by Gigi Pandian
“Max!”
“I thought you forgot about me and our barbeque plans.”
“Of course I didn’t forget about you,” I lied. I had missed Max while he was gone in China more than I’d imagined I would, but now that he was back, I didn’t have time for him. Dorian’s dilemma was taking up all of my energy—both mental and physical. I felt a wave of anger, immediately followed by guilt for being so selfish. It wasn’t Dorian’s fault. I wished the world was a different place, one where I could tell Max where I’d been. One where I could have brought him with me. I knew he’d be able to help, and more importantly, he would understand me on the deeper level I wanted. Maybe I could—
“Did you want to say something else?” he asked. “Your expression—”
I shook my head. “I feel bad that I lost track of the time. That’s all. You know how I get caught up in nature when I go on a walk.”
“You drove up, Zoe.”
“Of course.” Damn. “That’s because I drove to River View Cemetery to go for a walk there. I like some variety.”
Max’s relaxed stance stiffened. “I thought most of that place was roped off after the mudslides. It’s dangerous up there.”
God, I was awful at lying. I kept digging myself deeper and deeper. “It’s so beautiful there. And only part of it is cordoned off.”
“You didn’t go to the unstable steep parts, did you?” Max asked as he came down the porch steps, a grave look on his face. I knew he was conditioned to be a stickler for law and order, but the concern on his face was far greater than the situation called for.
“Why the third degree?” I eased the heavy bag containing Dorian onto the front lawn.
“It’s nothing. Can I help you with that … sack?”
“I’m fine. It’s just one of my antiques. I was having it cleaned. I, um, picked it up on my way home.” I needed to change the subject. “Let’s see what you brought with you.”
“Fresh from the farmer’s market.” Beet greens poked out over the edge of the brown paper bag he held. Several bunches of asparagus rested on top, and I spotted purple garlic and Brussels sprouts underneath. It was a bountiful spring harvest.
“I’m glad you brought food. Since I lost track of time, I didn’t have a chance to go to the market.”
“And this,” he said as he handed me a bag of fragrant tea, “is the tea I mentioned last night. Hey, are you okay?”
I self-consciously tucked my hair behind an ear, careful not to tug too hard and pull out any more clumps. “What do you mean?”
“Last night, I thought it was the light of the theater, but you’ve got dark circles under your eyes. And your skin is pale.”
I inspected the bag of tea, ignoring Max’s skeptical gaze. “It’s spring. I’ve got allergies. Nothing to worry about.”
“This is the tea I brought back from China, but I’m getting my own spring garden started now, even though it’s a little late. You’ll find that one of the nice things about living in Portland is that we get enough rain that plants often thrive even during extended vacations.”
I smiled at Max. “My secret is elderberry. You know it looks out for the other plants, to help them out.” I turned to look fondly at the plant that used to be thought of as a garden’s “protector,” then looked at Max with equal fondness. “I’m glad you’re back. And I’m glad you’re here.” I’d told him far too many lies in the last five minutes, but that statement was true. Even though I couldn’t tell him as much as I wanted to, his very presence was comforting. I held out hope that one day I’d be able to tell him more.
“I missed sitting with you in my garden,” he said softly.
“While the sun set.”
“Then watching the night-blooming jasmine come to life.”
“You know,” I said, “you never revealed your secret for getting it to bloom off-season.”
“You want to know all my secrets?”
“A little mystery is a good thing, but you could at least tell me how your grandfather’s birthday party was.”
“Didn’t I? I told you he appreciated having his far-flung family gather around him one last time.”
“But what about you? How was the visit for you?”
“Visiting China. It was … Let’s just say it’s relaxing to be home, Zoe.” He took a step toward me, then abruptly jerked back. “What the—? Is that a battery-operated antique?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Your sack. It made a noise.”
“There might be something else in the bag. Something with, er, batteries, like you said. I’d better get this bag inside. You can take the food into the kitchen.” I sighed. “I’ll meet you there in a minute.” I let Max into the house before stepping back outside to retrieve Dorian.
“Set me in front of the hearth,” the sack whispered as I heaved it up the porch steps.
“I’m taking you to the basement,” I whispered back.
“I wish to stay upstairs,” he whined.
I closed the rickety front door behind us. “That’s not a good idea, Dorian.”
“I do not trust that man in my kitchen.”
“Did you say something?” Max called from the kitchen, poking his head into the living room through the swinging door.
“Just the creaking floors.” I waited until Max disappeared back into the kitchen, then lifted Dorian’s stone form from the bag and set him in front of the fireplace. It was a spot he liked, because even in his stone form he could see everything. I didn’t feel good about leaving him in stone form for too long, but I couldn’t have an argument with Max there.
When I stepped into the kitchen, the farmer’s market vegetables were stacked on the kitchen countertop and Max was holding a mason jar containing one of my latest transformations—a sun-
infused healing lemon balm tea I was drinking daily to stave off the effects of helping to cure Dorian.
“It’s a solar infusion,” I said.
He raised an eyebrow.
