George the Great led Sophie Mae from the kitchen, down a long stairwell built too steep for the average human. Moldy, humid air seeped through the bricks. George waved his hand over the doorknob on the right and it made a clicking noise similar to the turn of a deadbolt.

“The handle likes to be difficult,” George growled. “I made the mistake of touching it with an animate potion on my hands, and now it finds itself a little too important.”

As if in protest, it creaked and whined like a stubborn child. George waved dismissively. “Don’t believe what it says. The door is never locked. I’ve nothing to hide. Oh, but I do forbid Billy to enter alone. The boy is too curious for his own good. Once, he burned off his eyebrows, messing around with the instruments.”

George bent and whispered to the knob. “Please consider opening. You’re embarrassing me in front of the new heir.” The handle moaned. “Alright. If I do, will you stop giving me a hard time?”

He cleared his throat and motioned to the handle. “Might I introduce Bruce the Loyal. His bravery and intelligence is known throughout the…the…estate.”

Sophie Mae curtsied. “Pleasure to meet you.”

The door swung open, and George the Great ushered Sophie Mae into his not-so-secret laboratory.

The cinderblock walls stood nine feet tall and patches of their white surface was dotted with mold spots. Glass bulbs dangled haphazardly from the rafters over the four long tables. Their ends met at ninety degrees angles to form a square. In the middle were several tall machines with color-coded tubes branching out to each workstation.

George walked to the dented and scratched bookshelf, returning with a binder that had tall, metal loops along the top edge.

“I’m afraid we haven’t met. I’m Sophie Mae Bastrop.”

“Of course, you are. Everyone in the house knows who you are. I’m George ‘the Great’ Cain, at your service.” He bowed with outstretched arms.

“Should I call you, Mr. Cain?”

“George, please! You should know we don’t live by formality here. Well, at least not all of us. Mr. Langston will forever be a butler.”

He realigned the papers collected from dinner and used a bulky, metal device to punch two holes along the top, separating each person behind their own tab.

“What are those for?”

“It’s a long story. I’m sure you don’t want to be bothered with the details.”

“I don’t mind. The estate makes me curious. Talking elephants and door handles with personality aren’t your everyday occurrences. Why, back home, the strangest thing I had was a hen that crowed. Well, at least she tried.”

Dust flittered as he closed the binder and traded it for a photo album from the bookcase. His nose twitched at the sneeze that never materialized.

He laid the gold colored album on the worktable in front of Sophie Mae. On the first page, she examined the photo of a group of well-dressed men in fedoras standing with a younger man in a lab coat. “Is that you?”

“You’ve got a good eye. It’s me as a young man working for a university as a teaching assistant in the chemistry lab. I learned about chemicals and their relation to each other, experimenting with different concoctions in my vain attempt to cure common ailments, like runny noses and allergic reactions.”

“Did you? Cure runny noses, I mean?”

“No, unfortunately. The president of the school suggested I hadn’t spent enough time with the students and demanded my resignation. After that, I put alchemy behind me for a decade. I joined the circus, if you can believe it. The owner was hiring a magician, and my demonstration of ‘magic,’ which was actually science, got me the job.”

The red-and-black poster on the next page showed him in full regalia, complete with a cape and top hat. Bold lettering detailed the mysterious ways of George ‘the Great’ Cain, who’d traveled from afar to bring his talent to the masses.

“After many years of traveling, I grew disenchanted with the performer’s life. Working long hours for peanuts drained my soul. I left the circus. I had no relatives or even a home, but my life changed with a single copy of the daily newspaper.” George flipped the page, and a small want ad clung from a strip of yellowed tape.

Wanted:

An individual trained in the art of alchemy.

Must be professional and discreet.

Room and board will be provided.

Rate Negotiable.

“You see, your Aunt Catherine placed the advertisement. I answered the ad, and she approved of my background when most thought me a vagabond. Instantly, I had a warm bed and two meals a day. Not bad for a circus magician.” George the Great clutched the edge of his vest proudly.

“I didn’t know my Aunt Catherine, but I knew she was sick, just like my grandma. Why would she hire an alchemist and not a doctor?”

“Her health turned for the worse. The doctors and scientists she contacted all claimed she wouldn’t see her next birthday, but your aunt was a fighter. Bringing me on was a last effort by the missus. She generously gave me anything I needed for this basement laboratory, and I got to work on a cure for her illness. I tested most of the potions on myself to make sure I didn’t turn her into a frog. None of them worked to heal the ailments I acquired while working in the circus, at least until my assistant found a flaw in my calculations.”

Sophie Mae flipped the page of the album and ran her fingers across the photograph of George and Aunt Catherine. Sitting on a bench under a weeping willow, they toasted their glasses of iced tea.

