by Gigi Pandian
“An understatement.”
“—but you’re the only family I’ve got.”
I, too, had lost my entire family long ago. Aside from my beloved brother Thomas, I hadn’t been close with my immediate family. They didn’t question the ways of Salem Village and were quick to judge when I was accused of witchcraft simply because I had an “unnaturally good” way with plants. My connection to plants and aptitude for plant alchemy weren’t witchcraft. My only “crimes” were helping the vegetables and grains on my family’s plot of land grow more robustly than our neighbors.
My brother and I fled the village instead of waiting for me to be condemned to death as a witch, but Thomas died only a few years later. It wasn’t until I met Ambrose that I felt like I had a family again.
I looked straight into Percy’s eyes. “Ambrose would want me to hear you out,” I said. “His love of you was so great.” My voice broke. Of all the unexpected things life had thrown my way, I never thought I’d see Percy again. And looking so much like his father.
“Once, that didn’t mean as much to me as it should have,” Percy said. “I know I took Father for granted. And you too. Like I said, I’ve grown up.” He gave me an embarrassed smile before his eyes darted around the teashop again. “Look, is there somewhere we can talk in private? I’ll tell you everything, but I’m worried about Lucien. I don’t know where he is, and I don’t want him to find me here in Portland.”
“Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
“But—”
“Stay inside and I’ll be right back.”
I rushed outside to call Dorian. My hands shook as I dialed, but I relaxed slightly after getting a good look at the people on the sidewalk near Blue Sky Teas. They were all far too hip to be Lucien, even in disguise.
So Lucien had followed me to Portland. That explained why he hadn’t answered the phone at the bookshop. It also meant there was probably no book that would give me the answers to save Dorian. Well, maybe there was a book that held answers about people who’d died at the hands of backward alchemists practicing at Notre Dame, but not one that he’d share with me. But why had Lucien followed me here?
I thought that if I could find a backward alchemist he could answer my questions, but I hadn’t thought through the reality of the situation. Lucien must have known what I was to follow me to Portland, but he didn’t reveal himself to me. He wasn’t going to let go of his secrets easily. My grand plan was in shambles.
After completing our special sequence of coded rings, Dorian picked up the phone.
“I’m bringing someone over to the house who shouldn’t see you,” I said. “Get whatever you need to stay in the attic for a couple of hours.”
“Max is moving in?” an indignant gargoyle replied.
“What? No. Why would you say that?”
“He is why you did not come home last night, was it not? Yet you do not sound happy, like people in the movies after they have—”
“Max has nothing to do with what’s going on this morning. Ambrose’s son Percy is here.”
A pause on the other end of the line. “I thought he died many years ago.”
“I thought so too. I need to talk to him in private, so I’m bringing him over to the house.”
“You can trust him?”
I hesitated before answering. “Not completely. That’s why I want you—and Non Degenera Alchemia—out of sight.”
“Why is there such fear in your voice?”
“I’ll explain everything as soon as I understand it myself.”
“No matter. I will simply listen through the pipes.”
“Fine. Wait, what?”
“From the attic, there is a way to access the audio qualities of the plumbing in the house.”
“You’re telling me you’ve been able to listen in on downstairs conversations all this time?”
“I only recently discovered it, during the party. And you have been away—”
“What party?”
Dorian cleared his throat. “I misspoke. My English, it is not so good.”
“Your English is perfect, Dorian. What party?”
Dorian sighed. “Brixton and his friends wanted to have an end-of-the-school-year party. They were supposed to have it at Ethan’s home, while the boy’s parents were out of town, but his parents came home unexpectedly. Brixton asked me if they could have the party at your house. He already had a key … ”
“Do you realize all the dangerous elements in my alchemy lab—” Was that the reason the items in my basement alchemy lab had been askew when I arrived home? Oh God, if kids had gotten in there …
Dorian clicked his tongue. “You think I did not consider this? The basement and the attic were securely locked. The children were only allowed on the first floor. I listened through the pipes to make sure they did not get into trouble.”
“How could you—”
“If I had not allowed them use of the house, they would have gone somewhere else—perhaps somewhere more dangerous, like those Shanghai Tunnels they used to sneak into. But … qu’est-ce que a ‘jello shot’ I heard them speak of while giggling? When I cleaned up the last mess that Brixton made, I did not see a dessert mold.”
I groaned, but I had more important things to worry about than unchaperoned fourteen- and fifteen-year-olds getting drunk off jello shots. Even though he could be infuriating, Dorian would take care of Brixton and his friends. A trustworthy gargoyle chaperone was better than no adult oversight in the dangerous tunnels under the city.
“Percy and I will be there in a few minutes,” I said.
In front of Blue Sky Teas, I looked through the large windows to where Percy sat under the weeping fig tree, with his hands wrapped gently around a mug of tea. My throat tightened. He looked so much like his father.
Were my feelings for Ambrose getting in the way of a rational decision? Was I fooling myself that I could trust a word Percy spoke?
