The Accidental Alchemist

by Gigi Pandian

  “You really believe that? Why weren’t you afraid to stay in a haunted house?”

  He shrugged. “I think it would be cool to see a ghost.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you.”

  “It could still happen. I’ve only been hanging out with you for a few days. The strange lights didn’t appear that often.”

  I froze. “What strange lights?”

  “The people who sold you the house didn’t tell you? I thought they had to, like, legally tell you that stuff.”

  “What lights, Brixton?”

  “That’s why the house was empty for so long. Because nobody wanted to move into a haunted house.”

  “It was empty because there was a legal disagreement between the heirs.”

  “That’s not what I heard. But it doesn’t matter what I heard. It’s what I saw. What everyone saw. Weird lights coming from this place. At first people said there must be homeless people crashing here. But whenever they sent the cops out here, they could never find a soul. Pretty freaky, right?”

  Pretty freaky indeed. So that explained why everyone I called already knew about the house I was talking about. What was going on here?

  Even if I believed in ghosts—and I’d never seen one in over three hundred years—I hadn’t seen anything strange at the house. Various creaking noises, sure, but that was to be expected in an old house.

  Dorian appeared on the stairs. He stepped more slowly than usual, holding the railing. At the sight of the limping creature, I forgot about Brixton’s ghost story.

  “I brought you Stumptown beans,” Brixton said. “These are the ones I told you about that are wicked good.”

  “Tres bon,” Dorian said, taking a bag of coffee beans from Brixton’s hands when he reached the bottom of the stairs. “Merci, my young friend.”

  “Aren’t you too young to be drinking coffee?” I said to Brixton.

  He gave me a look that reminded me I was over three hundred years old. Come to think of it, Brixton had never asked me how old I was. He’d asked me about gold and transformations, about being immortal, and about food, but he hadn’t specifically asked about my age. At fourteen, he must have felt like he’d live forever, so a formula to live forever wouldn’t have been of much interest. But gold for a poor kid? And food for an eternally hungry kid? Those were things he could relate to.

  “Brixton, how old do you think I am?”

  “My mom told me I was never supposed to answer that question if I knew what was good for me.”

  Dorian laughed, then retreated into the kitchen with his coffee beans.

  “It’s okay,” I said, “I promise I won’t be upset.”

  Brixton studied me for a few moments. “I dunno. I know you’re old.”

  “Thanks.”

  His face reddened. “You told me I should guess!”

  “I was kidding! Make your guess.”

  “Not cool, Zoe. Not cool. Anyway, you’re like, at least ten years older than me. Maybe … twenty-six?”

  “Not bad.” I had been twenty-eight when I accidentally discovered the Elixir of Life. If that hadn’t occurred to Brixton, it was a conversation for another day. “Twenty-eight.”

  “I think Mr. Strum is around your age.”

  “Your teacher?”

  “Yeah, maybe you two should be hang out. I mean, when all this is over. All he ever does is work, and you two are like the only cool old people I know. Max is all right, too, but he’s a cop. And he’s ancient—he’s like forty.”

  It was oddly refreshing to be considered “old.” Looking young did have its advantages, but it had almost as many disadvantages. It was difficult to be taken seriously as a young woman. The “woman” part of the equation had become easier over time, as society became more accepting of women being equal, but the “young” part had gotten worse. It used to be that someone was considered an adult at sixteen, the age that I fled from my home with my brother. It wasn’t unusual for people like me and my brother to be on our own and have already learned a trade. By twenty-eight, it was expected that you had come far in mastering a skill. Nowadays, it was more likely that a twenty-eight-year-old would be finishing graduate school or trying out different professions.

  “Blue isn’t cool?” I asked.

  “Nah. Blue is mom-cool. That’s different.”

  “That was nice of you to bring Dorian coffee,” I said, suppressing a smile. I didn’t think he was working an angle like he was before, but I couldn’t figure out where the gesture had come from.