A closer inspection of the image showed an elbow leaning into Aunt Catherine, and it belonged to someone wearing a lab coat. Why have they been cut out of the picture?

“Your assistant couldn’t have been much help, or my aunt would still be alive.”

“On the contrary. While I stayed in the lab and worked out the potions, he traveled as far as Jamaica to gather rare herbs and woods. More importantly, Ernest had an amazing gift for reading my rather poor penmanship. Switching ingredients from tree moss to timber mites made the potion work, saving the inhabitants of this house from the effects of the depression. They no longer needed food or drink to thrive, and in our current point in time, I’d call that an excellent outcome.”

“But it didn’t help my aunt?”

George turned for the cabinet, his head bobbing along the shelves as he searched for the small bottle with brown glass and a black lid. The potent scent of peppermint had Sophie Mae’s nose running.

“I tested this potion on myself. It cured my trick knee and sore back, and others in the house offered to test it further. Everyone had an appropriate reaction to the substance, and so I gave it to Ms. Catherine.” He fingered the label peeling from the glass bottle. “She turned invisible but never re-materialized. I…we searched for her. The days turned to months, and I admitted my failure. Then, the side effects started.”

“Like Mr. Langston and his mind-reading.”

“Exactly. We all suspect the potion was Catherine’s undoing. Still, it provided a more peaceful passing than the lung disease that stalked her.”

Sophie Mae had entered the lab with so many questions, and he answered most of them. The honesty in his eyes confirmed he was telling the truth. She handed him the plush album, and he put it back on the shelf, lifting the binder of papers.

“Each night, the inhabitants of the house make a report of how they feel and any changes they might notice. This helps me to track the effects of the potion. I believe it creates immortality. But it’s too soon to tell.”

Sophie Mae’s mind raced to Aunt Catherine’s letters back in Drycrop and their claim to immortality, which she now understood was a reference to the potion. George presented the binder. “Take a look.”

She flipped through the first few pages but handed it back to him. The information within each file seemed too private for casual reading. Besides, she had bigger questions on her mind. “Did you make my travel box?”

“Oh, the travel box, one of my best ideas yet! Travel in an instant without the hassle of trains and boats.” George returned to the shelf for his cider box from the middle. “This is my box, the first one I ever made. After testing, I made yours from a jewelry box that Ms. Catherine meant to send for your next birthday. I put a traveling potion on it. An elegant mode of transportation, I’d say.”

“It’s a little strange, and I’m not sure how it works.”

“I connected the box to you through a curl of hair sent by your grandmother. I worked it into the potion, and, in this way, it is linked to your own thoughts and memories.”

“Like the imagination room?”

“Not quite. The box uses memories only, but the room works on both your memories and imagination. You might not remember, but you’ve been to the Gardenia Estate once before. I wasn’t there, of course, but Catherine used to tell me about the visit and the golden locks of curls you had. I added the photo to the box to spark the memory.”

“But the box travels to other places, right?”

“Have you been to other places?”

She nodded.

George raced to the desk for a sheet of paper. “Give me all the details.”

“First, it took me here. Then I used it again at the train station, and the box gave me a choice to return here or go back to Drycrop. When I’m inside the box, it seems to mimic the place where I am.”

“So, at the train station, the box mimicked the train station?”

“Well, yes.”

Scribbling like a madman, he stopped ever so often to read back over his notes for legibility. “Have you had any ill effects from the travel? Stomach discomfort? Headaches? Missing limbs that grew back?”

“No. Should I worry about that?”

“I only know it works for at least four transports,” George scratched his chin. “I suppose traveling by box could have side effects, much like the potion. The worst would be your body not traveling as one piece…but that’s only a theory.” He tapped his temple. “I’m sure nothing bad could happen. You could learn to run super-fast.”

Sophie Mae hoped for a better answer. She’d traveled by box twice already, a third might leave her stranded or worse, stuck in the box forever like a doll in a dollhouse. Going back to Oklahoma to secure her mementos would be tricky.

George shelved the binder and returned with a small vial. “If you’re to stay in the estate with us, we need to solve a tiny problem.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s not by happenstance you can see us. We’re allowing you to see us. So, if we leave the house together, you wouldn’t be able to find us because our invisibility would keep us hidden.”

“I hadn’t thought of that. Should I take the potion?”

“Heavens, no. I’m still working out the details. Instead, I’ll give you this,” he said, opening the bottle. “I’ve tested it on a few subjects and found no side effects. Just close your eyes, and I’ll rub a tiny drop on your lids.”

Sophie Mae followed his directions, and the icy liquid sent chills through her body.

“Okay, open and blink a few times. Can you see me?”

“Why, yes.”

“Good. It worked. This potion should last for a few months. Now, if you have no other questions…”

“Mr. George, what happened to your assistant, Ernest?”

“That, my dear, is a story for another time.”

