Thirty-Five

I jumped up. “Dorian!”

The gargoyle descended the stairs with a limp so pronounced it was painful to watch. He thought of himself as a self-reliant gentleman, so I knew how much it pained him emotionally to show such physical weakness. Staying still in stone must have sped up his progression back into stone.

As he reached the bottom of the stairs I threw my arms around him. “You escaped!”

Tobias handled the appearance of a living gargoyle better than I could have hoped. He broke only one mug as he pushed back from the table to stand defensively. The solid oak dining chair remained in one piece as it hit the floor with force.

“Don’t be frightened,” I said. “He’s a friend.”

“Ah.” Tobias chuckled nervously. “Channeling Georges Méliès, are you?”

“Not exactly,” I said. “He’s not an automaton.”

Tobias’s face clouded. “Damn, Zoe. What are you messing with? You can’t control a homunculus. Surely you know that. You need me to help you kill it? Why didn’t you say so in the first place?”

Dorian’s eyes opened wide with distress. “Zoe?”

“Nobody is killing anyone,” I said.

“You sure?” Tobias said.

Dorian pinched the ridge of his snout and shook his head. “I am not a homunculus, nor am I a golem, a robot, or an automaton. I am a gargoyle.”

Tobias stood in a fighting stance as he stared at Dorian.

“Tobias Freeman,” I said, “meet Dorian Robert-­Houdin.”

“A man trapped in stone?” Tobias asked, his shoulders relaxing slightly.

“He’s a good soul,” I said. “The two of you are among the best men I’ve known in my life.”

Tobias stepped forward hesitantly, then stuck out his hand for Dorian to shake.

“We are not sure what I am,” Dorian said, “yet I appreciate and will accept your gesture of friendship.”

The formerly stone gargoyle and the former slave shook hands.

“Amazing,” Tobias said, gripping Dorian’s rough gray skin. “You didn’t think this little man was worth mentioning until now, Zoe? I thought he’d be the first thing you told me about when we walked through your door.”

“Speaking of which—” I ran through the house to make sure the curtains were drawn and returned a minute later, breathless. “It’s no longer safe to stay here.”

“What have you pulled me into, Zoe?”

“We should tell him,” Dorian said to me, then looked up at Tobias. “I believe you are trustworthy, Monsieur Alchemist.”

“You heard him praise your cooking, huh?” I said. If the gargoyle continued to use an endorsement of his cooking as a signal to trust people, we were in big trouble.

“Mais oui. From the bannister above, I spied his reaction.”

Tobias looked from the half-empty platter to the gargoyle. “This little fellow cooked all this? You’ve gotta give me the recipe for the oat cakes. The muffins too.”

Dorian puffed up his gray chest.

“Don’t encourage him,” I said.

“You’re right. I don’t know what came over me asking about food when there’s a living gargoyle in front of me.”

Dorian blinked at Tobias. “That makes more sense than anything that has befallen me, Monsieur Freeman. Food is the key to understanding the soul—”

“Dorian,” I cut in.

“Oui?”

“Why don’t you skip the philosophy and tell Tobias what’s going on. You also need to tell me how you escaped. Did anyone see you? Do they know you’re gone?”

The gargoyle sighed. “Americans. Always so impatient.” He flexed his shoulders, causing his wings to partially unfurl.

Tobias’s jaw dropped.

“Let’s get upstairs into the attic,” I said. “If the police raid the house in search of their missing statue, you can crawl out the hole in the roof to hide where they won’t find you.”

“But I wish to go to the kitchen,” Dorian protested. “I am hungry. They did not feed me—”

“I’ll bring food,” I said. “Tobias, can you take Dorian and this book up to the attic?”

I joined the two of them five minutes later, carrying a platter of day-old bread along with curried hummus, sliced cucumbers, and olives. They had their heads together over the alchemy book, and Dorian was pointing at the disturbing woodcut illustration of bees swarming around dead animals.

“No fruit?” Dorian asked, looking up.

“He’s a particular little fellow,” Tobias said.

“One who’s about to tell us how he escaped from police custody.”

“The police in this town know about him?” Tobias asked.

“Not exactly.” I briefly told Tobias how Dorian was brought to life with the backward alchemy book, then explained how he could shift back into stone at will, and that it was his stone statue form that was thought to have been used in a crime. “But what I don’t know,” I finished, “is how he found his way back here from police custody.”

Tobias and I looked expectantly at the gargoyle as he finished eating a mouthful of bread slathered in hummus.

A small burp escaped Dorian’s lips. “Pardon.”

“Amazing,” Tobias whispered.

“I do not wish to relive the humiliating ordeal,” Dorian said, “but for the sake of our investigation, I will. The first indignity was a fine powder they dusted over my whole body.”

“Looking for fingerprints?” I asked.

His eyes narrowed. “Oui. They did not find any. This frustrated them. They were not very nice when they carted me to a storage facility. It was from this room that I escaped.”

“You were careful?”

“Am I not always careful? I took care of myself long before I met you, Zoe. It took me quite some time to make all of my limbs move again after being still for so long. Once I was confident I would be able to walk, I took a blanket and covered myself, in case there were video cameras. This was shortly before sunrise—”

“That was hours ago!”

“Yes, I made it to my attic entrance before the sun rose.”

“You’ve been here this whole time? Why didn’t you come downstairs?”

“I could not get my legs to move,” Dorian said slowly, his wings wilting at his sides. “You see, Monsieur Freeman, I am dying.”

“I’m going to find a way to save you, Dorian,” I said. “I’m getting closer.”

“That’s why you wanted my help,” Tobias said.

I nodded. “But now a murder has gotten in the way—”

“A murder?” Tobias repeated. “What on earth is going on here, Zoe?”

“It’s a long story,” I said.

“Ah!” Dorian said. “I nearly forgot.” He scampered, lopsided, to a corner of the attic. He retrieved a gallon-size plastic bag with a shiny object inside, which he then handed to me.

“A knife?” I said, a horrible realization dawning on me. “You took this knife from the evidence room?”

“Oui. This is the knife used to kill Monsieur Mason. You did not wish the police to learn the secret of the alchemist, and this is his knife—”

“He’s not an alchemist, Dorian!”

“Pardon?”

“I was so worried about you that I went to confront him last night.” I explained how Peter Silverman was the son of Franklin Thorne, and that although we were right that Peter and Penelope had returned to Portland because of the discovery of the sapphire necklace, the real reason they wanted to come back was to clear Peter’s father’s name.

“He’s just a regular guy who can’t help us with your book,” I concluded.

Dorian’s wings crumpled. His whole body seemed to deflate, from his horns down to the stone foot that was missing its toe.

“Why did you think this man in particular would be able to help you?” Tobias asked. “I get that you thought he was an alchemist, but it sounds like you thought he was a special kind.”

“You did not tell him what is peculiar about my book?” Dorian asked.

“Tell me what?” Tobias asked.

“Perhaps,” Dorian said, “I should leave the two alchemists to discuss matters further.”

“You’re staying right here in the attic, Dorian. And keep the knife with you. If the police come and you have to flee, take it with you. You can’t let the police find it—or you—here.”

“So,” Tobias said, “our only chance to save this little fellow is to keep him out of sight while the two of us figure out what’s going on with his book. Shouldn’t we get started?”