The sun hung low in the sky by the time Max and I stepped outside of The Alchemy of Tea. The sidewalk was covered in a rainbow of damp leaves after the heavy rains earlier that day, but the air was now cool and dry.
“Look at that green.” I pointed at a ginkgo tree that was filled with yellow leaves, with only a few green leaves remaining. “That’s the exact shade of green in the dress I’m wearing in the portrait with Thomas.”
“I know that painting means a lot to you. I’ve been thinking about something. You’ve never told me much about Thomas. Even though I’ve seen the painting, I can’t really picture him. I know what he looks like and how much you loved him, but not much more than that.”
“It’s hard for me,” I admitted. “And before I got the painting of him from Perenelle, it was hard for me to conjure him in my mind. I only had that locket-size portrait of him. I know that sounds terrible—”
“It doesn’t. I still grieve for Chadna, and I’ll always love her. It doesn’t hurt less that she’s gone, but so many times when I think of her it’s the good times, not the tragedy. I’m still sad, but I can move forward. But if I lost Mina, I wonder if losing a sister would be like losing an arm.”
Max’s wife Chadna had died many years ago in an accident. He knew the pain of losing someone far too soon.
“Or an eye,” I said. I hadn’t thought of it like that before, but Max was right. “That’s how I feel about Thomas. He saw the world differently than I did. When I was with him, I got two sets of eyes. Thomas was so mischievous that I wanted to strangle him as much as I wanted to hug him. He was the night to my day. It was nearly impossible to get him to come inside at night, so twilight was our favorite time of day. Our shared time, before I got tired and as he was truly coming alive.”
“He was the moon to your sun.”
“The moon usually rises during daylight,” I said. “That’s how I can make both solar infusions and moon infusions with herbs. People who aren’t paying attention don’t notice that.”
“Hey.” Max put his hands on his hips in mock outrage. “Are you saying I’m not observant?”
We reached Max’s front door just as I hiccupped.
“How many rings am I wearing today?” I asked as I hid my hands behind me. The bag of creme brûlée ramekins knocked into my side as I hiccupped once more.
“Trick question. You don’t wear rings. Only your locket necklace.”
I stuck out my tongue at him.
“Zoe Faust. Are you drunk?”
Oh no, the creme brûlée… I lifted the remnants of the nearly empty ramekin from the bag and sniffed. It wasn’t just burnt sugar.
“Chocolate and alcohol.” I groaned. “There’s chocolate liquor in here.”
I don’t tolerate caffeine well at all. And a mix of sugar, caffeine, and alcohol? It was amazing I was still standing. I hiccupped again. Dorian would have warned me if he saw what I’d taken from the fridge, but he’d stayed in the attic doing research.
“Let’s get you inside and sober you up.” Max unlocked the door and pulled me inside.
“We might as well make the best of it,” I said. “I’m going to crash in a bit, but before then, let’s go skinny dipping in your backyard.”
“I don’t have a pool.”
“I bet that clover groundcover is super soft.”
“That clover is deceptive.”
“Evil clover? Are you hiding a villainous leprechaun in your backyard?”
Max’s whole body shook with laughter. “You’ve been spending too much time with Dorian. You’re starting to sound like one of his Gothic novels.”
I frowned. “He lets you read his novels?” Dorian hadn’t shown me anything he’d written.
“I may have taken a peek while we were playing chess in the attic and he went downstairs to get more tea.”
“I had no idea you could be so mischievous, Max Liu.”
The man in question sighed. “If it wouldn’t literally keep you up for days, I’d make you drink some coffee.”
“Did you know that even though Thomas lived until he was twenty-six, he never fully outgrew his mischievous streak? He was a charming heartbreaker. Not unlike a certain former-detective-turned-tea-alchemist who’s standing in this peaceful living room. Did anyone ever tell you it looks like you can step right into the forest in these paintings?”
“Maybe a cold shower would work.”
“Anything but that!” I ran to the kitchen and flung open the doors of the kitchen cabinets. Carbs. Something with carbs would sober me up. Wouldn’t it? I pulled flour and yeast from one shelf before realizing how shocked I should have been. I stared at the five-pound bag of flour in my hand, gobsmacked by its presence in Max’s kitchen. “When did you stock your cabinets?”
The last time I’d rummaged through Max’s kitchen had been a year ago when he came down with a bad cold. To make him a healing soup, I had to think creatively. I’d harvested wild nettles from his backyard, and cooked them with the garlic, shallots, and spices in his sparse cabinets, blending the result for a smooth soup filled with healing ingredients.
