The Elusive Elixir

by Gigi Pandian

  This connection couldn’t be good. Using tricks I’d learned from watching Dorian use his claws to pick locks, I tried to pick the lock to Ivan’s back door, shielded from view. I failed miserably.

  I checked all the windows and found one that wasn’t locked. It was a high one, but I was glad to find that slipping into a narrow high window was a skill one didn’t forget. Either that or I had enough adrenaline pumping through my veins that I could do anything at that moment.

  On Ivan’s desk I found a copy of a flight itinerary. Ivan was going to Paris. Was he going with Percy? Why?

  I rushed home and up to the attic to share these latest developments with Dorian.

  I found my gargoyle friend tied up. His wrists were bound behind his back, rope had been wound around his body to prevent him from flapping his wings, and a handkerchief stuffed in his mouth.

  His precious Non Degenera Alchemia was nowhere in sight.

  Thirty-Nine

  I shook myself and pulled the handkerchief from Dorian’s mouth.

  “J’en ai ras le bol,” Dorian spat. “I have had enough, Zoe! This is too much.”

  “Who did this to you?” I asked, even though I already knew.

  “I knew Ivan was not to be trusted!” Dorian screamed, fidgeting as I worked to untie the rope. “Hurry! We must go after them.”

  “We’re too late.”

  His shoulder’s fell. “Non. I suppose you are correct. They were here hours ago. I heard you come home, yet you did not come up when I did not answer you.”

  “You’ve hated to be interrupted lately.”

  Dorian sniffed. “Is a small modicum of privacy a bad thing?”

  “No. Not under normal circumstances. I’m sorry. With everything going on around us, I should have checked on you. Ivan tied you up and took your book?”

  “Oui.” Dorian shook out his wings and rotated his one working arm. “Ivan and Percival.”

  “They’re taking it to Paris.”

  “You know?”

  “I saw the flight itinerary at Ivan’s house. The plane already left, we’re too late. What happened?”

  Dorian chuckled.

  “It’s funny?”

  “At least when I spend eternity trapped in stone, I will always have the memory of Percival’s terrified face when I came to life and refused to let go of Non Degenera Alchemia. He is a most annoying man, Zoe. You have the worst taste in men.”

  “It was his father I was in love with, not Percy. And what’s the matter with Max?”

  “He wishes to cook in my kitchen! He leaves things in the wrong place.”

  “Because he’s nice enough to clean up—” I stopped myself and shook my head. “How did we get off track? You’re not going to be trapped in stone for all eternity, Dorian. You’re going to tell me what happened, and we’re going to fix it.”

  “D’accord. The two men, Ivan and Percival, forced the lock to the attic. They must have had a key to the front door, because I did not hear them until they opened this one. By then it was too late for me to flee. I could only turn to stone and hold my book tightly. Yet with only one working arm … ”

  “You couldn’t hold on tightly enough.”

  “Nor put up a fight. If I was at full strength, they would not have been able to tie me up. That Percival wished to chip me into little stone pieces. He is a very bad man, Zoe.”

  “You’re all right?” I looked him over, terrified I’d see pieces missing beyond his two toes that had chipped off earlier that year.

  “Ivan stopped him from hurting me.”

  Dorian looked at me thoughtfully. “Ivan was less surprised than Percival when I began to move. It is as if nothing else in this world can surprise him.”

  “He’s dying. He has nothing left to lose.”

  “Yet he did not wish to kill me. He is the weak link. It is Ivan who has not yet gone too far.”

  “I need to figure out why they’re headed to Paris.”

  Dorian blinked at me. “You said you knew.”

  “I knew they’d booked tickets to Paris. But what are they going to do there?”

  “Merde.”

  “What is it?”

  “I wish you already knew. Then I would not have to tell you.”

  My heart thudded. “It’s bad?”

  “They spoke of a backward alchemy lab in Paris. A powerful one used by all the backward alchemists throughout the ages. It is where they perform their sacrifices. Ivan and Percival plan to use the book to bring back backward alchemy.”

