The Alchemist's Illusion

by Gigi Pandian

  “You don’t need to burden the detectives with my problems,” he said.

  Oh no. Tobias hadn’t been telling people Rosa was his wife. Even people I trusted, like Max.

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” Max said. “And for this mix-up. I’m Max.” He extended his hand. “We met briefly last year.”

  “I remember,” Tobias said, accepting the hand. “On my last visit to see Zoe.”

  “On behalf of the department,” Max said, “please accept my apologies.”

  “It’s not like it’s the first time,” Tobias said, “and I doubt it’ll be the last.”

  A uniformed officer approached Max. “Liu, you got a sec?”

  Max nodded and excused himself.

  “This wasn’t how I envisioned seeing you again,” I said to Tobias.

  “You’re older than me. You should know better than to think you can predict how life’ll go.” Tobias pulled me into a hug.

  “I’m sorry I mentioned Rosa,” I whispered. “But you had good ID?” We had to update our identification cards every decade so our outward appearances would match the information.

  “I’ve got a good guy,” he whispered back. “Besides, they didn’t process me, just ran the number on my license.”

  I should never have revealed that the elderly Rosa was Tobias’s wife. Around Max, I let my guard down. Maybe Dorian was right that Max would be my downfall. Or worse, the downfall of someone I cared about.

  twelve

  I was going to strangle the gargoyle.

  I had to stay calm long enough to find out where Dorian had discovered the pendant, so I could take Detective Vega there. Then I’d return to the gallery to see the painting of Nicolas.

  Tobias and I took a taxi back to my house. I hated that we couldn’t talk openly, but we’d be home soon enough. The taxi dropped us on the street, and we hurried up the sloping driveway to my Craftsman.

  “You going to show me this note from Nick you deciphered?”

  “If he’s still alive and we’re able to rescue him, you’d better not call him that to his face. But before we can help him, there’s something more urgent we need to discuss. Once we’re inside.”

  “I still can’t get over how your 1942 Chevy still runs,” Tobias said as we strode past the truck I’d bought new.

  “Damn right. And it still pulls the Airstream.”

  Tobias paused in front of the silver trailer in the long, sloping driveway. “Doesn’t this thing have too many memories to keep?”

  I shook my head. “The opposite. Why else would I keep such a recognizable truck and trailer? The risk is worth it.”

  “I sold my old car right after Rosa died. That’s why I flew here, even though I still hate damn airplanes.” He paused and looked from me to my truck. “I sold the car because it was our car. Mine and Rosa’s. Didn’t feel the same without her.”

  “I’m so sorry you had to go through that today. Especially so soon after Rosa passed away.”

  Tobias shrugged and resumed walking up the driveway. “It’s been over a month now.”

  “A month?” I stood in silent shock for a moment, and had to run to catch up to him as he reached the porch steps.

  “I told you if I’d called you earlier, it would be too difficult. And since our friends in Detroit thought she was my mom, I didn’t want things getting tangled. My friends there helped me take care of everything. Helped me grieve properly. The first stage. It was a beautiful service. Now I’m ready to spend time with someone who knows the truth.”

  I followed Tobias up the steps. He picked up a camouflage print rucksack from underneath the bench.

  “I was wondering what had become of your bag,” I said.

  “Good thing I’d already left the bag on your porch before the squad car showed up. They must have assumed it was yours.”

  I reached for the doorknob with the nickel silver key in my hand, but before I could insert it, the door swung open, revealing an empty living room.

  “Je suis désolé,” Dorian said from behind the door. His voice was agitated.

  We slipped inside and closed the door.

  “You have my humble regrets,” Dorian continued. “I was unable to do anything when I saw the police. I saw you from the window and was coming downstairs to open the door for you. Mon Dieu! Les flics have beaten you? Your face—”

  “Rosa passed away,” I said, locking the door and making sure the front curtains were securely drawn.