“Steeping dried herbs in the sun, rather than the kitchen, to unleash their healing powers,” I explained. Alchemy draws upon all the forces of nature, the planets being some of the strongest forces. Alchemists generally consult planetary alignments before they begin any transformative processes. The more complex the operation, or the greater the desired impact, the more important that alignment becomes. Each planet also has an associated metal, such as lead for Saturn, quicksilver for Mercury, silver for the moon, and gold for the Sun.
“I know what a solar infusion is. My grandmother did something similar when I was a kid. You’d get along great with my extended family. It’s never made sense to me why it’s worth all the effort. Especially moon infusions she’d steep under a full moon, thinking it was possible to harness the moon’s power.”
“Max. You make your own tea. You have one of the most unique gardens I’ve ever seen. And not two minutes ago we talked about night-blooming plants!” If my hair wasn’t so weak from the backward alchemy quick fix I’d been performing, I would have tugged at my hair in frustration.
“That’s different.”
“Is it?”
In Max, I saw someone who’d once believed in all the possibilities of the world, but who couldn’t break free from what he’d become. I hadn’t realized it so clearly until that very moment. Max was walking on a tightrope, caught between two worlds: his childhood, with his herbalist grandmother who was an apothecary, and his adult life, working as a detective with a set of procedural and scientific rules that dictated his understanding of rationality. I knew it was nearly impossible to change a person if they weren’t ready to change, but I believed Max could recapture the openness he’d once known. It didn’t have to be a choice between two extremes. Once he realized that, I could open up to him, and we might have a chance for a future together.
I took the
mason jar from his hands and set it back on the counter.
“Can we change the subject?” Max asked.
“What did you have in mind?”
“As lovely and complicated as this solar infusion of herbs is, it’s not anywhere near as lovely and complicated as the woman in front of me.” Max stepped closer and ran his finger along my jaw. His breath smelled of fresh lavender and peppermint.
Max’s dark eyes were different than those of anyone I’d ever known, because of what they showed me about his soul. I’ve known a lot of people in my lifetime. Faces blur together in my memories, but I’ve never forgotten people’s eyes. Before the advent of photography, it was usually only wealthier people who had their likenesses captured through portraits, so I didn’t retain physical reminders of many of the people I’d known. I remembered their eyes not because of a unique color or shape, but because eyes are tied to an outward expression that people themselves are unaware of.
“Last night,” Max continued, “I was hoping that we could pick up where we left off.”
“I’d like that.”
For a fraction of a second, I was self-conscious about my cracked lips and frumpy clothing. But with his eyes locked on mine as he stroked my cheek, I quickly forgot all about my own failings.
A faint knocking sounded. The front door? I couldn’t be entirely certain it wasn’t my imagination. Max either didn’t hear it or chose to ignore it as well.
“Yo, Zoe!” Brixton’s voice called from the backyard. “You in there?”
I pulled away from Max.
“I thought we were barbequing for just the two of us,” he said.
“I thought so too.” I opened the back door of the house, on the far end of the kitchen.
Brixton and his friends Ethan and Veronica stood in my backyard garden. Veronica’s gangly frame towered over the boys. Her sleek black hair flowed past her shoulders, and I was pleased that she looked much more comfortable in her skin than she had even months before when I’d first met her.
“Hi, Ms. Faust, Mr. Liu,” she said.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“Your face is flushed,” Brixton said. “Are you feeling sicker?”
“Sicker?” Max asked.
“He must mean my allergies.” I turned back to the kids. “Max and I were just getting a barbeque started.”
“I love barbeque,” Ethan said.
Veronica elbowed him.
Max laughed. “There’s plenty.”
The miniature charcoal grill I kept in my trailer was only big enough to cook for two at a time, but there was enough food in my kitchen to feed an army, along with their counterparts. I asked Max to get the grill started while I collected ready-to-eat goodies. I pulled a carafe of iced tea from the fridge, selected an assortment of nut milk cheeses and breads, and washed an assortment of vegetables.
Because of Dorian, I kept my curtains drawn most of the time. Now that he was hiding in his stone form, I pulled open the kitchen curtains. I looked out the kitchen window and watched as Max began grilling two dozen asparagus spears along with full garlic heads wrapped in aluminum foil.
I was about to leave the kitchen to carry statue-Dorian into the basement so he could change out of his stone form, when Veronica opened the back door. She joined me inside while the boys stayed outside with Max.
“Now that Blue Sky Teas is serving my cooking,” I said to her, “I can’t figure out your real motive for coming over.”
Veronica blushed. “We didn’t come over just for food.”
“No?”
“Brix knows you’ve been working too hard lately,” Veronica explained. “What with getting up in the middle of the night to cook for Blue Sky Teas and managing your online business, Brix said you were bummed you didn’t have time to fix up your spring garden like you wanted to.”
“That’s why he invited you two over?”
She gave a shy smile. “Yeah, but he also promised Ethan you’d cook for us. Your pastries are so popular at Blue Sky Teas that they’re usually gone by the time we wake up on the weekend.”
“Ah.” I looked on through the window as Brixton pulled back a giant stalk of fennel and let it go, snapping it directly into Ethan’s face. I’d taught Brixton enough about gardening and plants for him to know the weed-like plant was hearty enough for roughhousing. He wouldn’t dare mess with the dwarf lemon trees that were still finding their footing.
