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I woke up in the morning to the scent of stewed fruit and bubbling dough.
I’d been dreaming of Max, walking hand in hand through a forest of trees that became a forest of arched wooden beams. As the trees transformed into the man-made structure, in that surreal way that dreams possess no time, our fingertips slipped slowly apart long after I lost sight of him. I’d called him before going to sleep, when I got back to the empty apartment shortly after midnight. I caught him while he was eating lunch. He happily set aside his bowl of bibimbop (from a Portland food truck) to talk. In spite of my apprehension about where Dorian was, talking with Max had calmed me down, and at some point in the night I fell into a restless sleep.
I sat up and stretched my tense shoulders.
Dorian handed me a plate with two crêpes. “As much as I wished to, I am not the heroic soul who stole the illustration. Crêpe?”
“Lakshmi and Alix told me you’d say that.” I set the plate down and went to the sink for a glass of water.
“Bon. I thought you would prefer I give them your number than worrying about me if you woke up and found me gone.”
“You left the window open. Dorian, how could you?”
“I swear to you, mon amie, I am not lying. I did not steal the illustration.”
“Even if I believe you—which remains to be seen—you know better than to go out while so many people are awake.”
“But Zoe, I have learned of cosplay! It is short for ‘costume play’ and many young people from all across the world dress up in life-like costumes. They believed me to be a short man wearing a costume. They were most impressed by my wings.” He unfolded his gray wings a few inches. The feather-like wings weren’t exactly like the feathers of any bird, nor were they like the wings of a bat. They were uniquely gargoyle. And uniquely born of the sandstone of the Seine and Notre Dame cathedral.
“You know the danger—”
“They showed me photographs of their own costumes,” Dorian said, “and those of others. These are far more than Halloween costumes. They become their characters. Lakshmi and Alix dress as an angel and demon who are in love. They laughed and spoke of dancing on the head of a pin—I did not know what that meant, but they were charming young ladies.”
“You really didn’t have anything to do with the theft?”
“Not even as a witness.” He looked up at me with his most innocent expression, with his horns bending over. “I was attempting to be heroic. Like the gallant Quasimodo. I wished to guard against the backward alchemists, to hold vigil while a certain unnamed alchemist—whose name rhymes with Snowy Joust—napped, I might add. I hid as a stone gargoyle on the rafters of the mansion housing the museum, wishing to hear what had transpired. Then I heard the alarm, followed by sirens.”
“And the illustration disappeared from within a locked glass case.”
Dorian’s black eyes grew wide. “I understand why they thought you a witch.”
“I woke up and didn’t find you here. I knew where you must have gone. I got close before they installed the barricades.”
“Barricades. Pfft. We French have a proud history of protest. Les flics are so quick to use their inegalitarian barricades, as if those flimsy fences could stop us if we wanted to—”
“Dorian.”
He cleared his throat. “Yes. You were saying you heard of this impossible disappearance as well.”
“I saw it as well. There wasn’t time for anyone to have gotten out through the front door. There must be another way out.” I thought back to what I’d seen inside. I didn’t like the rude guard, so I would have liked it to be an inside job, but he was far too large to fit through the vents in the ceiling.
“There was no other way out,” Dorian said.
“Unless they came from above or below.”
“Said like an alchemist. But no, both possibilities are impossible. Below the floorboards are solid concrete. The air vents are not even large enough for a small child. Or a gargoyle, I might add, if a certain alchemist is still suspicious of a goodhearted chimera.”
“How do you know all this?”
“I overheard les flics. Yet I learned no more. Once more people gathered, I thought it prudent to move, so I climbed down and went in search of a perch across the street. This is where Lakshmi and Alix found me. They asked what ‘con’ I was attending. They were persistent and followed me into the alley, asking to get a better look at my impeccable costume.” He squared his shoulders and puffed up his wings. “Are you ready for your crêpes?”
“I’m ready for you to tell me what you did for the rest of the night.”
“But they will get cold.”
I accepted the plate.
“Bon.”
“I’ll eat if you keep talking.”
But Dorian was silent as I took a bite of the darker buckwheat crêpe. The melted chocolate on the inside exploded with flavor in my mouth. Bittersweet chocolate with a hint of sweetness and spice from cardamom.
“You only get away with ignoring what I asked you because this is so good.” I took another bite.
“I know I am bucking tradition adding a sweet rather than savory filling to buckwheat.” Dorian grinned and pointed at the other crêpe. “Now try this one.”
“I don’t need two crêpes for breakfast.”
“A taste test,” he said. “You will confirm who is the better chef. One is from a famous Parisian baker, the other is freshly made by your humble friend—”
“You’re kidding.” I set the plate down more forcefully than I’d intended. The fork clattered to the floor.
“You doubt that I could create such a delectable crêpe? Your lack of faith wounds me.”
“With your new-found confidence in your ‘disguise’ you went to a bakery on your own this morning?”
“I am not so careless, Zoe. Alix works part time at a patisserie. She had a delivery service bring an assortment of pastries. I promised her I’d return the favor before we left. Here. Let me get you another fork.”
“I’m only going to taste the second crêpe if you first tell me what exactly you were doing last night.”
“And then you will reciprocate.”
“I’ll go first, because my story is the quickest. The backward alchemists haven’t returned. I went to the catacombs and their secret alchemy lab is untouched.”
Dorian frowned but didn’t look surprised.
“Now you,” I said.
He handed me a fork in desperate need of polishing. “I was using my little gray cells.”
“What did you discover?”
He gave me a sad smile. “First, that Paris is no longer my home. I love so many things about this city, yet... I miss Portland.”
Why did he make it so difficult to stay mad at him? “I know the feeling.”
“It is good that we can go home soon.”
“You mean now that the illustration is gone and we’ve failed in our mission?”
“No. We must destroy the illustration.”
I choked on the second crêpe. Which, to give Dorian full credit, wasn’t as good as the one he’d made. “To keep it from the alchemists I told you aren’t here? You admit you did take it?”
“No. I know who did.”