  “Yeah, well, he said he was having trouble staying awake, so, you know …” He shrugged and looked down at the floor.

  “It was really thoughtful, Brixton.”

  “Whatever.”

  Dorian stuck his head out of the kitchen. “Espresso, Brixton?”

  “Americano. Six sugars.”

  And that explained why he liked coffee. Diluted and with plenty of sweetness.

  “I need to take care of a few things,” I said. “Are you two okay on your own?”

  They both gave me a look that really made me feel three hundred.

  “Sheesh, I was just being nice!”

  As I headed to the basement, I heard Brixton explaining to Dorian, “It’s an expression that means she’s annoyed.”

  “Ah, so.”

  ———

  I’d found a handyman who said he could be here later that morning. He couldn’t hear very well, so I hoped he got the address right—and that he wouldn’t leave after he realized what house it was. Now I had to get everything into the basement that I didn’t want the handyman to see. I began by cleaning up the mess I’d made, so there would be space to move things into the room without having them covered in gray slime.

  I didn’t have time to properly unpack my crates. Still. One day at a time.

  Instead of unpacking my crates and moving them into the basement, I decided it made the most sense to seal them back up so the handyman wouldn’t go poking around. Most of the items inside were the objects I’d collected over the years that I sold online, but a few of them were more personal alchemy items I’d saved for myself. The items wouldn’t reveal my secret to anyone who didn’t already suspect anything, but I didn’t want anyone raising questions.

  I hadn’t checked for online orders in a couple of days, so I went upstairs and opened my laptop. There wasn’t yet any furniture in the room that would become my home office. I hadn’t had a proper office before, only a small table in my trailer with my laptop computer plus the storage unit, so I hadn’t ever acquired office furniture. Sitting on the water-spattered hardwood floor, I scrolled through a couple dozen emails, half of them spam.

  Most people I’d met since the turn of the century would have been bombarded with many more emails and social media messages after staying offline for a couple of days. Though I was often tempted to stay in touch with many of the people I’d met on my travels, I had to be practical. The whole reason I moved on was because people couldn’t learn who I was. I couldn’t create an online presence. Though it was often painful at the time, it was for the best.

  All I had was the email address I used for my shop, Elixir, which was a generic email that didn’t contain my name. Even my email was lonely.

  Since I only sold a small collection of high-end items online, I didn’t have frequent sales to fulfill. The items I sold hadn’t cost me much when I bought them, so along with the compound interest on my savings, selling a few items a month kept me afloat. But now that I’d plunked down most of my savings to buy and fix up this house, I had to step up my sales. Maybe even start marketing. I shuddered at the thought.

  I hadn’t had any new sales since the last time I’d checked, which was fortunate. It meant I didn’t have to waste time rooting through crates and could devote my time to helping Dorian. I hoped the handyman would be able to stabili
ze the worst parts of the house quickly. I shut my laptop and went downstairs.

  At the dining table, Dorian and Brixton sat across from each other, a crystal on a gold necklace chain in Dorian’s hand. In an outstretched arm, he held the chain so the crystal swayed back and forth in a rhythmic cadence.

  I knew where the crystal had come from. I sighed as I looked over at the crate I’d sealed up, now open with its contents spilling out on the living room floor.

  “Dorian, what are you—”

  “Do not interrupt us! He will forever think he is a chicken!”

  “Um …” What did one say to that?

  “I’m not hypnotized, Dorian,” Brixton said.

  Dorian frowned. “You are not?”

  “No.”

  “Not even a little?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  I snatched the crystal from Dorian’s hand. “What are you two doing?”

  “You tell her,” Brixton said. “It was your idea.”

  “It is a good idea,” Dorian said. “Once she has thought it through, Zoe will agree.”

  “That means I’m not going to like it, doesn’t it?”

  “You said the detectives are keeping information from you,” Dorian said. “Information that is vital for solving the case, clearing Blue’s name, and retrieving the book that can save my life.”

