forty-seven

1597, Bohemia

Edward Kelley’s recovery was slow and painful. But the gold Perenelle had smuggled to him in her painting had served its purpose, allowing him to bribe his way out of prison to recover with his family.

His servant wasn’t so lucky. He insisted on telling stories of his ordeal at taverns. Edward couldn’t have that. He convinced the sniveling man, who already knew alchemy was real, that to know the true immortality of alchemy all he had to do was swallow the paints Edward provided him. The stupid man was dead within an hour.

The man was taken care of, but Edward had no money and no prospects. Except one. He was more intelligent than anyone he’d ever met, so he’d learned enough from Perenelle Flamel to find the Elixir of Life.

But at what cost? He had never been able to transform lead into gold in more than minute increments. He had never been able to paint gold into a painting. And as the years and decades passed, he lived on while his family died. It was watching his young daughter grow old and perish that transformed his curiosity into rage.

All he had was his intelligence and his charm. It was enough to get by, but over the years, he grew more and more bitter. He knew what he would do if he ever found the Flamels.

1700s, France

Many years passed, yet Edward Kelley’s anger did not abate.

He caught up with them on the first day of winter. The darkest day of the year; how fitting! The coincidence gave him hope that his vengeance would be realized at last.

Edward had followed the directions of a bookseller and found Nicolas in the pub of a small town in southern France. The alchemist had never been painted, nor had Edward ever met him, but Edward knew immediately who he was looking at in the smoky room. Although the man at the bar looked to be in his forties, there was an aura of old age surrounding him, with his wild hair and crystal blue eyes. Or perhaps Edward was simply being fanciful. It was possible the bookseller had simply given him a good description.

The alchemist appeared cautious when the stranger approached, but Edward’s charm won him over. Nicolas didn’t notice when Edward slipped a powdery substance into his beer.

“Edward Kelley, is it not?” Nicolas asked as he woke up in the barn Edward had taken him to. The snowstorm raged outside, and wisps of wind pushed their way into the barn.

“I’m impressed,” Edward said. He didn’t like how the alchemist was studying him like a specimen with his crystal-blue eyes. “Our encounter can be brief. I only need you to tell me where I can find Perenelle.”

The alchemist refused, even after Edward used his most persuasive techniques. Edward couldn’t contain his anger. He hadn’t meant to hurt the alchemist as much as he did. He’d only wanted to scare him with the knife. But when Nicolas calmly chuckled at the idea of betraying his wife, Edward brought the hilt of an axe down on Nicolas’s head.

The crunch of bone was only satisfying for a fraction of a second before Edward realized the gravity of what he’d done. Nicolas Flamel crumpled to the floor and lay at an unnatural angel. Edward had seen death, and he knew the alchemist would not be moving again in this mortal life.

It took half the night and nearly all of his strength to walk the two kilometers to his home. It was only his need to warn Perenelle that kept him alive, he was sure.

Nicolas stumbled through the door of the house and fell into Perenelle’s arms.

“The backward alchemists?” Perenelle asked gently as she peeled off his snow-covered clothing and looked for his wounds. “They found us?” Her voice shook, but her healing hands remained strong.

Nicolas laughed. Blood escaped his lips. “No. They are not clever enough. They never were.”

“Then who?”

“Edward Kelley,” he said, feeling himself choking on a sulfurous substance. “He has found you. You must flee while there’s time. He will find the house in the light of day.”

“I’m not leaving you. I’m helping you.” But when she saw the knife wound and felt the crack on his skull, Perenelle knew Nicolas needed more help than she could give. She wasn’t sure how he was still alive. He needed a doctor. But it was the dead of night with a fierce winter snowstorm. There was no way she could get him help as soon as he needed it. Unless …

She’d seen how a wilting flower’s ultimate death was suspended when she painted it into a painting with alchemical paint, and she’d once painted a man into a painting. Would Nicolas’s wound hold constant inside a painting while she took the time to escape and travel to summon a doctor?

She found a painting of an alchemy lab she’d been working on. One that she loved, with the dawn rays of the sun showing through the window. It looked like a room where Nicolas would be happy. Perenelle began to paint the love of her life into the foreground.

“What are you writing?” she asked. “Don’t use your energy.”

“If I don’t survive, you’ll need help. I want you to find Zoe.”

“She’s long-dead, Nicolas. She didn’t find the Elixir—”

“You weren’t watching the experiments she did for Thomas. I believe she did.”

In spite of her torment, the idea that Zoe might be alive filled Perenelle with joy. “I’ll look for her. I promise.”

As she painted, the yellow rays of dawn crept through the windows. She had been concentrating so intensely that she hadn’t realized how long it had taken her.

“I’m ready,” Perenelle whispered, taking Nicolas’s hand. “Once I paint the color into your eyes, you’ll be one with the painting.”

“I love you more than the heavens above and all the earth below,” he said to her. “Whatever happens. Always.”

Nicolas disappeared in the same way the guard had—silently yet jarringly, as if the universe had skipped a heartbeat.

But … this time there was also a crashing bang.

No, it wasn’t Nicolas entering the realm of the painting that had made the sound. Fists pounded on the door.

Edward. She was too late.

Hastily she hid the painting behind the drapes as Edward burst through the door.

“He’s dead, Perenelle. Just as you took my family from me by withholding your secrets, I have taken yours from you. I want you to know that before you die.”

She stood to her full height and faced the man whose life she’d saved all those years ago. His once-charming face was contorted with rage. Perenelle didn’t fear for her own life, but she couldn’t leave Nicolas inside the painting with no means of escape.

Edward gave her the choice of a quick death by stabbing or a slow death by swallowing her toxic pigments. She chose the pigments. That way, there might be time …

She ate the poisons until she vomited, then fell to the floor, unconscious. At least that’s what she hoped he’d believe.

Once Edward left, Perenelle pushed herself up and forced herself to vomit once more. Nicolas was already safely inside the painting. She didn’t know what it had done to his spirit, but she couldn’t leave him alone in there. She knew what she must do.

Before taking the most frightening but certain action of her life, she took the note Nicolas had written to Zoe. A farmer was due to bring them food that week. She would leave him a stack of gold with a request asking him to take the note and her painting to an alchemist friend in Paris, who could help find Zoe. She wasn’t sure if she could trust the man, but she had to try. The pile of gold was generous enough that she hoped he would feel no need to betray her.

All she had within her control now was one single thing. She painted her own reflection into Nicolas’s sparkling and mischievous blue eyes. The paintbrush clattered to the stone floor as she disappeared.