forty-three

It wasn’t only the signature I’d seen in Logan Magnus’s artwork that convinced me Isabella was the true genius behind her husband’s work. It was the essence of the artwork. With what I now believed about Isabella Magnus, I called Tobias. I could tell he didn’t want to hear from me, but he didn’t hang up. I told him my suspicion that Isabella was the artist behind her famous husband. He listened, but didn’t say whether or not he believed me.

I roused Brixton so we’d have time to visit his mom at the hospital before school.

I called the hospital first to make sure we could see Heather. The nurses had a request as well, which made me smile. Brixton rolled his eyes when I told him. I shouted up to Dorian that we were leaving, but I didn’t have time to go up to talk with him.

“I’m not any good,” Brixton kept saying as we drove to the hospital. He was sitting in my truck with both his backpack and banjo in front of him.

Heather squealed with delight when we entered her room. She gave Brixton a hug from her bed and squeezed my hand. “Now that Brix is here, I can declare that I’m one hundred percent well.”

“You’re really okay?” Brixton asked, looking at the machines in the room.

She grinned. “Abel will be arriving soon, and they’ll release me when he gets here. Family spaghetti dinner tonight.”

Proud mama Heather had told all the nurses about Brixton’s love of his banjo, so they’d asked if he’d play for the kids’ ward. Apparently a magician had cancelled that week after catching a cold.

Most illnesses were treated with out-patient procedures these days, so it was a small group of kids, and the surly teenager was met with initial skepticism, but by the time we left, they were asking for more songs and Brixton was late for school.

I was exhausted when I got back to the house after dropping Brixton off, but I climbed to the attic nevertheless to tell Dorian what had happened to Heather. By the time we’d had an exhaustive conversation that led nowhere, my energy was depleted. The week was catching up with me. I declined Dorian’s offer of breakfast, over his fierce protestations, and after a glass of water with lemon, crawled into bed and fell asleep immediately.

I woke up with my heart racing. Someone was in the house. Someone besides Dorian. The gargoyle’s feet would make a scampering sound on the hardwood floors, and this was someone heavy, wearing shoes.

A faint knock sounded on my bedroom door. I pulled on a green silk robe and opened the door.

Tobias scratched his neck and looked sheepishly down at me. “Taking naps these days, eh?”

“I didn’t sleep well. I have one dear friend in the hospital and I’ve been fighting with another.”

“One who never should have spoken to you the way he did.”

“What’s the point of friendship if we can’t forgive each other? Join me downstairs for breakfast. We’ve got Aurora apple tarts, Mac­Intosh apple oatcakes, and green Ginger Gold apples for breakfast smoothies. I hope you’re not sick of apples.”

“Apples are fine,” Tobias said without smiling. He slouched against the hallway wall, a defeated man. Even his hazel eyes that had always shimmered like gold had now dulled to the color of straw.

“What’s going on? You didn’t confront Isabella—”

“No. I didn’t have to. The painting of Nick. I think it’s at the Castle.”

I stared at him. The painting of Nicolas had been there the whole time? “You saw it?”

“Not exactly. I’ll go get Dorian. Meet me downstairs.”

I threw on some clothes, and by the time I made it downstairs three minutes later, Dorian and Tobias were already seated at the dining table with the misshapen pastries that hadn’t made the cut for Blue Sky Teas. Dorian was drinking espresso, and a pot of green tea for me and Tobias was steeping.

“I’m sorry,” Tobias said. “I was fooled by Isabella because I needed someone who understood what I’m going through. But … she’s been acting so erratically. It made me wonder if you were right about her after all. So I opened my eyes and started paying close attention like I usually do. She’s the artist, all right.” He paused. “But she also has to do with this art forgery ring, or whatever it is.”

“But of course!” Dorian said. “This makes sense that she killed her husband. This is how he trusted her enough to swallow toxic paints. A femme fatale. A—”

“Why do you say that?” I asked Tobias, ignoring the gargoyle’s theatrics.

“It started when she showed me her art studio,” Tobias said. “She’s an amazing artist. I couldn’t understand why she didn’t become famous in her own right.”

“Can’t you?” I asked.

“You’re right. It’s not as bad as when Perenelle was trying to be recognized as an artist, but we’ve still got a ways to go. I was honored she showed me her unfinished work. What she didn’t show me on purpose was the additional studio on the estate, beyond hers and Logan’s. One the police didn’t find either.”

“How did they miss it?” I asked.

“The door is disguised to look like one of her metal sculptures. The police didn’t take apart works of art. I wouldn’t have figured it out myself if I hadn’t been suspicious already and knew how she used shadows in different ways. I was paying more attention than she thought, just like I was when you were practicing alchemical transformations back when we first met and you didn’t realize how closely I was watching.”

“Wait,” I said. “If you got in there without Isabella seeing you, that means you were able to take back the painting of Nicolas?”

Tobias shook his head. “I couldn’t get inside. There’s some sort of key that needs to be fitted into the lock of the sculpture.”

I swore. “Should we call the police? Damn, is that even a good idea? Have you called them already? Did you ever call Detective Vega back? I’m going to stop for breath now and let you talk.”

