The Masquerading Magician

by Gigi Pandian

  “I will,” I promised. “But Ivan—”

  He chuckled sleepily. “I know what you are going to say. The world has never been ready for alchemy. This is what the alchemists have said for years. Don’t worry. I will not speak of this to a soul.”

  I slipped from the room and flattened my back against the hallway wall. How could I have been so stupid? I had behaved recklessly after Dorian was confiscated, and now Ivan knew my secret. If I thought it could have helped him, I would have told him before. I worried that I’d given him false hope. But maybe, just maybe, false hope was better than no hope at all.

  Fire crews were still at the site of the theater fire, so I couldn’t yet search for the charred remains of Non Degenera Alchemia. Dorian wasn’t at home, and after finishing off the last of my solar infusion in the kitchen, the large house felt eerily empty. I tried sleeping, but the stressful events of the day prevented me from nodding off. I popped my “Accidental Life” cassette into the car stereo, and drove around the city that was beginning to feel like home.

  Shortly before dawn, I saw that there was no one left at the theater. I parked on a side street and snuck into the wreckage, clinging to my own false hope. A fragment or two of the book might have survived. I didn’t care if the roof fell on my head. My best friend was dying.

  As I stepped through the smoldering wreckage, the scent of honey wafted through the soggy, charred remains. Was it only my imagination? I followed the scent to its origin in a lump of ashes. Reaching into the sodden mess, I pulled a book into my hands.

  Non Degenera Alchemia was intact. It hadn’t burned.

  It had seemed too much to hope for. A gasp of joy escaped from my lips before I tucked the book under my coat and retreated to the safety of my truck.

  I opened the book. It fell open to the page it always did. The scent of honey and cloves overwhelmed my senses so much that I nearly shut the book again. Only one thing stopped me. On the melded cathedral illustration were details that hadn’t been there before.

  The fire had done more to the pages than the ashes I’d used. Background details appeared on the page, giving life to the cathedral. The intricate stained glass rose window. The island. It was the Île de la Cité. This was Paris in the 1500s. This was Notre Dame de Paris.

  And rising up from the cathedral was the outline of a fierce phoenix flying upward, away from the flames. Death and resurrection.

  The difference between Dorian and the garden gnome and Buddha statues wasn’t their different materials. It wasn’t intent. The difference was that Dorian himself was connected to Notre Dame. That was the key.

  Fifty

  Dorian was so thrilled with the new discovery that he was moved to experiment with new vegan recipes inspired by Paris. He handed me a long shopping list and pushed me out the door.

  When I returned from the market close to lunchtime, Dorian showed me what he’d discovered in the news. The police had found Peter and Penelope with a whole stash of riches that had been stolen from several Oregon heists in the 1960s. Also in the magicians’ possession was a letter from Franklin Thorne to an associate asking about selling his full “collection.” It looked as if Peter’s father had been about to retire from the business. If only he’d done so one job sooner, multiple deaths could have been avoided.

  Penelope claimed ignorance of the origins of the treasures. Having observed her intelligence, I wasn’t inclined to believe her. But neither of them were killers, so I supposed it didn’t really matter as much. Peter was arrested, and Penelope told a reporter that she was looking for a fresh start. She’d reinvented herself before, moving from a circus performer to a skilled magician, and I had no doubt she’d succeed in whatever she did next.

  Reclusive Julian Lake consented to be interviewed by a television reporter, but the clip we watched online made it clear that he wasn’t there to comment on the discovery of his family’s lost riches. Instead, he was offering a new reward. This time, he sought the help of the public to find the mysterious French chef who’d visited him that week. It was the best meal he’d eaten in years, and he wished to hire the chef.

  After Dorian saw to it that I ate every last bit of a roasted vegetable sandwich on fresh-baked sourdough bread with garlic hummus, I called Tobias to let him know what had happened, including my discovery that the illustrations in the book had pointed to Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris. He again apologized for upsetting me by misidentifying the photograph of Ambrose in my alchemy lab. I told him it was all right. I surprised myself by actually believing it.