My own philosophy of cooking is much simpler than Dorian’s. I don’t follow recipes. Instead, I think about which plants would give me energy and how different elements would combine. I grow my own vegetables and herbs, make my own infused oils and vinegars, and buy high quality legumes, grains, and spices. To be fair, he’s a far better cook and baker than I am. My simple, healing meals have sustained me for centuries, but Dorian has given me the gift of joyous food these last two years.
Max gave me a shy smile. “The stocked cabinets are a new development. When I was setting up The Alchemy of Tea and transforming the tea plants I’d grown into special dried teas, my senses became elevated beyond tea. My taste buds are more attuned to the food I eat. I still grab lunch from one of the restaurants near the shop, but when I’m not eating breakfast or dinner at your house with Dorian cooking, I’ve started cooking for myself.”
I set down the bag of flour in my hands and kissed him. “We’re going to figure out the recipe for pumpkin croissants that Dorian hasn’t gotten right! Won’t that be a great gift for the gargoyle who gave us both the gift of good food?”
“Um, Zoe, neither of us knows how to bake. Especially not croissants.” He put the kettle on and lifted a tin of chamomile tea from a cabinet.
“I’ve watched Dorian do it plenty of times,” I said. “And there’s this newfangled thing called the internet. I hear it has recipes.”
Max laughed. “I don’t have any fresh pumpkins.”
I frowned. “I have some on the vine at my house… I’m not sure if they’re ready to pick… Hmm… Oh, good. Pumpkin puree. That’ll do.”
“A shortcut? I’m shocked.”
I waved aside his concern. But as I did so, a niggling thought flickered at the back of my mind.
Max took the canned pumpkin from my hand. “You okay?”
“A shortcut,” I murmured.
“I was joking. I’m pretty sure recipes for baking with pumpkin all recommend canned pumpkin.”
“Unless you’re in France,” I said automatically. The product that was ubiquitous in the US was surprisingly difficult to find elsewhere. “But that’s not what I meant. Something about shortcuts.” My temple began to throb.
“Let’s go sit down in the living room. Tea will be done in a few minutes.”
Max led me to his serene living room. A large white couch and pewter-topped coffee table were the main pieces of furniture on the hardwood floor. The room overlooked the backyard through a sliding glass door, and the walls held oversize paintings of forests, making it feel as if you were relaxing in a forest.
“The thought is gone,” I said, leaping up from the couch as soon as we sat down. “I have too much energy to sit still. It’s either skinny dipping on clover, or baking. I know what we’ll bake. A nut bread with the nettles in the back corner of your backyard.”
“Uh…”
“Zucchini bread works, so why wouldn’t nettle bread? Oh! I have a better idea. Parsnip bread. Thomas loved parsnips. He loved their sweetness.”
“Sweetness?”
“You, Max Liu, have very twenty-first century notion of sweetness.” I bopped him on the nose with my finger.
“I’m sorry to say I don’t have any parsnips. You look overly disappointed. I promise if you still want to bake a parsnip loaf tomorrow, I’ll buy you parsnips—”
“It’s not that.” I couldn’t shake my worry about shortcuts. There was something I’d learned… Something out of place. “What am I missing?”
“A lot of ingredients. Even though my pantry is no longer empty, it isn’t stocked for baking.”
“That’s not what I meant.” The idea was gone.
Max handed me a cup of chamomile tea. I closed my eyes and breathed in the steam. The dried blossoms infused in hot water smelled like an orchard filled with bees. Subtle notes of sweet apple and honey was what gave me that impression. I opened my eyes and took a sip.
Before I could take another, my phone trilled. I lunged for my bag, spilling half of my tea in the process. Max’s eyes flashed with concern until I showed him the screen. I knew he wasn’t worried about the spill, but who was calling.
“Dante,” I told Max as he took the mug from my hand.
“Was your phone shoved into the bottom of your purse when you made that recording?” Dante asked as soon as I picked up.
I winced. “Probably. Too muffled?”
“Too muted to tell for sure,” he said. “But that might have been the woman who called me earlier.”
“Thanks for trying.”
“Hey, are Nicolas and Perenelle all right?”
“Why?” I gripped the edge of the couch. Why was Max’s living room spinning? “Has something happened?”
“Carla and I invited them over for a sunset cup of tea. They bailed at the last minute. I heard tires screeching as they drove off.”