“I called her, but she hasn’t called back.”

“You did not tell her about the painting?” Dorian said. “Les flics, they would not understand.”

“No, only about what I’m pretty sure is an art forgery studio. We don’t want her stealing old Nick, do we? But once Isabella is arrested, you can ask Cleo about the painting. Time for some waiting. You and I are used to that.”

“That’s one thing that never gets easier,” I said, “especially when it involves people I care about.”

“Yes, yes,” Dorian said. “If you two are in a maudlin mood again, I will clean the dishes.” He scooped up the empty plates and scurried to the kitchen.

The rain had held off, so I stepped into the backyard garden. Tobias followed me outside with a cup of tea.

“You really forgive me?”

I looked at the lines of worry on his face. “Of course.” I hugged him and held on to him like he was my oldest friend in the world. Which, if we didn’t rescue Nicolas, he would be.

Someone cleared his throat. Dorian shouldn’t have been outside during daylight … But it wasn’t him.

“Max,” I said, turning to see him walking into the backyard.

“Sorry to interrupt.”

“I’ll be inside,” Tobias said, taking his leave.

“I can’t do this, Zoe,” Max said.

“You don’t think Tobias and I—”

“I know. I’m not jealous of Tobias. No, that’s a lie. I’m jealous, but not for the reason you think. I don’t think you’re sleeping with him. He’s handsome and charming, but I trust you. And I think you feel the same way about me that I do about you.”

“You know I do—”

“But you can tell Tobias things you’ll never tell me. I can see it in the way you two look at each other. This past year, getting to know you, has been the most wonderful year … I love you, Zoe Faust, but you won’t let me in.”

“Okay.”

“Okay … what?”

“You want to see the real me?” I took his hand in mine. “Come inside.”

I led Max to my half-put-together basement alchemy lab and lit one of the kerosene lamps I used to illuminate the space. I didn’t like to use modern electricity in this room. The light from natural flames made it easier to get into the calm, meditative space I needed to practice alchemy.

“This isn’t storage for extra goods for Elixir, like I thought.” Max’s eyes swept over the wooden tables, glass vials, and dried plants.

“No, it’s not. This is my contemplative place.”

Max smiled as he picked up a mason jar of dragon’s tongue. “This place is beautiful. This is going to sound silly, but it reminds me of my grandmother’s photos of her apothecary shop.”

“It doesn’t sound silly at all.”

Max put down the jar and took my hands in his. “No, it doesn’t does it? I’ve always felt you were an old soul.”

“I am.” I inhaled deeply, breathing in the scents from centuries of love that I’d brought here to this room. Dried herbs from plants I’d grown myself. The pulpy, friendly fragrance of old books. The faint bitter scent of sulfur balanced by the sweet hints of natural sugars from the plants I transformed.

“I didn’t mean to start a spiritual conversation.” Max traced his fingertips in my palm.

“No. But it’s time for me to show you what I’ve been afraid to. That this is who I really am.”

“I love that you’ve got a place for meditation. It’s okay for you to have kept it to yourself—”

“This place isn’t for meditation. Not exactly. You know how the two of us garden similarly? How plants respond to us? It’s been that way since I was little. And it scared people. That’s why my brother and I ran away.” I felt Max’s hand tense as I spoke.

“The bullying was that bad?”

“We were taken in by the childless couple I told you about. They were the ones who taught me how to turn my aptitude with plants into something more.”

“That’s why your herbal concoctions, and even your simple soups, seem almost magical.”

“It’s not magic. It’s alchemy.”

Max laughed. “Exactly. Transformation.”

“True alchemy. I’m older than I look.” I waited for a reaction, but Max remained silent. “You’ve always sensed it.”

“So how old are you?”

“Far older than you.”

Max’s laugh turned to a nervous one. “Zoe … ” His expression changed as he watched my face. “You believe what you’re telling me? You do. You really believe it.”

“Because it’s the truth. Think about everything you know about me. And what you learned from your grandmother all those years ago.”

“My sister knows some good doctors.”

“A psychiatrist? That’s what you think I need?” Tension seized my whole body, leaving me feeling like a stiff stone carving, not a person of flesh and blood. “Why do you think all the hair on my body is white? Why do my scars look centuries old?”

Max shook his head. “I have an interview for a case. I’m already late. I have to go.”

“Max?” I called after him as he rushed up the basement stairs.

The door slammed.

“You shouldn’t have told him,” Tobias said when I reached the kitchen.

I ran my hands through my white hair, which Max had always told me was beautiful, even though he knew it was real rather than dyed, and held back tears. “How did you tell Rosa?”

“I had it easier. You’ve got yourself a strategically rational man there. He’s consciously chosen to reject things he once believed, to help him make sense of the world. He’s a cop, for God’s sake.”

“I have to try. If we don’t want to lose our humanity—if we truly want to let people in—we have to take risks.”

“He’s a good man. I hope he comes around.”

“I do too.”

Tobias gave a worried glance at his phone.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Still no word from Detective Vega. Which is odd, considering how hard she was trying to reach me before.”

“So where is she?”