  “I haven’t even deciphered the pages I photographed yet,” I said.

  “Yes, but with the entire book it will be easier.”

  “I know. That’s why I agreed to go to Blue’s house with you, against my better judgment. What does that have to do with hypnotizing Brixton?”

  “We wish to learn what the detectives know.”

  “By turning Brixton into a chicken?”

  “I am teaching him to hypnotize people. I know of this skill from the magicians my father worked with. Once I impart my knowledge, Brixton can hypnotize the new detective and he will tell us many things.”

  “That’s a terrible idea,” I said, “for so many reasons.” I knew of the varied skills of Jean-Eugène Robert-Houdin. When I had seen him perform, I had been impressed by the range of illusions he had perfected. In addition to his automated “orange tree,” a mechanized tree that hid many wonders, he took advantage of modern ideas that interested the people of the mid-1800s. He used “ether” to make his son float into the air, hovering high above the stage. And using “second sight,” he would read the minds of audience members. Jean-Eugène Robert-Houdin was such an accomplished man that it was no wonder Dorian had the confidence to think he could teach Brixton to hypnotize a detective.

  “Even if you could teach Brixton to hypnotize someone on our timeframe,” I said, “you realize there’s no way you could get a detective to agree to sit there while Brixton mesmerizes him with a crystal.”

  “You think I have not thought of this?” Dorian said.

  I crossed my arms.

  Dorian crossed his own arms and stared me down. His black eyes could be unnerving. I was glad he was on my side.

  “The crystal is only phase one,” Brixton said. “It’s the easiest way to hypnotize people. Once I master it, then he’ll show me how to hypnotize people without them knowing I’m doing it.”

  “Nobody,” I said, “is hypnotizing anyone. Dorian, put everything back into the crate and seal it up. Brixton, you’re welcome to stay here, but a handyman will be here to patch up the roof and look at the pipes shortly, so Dorian will need to be down in the basement. I need to run a few errands—”

  “I have made a shopping list,” Dorian said.

  “I expected nothing less.”

  “It is on the fridge. You cannot miss it.”

  “I’ll stop by the market. I’m also getting a lock for the inside of the basement door, so you can lock yourself in there while there are strangers in the house. No hypnotizing. Agreed?”

  “It wasn’t working anyway,” Brixton said.

  Dorian pouted for another few seconds before giving in. “Agreed.”

  ———

  I’ve never gotten used to modern supermarkets. I don’t mind picking out my own items, as opposed to having a shop clerk select things from behind the counter, the way things used to be done. But small specialty shops have always made much more sense to me. Nobody can be an expert at everything. I liked that there was a revival of specialty shops going on in towns like Portland.

  Today, however, I found myself at a sprawling supermarket with harsh fluorescent lighting. I’d be able to get all the items on Dorian’s shopping list as well as a lock for the basement door. There was something to be said for convenience.

  In the produce section, I saw a familiar face. His unshaven stubble remained unchecked and was growing into a scruffy beard.

  “Ivan,” I said, greeting Olivia’s friend next to a pyramid of tangerines. “Nice to see you.”

  “Dobrý den,” Ivan said. “It is Zoe, is it not? Lovely to see you.”

  I forced myself to keep smiling, even as I felt my blood turn cold. I gave an excuse about being late for an appointment and rushed off.

  At the checkout counter, I felt myself shaking. I had never heard Ivan speak before, since he was always with the talkative Olivia. I’d seen him reading a book in a Cyrillic language, but hadn’t wondered exactly where he was from. But his accent was unmistakable.

  Ivan was Czech, from Prague. The center of alchemy.

  The missing connection to alchemy had been in front of me this whole time.

  twenty-eight

  Prague had been the center of alchemy in the late 1500s and early 1600s. Alchemists flocked to Rudolph II’s Court, establishing it as a center of alchemical innovation. The king of Hungary and Bohemia invited over two hundred alchemists to Prague, and the impact has lasted to this day.