  “One last thing, Zoe,” Tobias said. “I found an old tincture that never worked for me, but my notes say it helps with the symptoms you’re experiencing from backward alchemy. I’ll overnight it to you.”

  “And let’s not wait another 150 years before we see each other this time, okay?”

  “It’s a deal.”

  Brixton made up with his friends. Veronica and Ethan came to the teashop while he was working behind the counter, and they brought him a peace offering: a wind-up gargoyle that Ethan had commissioned from a specialty shop.

  Ethan confessed he’d been sneaking around the burned theater after the fire, for kicks, and thought he saw the Baby Bigfoot shown in the posters around town. It made him realize that there might be more going on in this world than he understood. Maybe there was a Bigfoot. Brixton went along with Ethan’s version of the truth, and didn’t give up Dorian’s secret.

  While the boys caught up at a table filled with Dorian’s pastries, Veronica sat with me and showed me my new and improved website on her phone.

  “This can’t be right,” I said. “It looks like I’ve already sold two of my most expensive items in the last twenty-four hours.”

  “You haven’t checked your email or your bank account?” she asked.

  “I’ve been a bit busy.” I’d need to pack up these items right away. I looked more closely, to see which pieces had sold. If what Veronica had showed me was right, I now had enough money to pay Ethan back and perhaps enough left over to hire someone to fix my roof. But first, I was buying myself a new wardrobe.

  I settled back in my seat and enjoyed the convivial atmosphere. The painted blue sky on the ceiling and the live weeping fig tree in the center of Blue Sky Teas mirrored the sunny spring day outside. Two of Heather’s water-themed paintings were now hanging on the walls. Though they’d been inspired by the winter flooding, the dramatic blues and bright whites were in perfect harmony with the spring flowers that filled the café.

  “May I join you?” The voice startled me from my thoughts.

  “Hi, Mr. Danko,” Veronica said. “How are you feeling? I heard you were in the hospital.”

  “Much better, thank you.” Ivan sat down and set a Cyrillic newspaper onto the tree-ring table. He did look much better. Perhaps hope was breathing new life into him.

  I couldn’t say the same thing for myself. As I caught a glimpse of Ivan’s newspaper, I felt as though the life was draining out of me. The sensation was surreal, like being in a dream.

  I pointed to a grainy photograph in the newspaper. The focus of the image was a statue on Charles Bridge, the famous stone bridge that stretches across the Vlatava River in Prague. The bridge was lined with statues of saints, but this particular statue didn’t match the rest. It was a gargoyle.

  “What’s this?” I asked, tapping a shaking fingertip on the newsprint image.

  “Ah,” Ivan said. “That is an interesting story. It seems that a stone gargoyle was found this week on Charles Bridge.”

  “Why is that weird?” Veronica asked. “Aren’t there gargoyles all over Europe?”

  “They don’t usually appear without warning,” Ivan said, “especially not 150 years after they disappeared.”

  I looked more carefully at the image. Though it didn’t look like Dorian, there was something familiar about the style.

  �
��This gargoyle,” Ivan continued, “was identified as having been stolen from Notre Dame around the time the Gallery of Chimeras was opened to the public.”

  Like Dorian, this must have been a carving by Viollet-le-Duc. Was it another piece of the puzzle?

  “Wasn’t your gargoyle statue stolen, too, Ms. Faust?” Veronica asked. “There’s, like, a gargoyle thief on the loose.”

  “Mine reappeared under mysterious circumstances too,” I said, forcing a laugh.

  I told everyone that my missing gargoyle statue had been dropped off on my porch during the night. The same “anonymous donor” had returned the murder weapon to the steps of the police station. A security camera video showed only a hunched figure under a black silk cape.

  Max was unsettled by the fact that they hadn’t caught the thief, but when he found me in my garden the following day, his response surprised me.

  “If I had to choose between catching the guy who broke into the evidence locker,” he said, “and having your gargoyle returned to you, I’m glad it turned out this way.”

  “I do believe you’re learning to unwind, Max Liu.”