  Dorian’s black eyes filled with sadness. “My sympathies, Monsieur Freeman.”

  “Dorian,” I said, “we need to talk about—” But the gargoyle scampered away to the kitchen before I could finish my sentence.

  “He looks different,” Tobias said as he set down his rucksack inside the door.

  “After he found the Elixir, his body transformed. But you can tell he’s the same little gray gargoyle. He’s still the food snob that he always was, although his senses have come more alive. Now he’s even more set on becoming a famous chef. Physically, the transformation affected his wings most of all. They turned from stone to something softer. Not quite like any feathers I’ve ever seen—”

  “Wait, he can fly now?”

  I shook my head. When I’d first seen Dorian’s true wings after he found the Elixir of Life, my first thought was that they were like the wings of an angel—neither the feathers of a bird nor the wings of a bat, but as if they were an otherworldly element I’d never before seen. Which made sense, since alchemy in its purest form reveals our true selves, and gargoyles carved for cathedrals were creatures in between mortal and heavenly beings. Unearthly souls meant to keep us mortals in check. But attempting to use his wings to fly had been a failure.

  “That’s good.” Tobias let out a long breath. “I don’t even want to know what kinds of trouble he could get into then.”

  “Agreed. It’s because of him that I was already at the police station.”

  “Damn, I didn’t even think about how quickly you got to the station to get me. You were already there?”

  “Dorian found an abandoned pewter charm that he gave me because he thought I’d like it. A phoenix with an alchemical feel to it. I loved it. I added it to my necklace chain. But it turns out it belonged to a local artist …” I looked around. “Where did Dorian run off to?”

  Before we reached the kitchen, Dorian came through the swinging door with a steaming mug in his hands. He reached up and handed it to Tobias.

  “Drink,” Dorian said.

  Tobias sniffed the mug and smiled. “Irish coffee?”

  “Do not worry. I am aware alchemists cannot drink much caffeine without it affecting them strongly. This affliction descended upon me when I discovered the Elixir.” Dorian shuddered. “I have found the perfect blend of caffeine and alcohol. It will relax you, but you will still sleep well this evening.”

  He was a thoughtful little gargoyle.

  “Zoe does not get any,” Dorian added, ruining the effect. “She cannot handle her caffeine.”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose and took two deep breaths. “The three of us need to talk. I don’t know where to begin, so I’ll begin with this.” I tossed the crumpled weekly paper I’d taken from Max’s house onto the dining table.

  Dorian took the newsprint in his claws and read the caption of the photo: Pastry chef Zoe Faust cooks up tantalizingly tasty treats at Blue Sky Teas. The Hawthorne District’s favorite cozy teashop serves unexpected flavor combinations in both its teas and pastries.

  Tobias shook his head.

  “Mon Dieu!” Dorian cried. “C’est terrible!”

  “I know.”

  “Terrible,” Dorian muttered again. “I did not bake enough pastries.”

  “What?” I stared at him.

  “This newspaper came out yesterday, no? Blue Sky Teas will be flood
ed with discerning patrons this morning.” He flung his hands into the air. “What shall we do?”

  “You’re worried about Blue running out of pastries?”

  “Oui. It is a bigger travesty that this short-sighted reviewer narrowly construes me as only a pastry chef, not the versatile chef I truly am. But we cannot worry about that now. As an alchemist, there is time for me to craft the perfect creation to be awarded a Michelin star. Yet I must think of how to rise to the challenge, as it is not generally awarded to dishes unless they are served immediately from the oven. Yet as you know, it is impossible for me to cook in public, for—”

  “Dorian,” I snapped. “You’re missing the point. I’ve been exposed.”

  Dorian blinked at me. “You are already exposed, mon amie. You bought a house. You have an amour. You are a tante—an unofficial auntie to Brixton. This?” He flicked a claw at the newspaper article. “Inconsequential.”

