sixty

The following day, I opened the front door of my house to someone I wasn’t sure was going to forgive me.

Max hesitated after stepping inside, but I took his hand in mine, smelling the scent of jasmine that lingered on his fingertips, and pulled him through the swinging kitchen door.

The kitchen was officially packed to capacity. Tobias and Brixton leaned against the counter, laughing with Nicolas and Perenelle. I’d had a chance to buy the Flamels proper clothing. Perenelle couldn’t stop grinning at the soft fabric of her purple maxi dress, and Nicolas was as giddy as a young boy at the multitude of helpful pockets in a jacket designed for camping.

“Yo Max,” Brixton said, giving him a fist bump.

“Nicolas and Perenelle,” I said, “there’s someone special I want you to meet. Perenelle sort of met him already when her injuries were being treated … ”

“It’s wonderful to meet you properly,” Max said, shaking their hands.

“The pleasure is all ours, my good man,” Nicolas said. Even modern hair-care products couldn’t tame his unkempt hair.

“You’ve all gotta try these cookies,” Brixton said. “They don’t taste at all like they’re full of vegetables.”

“This is your French friend?” Max whispered to me, watching as Nicolas and Perenelle accepted carrot cake cookies fresh from the oven. “He’s short, but hardly disfigured.”

“This kitchen isn’t big enough for a party,” Tobias said. “I’ll bring these to the dining table.”

Max held me back from following. “And why does he insist on hiding behind you as the chef of Blue Sky Teas? And going so far as to insist on treating his life-threatening injury at Mina’s clinic? What were you thinking? Is it an immigration issue?”

“This isn’t the French chef,” I said, laughing as I remembered how little Nicolas cared for food. Perenelle, on the other hand, was a connoisseur.

“He’s not?”

“You remember when you spoke on the phone to another French friend of mine?”

Tobias poked his head back into the kitchen, holding out his cell phone for me. He handed it to me with a wink. “Dorian is on the line. He wants to talk to Max.”

I covered my grin as Max took the phone. Tobias must have gotten Dorian to call from my land line in the attic.

“Dorian?” Max said. “Yes, I’m with Zoe now. Uh-huh … Yes, she already confided in me that she’s not the chef for Blue Sky Teas … I really think you’re underestimating people if you think they’ll judge you for your appearance. This is Portland … Yes, of course I’ll respect your wishes … Zoe, he wants to talk to you.”

I took the phone.

“How long is le flic staying?” Dorian asked. “I wish to join the party.”

“I’m not sure,” I said, looking hesitantly at Max. “We’ll save you some food.”

“Since I cooked it,” he huffed.

“I’ll talk to you later.” I hung up before he could say more.

Max and I were alone in the kitchen. The voices of laughter and glasses clinking from the other room made my heart swell. Was it too much to hope that I could have Max in my life as well?

“So … ” Max said.

“So … ”

“I’ve gotta hand it to you.” He ran a hand through his dark hair and smiled nervously. “You’ve got the most interesting friends, Zoe Faust.”

“Family,” I corrected. “Though they’re not blood, they’re family.”

He nodded. “I talked to my sister this morning.”

“Oh?”

“She wanted to talk about the things our grandmother had shown us when we were kids.”

“Did you let her?”

“I did. I’m not saying I understand … but I want to. I really do. For you.”

Max wasn’t ready to believe. Not fully. But now that I had Mina on my side, I had hope. And Max had taken the first step. He was here with me and my eccentric family. I pulled him toward me and kissed him.

“Get a room, you guys.”

We broke apart and saw Brixton smiling in the doorway.

“I’m just here to get more blackberry compote,” he said. “Your step-mom has a wicked appetite.” He grabbed a mason jar from the fridge and went back to the others. Max and I followed.

Perenelle patted the empty seat next to her. “Join us,” she said to Max.

I stood watching the group for a few moments before joining them myself, wondering how the past had brought me to this moment.

I’d been at the police station earlier that day, explaining what had happened with Ward Talbot. Detective Vega was concerned that he’d gotten away but glad to have closure on what had happened, and validated by her coworkers that she was right about a copycat killer. She assured me the police wouldn’t be digging into Tobias’s past. He’d taken such good care of her after she’d been attacked by Ward, which I suspected was part of the reason.

Cleo had admitted to painting copies of Old Masters found at the Castle’s hidden studio, but she insisted she hadn’t broken the law. It’s not a crime to just paint copies or to keep your art studio a secret. She hadn’t defrauded anyone.

Isabella was recuperating from ergot poisoning in the hospital, and the press revealed that she was half of the genius behind Logan Magnus’s art. She and her daughter would now be working jointly on art projects with their complementary skills.

The following week was a blur that bound my past to the present.

I participated in the Autumn Equinox Fair, at which I sold tinctures and Heather sold her paintings. Isabella redesigned the memorial art gallery (which was now renamed for both Isabella and Logan) so that it could also display other artists’ works—and offered Heather the first guest artist showing.

At home, I had a full house. Dorian was living in the attic and I’d given Nicolas and Perenelle my master bedroom. I’d taken the smallest bedroom, in which hung a framed reproduction of the portrait Perenelle had painted of me and my brother. Tobias was staying in the other extra bedroom for the time being, so that Nicolas would have a doctor at hand. I was glad it gave him purpose in the aftermath of Rosa’s death.

Dorian was so pleased that he had more people to cook real meals for (not simply pastries at the teashop) that he didn’t complain too much about wearing the sling Tobias had fixed for his broken wing, and he seemed to have forgotten about tracking down the now-harmless backward alchemy book that had caused us so much trouble earlier in the year.

We lingered over meals together, but tried not to stay up too late because Nicolas needed his rest. Perenelle and I went on many long walks together, and she loved visiting local art galleries. Inspired by Isabella and Cleo, I had an idea.

“You deserve the recognition for Hayden’s art,” I said to Perenelle one morning, as we sat in the living room drinking tea and watching the shadows of Isabella’s iron crows dance across the floor.

Perenelle smiled and shook her head. “Even if we could convince people Philippe Hayden was a woman, I painted the art hundreds of years ago.”

“But there’s nothing wrong with a descendant of Perenelle Flamel digging into history to prove the true identity of Philippe Hayden … ”

As for Alchemical Paint and Perenelle’s knowledge of how to paint objects and people into a canvas, we thought it was best to keep that to ourselves.

The police never did catch up with Ward Talbot, but I had a portrait tucked into the darkest corner of my attic that looked a lot like him. What a funny coincidence, that.

the end