Thirty-Three

“I shouldn’t judge,” Tobias said. It was clear he regretted his directive from a moment before. “I haven’t seen you in two lifetimes. I don’t know what’s going on with you.”

“You’re right that I’m sick,” I said. “But don’t worry. It won’t last much longer.” I spoke the truth. Either I’d figure out how to get Dorian back and cure him, or I’d die trying.

“I always wondered something,” Tobias said. “I feel bad even asking, since you gave so much of yourself to the cause … ”

“You can ask me anything. You’re probably the oldest friend I’ve got.” I reached for my locket. I’d lost so many people I cared about. It was nice, for once, to find someone.

When he spoke, his voice was almost a whisper, so soft I could barely hear him over the hum of traffic around us. “We were all so poor.”

“You’re wondering,” I said, “why I didn’t simply make gold?”

“Knowing what I know now, it’s a fair question.”

“I’m great at spagyrics—”

“Plant alchemy, sure.”

“The thing is … ” I paused as I pulled into the driveway. “I never got the hang of making gold.”

“Truly?”

I sighed as I turned off the engine. “Why does everyone think making gold is easy?”

“Damn, woman, nothing worthwhile is easy to come by.”

“Did you forget you’re talking to the woman who saved your life?”

He laughed heartily. “I wish I had some gold left to say thanks. It looks like this house could use a top-notch repairman.” He stepped out of the truck and eyed the tarp that covered a sizable chunk of the roof. As he reached back inside to lift his overnight bag, I was again struck by his physique. Tobias was at once the same good man I’d known 150 years before, and also a completely different person.

I pointed at the roof. “That’s why I’m wearing ill-fitted clothing. A winter storm did in a section of the house and ruined most of my clothes. I haven’t had time to shop for anything that fits properly.”

I led him into the house. Tobias dropped his bag next to the green velvet couch and followed me to the kitchen. Out of habit, I looked around for Dorian, even though I knew he was across town in police custody. The gargoyle was either in an evidence locker or in a lab being examined for trace evidence. If I ever saw him again, I’d never hear the end of it.

“You looking for someone?” Tobias asked. “You live here with someone?”

“That,” I said, “is a more complicated question than you realize. Let me get us some sustenance first. Coffee or tea?”

“I’ve never met an alchemist who could stomach coffee.”

“Come to think of it, I believe you’re right.” I opened the curtains, lit a burner, and set a kettle on the stove. “But that espresso maker isn’t mine.”

“Oh, the mysterious roommate.” Tobias stood in front of the espresso machine and breathed deeply.

“You said you didn’t like coffee.”

“I didn’t say I don’t like coffee. I said I can’t drink it. The scent of coffee is one of my favorite things on earth. Sometimes I’ll brew a pot to act as potpourri. But the last time I fell off the wagon and drank a double espresso, I was awake for days.”

“The trace amounts of caffeine in chocolate is all I can take,” I agreed. “I didn’t realize that metalurgic alchemists were sensitive to plant compounds.”

“I’m primarily a spiritual alchemist. Couldn’t you tell from the lyrics of ‘Accidental Life’?”

“But you mentioned you’ve been making gold.”

“I’ve become somewhat of a generalist—by necessity. You been to Detroit lately? They need all the help they can get.”

“Your email didn’t mention what you’re doing there. You said you help acutely sick people, and I noticed you wear a bloodstone on a necklace chain. Let me guess. ER doctor?”

“EMT. An emergency medical tech. The paperwork is easier than if I were a doctor, but I still get to heal people. Some of the guys who ride with me in the ambulance were wary that I keep a bag of herbal remedies with me, but ever since I saved a man from bleeding to death using cayenne pepper, they don’t give me grief.”

“Ouch. You didn’t learn that one from me. I prefer less painful ways to slow bleeding.”

Tobias moved away from the espresso maker and looked past the glass window box above the sink into the backyard garden. “Your backyard is both a medicine cabinet and a chef’s dream garden.”

“Speaking of which, have you eaten breakfast?” I lifted a domed copper lid from a platter of misshapen blueberry scones, oatmeal nut cakes, and whole grain three-seed muffins. Dorian always brought home the less aesthetically pleasing baked goods from Blue Sky Teas. He was convinced that only the most perfectly shaped creations were worthy of being sold to customers at the teashop. Personally I preferred the misfit pastries. “They’re all vegan. And none of them have coffee in them.” At my insistence, Dorian had ceased making espresso ginger cookies that looked identical to chocolate cookies. The ginger masked the smell of coffee, and I’d accidentally nibbled on them more than once.

But Tobias wasn’t paying attention to the platter. He was still staring out the window. “What happened to that corner of the garden?” He tilted his head toward the section I’d pulled to make Dorian’s life-saving tea.

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. It’s—” The kettle gave a high-pitched scream. “Why don’t you pick a tea, then I’ll get the book I wanted to show you and explain everything.” I opened the cabinet that held an assortment of loose-leaf teas. They were hand-dried herbs stored in glass jars.

Tobias selected a flower blend of goldenseal, calendula, and chamomile. The kitchen was bursting with fresh and preserved foods and had no room left for a kitchen table, so Tobias carried the platter of breakfast pastries to the dining table in the large living/dining room. I brought a steeping teapot along with two mugs looped around my fingers to the solid oak dining table, then went to retrieve Dorian’s book.

Tobias was already biting into a second deformed pastry when I sat down at the table.

“Ignoring their odd shape, these oat cakes are heaven on earth, Zoe. Heaven on earth.” He gave a contented sigh as he ran his calloused fingertips along the edge of the table. “And this table is older than I am.”

“Not quite. I bought it from the man who carved it in France shortly after the Railroad wrapped up and I was no longer needed.”

“You were still needed, Zoe. I wished I’d had you around so many times … Now—” He clapped his hands together. “Is this old book what’s making you look so sick and sad today?”

With a dangerous backward alchemy book, a dead man, a dying gargoyle, and missing loot … “I don’t know where to start,” I said.

“I do,” a deep French voice cut in. “She needs help because of me.”