  “Why do I get the feeling,” Tobias said softly, “that Zoe is keeping something from us.”

  “The fallout is already beginning,” I said. “Because of this photograph, Isabella Magnus knew exactly where to find me after I ran away from her at the gallery.”

  “She was not gracious when you returned it?” Dorian asked. “This is hardly—”

  “The pendant,” I growled, “was designed by Isabella Magnus, and belonged to her husband—Logan Magnus. The artist who owned the portrait of Nicolas and died earlier this month, and who the police suspect was murdered.”

  Dorian’s clawed hands flew to his cheeks.

  “And I’m due back at the station,” I continued. “I was only able to get away because they felt bad about the mix-up with Tobias. The detective on the case needs me back there to show her where ‘I’ found the phoenix pendant. Dorian, I need you to tell me exactly where you found it, so I can show her.”

  Dorian’s wings and shoulders slumped, but he didn’t speak.

  “Dorian?” I asked hesitantly. It wasn’t like him to be silent.

  “It is my fault you are implicated,” he said.

  “Who said she’s implicated?” Tobias asked. “She’s going to show the detective where you found it, and we’ll be done with our involvement.”

  Dorian bit his gray lip. “I found it near the river,” he murmured.

  “Near?” I said. “You mean right next to it, right? You said it had been submerged in the water and had washed up on the shore.”

  “I believed it had been,” Dorian insisted. “At least at one point in time. It was on a riverside path and covered in rust.”

  Tobias and I exchanged glances. “Blood?” he said.

  I shook my head. “Logan Magnus poisoned himself. Or was forcefully poisoned. But we’re getting off track. Dorian, can you draw me a picture of where you found it?”

  “Oui. But it is clear what we must do to save you, Zoe.” Dorian raised his clawed pointer fingers into a steeple under his chin.

  “I definitely don’t like the sound of that,” Tobias said. “Why does she need saving?”

  Dorian cleared his throat. “I may have found the charm on a path not directly next to the waterfront … Now that I think more carefully, it was not physically possible for the pendant to have washed up from the river.”

  “Why would you—” I began.

  “Because it was shiny and beautiful! And it seemed to have been abandoned.”

  “I told the police it was along the water. How am I supposed to explain—”

  “You could lie,” Dorian suggested. “Show them a different place.”

  Tobias put his head in his hands.

  “I see why it is a dangerous proposition to lie to the police,” Dorian said. “One lie leads to another … ”

  “And we want them to solve their case,” I said.

  “Without any of us being implicated,” Tobias added.

  “Alors,” Dorian said, “I now understand what must be done. I will investigate and solve the mystery of who killed Logan Magnus.”

  “No,” Tobias and I said at the same time.

  Dorian thought of himself as a modern Poirot. He was gray, after all, so he literally had the “little gray cells” the fictional Belgian detective spoke of. The trouble was, he got into far more trouble than Agatha Christie’s character ever did. Unfortunately, he’d read each of Christie’s novels, as well as most of the canon of the Golden Age of detective fiction.

  “What harm could I do?” Dorian asked, shrugging his stone shoulders.

  “Is he always this cocky?” Tobias asked me.

  “You have no idea.”

  thirteen

  Dorian handed me a pencil sketch of where he’d found the pendant. The location wasn’t directly next to the water, but at least it was on a path that did at some points come close to the water.

  “Monsieur Freeman is staying with us?” Dorian asked, eyeing Tobias’s duffle bag.

  “For a little while,” Tobias said. “I needed a change of scene.”

  “Tobias is going to help me find Nicolas,” I added. “As soon as I get this situation with the police settled.”

  Dorian blinked at me. “Am I not the great detective Dorian Robert-Houdin?”

  “You are,” I said. “But Toby can go places with me where you can’t be seen. I want him to come to the gallery with me. Here.” I handed Dorian the note from Nicolas. “While I’m out, you can show Tobias how to read the note. See if you two see anything else in it.”

