For the first few moments after waking up, I was in the blissful state where I didn’t remember the challenges of the previous day. All I was aware of was the sunlight awaking me, and Max’s warm body beside me.
I bolted up. Sunlight.
Max rolled over and mumbled something I didn’t hear. I shook him. “Time to get up and test for the paint to catch fire.”
At the word fire, Max’s eyes popped open.
Max got the fire extinguisher from his kitchen before we stepped into the backyard and felt the rising sun on our faces.
In alchemy, the sun represents many things. Gold, sulfur, the alchemical king, and here, the important symbol was uncovering hidden truths. Sunlight revealed all.
Last night, I’d put half of the remaining paint into a small glass jar before handing over the tube to Detective Vega for testing. She put a rush order on testing, but the results wouldn’t be immediate. I didn’t want to wait. Not while there was something I could do.
I carried the small vial of paint into Max’s backyard and stepped away from the house, onto the clover.
“Careful,” he said as he stood by with the fire extinguisher in one hand, a box of tissues in the other. He’d left a first aid kit on the tiny table with two chairs.
I unscrewed the lid of the glass jar. This time, I didn’t smell anything. Had I truly imagined it?
I spread a small dab on the skin of my forearm. Yet again, it felt as if it was burning. Max stepped forward as soon as he heard me gasp, but I motioned for him to stay put. I needed to see what the paint would do.
“Tissue!” I cried out when I couldn’t stand the burning any longer.
“There’s no mark here, Zoe.” Max’s black hair was askew, and a shadow of stubble darkened his face. We hadn’t taken time to get ready for the day, since this was more important.
Only it wasn’t. Because apparently, I either had an allergy or I’d imagined it.
I took the fire extinguisher and tissues from Max as he tested the paint on himself.
“Nothing,” he shook his head. “It feels like a cool gel.” He raised his arm higher into the sunlight, but nothing changed.
“I was so sure,” I whispered.
“Maybe the sun isn’t bright enough.”
We fixed tea and sat hand in hand on the back porch as the sun grew brighter. Max believed me. There wasn’t one shred of proof, and all evidence pointed the other way, but he still believed in me.
At shortly after eight o’clock, a full hour after sunrise, we did one more test.
Nothing.
“I have a little while before opening the shop,” Max said. “I’m going to go check with Vega. I’ll harass her until she harasses the lab.”
Sunlight shone on my skin as I stepped out of my truck in the Flamels’ driveway. I still felt the spots on my hand and arm where the paint had touched my skin. How could I have been so wrong? If I was suffering from an allergy, wouldn’t I have seen a mark?
Water droplets from yesterday’s rainstorm made the pigment garden sparkle as brightly as a rainbow as I walked to the house.
“I can’t find my blasted glasses,” Nicolas said as he opened the door for me. Two pairs were sitting atop his head, though to be fair, both were nearly obscured by his hair.
I plucked out one pair of glasses and handed them to him.
“Brilliant girl.” He kissed my cheek.
Perenelle gave him a loving yet exasperated smile before turning to me. “Join me and Nicolas for breakfast?”
“There’s nothing wrong with the paint,” I said. “It looks like everyone was right that I’m allergic to something in it.”
“You could have told us that over the phone.”
“I wanted to see if you two were all right.”
“Don’t worry about my forgetfulness.” Nicolas tapped his temple. “This is how I’ve always been.”
It was true.
“Our Nicolas has too many ideas running through his mind, as always,” Perenelle added. “But I believe Zoe is referring to the theft and murder.”
“Dreadful business,” said Nicolas. “Oh! I should let you know that we arranged for an anonymous donation for Betty Kubiak’s nephew. The young man will never have to worry about monetary support, and will receive the finest care for as long as he lives.”
He frowned. “You seem troubled by this.”
I shook my head. “I’m happy about your donation, which was generous.”
“Has something else transpired?”
“Only that I feel like the more I learn, the less I understand about what’s going on. With everything that’s happened… please promise me you’ll be careful.”
“We get ourselves trapped by a villain once during hundreds of years of being careful,” said Nicolas with a sly smile, “and Zoe thinks we need looking after. I’ll have you know we’ve made great progress going through the research Gwendolyn has compiled over the years. Though most of her work isn’t relevant. Not to Perenelle specifically.”
“She hadn’t narrowed it down.”
Nicolas chuckled. “I heartily endorse hoarder tendencies. Did I use that word correctly?”
“You did,” I assured him as he made a note of the modern vernacular in his commonplace notebook.
“Gwendolyn isn’t a hoarder.” Perenelle shook her head with a smile. “She’s a meticulous researcher. If we’d had time to prepare our records before we were unexpectedly attacked by Edward Kelley, Gwendolyn and researchers like her would have been able to piece together a lot more. She’s pieced together so much history over the years, with so little to show for it. There are still so many misattributed artists who should be recognized.”
“We’ll get there,” I said. “It’s a backward way of getting there, but the truth about Philippe Hayden is sure to get more attention for the cause.”
“You’re still thinking of Renaissance White’s paint,” Perenelle said.
“If it was created with backward alchemy, it would be breaking down in unstable ways,” I said. “But you’re right that even if April had used her intent as she died, that wouldn’t have sacrificed enough energy to create the beautiful paint. There’s something going on with that paint.”
“I’m as powerful an alchemist as you are,” Perenelle said. “I don’t sense anything in it.”
“You’re more powerful, Perenelle.” I stared at her cascading red waves of hair hanging lose around her resolute face, and I knew what was wrong. “You’re too powerful. Your paints use sulfur and mercury.”
“Of course. They’re part of alchemy’s tria prima. How could I not?”
“Those are dangerous substances modern manufacturers can’t use in their products. You can’t sense the beginning of any toxins leaching out because they won’t harm you.”
That’s why nobody else sensed it. As an herbalist and healer, I’ve always been able to sense toxins that will cause people harm. Dorian had detected a faint sulfurous odor, but he’d only found true alchemy a little over a year ago. And Max had said it smelled faintly like a sewer line, but he only used alchemical principles to cultivate tea. Perenelle, however, was on the other end of the alchemical spectrum. She was over six hundred years old. She was too powerful an alchemical artist to sense anything amiss, because it wouldn’t harm her. Her own alchemical transformations rendered toxins inert in her finished paints.
With a sickening sense of dread, I knew what had happened.
“Renaissance White was in possession of The Apothecary’s Cabinet,” I said. “They tested its paint. Paint that you created. They knew what was in it. But they didn’t know how to safely recreate it. Their paint won’t only burn when it breaks down. It’s poison.”