George returned the potion and headed to the door. Sophie Mae lingered, taking a last look over the room. The lights shut off, and she hustled up the stairs and met him under the dim light of the kitchen sink’s lamp.

“Good night, Miss Sophie Mae Bastrop,” he bowed. “I have some chores I must tend to before dusk.”

Sophie Mae parted with George at the delivery door and passed through the foyer of the home. The solid wood panels were stained a dark brown, and the artwork seemed to come to life under the light of the crystal chandelier.

Wandering past the brass tables and stuffy, leather chairs of the foyer, she entered the sitting room. A shiny phonograph sat on a table near the back wall, and a vinyl record lay on the turntable, ready for a spin. Sophie Mae wound the brass handle and dropped the needle in the middle of the album.

A slow rumble came from the tulip-shaped horn as the orchestra bellowed out its crescendo. She closed her eyes and imagined the musicians aligned in semi-circle rows on a grand stage, performing for patrons holding tiny binoculars to their eyes.

“It’s a fancy machine,” Dink said, sprawled across the arms of a wing-backed chair, startling Sophie Mae.

“Oh, hello. I’ve only seen these machines in the Sears catalog, but Grandma talked about them all the time.”

“It’d be great if there were records worth listening to. Mom is the only one who listens to that kind of music.” Dink jumped from the chair. “Want to see the newest addition to my room?”

Sophie Mae and Dink bounded to the second floor, and Dink drum-rolled the wood. She threw open the door, and Sophie Mae clapped at the sight of a wooden swing hanging from two hooks in the ceiling.

“You got one!”

“Yeah. I promised my mom I would keep an eye on Billy, and she sent Oscar D to put it up. Try it.”

Sophie Mae hopped on the flat plank seat, and Dink pushed her until the tips of her flats tapped the ceiling and her belly tingled.

“Who would’ve thought an indoor swing could be so much fun?”

A harsh knock came at the door, and Dink rolled her eyes. “Come in, Ms. Ruby.”

The wrinkled, tired woman entered the room with a tray of fragrant banana bread and a teacup of milk. She left it on the bed. “Your mother requests your presence in the yard for ‘a fun game of lawn darts.’”

“I can’t right now. I’m… busy,” Dink sniped.

Ms. Ruby pursed her lips and stopped in the doorway, tapping her fingers against her skirt. Seconds ticked, and Dink grew intrigued by her behavior. “Maybe she’s in a trance caused by the potion?”

Ms. Ruby turned on her heel, startling both girls. “Your attitude needs a change, young lady. You have more than most young girls your age, but you take it for granted. That sassy attitude and never-a-care mouth will get you into trouble one day.” Ms. Ruby left and slammed the door.

“I have no idea what she’s talking about,” Dink shrugged.

Sophie Mae understood. Compared to the ruin of Drycrop, the Gardenia Estate was like a dream. Dink lived a sheltered life and teetered on the verge of being spoiled. Despite this, Sophie Mae liked to spend time with her. The girl had spunk.

“Let’s go find your family. I’ve never played lawn darts before. It sounds dangerous.”

Dink reluctantly agreed.

Sophie Mae grabbed the banana bread from the tray, and they headed outside, finding Mrs. Worthington at the edge of the field. Her hand covered her forehead as Billy wiggled and waved his arms, cheering the flagrantly lobbed dart that landed a few inches from the target.

Mrs. Worthington strolled to the line, bending at the knees. She thrust the dart into the air, where it landed in the middle of the yellow circle several feet away.

Clapping as they stepped onto the field, Mrs. Worthington waved and surrendered to the boy. “I’ve lost two games in a row. Now, it’s the girls against Billy.”

Billy ran a victory lap around the target at the end and gathered the darts for the next game. With the colors divided, he argued it unfair that ladies went first.

Dink stuck out her tongue before taking a serious pose. A deep breath, and she let the dart fly. It landed inside the circle just along the edge. The girls cheered and hugged.

“Dumb girls! It’s only the first toss of the game, and you can’t win with luck. I’ll show you how a winner does it.” With an extra swing in his arm, he lobbed the dart. His hands wagged like moose antlers as he taunted his opponents.

“Look out!” Mrs. Worthington screeched.

Billy’s eyes shot to the flagged yard toy that acted more like a boomerang than a dart.

“Agh!” Scurrying to the left, he tripped over his untied laces. The dart slammed into the grass and wobbled back and forth on the six-inch needle stuck in the ground, missing Billy’s ear by a few inches.

Mrs. Worthington grabbed the boy, probing his arms and legs for injuries. His brow furrowed at the intrusion. “I’m fine!”

Billy freed himself from his mother’s clutches and scuttled through the grass, stalking the toad that escaped his pocket.

Dink turned to Sophie Mae, “I guess it is a dangerous game, after all.”