  He started to speak, but was interrupted by his cell phone. “Damn. I’m sorry, Zoe.”

  “I know, you have to go.”

  I had more to worry about than a complicated love life. And also more to celebrate. Dorian was safe from police scrutiny and could go back to being his usual self.

  My Tea of Ashes remedy was still taking a toll, so I had opened the package from Tobias with anticipation. I lifted the carefully wrapped dark blue glass jar. The label was faded with age. As Tobias had said, the notes indicated this preparation could help with shriveled skin and hair loss. An accompanying note from Tobias said he’d held onto it for sentimental reasons, because the small man who had given it to him shortly after he met me in 1855 had been another kind soul during that dark time. The tincture hadn’t worked for him, which is why he’d never used it up, but because my symptoms were identical to those described, he hoped it might work for me.

  I looked from Tobias’s note to the label on the glass jar. They had been written by different people, but the writing on the label looked familiar. I found a magnifying glass to examine the label. Was it my imagination, or did a tiny scribble at the bottom of the label say N. Flamel?

  I sniffed the tincture, then put a drop on my tongue. I’m not sure whether it had a placebo effect or whether it was real, but I felt more energetic than I had in months.

  Maybe it was hope that filled me with a renewed energy. I had my first solid lead on Dorian’s book. Ivan might be of even more assistance, now that he believed alchemy was real. Now that I knew the book was tied to Notre Dame, I realized something must have changed at the cathedral. What was it that had set in motion the gold statues crumbling into dust and Dorian turning to stone? It had been months since I’d been in Paris. It was time for a trip back. This time with purpose.

  I doubted the French customs officers would allow me into the country in my current slovenly outfit, but I was about to remedy that problem. Heather and I had made a date to go to the mall together. The huge department store again overwhelmed my senses, but I allowed Heather to lead me inside. The perfumes, the bright lights, and the endless rows of clothing struck me as unnatural. But on this visit, with a little bit of help, I learned that if you went beneath the surface, you could find the pieces that fit your own unique shape and personality. Two hours later, I emerged a new woman. I walked out of the mall wearing the first pair of comfortable jeans I’d ever owned, a green cotton sweater over a tailored white blouse, and silver flats.

  I dropped Heather off at her cottage that sat at the edge of a wild field. There in the untamed meadow, the first leaves on the rosebushes were beginning to unfurl.

  Brixton came outside before Heather reached the door.

  “Hey Zoe, you promised you’d cook me that new dish you’re perfecting,” he said, giving me what he assumed was a surreptitious look. “Is tonight good?”

  “Right. That new dish.” Brixton must have been in touch with Dorian.

  Heather said she wanted to work on a new painting, but asked if I would send Brixton home with leftovers.

  The scent of caramelized onions had thoroughly permeated the house by the time Brixton and I walked through my front door. Dorian cooked a bountiful spring feast for the three of us, and after dinner, he put on a living room magic show with illusions his “father,” Jean Eugène Robert-­Houdin, had taught him a century and a half ago. Illusions that relied on sleight of hand—or in his case, sleight of claw.

  the end

  Recipes

  chocolate elixir

  Drink your chocolate in 2 ways:

  Hot Chocolate or Chilled Chocolate Smoothie

  Serves: 2

  Cook time: 10 minutes

  Ingredients:

  • 2 tbsp cacao or unsweetened cocoa powder

  • 1 tbsp coconut sugar

  • 11⁄2 cups of your favorite non-dairy milk (e.g., almond, rice, coconut)

  • 1⁄2 tsp vanilla extract

  • 1⁄2 tsp cinnamon, preferably Ceylon

  • 1⁄4 tsp ginger powder

  • 1⁄8 tsp cayenne pepper

  • 1⁄8 tsp sea salt

  Directions:

  Place all the ingredients in a blender and puree until smooth. For hot chocolate, warm the blended mixture on the stove. For a chilled smoothie, add 8–10 ice cubes to the blender and puree.

  Variations:

  •Substitute the ginger with cardamom.