Twenty-Five
“The twenty-first century suits you well,” Percy said, resting his elbows on my dining table and tapping his manicured fingertips together. Like his diction, the way he carried himself was more refined than the slovenly man I’d known. “Vegan restaurants are everywhere in this strange new century, you can buy unusual herbs and minerals without being hunted as a witch, and your white hair looks good in this short, modern hairstyle.”
“You look good too, Percy. For a dead man.”
“I’m sure you’ve guessed that I found the Elixir.”
“Mmm. What I can’t guess is how you found me.”
“This is where things get tricky.” Percy pushed the chair back from the table and began to fidget. He tapped his breast pocket, and for a moment seemed surprised to find it empty.
“Recently gave up a smoking habit?”
“Something like that.”
“Nobody followed us back to the house. You don’t have to be so nervous.”
“If you knew what I know, you’d be nervous too.”
“You’re stalling, Percy. Why don’t you tell me what it is you know?”
“You have to hear me out—the whole story—before you pass judgment. Will you do that for me?”
I didn’t answer for a moment. What was his game?
Percy jerked backward as my phone beeped, nearly toppling the chair. What was he so frightened of?
The phone was set to only make a noise if one of a few people contacted me. I reached for the phone while keeping one eye on Percy. The phone notification was an email from Dorian. I expected he was in the attic along with my laptop, listening to us through the pipes.
Hear Percy out, Dorian’s message said.
“I owe it to Ambrose to give you the benefit of the doubt,” I said.
Percy’s lip quivered, giving his face the humanity of his father. “I never meant for any of t
his to happen. I didn’t know what I was getting myself into. When I found Lucien, he told me so many wondrous things about not untrue alchemy. Things you and Father never told me.”
“Oh, God, Percy.” The skin on my cheeks prickled, my mouth went dry, and I felt like I was looking through a tunnel. “What have you done? You found the Elixir through backward alchemy?”
I should have realized it as soon as I saw him. Both because he didn’t have the temperament for true alchemy and also because he was younger than he was the last time I’d seen him. He hadn’t simply stopped aging; he’d reversed the clock. I hadn’t seen it at once because of my feelings for Ambrose. I hadn’t wanted to believe Percy capable of such evil; I was already subconsciously giving Percy the benefit of the doubt. Ambrose and I had tried to teach alchemy to Percy and failed. But because Ambrose always held out hope, I did too.
“You said you’d hear me out,” Percy said, a flash of the petulance surfacing. There was the young man I remembered. “I told you it wasn’t an easy story to tell. Please, Zoe. Please let me tell you. Maybe then you’ll understand.”
I bit my lip and nodded. This was what I’d wanted: a backward alchemist who could explain to me how it worked. What was he going to tell me? Would it be possible to save Dorian’s life?
But now that I had a backward alchemist right in front of me, I was frightened of what he might say.
“Go ahead,” I said through trembling lips. “I’m listening.”
“I know now,” Percy said, “that there was a reason you didn’t speak of not untrue alchemy. But I couldn’t see it then, could I? I never had the same sense of discipline as you and my father. Back then, I blamed Father for spoiling me. Lucien told me I could be more. And that I could achieve it without the years of effort that might not ever pay off. He was so charismatic in how he talked about it—”
“Lucien? Are we talking about the same man? The bookseller at Bossu Livres?”
“He might not be charismatic now, but that’s only because he’s been alive so long that he’s begun to lose his humanity. He was different back then.”
It was one of the dangers of any type of alchemy. The longer you lived, the easier it was to disassociate from normal people, to begin thinking you were something more. I wondered if that was one of the reasons I hadn’t searched as hard as I could have for Nicholas Flamel. He’d been alive since the fourteenth century. If I found him and Pernelle again, I wasn’t sure I’d like what I found.
But something wasn’t quite right about Percy’s analysis of Lucien’s change. If an alchemist lost a firm grip on human emotions, it wouldn’t have made him less charismatic. Could it be that Lucien wasn’t the man I’d met?
“I was young and foolish,” Percy continued. “He told me my sacrifice would be cutting ties with the people I knew. Lucien was the one who arranged for the plot in the cemetery and a telegram with news of my death. I didn’t want to do it, but he insisted. That’s how we’ve lived without being found out.”
“How many of you are there?”
“Not many. Around a dozen at the time of my transformation, but only three of us left that I know of. It seems like a lonely existence, I know. But I believed the stories Lucien told me.” He broke off and shook his head.
“How does it work?” I asked. “How do you get a life force back?” This was the moment I’d been waiting for. The last pieces of the puzzle.
“There was a book, and we followed the formulas in the illustrations.”
My heart raced. “What’s the code?”
Percy blinked at me. “There’s no code.”
“There’s always a code, Percy. We’re alchemists.”
He shook his head and smiled. “The whole point of backward alchemy is shortcuts, Zoe. The founders were lazy, lazy men. Lucien and Olav.”
“Who’s Olav?”
“A Viking. Exceptionally strong, but very stupid. Like the Vikings were.”
I reminded myself this wasn’t the time to combat Percy’s stereotypes.
