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Needless to say, I didn’t sleep too well that night.
As a rule, alchemists don’t tend to go in for hero worship. Having the scientific method drilled into your head when you’re an apprentice leaves you with a permanent, cautious skepticism—at least, it did for me, and many others I knew. Besides, a lot of alchemists become famous not for being good, but for being . . . shall we say, quirky? Swallow a rock from a goat’s stomach, harvest blood for an elixir of life type quirky. Some harmless, some downright appalling. Alchemists who simply do quality work and maybe make a discovery or two throughout their life don’t often make the history books. The ones that do are dubious at best.
And yet, I’d always thought of Paracelsus as an exception to that rule. He had been a kind mentor, inscrutable and odd at times to the young apprentices, but always well-meaning and wise. Nurturing a kind of friendship with him over the past year, on somewhat equal footing as professionals, had honestly been something that made me proud.
Now he was suddenly at the top of a very short list of “people who knew Vesper well enough to bother killing her.” Granted, one possible affair two centuries ago didn’t necessarily make a motive—but then again, did living on the same mountain and possibly dealing in the same magic as her make a good motive, either? I could still picture Rhys’s face the moment I brought up Daisy. I tossed and turned between guilt and self-doubt and stubborn belief in the investigative process.
I finally gave up and got out of bed just as William was finally getting home. It wasn’t odd for him to have a late night out, though, and it was just as usual for him to head straight for bed rather than stay up and chat. I let him pass me on the landing, deciding to keep my worries to myself for the time being. Instead, I went down to my lab to fiddle with my new plants.
A fuzzy robe was hardly a lab coat, but then, I didn’t plan on doing anything too dangerous. The light in my lab was cool and silvery, just a bit of starlight and early dawn coming in through the high windows, mixed in with the shine from the lantern I set on the workbench. I checked on all the experiments that had been running. By now, they were mostly complete. Everything checked out: the victim’s slime was the plant matter from the tunnel, was the plant Paracelsus wanted. My samples hanging to dry had finally stopped growing, and now shed moss all over the floor beneath them—just as Doug had complained. Not quite conclusive there as of yet, but I could take the plants to the market later and get his confirmation.
The only thing I didn’t know, and couldn’t expect to find out soon, was whether these plants matched the ones that grew around the Tree of Life.
Well, and one other thing—how had Paracelsus known about these plants? If it was because he’d heard from Vesper over the years, why not just say so? And why ask me to find them now?
Idly, I pulled my notebook over and began writing down these questions. After forgetting entirely about the paper lead, I didn’t want to overlook something again. No matter how awkward it might be. After all, how much more awkward could things get?
Reminded of the paper samples, I went out into the shop to grab my bag. I’d dumped everything on the counter last night and left it. Comparing paper samples under a microscope while fuming over what your mentor may or may not have told you and therefore what he did or did not set you up for was hardly advisable.
Now, though, I felt a little more calm. I arranged everything into an orderly row, writing directly on each piece of paper its source. The art shop, the mayor, the diner, the grocer, the police assistant, the tavern, the pizza shop, the bookstore. All told, it was a pretty good survey of town. First I would conduct an exam of each one, like I had the previous day with the original notes. Once I’d identified the few that might match, I could move on to performing actual experiments.
I decided to work backwards, leaving the pristine notepads from the art supply shop for last. For each piece of paper, I dutifully made notes on my observations. Some were obviously not right, though. Luca’s note paper, for example, was a coarse, brown material, because he often tried to make it himself from recycled scraps around the shop. I’d actually helped him with that a number of times, and enjoyed it. The pizza shop paper was at least white, but it was much thinner than the original notes had been—and besides, there were greasy marks along the edge.
Both Olivia’s note and the branded note from the tavern were a better match, but not quite the right size. The grocer’s and the diner’s were no help at all. Then there was the mayor’s . . . it was too large. Of course, it might have been trimmed down . . .
Of the dozen or so notepads from the supply store, some were again the wrong size. I dismissed the ones that were too little, leaving only four left. There was one among them that was perfect. And yet, I distinctly remembered the employees telling me that that size was usually only used for custom orders. And they had insisted there were no custom orders lately.
That wasn’t saying someone hadn’t found someone else’s custom order and used it . . . But I’d now looked at most of the custom notepads in town. Who was left?
The sun had come up as I’d been making my notes and growing increasingly frustrated. A little voice in my head warned me, you’re too close to your work. Emotion doesn’t make for true results. But that little voice sounded a lot like Paracelsus—in fact it was nearly a direct quote from my apprentice days—and that just made me more annoyed. It was definitely time for a break.
I went upstairs and got ready for the day, William’s snores a constant backdrop as I went through my routine. But even that was not quite settling enough. So, when I got back down into the shop, I decided to make a delivery instead of hanging around. Leaving my paper piles out on the counter for now, I gathered up a basket waiting by the back door and stepped out into the morning.
