thirty

Heather held a bunch of long-stemmed snowdrops. The winter-blooming white flowers were held together with twine.

“Thanks for the invitation.” She grinned and handed me the flowers. “And for looking after Brixton while I was painting.” She had shoes on her feet tonight, but in spite of the cold she wore only a light shawl over her white cotton dress.

“He’s a great kid.”

“I think helping you around the house is really good for Brix. There’s my baby!” She squealed and enveloped Brixton in a big hug.

“Hey, watch it!” Brixton extricated himself from his mom’s hug and straightened his collar. “I should have stayed in the kitchen.”

“Look at you. A tuxedo! We can’t afford—”

“It’s just a rental,” I said, “and I’m taking care of it.”

Dorian was enthusiastic about the idea of hosting a proper English manor house dinner party. That meant Brixton’s role was that of the butler-slash-server, which of course required a tuxedo. Finding one at the last minute had been one of my errands that afternoon. I hadn’t expected Brixton to go for it, but he’d taken to the idea. So much so that he took a picture of himself in the tux and texted it to his friends.

“Such a handsome young man,” Heather said, taking over for Brixton’s clumsy attempts to straighten the collar.

“Mom.”

The doorbell rang a second time. Rather than opening the door, my butler retreated into the kitchen. I wasn’t sure what Brixton thought a butler was supposed to do, but clearly opening doors wasn’t one of his presumed duties. I opened the door and found Max standing on the porch. He smiled and handed me a mason jar filled with tea leaves. His face was unreadable, but he looked sexy as hell in black slacks, black and white wingtip shoes, a slim gray dress shirt, and black leather jacket.

Olivia, Sam, and Ivan arrived before I closed the door. Sam held a bottle of red wine and Ivan raised a bottle of Becherovka, a Czech liquor I was quite fond of that tasted of cinnamon and ginger. Sam had the same sad smile I remembered from the first time I’d seen him, and I wondered if his aunt had bullied him into attending when he’d had other plans.

“Cora sends her regrets,” Sam said.

Olivia clicked her tongue. “That woman has been in mourning for her daughter for too long.”

“People grieve differently,” Max said.

Brixton saved us from an awkward conversation by backing out of the kitchen. He held a silver platter with seven crystal glasses of sherry. I hated the stuff, but Dorian insisted that it made the dinner party more authentic.

“Aperitif?” Brixton said.

Heather squealed, then whispered to me, “You’re such a good influence on him, Zoe. I can never get him to study for vocab tests.”

I wasn’t entirely sure “good influence” was the best way to describe our relationship over the course of the past week. Especially since he was currently carrying a tray of alcohol.

“Brixton, my man,” Sam said, “you clean up nicely. Looking quite dapper tonight.”

“Thank you, Mr. Strum,” he said, doing his best impression of a British accent and not failing too terribly.

Everyone laughed. Brixton joined along. He’d done a better job at breaking the ice than anything I could have planned.

“Where is this French boyfriend of yours?” Sam asked. “I expected he’d be here. Veronica told me after class that he’s, quote, ‘dreamy.’” He laughed. “I have no idea what counts as ‘dreamy’ these days, so I wanted to see for myself.”

“He’s only a friend,” I said, feeling all eyes on me, “and he’s not big on parties. Anyone need another drink?”

“I just handed out the first ones,” Brixton said, squinting at me like I’d lost my mind.

“Right.” Right. Why had I made up that stupid lie?

“Interesting gargoyle statue,” Max said.

I would have been thankful for the change of subject except that I wondered if he recognized Dorian from the other night.

“He’s a replica of one of the gargoyles of Notre Dame in Paris,” I said. “In case you were wondering why you recognized him.”

“Isn’t it heavy?” Heather asked. “I thought I caught a glimpse of him in your kitchen before.”

“I haven’t yet found the right place for him.”

“I know what you mean,” Heather said. “I’m always moving my artwork around until I find the perfect spot where the light hits a painting just right. At least canvas isn’t as heavy as stone.”

“He’s a handful,” I said, “but I can handle him.”

From there, I talked of Paris, which kept the group interested for some time. I had to stay on my toes not only because I was watching Ivan, but because most of my memories of Paris were from before everyone in the room was born. I’d occasionally slipped up over the years, but since people never believed I could have been alive centuries ago, they assumed I was “eccentric” when I covered up my mistakes by explaining I was an avid reader who got lost in the stories.