  “Bon,” Dorian said. “And you owe me a rematch of gin rummy, Monsieur Freeman. Do you also play chess? I now have a superb chess set.”

  “Until it sells,” I reminded him.

  To make the attic a cozy living space where he could cohabitate with the alchemical artifacts sold through Elixir, Dorian had hung much of the art on the walls, put his favorite objects on display shelves, and used an antique table and chairs for the hand-carved wooden chess set. He was teaching Brixton to play.

  “I need to go,” I said. “Unless you two need anything else, I’m going to grab a handful of dried fruits and nuts for breakfast and be off.” If I didn’t take care of myself first, at least basic care such as eating, I’d be no good to anyone.

  Dorian gaped at me. “You have not eaten le petit déjeuner? But it is nearly time for lunch.”

  “I was planning to have tea and breakfast at the teashop, but then—”

  Dorian clicked his gray tongue. “This will not do. One moment.”

  He disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a plate of misshapen scones, rolls, and muffins in one hand, and a glass mason jar of mixed berry compote in the other. As a Frenchman, he believed that presentation was an important part of enjoying food, so he only left perfectly shaped food to be sold at Blue Sky Teas. The rest he brought to our house.

  “I have used the last of the cardamom for this recent batch of fruit preserves,” he said as I spread the sweet and faintly spicy mixture of blackberries and strawberries over a nutty muffin. “I wished to use the last crop of berries of the season. I have made enough to fill many of our mason jars. We will need more for the apples that are now in season.”

  “You’ve got some flour on your wing,” I said.

  He unfurled his wings, which spanned a good six feet, and shook the flour onto the floor. Tobias gave a low whistle, transfixed by the sight. I understood the feeling.

  “Très embarrassing,” Dorian mumbled as he tucked his wings into their resting location along his back.

  “You’ve always told me that was the mark of a true chef,” I said.

  “Not the flour. My wings.” Dorian spoke softly and his gaze fell to the floor. “They look as though I should be able to fly, and yet …”

  “How do we know you’re supposed to fly?” Tobias asked. “Gargoyles are attached to cathedrals.”

  Dorian looked up at
Tobias and his cheeks flushed dark gray. “Am I ‘supposed to be’ one of the greatest chefs of the ages? Perhaps not as was fated in the stars, yet I have done this for myself. I learned from my father how long it takes to perfect an act. Was it fate that brought him the books on magic when he had ordered clock-making manuals? Perhaps it was an accident. Perhaps it was fate. But he achieved what no other Frenchman had done before.”

  “I concede,” Tobias said. “How can one argue with that?”

  “I really should go.” I bit into a ginger scone topped with blackberry compote. “Detective Vega will send a car to the house if I don’t show up soon.”

  “Though I do not approve of eating as an afterthought while walking,” Dorian said, “a police escort would not be desirable.”

  “You’ll be okay on your own?” Tobias asked.

  “I will. Let’s not get you too close to the police again. Especially after I screwed up—”

  “Let’s hope Max was too concerned about you to pay attention to what you said.”

  “Allo,” Dorian said, waving clawed hands in front of our faces. “I am another living soul in your presence. Yet you speak of things I do not know. Would you please enlighten me?”

  “I told Max that Rosa was Tobias’s wife. But Tobias had been telling people he was her caregiver or her son, because she grew old, but he’s still only fifty.”

  “Hey, I’m only forty-nine,” Tobias quipped. “That’s how old my body was when I found the Elixir.”

  “I told you, Zoe Faust,” Dorian said, “that you are too comfortable in front of Max Liu for your own good.”

  “It’s all right,” Tobias said. “But Zoe is right that I should stay away from the police.”

  “Chess?” I heard Dorian asking Tobias as I slipped out.

  Tobias laughed. The rich, deep sound made me smile. It had come so infrequently when I’d first met him. “So that was why you plied me with that Irish coffee.”