  •Substitute the coconut sugar with 2 or 3 dates. For easier blending, soak the dates in hot water for a few minutes before adding them to the blender.

  cashew cream mac & cheese

  Serves: 4

  Cook time: 40 minutes

  Ingredients for pasta:

  • 1⁄2 lb. small pasta, such as elbow macaroni, conchigliette shells, or fusilli

  Ingredients for onion mixture:

  • 1 medium yellow onion, diced

  • 5 cloves garlic, diced

  • 1 tsp olive oil

  • 1⁄4 tsp salt

  Ingredients for sauce:

  • 1 cup unroasted cashews, soaked in water overnight (or for at least 4 hours) and drained

  • 2 tbsp tomato paste

  • 1 tsp salt

  • 1⁄4 tsp black pepper

  • 1 tsp smoked paprika

  • 1 tsp turmeric

  • 1 tbsp yellow mustard, powdered or liquid

  • 1 tbsp nutritional yeast (optional; add extra 1⁄4 tsp salt if not using)

  • 1 tbsp corn starch

  • 11⁄2 cups water

  Directions:

  Preheat oven to 375. Start a large pot of boiling water and cook pasta according to package instructions.

  While the pasta is cooking, sauté the garlic and onions with 1⁄4 tsp salt for approximately 10 minutes. When the onion mixture is translucent and slightly browned, remove from heat and set aside.

  Combine sauce ingredients in a blender. Add half of the cooled onion mixture to the blender mixture. Blend for a few minutes, until creamy.

  In a large bowl, combine the cooked pasta and sauce. Add the pasta and sauce to an oven-safe baking dish (a 9-inch glass baking dish works well). Sprinkle the remainder of the onion mixture on top for a flavorful topping that will crisp in the oven. Bake for 15 minutes.

  Variations:

  •Want to add vegetables to the recipe in a way that makes the sauce even creamier? Cauliflower works great with the flavors in this recipe. While the onions are sautéing, break a small

  head of cauliflower into florets and steam for 10 minutes.

  Add the steamed cauliflower to the sauce ingredients in


  the blender. Follow the rest of the instructions above.

  •Don’t want a crispy onion topping? Use a smaller onion and blend the whole onion mixture into the sauce.

  roasted asparagus & brussels sprouts

  with tarragon avocado sauce

  Serves: 4

  Cook time: 20 minutes

  Ingredients for roasted spring vegetables:

  • 1 lb. asparagus

  • 1⁄2 lb. Brussels sprouts

  • 2 tsp olive oil

  Ingredients for sauce:

  • 1 large avocado (or two small ones), peeled and pitted

  • 2 tbsp olive oil

  • 2 tbsp fresh lemon juice

  • 2 tbsp water (more or less, depending on desired thickness)

  • 1 tbsp fresh tarragon, chopped

  • 1⁄4 to 1⁄2 tsp salt, to taste

  • 1 tsp granulated garlic or 1 large garlic clove

  • 1⁄4 tsp black pepper

  Directions:

  Preheat oven to 425 and prepare a baking sheet with parchment paper. Cut off the tough ends of the asparagus, and cut the remaining spears into 2-inch pieces. Quarter the Brussels sprouts. Toss the vegetables with 2 tsp. olive oil, then spread evenly on the prepared baking sheet. Roast for approximately 15 minutes.

  While the asparagus is cooking, prepare the sauce. Put all the sauce ingredients into a blender and puree until creamy. Toss the roasted vegetables with sauce.

  Variations:

  •Asparagus and Brussels sprouts are a nice combination of seasonal late-winter and spring vegetables, but if you feel like making the dish during the winter, the sauce works well with potatoes. Cut 1 lb. of potatoes into 1⁄2-inch pieces (red or Yukon gold potatoes work well, either peeled or scrubbed), toss with olive oil, and roast for about 30 minutes. Toss potatoes with sauce.

  •For a more garlicky dish, toss several smashed garlic cloves with the roasted vegetable mix. Roast along with the other vegetables. The garlic will be softer if you leave the skin on while roasting, but remember to peel the skin off before serving.