Once we finished our drinks, only Heather wanted a second glass of sherry. The rest of the group opted for wine or seltzer water.

I purposefully didn’t bring up the alchemy display as we mingled before dinner. I wanted to gauge Ivan’s natural reaction. Instead I tried to keep conversation light—until Olivia brought up the death of Charles Macraith.

“We should raise a glass to our departed comrade,” she said.

We clinked glasses awkwardly, before an even more awkward hush fell over the group.

“Has anyone heard how Blue is doing?” Sam asked. “I can’t believe it. Max, do you know more—”

“I’m not on the case. Besides, we’re here to welcome our new neighbor. Let’s not worry about all that tonight.”

“Are you all ready for the first course?” Brixton asked.

Ivan laughed. “You have gone from an English to a Russian accent.”

“Crap, I was thinking of the wrong movie character.”

“Language,” Sam snapped, then grimaced. “Sorry, a teacher’s force of habit.”

“Remember to carry the bowls one by one, Brixton,” I said.

He rolled his eyes before disappearing into the kitchen. He came back carrying two bowls of pumpkin bisque, one in each hand. A splash of soup fell to the floor as he served Olivia and his mom. When he returned for the next round, he carried a single bowl.

By the time we moved on to the main course—ratatouille, which Dorian had selected because it was a dish that tasted even better when prepared in advance since it allowed time for the flavors to transform each other—Ivan still hadn’t commented on the alchemical display in the living room. I’d even given him the seat with the most direct view of the items. Perhaps he wasn’t feeling well. I noticed his hand shaking as he picked up his fork.

“Where did you learn to cook, Zoe?” Sam asked.

“For someone so young, this is quite impressive.” Olivia smiled at her backhanded compliment.

“I’ve learned from people all over the place.”

“She traveled all around the country in her trailer,” Brixton said from his position standing next to the kitchen. He shuffled his feet back and forth. Being a proper butler must have been more difficult than he’d imagined.

“Really?” Olivia said. “Were you a college dropout?”

Sam elbowed his aunt.

“I’ve always been someone who learns more from experience,” I said. “I’ve traveled to most of the states in my trailer over the last few years. I’m a bit of a history buff. That’s why I got into collecting all the antiques I’ve got in the living room.”

“I recognize the brass medicine container,” Max said. “That’s got to be centuries old.”

I smiled. “That’s one of my favorites.”

“Quite an expensive hobby,” Olivia said.

“I sell them,” I said. “Most of them, at least. Never my favorites.” I caught Max’s eye and my heart fluttered a little. I cleared my throat. “I’ve got a business selling these things. That’s how I make a living. I find old things like alchemy laboratory supplies that some people find interesting.” I looked at Ivan as I spoke.

“That’s what brings you to Portland?” Sam asked.

“My online store is called Elixir. I can run it from anywhere, but when I got here, I—”

“Fell in love?” Olivia finished for me. It was an innocent enough statement, but her eyes darted between me and Max as she said it.

“So,” Max said, clearing his throat. “The house is looking good.”

“There’s still a lot to be done.”

“If I didn’t already have two jobs,” Sam said, “I’d offer to help.”

I hadn’t counted on them all being so polite. Even Olivia’s normally snarky tongue wasn’t especially bitter that night.

“Dessert?” Brixton asked, clearing the ratatouille plates.

While plates were cleared and the chocolate soufflé brought out, I excused myself. Maybe I wasn’t evoking the right response from Ivan because I hadn’t put the right kind of items on display.

It took me a few minutes to find the books I was looking for, two old alchemy texts that I’d unearthed from deep in my crates. By the time I came down the stairs, the group was finishing dessert.

“What do you say, Max,” Ivan was saying. “Shall we break out the Becherovka?”

“Sounds good to me.”

“Ivan,” I said, returning to the table with the books. “I thought you might be interested in these books.”

“The soufflé was delicious,” Heather said. “But I thought you were a vegan.”

“This is a vegan soufflé,” I answered curtly. My focus remained on Ivan, watching to see his reaction to the books. The problem was, he didn’t seem to have any reaction at all.

Heather and Olivia took their wine glasses to the living room while I cleared space on the table to set the two books.

“You’re not supposed to leave the table,” Brixton said, his eyebrows pressed together.

His mom gave him a questioning look.

