There was even more to Not Untrue Alchemy than I had imagined. Alchemists love codes, using them out of necessity from a time when they were persecuted, but also, I suspected, because they like to feel clever. This was a deeper level of hidden meaning than I’d ever encountered. The woodcut illustrations weren’t only coded images themselves, but worked with a trigger.
But even with my breakthrough in the book, I didn’t know enough to save Dorian. The cathedral had no identifying features. It could have been one of a hundred cathedrals. Even if I could identify which one, what did that tell me?
It was mid-afternoon when I returned home, but I’d been too sick with worry to eat anything. I was falling into old patterns. I forced myself to drink the last of my healing lemon balm–infused tea, and I found lentil and cucumber salad leftovers. I brought the late lunch to the back porch overlooking my half-thriving, half-depleted garden, and forced myself to eat. Before I’d finished, I heard the sound of someone approaching. A moment later, Brixton dropped his bike next to the porch.
“Aren’t you supposed to be helping your mom at the teashop after school?”
“Since there aren’t any pastries today, there’s hardly anyone there. My mom’s teas aren’t nearly as good as Blue’s.”
“Come inside, Brix. There’s something I need to tell you.”
“Mom said you were too sick to cook today, so I already know it’s Dorian who’s sick. What’s wrong with him? I thought you were going to heal him. I brought over some Stumptown coffee for him.”
“That was thoughtful. But he’s not here.”
Brixton gave me a look that suggested I’d sprouted a second head. “It’s daytime. He has to be here.”
“That’s the problem,” I said.
“His mind is going, too, and he wandered off? That sucks. Why aren’t you out looking for him?”
“He’s not outside. The police took him into custody. My stone gargoyle statue is a piece of evidence.”
“How can they do that?” Brixton sputtered. “Did he get caught somewhere he wasn’t supposed to be and turned to stone to save himself?”
I forced myself to keep my voice calm in front of Brixton. “You’ve seen how his left leg has been turning back to stone more quickly than the rest of him. His toe broke off at the theater. The man who was killed was found clutching it in his hand.”
“That doesn’t make any sense! Why would he care about a piece of stone?”
“I don’t know. But Dorian is now evidence in the investigation.”
“Prison break,” Brixton said. “That’s your plan, right? We can’t leave him in there.”
“I don’t have magical powers that allow me to walk into a secured evidence facility.”
Brixton balled his fingers into fists. “Then what are we supposed to do?”
I hesitated. Though Brixton was the one person I could talk to about Dorian, he was still a kid. He was on the verge of becoming a man, but his actions continued to remind me that the transformation wasn’t yet complete. I couldn’t tell him that I’d had a breakthrough with Dorian’s book but that it wasn’t enough. That I needed the help of a backward alchemist—both to unlock the secrets of Not Untrue Alchemy and to wrap up the murder investigation so I could get Dorian back.
“I’m thinking about what to do,” I said. “Right now, I need to do a few things around the house. You can raid the last of Dorian’s cooking from the fridge before you go.”
“You have a plan you’re not telling me, don’t you? That’s why you want me to leave.”
“I have a friend coming to visit. I need to get ready—”
“A friend is coming to visit? Don’t you care about Dorian at all?”
“Of course I care!” I snapped. I was surprised by how much his words hurt. “That’s why Tobias is coming for a visit. He’s an alchemist. I thought he could help.”
“I thought you didn’t know any alchemists anymore. Or are you lying to me about everything? After what happened earlier this year, and after Ethan and Veronica’s joke, I thought you were the one person I could trust.”
I’d hurt Brixton too. He’d been let down by so many people. Not only had a trusted authority figure betrayed his trust earlier that year, but his stepdad’s absence must have weighed heavily on him. He refused to talk about his mom’s absentee husband, Abel, so I didn’t know the whole story. But because of Brixton’s refusal to speak of him, I suspected it wasn’t good.
“I only just found Tobias. I knew him a long time ago, but we lost touch and until yesterday I didn’t even know he was alive.”
Brixton squinted his eyes with confusion. To someone raised in the modern world, it’s pretty unbelievable to not have instant access to anyone you wanted to find.
“He’s flying to Portland tomorrow,” I continued. “Only … ”
“What?”
What I wanted to say was that since Dorian was gone, I didn’t know what good Tobias’s visit would do. Instead, I said, “I wish I didn’t have to wait until tomorrow for Tobias to arrive.”
As soon as Brixton left, I climbed to the attic and rooted through a box until I found the object I was after. I held it up. The copper hadn’t even rusted. Perfect.
I waited five minutes, then slipped out of the house. I put “Accidental Life” on the cassette player to give me courage, and drove to the theater.
The police tape had been removed, and the magicians’ SUV was parked in front of the theater. I banged on the back door until Peter opened it.
“I told you not to open the doors,” Penelope’s muted voice could be heard behind him.
“I know what you are,” I said, pushing my way past Peter into the dark backstage area, and onward to the stage where I could see them clearly. “And I know what you’re doing here. I’m not interested in exposing you. I don’t care that you’re after the Lake Loot—”
“Call the police, Pen,” Peter said. “Zoe Faust is unwell. Delusional, I’d say.”
“Hear me out,” I said. “If you help me, I won’t tell the police that I know the real reason you’re in town—”
A cell phone materialized in Peter’s fingers. His sleight of hand was good.
Penelope put her hand on top of Peter’s. Her red lacquered nails caught the light and for a moment it looked as if her fingertips had been dipped in blood. “We’re not calling the police.”
“But—” Peter protested.
“Didn’t you hear what she said? She knows, Peter. I could tell she knew. That ruse with the gargoyle … ”
“How?” The muscles on Peter’s neck looked like they were ready to pop out. I only hoped he didn’t have an aneurism before he could help me. “How did you know? I took steps so no one would piece it together.”
“Never allowing your photo to be taken was a good try,” I said, “but there’s a photo in a book from the 1970s on Portland murders.”
“Damn. I went to all the trouble of taking down that website, but a real book … ” He shook his head and pursed his lips.
“How did you do it?” I asked. “It was backward alchemy, wasn’t it? I’m not judging you. It’s why I think you can help me—”
“Help you?” His eyes widened and then narrowed. His mouth followed suit, as if he was struggling for words.
“Don’t lie to me!” I said. “I have nothing more to lose.”
For the next few moments, the three of us stood staring at each other, sizing each other up.
Penelope cleared her throat. The sound echoed through the empty theater. “Are you wearing chain mail under your blouse?”
Chain mail was the object from my boxes that I’d taken as a precautionary measure. I may have been acting somewhat recklessly by venturing to the theater alone, but when confronting a man who had killed before and his knife-throwing wife, I wasn’t going to be completely defenseless.
“Are we on Candid Camera?” Peter asked. “As you know, I hate cameras. I’ll never consent to being featured on television.”
“I don’t care what you’ve done,” I said. “I’m not going to turn you in. Going to the police is against my interests as well.”
“We didn’t kill that man,” Penelope said. “That hasn’t got anything to do with the loot. We’re not doing anything illegal.”
“Even better,” I said, playing along. “Then you won’t mind helping me with this.” I pulled two photographs of Dorian’s book from my bag. “Please. It’s important. It’s a matter of life and death, or I wouldn’t be asking.”
Peter’s expression was even more perplexed than before. “What does this have to do with the riches my father was accused of stealing?”
“Your father?”
“Franklin Thorne. You said you’d figured out my secret and that we’re back in Portland to find his hidden treasures. But you’ve only got half the story. I don’t care about the money. I’m back because he was innocent. I’m here to clear his name.”