through the lobby and ring out above the din of guest’s protests.

  “One thing about seeing the world as an artist is this, my friends... you must see everything as an opportunity for beauty. I don’t believe in random chance. I believe that everything in my life happens for a reason—including this. You all are right here, right now, for a reason. Perhaps it is time for our disciplines to work together. Think about a universe in which artists and scientists worked together, rather than apart.”

  This stopped the chatter in the lobby.

  Asti looked out over the crowd. “This is a healing center, after all,” she said. She looked in my direction, and gave me a subtle nod.

  As she did, a strange thing happened.

  My dreamcatcher necklace started to feel warm against my skin. I’d never felt that before. I reached for it to feel it with my hand so that I could verify the temperature change. I wanted to know if I was just imagining things.

  I pulled the necklace out from under my sweater, I felt the warmth of the charm beneath my fingertips.

  Asti went on. “Marley was just telling me about the intention behind this center.” She looked at me and gave a nod and a kind smile. I hoped, right then, that Asti wasn’t behind Robert’s death. I was starting to like her. She went on. “This is a space for deep healing. Isn’t it possible that this conflict between art and science has gone on long enough? Isn’t it possible that we’re all here to heal, with one another? I admit that I have been very resistant to science over the years. I will try to open my mind while I am here as well. I propose that we stick it out, together.”

  A few beings nodded.

  My necklace got warmer. I looked down, and saw that it was glowing. The gold charm was bright orange, and a faint light beamed out as if from within the metal.

  As I took this in, Asti went on. “I propose that Robert Elgin did not die in vain. I think that even his death, as tragic as it was, happened for a reason. It gives us an opportunity to heal, my friends.”

  Now a genuine round of applause rose up from every being in the room. I let go of my necklace and breathed out a sigh of relief. She’d done it. She’d managed to unite the artists and scientists, and convince them to stay for the weekend.

  I didn’t have time to think about my necklace. The real work of solving Robert’s murder was about to begin.

  Asti smiled, and opened her hands wide. “I hope you’ll all join me tomorrow morning for my first lecture, starting at nine a.m., titled ‘the space between things’,” she said. “Until then, please enjoy the center. Marley has informed me that dinner will be served shortly.”

  I interjected with a quick rundown of what the resort had to offer, including the amenities of the spa and the meditation room, the crystal cave, and the hiking trails behind the center.

  Then I signaled to Annie, who magically made a buffet table appear. It was filled to brimming with platters of steaming dishes. I’d worked up quite an appetite, thanks to all of the activity of the evening, and I scarfed down a plate of food appreciatively, thinking over all I’d learned about Robert’s death the entire time.

  For the rest of the evening, I spoke to several scientists in an attempt to gather more information about Robert’s personal life, his involvement with the Order of Anti Art, or his relationship with Asti.

  It was hard to know who to talk to, so I didn’t end up getting anything that I felt would be helpful to the case. I discovered that he wasn’t married, and didn’t have children or pets. Apparently, he was married to his work. I received an earful about Robert’s research into solar storms, which was pretty boring and hard to understand.

  I was feeling drained by the time ten o’clock rolled around, and the lobby finally emptied out. Skili and I were the last two in the lobby. We finally headed out into the night air. It had stopped raining, but the ground was still wet and wispy gray clouds covered about half of the sky.

  I felt sort of creeped out as we headed to my van. Not knowing where Robert’s ghost was gave me the heebie-jeebies, and the suspicion that there was a murderer somewhere within the dome-shaped, pinkish-purple magical barrier that surrounded the retreat center grounds was even worse.

  I readied for bed, said goodnight to Skili, and then looked up at the stars to say a few gratitude statements. I thought it might help me wind down so that I’d be able to sleep. However, when I was done, I still felt anxious.

  Who killed Robert?

  Something that Asti had said, over the course of the evening, rang through my mind. She’d said that after she and Robert broke up, he had trouble dealing with his hurt and anger. So he joined the Order of Anti Art.

  What the heck is the Order of Anti Art? I wondered.

  A nearby puddle reflected the starlight and caught my eye. I walked over to it and squatted down. I’d learned that reflective water could be used for scrying, which was a magical way of accessing information. I trailed my finger over the cool surface of the water and navigated through my search as if I was navigating through web pages on the Earth Realm internet. Finally, I came to an entry about the Order of Anti Art.

  “Order of Anti Art, or OAA: this knowledge is classified,” my search informed me. Right below this text I saw words written in red, all-capital font. “TOP SECRET,” it said.

  Guess I’m not going to get answers tonight, I thought with a sense of frustration that nearly killed my gratitude-buzz.r />
  I stood, looked up at the stars one last time, and then closed myself into my tiny sanctuary on wheels. My whole body was weary. I nestled under my covers, but sleep would not come. Finally, I fell into a fitful sleep around midnight.

  Chapter Six

  I awoke the next morning a little bit after five with a lot on my mind.

  A thick mist blanketed the still-damp ground, and the sun wasn’t yet up.

  Skili was nowhere to be seen. I figured she was still finishing up her nightly activities. She doesn’t hunt, per say, but she does like to fly long distances through the night air and watch the ground below. She says it feels natural and meditative.

  I dressed in tie-dyed leggings, a baggy sweater, and my favorite vest to ward off the chill. Then I cooked up some breakfast for myself and ate it in a hurry before hopping into the driver’s seat of my van and starting it up. I had a few questions on my mind, and I knew just who might be able to answer them. Better said, I knew exactly what could answer them—books.

  Old, ancient books.

  Books that contained classified, top secret information.

  The type of books that my friend Penny had in her basement library. The type of books her genius cat liked to read.

  I arrived at Penny’s house at about six-thirty.

  I was sure she’d be up. Her familiar, Turkey, was very strict with Penny. He ensured that she was up each day by six at the latest, whether she liked it or not.

  Most of the time, she did not.

  She was grumpy as she opened the door.

  “Mar?” she croaked, as she ran a hand through her tangled mess of curls. “What are you doing here at this hour? I’m not even dressed.” She tightened the belt on the fuzzy purple bathrobe she wore.

  I stepped past her into the entryway of the mansion she inherited from her aunt. Penny’s husband, Max, is also an early riser. I knew he usually went out on long distance runs that started at five or before, so I wasn’t worried about waking him up, either.