  Rudolph was before my time, but I had visited Prague many times. I knew it well, and I could identify a Prague accent. Ivan had one.

  Being from Prague itself wasn’t enough to make me worried. Olivia had given me the missing piece of information about Ivan, without realizing she’d done so. When she was bemoaning the fact that her own nephew had given up academic pursuits, she had told me that Ivan was a professor of chemistry who had retired early due to fading health and frequented the teashop promoting good health.

  Olivia didn’t know what that convergence meant. But I did. Alchemy was a precursor to modern chemistry. Ivan was a chemist from the center of alchemy who was ill and wanted to cure himself.

  I felt certain I was onto something, but I was missing some piece of the puzzle. I tried to think back on when I’d first visited Portland and found Blue Sky Teas. Had Ivan seen me then? Even if he had, so many things still didn’t make sense. Finding Dorian’s book could have been a crime of opportunity, but how would he know I was an alchemist in the first place?

  Nearly dropping my bag of groceries, I sprinted to my truck and drove like a mad woman on the way home.

  Thankfully, Brixton had gotten bored and left, allowing me to speak freely with Dorian. I didn’t want Brixton to get any ideas about dealing with a murderer himself. With how much he cared for Blue, I didn’t doubt for a minute that he would act rashly.

  “Mon dieu!” Dorian exclaimed upon hearing my theory. “This makes perfect sense!”

  “We need to learn more about him.”

  “Google?”

  “Google.”

  An Internet search told us that Ivan Danko had been a well-regarded chemistry professor in Prague before he retired early for medical reasons.

  “Listen to this,” I said. “One of the courses he taught was a history of alchemy as a predecessor to modern chemistry.”

  “This is uncommon, no?”

  “Very uncommon. Alchemists who were also scientists have almost always had to hide the alchemical side of their research. Isaac
Newton was incredibly secretive about the alchemical experiments he conducted.”

  “The Isaac Newton?” Dorian asked.

  “Oh yes. Newton carried out more alchemical experiments than anything else. He wrote all about them, too, but most of those works were never published. Newton himself felt the world wasn’t ready for the power of alchemy.”

  “Mon dieu.”

  “I wonder,” I said, “if, like Newton, Ivan became ill while doing his own alchemy experiments.”

  “I must question him,” Dorian said.

  “Um, no. That’s not going to happen.”

  “I am not a pet! I am Dorian Robert-Houdin!” His wings flew open, crashing into the wall and taking a large swath of plaster with it. His mouth hung open, shocked at what he’d done. He was losing control of his body.

  “I didn’t mean—”

  The doorbell sounded. Wonderful. I hadn’t had time to install the lock on the inside of the basement door. At least the handyman was half deaf, so hopefully he hadn’t heard a French voice shouting.

  Dorian folded his wings as best he could, glowering at me the whole time. “I will be in the basement,” he whispered. He puffed up his chest, grabbed three paperback novels from the coffee table, and limped down the stairs.

  I greeted the handyman and got him to work patching the roof. As soon as I was certain he’d be occupied for a short time, I installed the new lock on the inside of the basement door so Dorian wouldn’t have any unexpected visitors. Home handiwork wasn’t one of my talents, but the installation wasn’t bad. It wasn’t pretty, but it was functional.

  While the handyman worked, I had a chance to do more research on Ivan, but there wasn’t much more to learn. He didn’t have an online presence after leaving his university several years before.

  Two hours later, the handyman had finished patching the worst hole in the roof and taping the worst leaky pipes. He said the roof should hold for now, but he’d need to pick up supplies for further patches, and that I really needed to hire a proper roofer and plumber. I gave him a bag of ginger cookies to take along with his payment, and scheduled another appointment with him later in the week. It was the only dessert Dorian had cooked that Brixton hadn’t liked, and there was no way I was going to eat three dozen cookies.