“Really?” Ethan said to Brixton, then sneezed. “That’s the best you got?” He broke off a thick fennel stem and held it like a sword. The impact was diminished by the fact that the tip was a bunch of yellow flowers. Brixton snapped off a stem of cabbage left behind after I’d harvested the edible portion. As faux weapons went, Brixton’s was a much better selection.
“So, um, Ms. Faust?” Veronica sat on a countertop with her cell phone in her hand. “Can I talk to you about something else?”
“Of course.” With the grim look on her face, I wondered what could be on her mind. Was she worried about how Brixton would react if she started spending more solo time with Ethan? I’d seen how things were headed with the trio of friends.
“It’s your website,” she said somberly. “It isn’t mobile friendly. Like, at all.”
“My website?” Was it really that bad? “There was no such thing as a smartphone when I built the site,” I said for the second time that day.
She gaped at me. “But how do you expect to sell anything?”
“I don’t think my buyers are shopping on their cell phones.”
Her confused expression deepened. “Um, I could help you with it. You know, if you wanted. I’m kind of good at stuff like this.”
“I couldn’t ask you to—”
“It’s fun, so I’d be happy to. You don’t have to use it if you don’t like it, but I could play around and see if you like what I come up with. You at least need to fix your SEO.”
“My what?”
“I think you’d like something like this.” Veronica moved so we could both see the screen, and showed me an assortment of mobile-friendly websites for merchandise like mine. “Since you’ve got a bunch of items from China, I could draw Chinese characters that could go next to the English descriptions. And I’ll ask my mom to check my work, to make sure I got them right. I think that would look really cool.”
I smiled. I’d probably spent more time in China than Veronica’s Chinese-American mother, and I could have checked the Chinese myself, but I didn’t like to advertise the fact that I knew as many languages as I did; it invited too many questions. And I was pleased it would give Veronica something to do with her mom. Brixton had told me she was closer with her Italian dad, because of their shared love of soccer. “That sounds great, Veronica. You should pick out something from Elixir to let me thank you.”
I wrote down the login information to get into my website. When I looked up and glanced out the window, instead of seeing Max at the grill and the boys fencing with plants, I saw the three of them gathered around something else: Dorian’s alchemy book. The dangerous, secret book I could have sworn I’d locked up in the basement that morning before leaving the house. I’d been ambushed.
That was the real motivation for Brixton coming over. He wanted Dorian’s book.
Fourteen
france, 1855
The young doctor did not think of himself as anything special. He knew himself to be a competent doctor, a fair man, and a mediocre alchemist.
He had not discovered The Philosopher’s Stone, yet his modest laboratory contained herbs he used to heal his wife and son when they were sick. He was not above feeling jealous of the men who had lived in previous centuries, when alchemy was in its heyday. He fantasized that, had he lived then, he might have been honored with a spot in Rudolph II’s court in Prague, where men from across the world were said to have been given a stipend to
practice alchemy. But the doctor had been born centuries too late for that. Here in the nineteenth century, he had to live out his fantasies through books.
It was this hobby that led to the most improbable day of his life.
Though the doctor and his family lived in Paris, the doctor’s wife was originally from the town of Blois. He and his family frequently traveled there to visit her infirm mother. His love for books was well-known to his family, so they thought nothing of it when he spent the afternoon at a local bookshop. In truth, it was his desire to avoid the company of his mother-in-law at least as much as the pull of books that led him to the bookshop that afternoon.
He had learned not to openly express his obsession with alchemy. Even in the modern times in which he lived, alchemy was greeted with suspicion. Therefore he feigned an interest in a wide range of scientific subjects. Once he told the bookseller the range of topics that interested him, the stooped man without a hair on his head nodded and retreated to the back of his shop.
The doctor looked over the books selected for him, then politely asked if the man had anything that was perhaps … older.
The bookseller nodded with understanding. The doctor watched the small, elderly man climb to the top of a ladder, wondering if he should assist the bookseller, lest he fall from the high rungs as he clutched a large book in one hand. Before the doctor could make up his mind, the bookseller was back on the ground, pressing the book into the medical man’s hands.
“This is more to your liking, sir?”
It was. The doctor paid more than a fair price for Non Degenera Alchemia, an amount that had the bookseller drinking fine wine for months to come. The bookseller was quite pleased, for he had not even purchased the book to begin with. It had been left on the stoop of his shop some years before. At first he thought the anonymous donor must not have realized its value, but when he turned the pages of the book, he guessed the donor’s true motivation. A foul odor emanated from the book. When certain pages were opened, the stench grew stronger. But the bookseller was also a book-lover. He could not abandon such a carefully made book. Even after cleaning the book failed to remove the smell, he was unable to part with it. Instead, he climbed to the top rung of his ladder and set the book on top of his highest bookshelf, where the scent would not reach his nose. The scent would fade over time, he imagined. With the book far from his gaze, he promptly forgot all about it—until the day the young man with an interest in alchemy walked into his shop.