“The two of them were complementary,” Percy continued. “With Lucien’s brains and Olav’s brawn, they bullied alchemists into sharing the codes of true alchemy, then used the Death Rotation to cut through the clutter and skip straight to the Elixir.”
“But if there’s no code in backward alchemy, then what’s the secret?”
Percy swallowed hard. He sat back down at the table and reached for his water. After drinking it in one gulp, he slammed the glass down and met my gaze. “Are you going to make me say it? You’re a smart woman. You already know, don’t you?”
“Sacrifices,” I said without realizing I was speaking out loud. “You’re talking about the necessary sacrifices. It was people you sacrificed, wasn’t it?”
Percy nodded gravely.
I’d suspected as much, but I hadn’t let myself believe it because I was terrified about what that would mean for Dorian. I’d been able to keep him relatively healthy through plant sacrifices that also drained my own energy, but that wasn’t enough. Even with the knowledge a backward alchemist could give me, I would still have to go through with a sacrifice.
It was an impossible situation. I could never purposefully take a life. There was no way I could convince myself it was right to sacrifice a life, even if it was to save another.
My phone buzzed. I scooped it into my hand so Percy wouldn’t see Dorian’s message.
No sacrifice, Dorian’s email read. If it is my fate to live trapped in unmoving stone, so be it.
I swallowed a sob as I set the phone facedown on the table. Even if Dorian was ready to accept his fate, I wasn’t.
Twenty-Six
“Lucien didn’t tell me about the sacrifices.” Percy’s chest rose and fell. He wiped sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief. “Not at first. It wasn’t my fault. I was already in too deep when I found out. He started me off performing processes that weren’t so different from the alchemy you and Father practiced—except that these processes involve counterclockwise Death Rotations shown in a book, skipping the long, boring steps. So it’s not necessary to use a long-burning athanor furnace to cook the vessel that becomes the Philosopher’s Stone. Only fire is needed, just like the book illustrations showed. The result is an ash-like substance.”
“The Tea of Ashes,” I whispered.
“What did you say?”
“Nothing. I’m thinking aloud. Go on.”
“The result is Alchemical Ashes.” Percy cleared his throat. “Could I get some more water?”
I filled Percy’s glass with more water from the kitchen. It gave me a moment to think. Now I knew the real term the backward alchemists used: Alchemical Ashes. But it was the same substance as in the tea I’d been making Dorian: ashes. I’d followed the coded instructions successfully. I wasn’t missing anything. Only the sacrifice.
“And the sacrifice?” I said as I handed the glass to Percy. I remained standing over him as he accepted the water with shaking hands.
“It’s the sacrifice who stirs the transformation that results in Alchemical Ashes.” Percy lowered his voice and his gaze. When he continued, he whispered his words to the table. “That’s how the energy gets transferred: through an apprentice who gives his life.”
“An apprentice ‘gives his life.’ As in gives up his life?”
“Or her life, I guess I’m supposed to say, now that it’s the twenty-first century.” Percy forced a laugh as he again wiped sweat from his forehead. “But as far as I know, it’s only been men.”
And I thought my alchemy apprenticeship with Nicolas Flamel had been difficult. Staying awake through the night to watch the fire burning steadily in the athanor furnace was nothing compared to an apprenticeship that ends with losing your life. “Apprentices willingly sign up for this?”
“Well, the thing is … ”
“They don’t know what they’re
signing up for, do they?”
“I didn’t either,” was Percy’s indignant reply.
“You killed someone to be here today.”
Percy wouldn’t look up at me. “Not directly.”
“That’s splitting hairs, Percy.”
“It’s not, you know.” His gaze snapped to mine. “I couldn’t have killed anyone directly. The boy signed up for it himself.”
“Have you ever taken responsibility for anything in your life, Percy?”
“I didn’t mean to, Zoe! Please forgive me. I’ve never forgiven myself, but if you could forgive a child’s mistake—”
“You were far from a child.”
“When nobody ever treated me like an adult, how was I supposed to grow up?”
I tried to steady my breathing. “I don’t want to fight with you, Percy. I want to know why you came to me. I want to know what Lucien is doing here.”
“I’m getting there. I told you, you need the whole story if you’re going to understand.” He nervously tapped his fingers on the table. “I broke off contact with Lucien years ago, once I knew what he was. I was able to stay young through my plant sacrifices—never hurting another person, I swear. You were so good with gardening. I paid attention to that. I learned from you. I’ve got a garden now, so I make my own Alchemical Ashes every year or so, whenever my life force begins to fade. It’s only that first transformation that requires an external sacrifice.”
“It doesn’t hurt you to do that?”
“To do what?”
“Make the Alchemical Ashes.”
“Why would it hurt me?”
I didn’t want him to know I had the backward alchemy book and had made the Alchemical Ashes for Dorian, so I had to choose my words carefully. “Based on how alchemy works, I would assume it would be extremely draining.”
“It’s not so bad.”
“No?”
“Well,” Percy continued, “it’s not so bad as long as you only need to do it once a year. More frequently and you’re looking for trouble.”