It was a nice day, really—not a clear one, but a little lighter than it had been recently. There was a heavy dew on my back patio plants, but no rain. Counting that as one blessing, at least, I made my way down the little alley beside my shop and knocked at the salon’s front door.
“You,” said Johann, as he unlocked the door and let me in, “are far too early. What are you doing up at this hour?”
“This hour isn’t too unusual. It’s the hours before this one that were tough,” I said, grinning.
Johann, an old friend of Gloria’s and now her assistant at the salon, shook his head. He had deep brown eyes and lovely dark brown hair, of course, and exactly the kind of refined bearing one might expect at an up-scale salon in a city. He maintained that he wasn’t interested in hair—just in helping out a friend—but, nonetheless, he’d been working with Gloria for nearly two years now. He made no secret of being part vampire, and had once told me that heritage was what made him feel that there was no hurry to “find a real job.”
“Gloria isn’t in yet, but she should be soon,” he told me. “I was just going over the inventory. I’m guessing you’re about to make my job more complicated?”
I laughed. “Not more complicated. More satisfying, maybe?” I handed the basket laden with soaps to him. After getting off to a rocky start with my neighbor, I now made several of the products she used in her salon.
Johann sniffed at the basket. “Hmm, since you did autumn scents, I’ll take it. Is that apple pie?”
“The golden ones are, yes,” I told him, relaxing against their sales counter instead of my own for a change. Hair and Beauty by Gloria felt very different from my shop: the counter near the door, the sleek black and silver designs, sparse potted plants and long mirrors visible in the main part of the store where Gloria and Maggie did their work. It was very spa-like. “The brown ones are cinnamon spice, the orange ones are pumpkin of course, and the black ones are a more cool, floral scent in case some people don’t buy into all this warmth and sugaryness—”
“Hold on,” Johann interrupted. “Tell me you wrote this down somewhere?”
Meanwhile a door opened at the back of the shop, and Gloria’s voice rang out. “What am I missing?”
“Soap delivery,” I called, unnecessarily as she rounded the corner into the reception area a second later. To Johann, I added, “Yes, it’s all written down. There should be a paper in the basket.
“Ugh,” I added, turning back to Gloria. “If I never see another piece of paper, it’ll be alright with me.”
“More investigation woes?” she asked, raising perfect eyebrows.
“Yes, and I’ve given up trying to make sense of them at the moment,” I said. “I came over here for a distraction.”
Gloria smirked. “How’s this for one: Maggie volunteered to be a ghost at the Samhain festival.”
“Wow, she’s really come a long way since settling into town. And is she making you two join her?” I asked, glancing from Gloria to Johann.
Johann shuddered. “I hate Halloween.”
I glanced at Gloria, incredulous. She shrugged. “We’re working on it.”
“Not by putting me up in a tree in a sheet, you’re not!” her assistant retorted.
I chuckled. “You could do spooky face paint in—”
Before I could finish another thought, a knock sounded at the door. Johann frowned, diving for his schedule book. Gloria frowned, too, as she looked through the window at the would-be intruder.
I followed her gaze and gulped. Rhys.
“You’d better,” Gloria told me, answering my unspoken question.
I sighed, and crossed the tile floor to let him in.
“Miss Red,” he said. Cordial. So far, so good? He also bowed to Gloria and Johann in turn. “I called at the potions shop, but no one was there.”
“You don’t have to call me ‘miss,’” I said, rather miserably. Now that the initial shock had worn off, I clocked his attire: tall black boots and a long green cape, and a fabric bag that was alarmingly lumpy. “Um—are you running errands or something? I didn’t think you were scheduled to come in today.”
“I am not,” he informed me. “However I am, as you say, on an important errand.”
Next to me, Gloria crossed her arms. “Judging more soaps?”
Rhys cast a surprised but polite glance at the basket on the counter. “As I work at the store which prepared those soaps, I do not feel I could be an impartial judge. However,” he said, with emphasis, “I have come to make amends.”
“With Gloria?” I asked, startled.
“With you,” he corrected. “I spoke the matter over with Daisy, and she informed me that the proper thing to do would be to reach out.”
“I thought she was worse than Maggie,” Johann whispered loudly to Gloria.
“Maybe she has better taste in soaps,” Gloria grumbled back.
I glared at them over my shoulder. Not only were they not helping, they weren’t even trying.
Gloria stared back, and Johann grinned.
“Well,” I said, “since we seem to be the only adults in this room, perhaps we’d better remove ourselves.”
“Excellent,” said Rhys. “In that case, you might find it edifying to accompany me on my next errand?”
“Where to?” I asked, ignoring Gloria’s ire and Johann’s silent laughter.
Rhys shuffled his bag, looking as cool as ever. “The police station.”