“It’s okay,” I said. The sentiment was Dorian’s doing, no doubt. To be a proper English manor house mystery, all the suspects had to remain sitting around the table, or sitting in a circle in the drawing room, or some such artificial circle.

“Ah!” Ivan said, as soon as he’d opened the first book to its title page. “I did not realize what this was. My eyesight is not as good as it once was.”

“I thought I saw you looking interested when I mentioned alchemy,” I lied. “Have you studied the subject?”

“My field of study is chemistry, but you must know from your love of history that alchemy was a precursor to chemistry.” His eyes lit up as he spoke.

Max shifted uncomfortably, then got up to open and pour the Becherovka. What was going on?

I nodded. “I’ve always thought these old books are so much more beautiful than the laboratory items on the mantle.”

Olivia scoffed from the couch, then resumed a conversation with Heather.

“Those are alchemical vessels on your mantle?” Ivan asked.

“I believe so,” I said, trying not to show my confusion at Ivan’s reply. Surely he knew what they were. But unless he was an extremely good actor, his surprise was genuine.

“I have only seen woodcuts and museum re-creations. Your pieces are much smaller than I imagined alchemical vessels would be.”

“These are alchemy books?” Sam asked.

I nodded.

“Max!” Ivan called. “You would be interested in this.”

Max returned to the table with the open bottle of Becherovka.

“You’re interested in alchemy, Max?” I asked. I knew this party had been a bad idea. Nothing was turning out like I wanted.

“There’s a similarity in the tools of alchemists and apothecaries,” Max said, loosening his collar.

“Such a fascinating subject,” Ivan said, resting the book on the table and flipping through the pages. “I never realized it until I began research for a chemistry book. Ah! This book, now I remember why it is familiar. I have seen a copy only once before, in the Klementinum in Prague. If I recall, it provided historical context for the work of John Dee. It is not widely available. Wherever did you find it?”

“I spend a lot of time at estate sales and flea markets,” I said, mulling over Ivan’s answer. He wasn’t expressing interest in the aspects of alchemy that I would have expected for my theory. He seemed genuinely interested in the historical figures of alchemy, not the practical aspects of the alchemy. And why was Max so nervous? I had to do something to find out what was going on.

“Shortly after I began my research for my book on the history of chemistry,” Ivan said, “the focus changed. I discovered connections to alchemy I hadn’t realized existed.”

I grabbed my cell phone and pulled up one of the photographs I’d taken of Not Untrue Alchemy. “Have you ever seen this?”

He studied the screen for a few moments. His face contorted, moving from interest to confusion to awe. His voice changed too. “Where did you find this?” The soft-spoken man was gone, a fiery zealot in his place. I wasn’t the only one who noticed the change.

“I knew it!” Brixton shouted.

Everyone stared at the fourteen-year-old butler.

“It was you,” Brixton said, pointing at Ivan. Tomato sauce covered the cuff of the sleeve. Everyone turned to stare at him.

“Brixton,” I said, glaring at him and attempting to stop myself from throttling him, “this isn’t what we—”

I caught a glimpse of Max out of the corner of my eye. He looked every bit as angry as I felt.

“You’re the one,” Brixton said, “who hurt Blue and took Do—I mean, took Zoe’s books!”

“What?” Ivan sputtered, looking from Brixton to Max. “I don’t understand. You think I had something to do with Blue’s accident and what happened here?”

“Brixton,” Max said sharply. “You need to stop.”

“Nobody else had reason to steal Zoe’s books,” Brixton said.

Ivan turned to me. “You have more alchemy books, and they were stolen?”

“Including a very rare book that I’m betting isn’t in the Klementinum or any other library—it’s the book that includes this page you’re so interested in.”

Max ran his hands through his hair and took a large swig of his drink.

“If the page on your phone is like the rest of the book,” Ivan said, “this is a phenomenal book. Max, have you any leads to get it back?”

“I’m not on the case, remember?” Max’s jaw was set so tightly that it affected his speech.

“Max,” I said. “What’s going on? What aren’t you telling us?”

“You really think I had something to do with these tragedies?” Ivan asked. He gripped the edge of the table. Sweat coated on his forehead.

“Well this is interesting,” Olivia said. “Pray, do tell, Max. What are you keeping from us?”

“Are you all right, Ivan?” I asked.

“The excitement …” He wheezed as he spoke.

“Maybe you’d better—” I began, but it was too late. Ivan slumped over, dead to the world. I only hoped he wasn’t truly dead.