  “Percy didn’t tell me there was an alchemy lab like that.”

  “Of course he would not. He left out many things when he brought you into his confidence. He has done the same thing with Ivan. Percival is leading Ivan to his doom.”

  “And you to yours,” I said, “unless I stop them.”

  Forty

  I was too late. The next flight to Paris wasn’t until the next day. But even if I could have purchased a ticket and boarded a flight, what would happen when I entered France on my own passport? Would there be a flag on my passport that I was a criminal? The man who’d helped me with IDs for decades was dead, so I needed to find someone to forge me a new passport.

  It was shortly after seven p.m. and the teashop was closed, but Blue was still there cleaning up. She opened the door for me. Her gray curls gave the impression she’d been struck by lightning. With the smile on her face, it was a magical lightning bolt of happiness.

  “Have you heard if Heather is all right?” she asked.

  “I haven’t heard anything.”

  “I’ll put on some tea.”

  I shook my head. “I’m afraid this isn’t a social visit. I need to ask you for help.”

  Blue gave me a crooked smile. “Trying to help me feel at home since Brix is at an age where he’s too cool to ask for help?”

  “I need a fake passport,” I blurted out.

  Blue choked. “Honey, we definitely need to put on a pot of tea. A relaxing blend.” She locked the front door and led me to the area behind the counter.

  “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t an emergency.”

  “I figured that part out.”

  “Do you still know the people who helped you change your identity?”

  “Tea first, criminal activities later.”

  Blue brewed dandelion tea that was both calming and invigorating.

  “I’ve always said you were an old soul, Zoe,” Blue said as I sipped the tea out of a solid curved mug like the kind found in 1950s diners. “But you’re taking it too far. You look like you haven’t slept since I left. And if I’m eating and sleeping better in a jail cell than you are here at home, I know something’s wrong.”

  The tea warmed my hands and belly, but with Brixton and Dorian in danger, the comforting sensation didn’t reach my soul. I pushed the mug away. “When you faked your death and started a new life, you knew people who helped you set up that fake identity.”

  The blank look on Blue’s face made me wonder if I’d misunderstood how she started over here in Portland. But then she smiled and took my hands in hers. They were calloused but full of vitality. “Whatever you’re running from, doing what I did isn’t the answer. Trust me, I know.”

  “Then you do know people. People who can work quickly.”

  “I’m not going to ask what’s going on. It’s up to you to decide whether you’re ready to tell me. But I will say that however desperate you feel, it can get worse.”

  Not the reassuring words I wished to hear. “I thought you’d tell me it’ll get better.”

  “Ha. That too. But it won’t get better if you go this route.”

  “You don’t understand what I have to do.”

  “I would if you’d tell me. No?” She let go of my hands and ran her fingers through her curly gray hair t
hat was as untamable as a ferocious storm. “All right, Zoe. If you’re sure.”

  “I’m sure. I know what I’m doing.”

  “I hope you’re right, sugar. I do hope you’re right.”

  I stared at the number for Blue’s contact, wondering if I should call. It was so late at night that it was difficult for me to think clearly. Dorian had gone on a nocturnal walk to work out his own tension, along with living up to his nightly responsibilities at Julian Lake’s house and at Blue Sky Teas. I’d made too many mistakes. I needed to get some sleep to make the right decision.

  When I woke up at sunrise, I saw that I’d missed several calls from Max from the middle of the night. Because I’d wasted precious energy staying awake longer than I should have, I’d slept through the phone calls.

  I called Max back. It took several rings for him to answer. He must have been sleeping. Understandable, since his calls had come in only hours before.

  “Is Brixton staying with you?” Max asked.

  “No. Why would he be with me?”

  Max swore. “He missed dinner with his parents last night. They thought he was out with his friends, but when Abel checked Brixton’s room before going to bed at around midnight, he found some of Brix’s clothes missing, along with the passport they just took out of their safety deposit box so he could go on a summer trip with his friends. Abel and Heather called Ethan and Veronica and woke them up, but Brixton isn’t with them. Last I heard, he still wasn’t home.”

