twenty-two

By the time I reached the house, I had thought up a long list of the many horrible things that could happen if the dropper was discovered on Blue. What if my fingerprints were found on the dropper? What if they thought it was poison? My tincture wouldn’t hurt her, but it was possible it wouldn’t have any effect. It was a harmless plant mixture, but would modern doctors or the police realize that? Or would they think I had poisoned Blue and was trying to finish what I’d started? I was the one who’d found her lying unconscious, after all. The person who calls in something like that is automatically suspected.

Dorian was almost finished cleaning the kitchen. He was a responsible little gargoyle, I’d give him that.

“You do not look well,” he said, a scouring brush in his hand.

“I’m tempted to pack up and move to Paris.”

“Truly?”

“No, not really. It’s just been a bad day.”

“Oh.” His shoulders fell.

“I’m sorry, Dorian. I didn’t mean to tease you. You miss it, don’t you?”

“Why do you think I have been cooking soufflés today? If I merely wished to stay awake, I would read one of the many books you kindly brought me from the library.”

“You’re cooking comfort food the same reason you ordered Le Monde,” I said. “You’re homesick.”

He gave a Gallic shrug. “This is a strange country.”

“What’s been going on here isn’t normal.”

“I am not speaking of the murder and the theft of my book. I realize it was I who brought this upon you. For that I am truly sorry.”

“You couldn’t have known.”

“You are a kind woman, Zoe. This is why I wonder if perhaps I should leave you and return to Paris myself.”

“Are you serious? You can’t leave.”

“Why not?”

“We need to find out what’s happening to you. Find a way to reverse the effects of whatever is killing you.”

“Maybe I am meant to die this cursed death. Perhaps,” he said, “it is my fate.”

“I know you’re French, but you don’t have to be so resigned.”

“I do not hear Brixton playing his guitar,” he said.

“Nice try. Don’t change the subject.”

“I am serious. We should hear him.”

I rushed upstairs. The guitar rested on Brixton’s unmade bed. There was no sign of Brixton.

After searching the house and yard, I sent him a text, only to hear the beeping of a phone—coming from Dorian. The phone was in the pocket of his apron, where Dorian was keeping it to prevent Brixton from filming another video.

“Why did I agree to let him stay here?” I said. “There was a murder here, and a murderer still out there. What was I thinking?”

“Do not forget that the boy and I were also seen last night by the detective. Someone else may have seen us too.”

“You’re not helping.”

“Fais l’autruche?”

“No. You’re right. I don’t want to bury my head in the sand like an ostrich.”

“You are worried. But you must keep a calm mind.”

“A calm head.”

“Exactement.”

“His mom is picking him up tonight. He knows that. He knows he should be here. What if something has happened to him?”

“It is too early to think that.”

“I hate feeling helpless.” I grabbed my keys. “It’s sunny for the first time this week. Maybe he and his friends are out enjoying it.”

Though my little neighborhood felt much like a small town, I quickly remembered how big a city Portland was. Over half a million people lived here. And I was looking for one kid.

He wasn’t at the park across the street from the high school, where I knew he sometimes liked to hang out. Checking there had been my grand idea. I wasn’t sure where else to look. Was downtown Portland a draw for teenagers who lived across the river? I drove through Old Town and ended up on the main drag with Powell’s Books. I doubted they would be at the bookstore.

I returned to the house shortly after dark, empty-handed. I was frantically considering options when a very dirty Brixton opened the back door with the key I’d given him.

I ran up to him and gave him a hug, a huge wave of relief washing over me.

“Are you okay?” I held him at arm’s length, looking him over. Dirt covered the lower half of his face and much of his clothing. He held an odd hard hat in his hand. “What happened?”

“I’m fine. You can chill.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing. I was out with Veronica and Ethan.”

“You should have told me you were going out.”

“My mom never asks me.”

Of course not. “What were you doing?”

Brixton grinned and held up the strange hat I’d noticed. “Spelunking.”

The hard hat was clean but looked decades old. A light was affixed to the top. “Where on earth did you find that?”

“Ethan found it online. He gets bored. I think the school he went to before moving here was harder. He’s always buying stuff online. He found this and thought it would be perfect for the tunnels. He knew I was bummed about Blue, so he ordered us all hats so we could go out and stay busy.”

I softened a little. “That was nice of him.”

“Ethan’s generous like that. So, um, have you learned anything else about Blue? Like with the poison Dorian and I got for you?”

“Brixton, you know you can’t tell anyone what you did, right? Not even Veronica and Ethan.”

“I’m not stupid.”

“It wasn’t long ago that you were trying to convince them about Dorian.”

“That was two whole days ago.”

Right. What was the calculation of two days in teenage years? Definitely a lot longer than what two days meant to me.

“Things are different now,” Brixton said. “I know Dorian is a secret, and obviously B&E is a secret. V is great and all, but she’s sort of a gossip.”

Which explained how everyone knew about my “French boyfriend.”

“Good,” I said. “Nobody besides us knows about the breaking and entering.”

“You going to tell me what you learned?”

“I was right that Blue didn’t poison herself.”

“You told the police?”

“There’s nothing I can tell them. I told you the evidence is worthless now.”

“But it should lead you to the person who did it.”

“It only told me Blue didn’t create it herself.”

“I thought you were supposed to be good at this stuff.”

“Being good at something doesn’t mean it’s easy.”

“Then what’s the point?”

“I may have found a way to counteract some of the effects of the poison.”

“Really? You can cure her?”

“I don’t know if it worked or not. I went to visit her in the hospital today. Visiting hours were ending, so I couldn’t stay longer to see if she would wake up.”

Brixton slammed the hard hat into the arm of the couch.

“It could still work,” I said.

“Right.” He turned away from me and wiped his eyes with his sleeve, then brushed past me to pick up the hard hat from where he’d tossed it.

“Why did you need the hat for the tunnels?” I asked. “Don’t they have lights?”

“Not the ones we go to.”

I was about to suggest it was a bad idea to go exploring unlit city tunnels, but stopped myself. I wasn’t his mother. His mother would be here shortly. She could deal with him. Besides, the tunnels were probably a lot safer than what was going on above ground.

“Why don’t you get cleaned up before your mom gets here,” I said instead.

“Is the shower fixed yet?”

“I’ve had other things to deal with.”

I chose to ignore the language he used as he dragged his feet up the stairs. Brixton would be leaving shortly, so I returned his phone to him.

A few moments later, it began to ring. “Zoe!” he called from the top of the stairs. I rushed back into the living room, expecting to find that he’d fallen through a rickety stair.

“It’s Blue!” he said. “You did it! She’s awake!”

“It’s her on the phone?”

“Yeah.” He put the phone back to his ear. “Blue, I’m here with Zoe. We’re coming right over. Wait, what? What? No, don’t go. Blue? Blue?”

“What’s going on?” I asked.

He stood mute, then sank down onto the top step.

“Brixton, what’s happening?”

“She’s awake,” he said, “and they’re arresting her for murder.”