“I detect nothing dangerous.” Dorian pointed at the glass test tube suspended over a flame. “This white has a distasteful smell. You are mistaking this foul scent for acid.”
It was fifteen minutes after I’d felt as if my hand was on fire. Max, Dorian, and I stood around a simple wooden worktable in my basement alchemy lab. I hadn’t wanted Max to test the paint on his own skin, so the next quickest solution was my alchemy lab.
“It’s not just the scent of brimstone,” I said. “That quickly dissipated. But the paint burned my skin.”
Dorian took hold of my wrist and held my hand close to his black eyes. “I see no ill effects.”
He was right. Though I’d felt my skin sizzling as if on fire, there was no mark.
“No test can detect all substances,” said Max. “No offense to either of your skills as an alchemist, but we need a more drastic test.” He held up the tube of paint to his own arm.
“No!” I tried to snatch the paint from Max’s hand, but he dodged out of my way.
“There.” When he lowered his hand, a dab of bright white paint rested on the opposite forearm. “I’m fine.”
Dorian sniffed the air. “His skin is not burning, Zoe.”
“You don’t feel like your arm is on fire?” I leaned closer to the small blob of paint.
“I thought I caught a whiff of something sour,” said Max. “Like a sewer line backed up. But it quickly disappeared.”
“That it is a sour scent is an apt description,” Dorian said. “What came to mind was that I had spilled an entire jar of black salt onto a meal.”
“I need to show it to Perenelle. She knows paint best. If anyone can find out what’s going on in this paint, it’s her.”
“Distasteful,” Perenelle declared half an hour later.
“Corrupted ingredients?” I asked.
She pursed her lips in disgust. “Mass produced paint.”
I frowned. And also tried not to yawn. It was far too late for me to be awake. “You’re sure it’s not dangerous?” Could I really have been so wrong?
“I’m certain. There’s nothing harmful here. Only the philosophical danger of artists being separated from their raw materials.”
“You’re sure?” Max asked. “Zoe was certain she felt something—”
“She might be allergic to one of the ingredients. That’s why it made her skin feel like it was burning, but yours didn’t.” Perenelle kept her voice soft. Nicolas was asleep and we hadn’t woken him. “Your mind was primed to suspect something amiss because you learned that Willow and the others read about backward alchemy. Even if that vile book gave them ideas about dangerous shortcuts in alchemy, sacrificing April’s life wouldn’t have been enough to create transformation, because the book of backward alchemy no longer has power. Get some sleep. Things will look clearer in the morning.”
“It is not your fault,” Dorian said from beneath a blanket as Max drove me and Dorian home. “Your mind is not sharp once the sun has descended.”
I shook my head. “I know why nobody else can feel it.”
“Do I need to turn around?” Max asked as the headlights shone over a rainbow of fallen leaves alongside the narrow road leading away from the Flamels’ house.
“There’s nothing we can do until morning. The pain hasn’t yet deteriorated. Because of my connection to the sun, I think I was feeling what will happen when the paint hits sunlight in the morning. The moonlight wasn’t strong enough.”
Max swore. “You’re sympathetic to the natural world, so you feel it first.”
“This is why she is a good healer,” said Dorian. “But a terrible night owl.”
“Why didn’t Perenelle sense it?” I asked.
“She was distracted,” said Max. “Didn’t you both notice? She’s worried about Nicolas.”
“But you both believe me?”
“I believe that you believe it,” said Dorian.
“I believe you.” Max reached across the seat and took my hand in his.
“If you two are kissing,” said Dorian from beneath the blanket, “please do me the courtesy of turning on the radio so I am not subjected to this public display of affection.”
“The inside of a car is hardly public,” said Max. “But sadly, no time for kissing.”
“How does one get a product pulled from the market?” I asked.
“No idea,” said Max, “but we can get it figured out as soon as we confirm it’s breaking down and going to burn people.” He tossed me his phone.
“Who am I calling?”
“Vega. If a dangerous paint is about to hit the market, we’re not waiting until morning for us to prove it.”