  No, it couldn’t be …

  “I’d better check with his parents again,” Max was saying. “He’s run off for the night before. It’s the missing clothes and passport that make this case different. Zoe, are you there?”

  I couldn’t speak. This was far worse than I had imagined. Brixton wasn’t only implicated in a murder—he might become a murder victim himself.

  Brixton knew about alchemy. He trusted Ivan, and he’d been bringing him food to help the dying man. Ivan likely didn’t know that an alchemy apprentice would give his life when he performed backward alchemy’s death rotation.

  Brixton had gone to Paris with Ivan and Percy to be the latest unknowing victim of backward alchemy.

  Forty-One

  If only I’d heard my phone during the night, I would have known Brixton had gone with Ivan and Percy. We could have alerted the authorities in Paris that they should meet the flight on the other end to find a kidnapped child. Max put me on hold while he looked into the flight.

  We were too late. The flight had already landed. Brixton was gone. In Paris.

  Max said he’d be right over to my house to talk in person, after he told the authorities what he knew. I hung up the phone and ran to the attic. The door was locked.

  I pounded on the door. “Dorian, let me in. I know you need your own space, but this is an emergency. Brixton has been kidnapped.”

  The door flew open. “Kidnapped?”

  “Yes. No. Sort of. Effectively, yes.”

  Dorian cocked his head and wriggled his horns. “You are delirious, mon amie. Come inside and sit down.” He took my hand and led me to a steamer trunk we used as a bench.

  I breathed deeply as Dorian hopped up onto the trunk to sit next to me. A drop of a dark red substance clung to his bottom lip.

  “Oh, God,” I said. “You’re bleeding. I didn’t think you could bleed.”

  “I’m bleeding?” Dorian whipped his head around and flapped his wings. One of them hit my shoulder and knocked me off the trunk. “Pardon.” He scrambled off the seat and helped me up.

  “Your lip,” I said. “It’s your lip.” I held my breath. His health was worse than I thought, with a new symptom.

  “Ah. Only tomato sauce.”

  It didn’t look like tomato sauce. Was he lying to shield me from how close he was to death? But as awful as it was, Dorian’s unnatural death wasn’t this morning’s priority. “Brixton left for Paris with Percy and Ivan.”

  “Along with mon livre. Perhaps he wishes to be a superhero and is attempting to retrieve my book.”

  I shook my head. “Brix doesn’t know it was stolen. I’ve been trying to keep him out of this.”

  “Then why would he go with them? They are very bad men.”

  “He doesn’t know that! He’s friends with Ivan. Ivan now believes in alchemy, and if he’s working with Percy, he believes what Percy has told him.”

  “Backward alchemy,” Dorian whispered.

  “Which requires a sacrifice.”

  “Mais non! Why would the boy agree to such a thing?”

  “I’m sure Percy lied to Ivan and Brixton, like Lucien lied to Percy to trick him into the lazy route of becoming a backward alchemist. Ivan doesn’t realize what Brix would be doing to help him.”

  The doorbell rang, and I moved toward the door. Dorian put his one good arm on his hip. “Max Liu?”

  “I’ll talk to him in the kitchen so you can hear us, okay?”

  In the kitchen, I explained to Max that Ivan had grown delusional as his health deteriorated, and that I thought he’d stolen a valuable alchemy book of mine because he thought alchemy was real. I theorized that Ivan had convinced Brixton to go to Paris with him, because that’s where a certain type of alchemy supposedly draws its power from.

  “Why didn’t you report the theft?” Max asked.

  “I didn’t want to get Ivan in trouble. I thought I could get it back once he came to his senses. I didn’t realize he’d go so far.”

  Max checked with passport control and found that I was right. Brixton had arrived in Paris earlier that day. He’d used his passport to visit his stepdad before; a well-traveled teenager accompanied by two respectable-looking adults hadn’t been questioned.

  Max wanted to go through the proper channels, but I knew there wasn’t time. Besides, it would be impossible to explain to the authorities where they should look for Brixton, especially since I wasn’t sure myself.

  There wasn’t time for me to get a fake passport, either. If I wanted to save Dorian and Brixton, I had to get to France today.

  Forty-Two

  I had no trouble clearing customs in Paris with my own passport. Madame Leblanc’s nephew must not have moved forward with the cold case.

  With my adrenaline pumping, I set out to search Paris for the trio. I tied a white scarf over my hair and put on sunglasses, hoping to deter the eagle-eyed Madame Leblanc if she happened to cross my path.

  I started with Notre Dame, the center of backward alchemy. I waited impatiently in the line of tourists that snaked across the courtyard. Many of the visitors carried umbrellas to shield themselves not from rain but from the spring sun. It made it difficult to identify individual people in the crowd. I listened for voices instead. Chinese, Spanish, Italian, and English with accents ranging from Australian to the American South. Nothing that sounded like Brixton, Ivan, or Percy.

  Inside the cathedral’s sanctuary walls, I showed a photograph of Brixton to every guide and worker in the cathedral. With the heavenly stained glass above casting a glowing light throughout the stone church above us, they all shook their heads.

  Unlike many cathedrals, Notre Dame didn’t contain a large crypt beneath its floors. The “official” crypt was a tourist attraction located across the courtyard from Notre Dame. Through miniature displays and audio recordings, it told the story of Paris. When construction of Notre Dame had begun in the 1200s, Paris wasn’t yet known as Paris. The bishops had wished to build a monument to God in a spot where people from across Europe had gathered, and the cathedral quickly became a pilgrimage site.

  As for the crypt that contained bones of bishops and other important Frenchmen, many were entombed on the street level inside the cathedral, leaving only a small crypt—and it was off limits. I gave a generous “donation” to the same security guard who had given me access to the crypt the previous week.


  Brixton wasn’t there.

  Before leaving the Île de la Cité, I stopped inside the tourist crypt. Just for good measure. Again, nothing.

  What was I missing?

  I was run-down both physically and emotionally. I stopped in a café in the shadow of Notre Dame for a glass of Perrier for hydration, pain au chocolate for energy, and a cup of tea for my spirits.

  A siren sounded, but I couldn’t see where the sound was coming from.

  A crowd of people rushed to the edge of the Seine, and I realized why I couldn’t see the vehicle with a siren—it was in the water.

  I tossed coins on the table and rushed through the crowd. From the edge of Pont Neuf bridge, I watched helplessly as the emergency boat came to a splashing halt in the river. The text on the side read SUCCURS AUX VICTIMES: SAPEURS-PUMERS DE PARIS.

  Divers jumped from the boat and swam toward a still figure.

  A shiver like shards of glass covered my body. I couldn’t breathe. Was I too late? I imagined Brixton dumped unceremoniously into the Seine once he was no longer of use.

  The first diver reached the body. And there was no question that it was a dead body, not a living person. The diver turned over the body. It was a young man, but it wasn’t Brixton. I looked on in horror.

  It was the police officer who had interviewed me the previous week. Madame Leblanc’s grandnephew.

  I was sure I was going to vomit over the side of the bridge. I felt claustrophobic in the crowd of people surging forward to catch a glimpse of the dead body. I held my head and pushed my way through the throng, also trying to push away the thought barreling through my mind: Death follows you everywhere you go, Zoe Faust.

  Who had killed Madame Leblanc’s police officer nephew?

  I raced down the stone steps that led to the riverbed, but Gendarme Gilbert’s body had already been pulled onto the boat. Its engine revved. From the edge of the river, I called out in my most authoritative French for them to stop.

  To my surprise, it worked. Sort of. They didn’t change course, but they paused for long enough for me to call out a few words to them.