Eleven
in my self-pity a little longer. I felt I deserved it. No, I definitely deserved it. Unfortunately, wallowing wasn’t going to help me find Baylarian. I needed to keep moving forward and not let Charles derail the point of being in New Orleans: to find answers. This version of Baylarian was my last chance to make that happen.
“Where’s Gaige now?” I asked Molly.
She screwed up her mouth to one side. “I’m not sure. With Elizebeth, I think. Why?”
I threw the blankets back and swung my legs over the bed.
“Because we need a new plan,” I told her. “If we’re going after Baylarian, we need to be prepared for anything. For everything.”
Despite siding with me earlier, she hesitated. “Maybe you should rest a—”
“No time,” I cut her off.
Big blue eyes full of concern, she studied my face. “Are you sure?”
“Meet you guys in the parlor in ten. I’m just going to clean up a bit.”
I waited until she left before heading to the basin of water by the door. The liquid was cold and refreshing. Leaning over the bowl, I splashed water onto my face and scrubbed away the salty remnants of Charles’ betrayal. It would not be the last time I cried over his lies and what could have been, I knew that. But it was time to face the challenge at hand.
I was patting my face dry when movement caught my eye in my peripheral vision. In the shadows, I swore I saw a silhouette. I blinked twice, and it disappeared with a parting giggle.
No more day drinking for you, I told myself. Maybe no more scotch, period.
Gaige was pacing the parlor when I entered. Elizebeth sat quietly on the chaise lounge, sipping tea. Charles was nowhere in sight, and some of the tension left my body. I didn’t ask about him, and no one offered up any answers.
“Where’s Molly?” I asked.
“Right here!” She was out of breath when she rushed past me. “Sorry. Had to take care of something.”
I raised my eyebrows, but Gaige cut me off before I received an explanation.
“Stass—”
I held up my hand to cut off his next words; I didn’t want pity. Especially not from Gaige. He and Molly were my first true friends, the first people to see me as more than a workcamp girl. They’d both grown up on Branson, enjoying all the privileges Cyrus’ island had to offer, yet they’d never looked down on me. Seeing the pity in Gaige’s brown eyes now almost made me cry again.
Gritting my teeth, I shot him a grimacing version of a stoic smile. “I assume you both know about Charles, so let’s get that out of the way. I’m fine. A little confused and a lot mad, but I’m fine.”
No one spoke right away, though three sets of eyes continued to stare in my direction. They were all assessing me, scrutinizing me, trying to decide whether to call me out on the lie. Evidently, none of them were willing to take the honor.
With a deep breath, I plunged forward to break the silence. “We have a new target.” By the looks on Gaige and Elizebeth’s face, Molly had already told them I wanted to hunt down Baylarian. That was good; they’d already had the opportunity to let it sink in. It was also bad, though, because Gaige had the time to think it over. It wasn’t surprising, but he wasn’t a fan of our plan.
Ignoring my partner’s steely gaze, I turned to focus on the alchemist. “We will need to know everything you can find about Mitchell Baylarian in this time.”
Elizebeth gave me a tight-lipped smile. “Of course, Stassi. Do you think he goes by that name in this time?” Her voice was kind and motherly.
Blowing out a breath, I glanced between my teammates for help. They wore identical expressions of unease. Cyrus had told us there were no mentions of Baylarian in any time.
“Um, probably not,” I admitted.
Elizebeth pursed her lips. “I am not a miracle worker, dear. Without a name or photograph, it will be nearly impossible to locate him in the database.”
“What about his mug shot?” Molly asked. “There’s one in the system from our time.”
The alchemist shook her head. “I don’t have clearance high enough to access prison records in the twenty-fifth century.”
Growing despondent, a pleading note crept into my voice when I protested. “There must be something you can do.”
One corner of Elizebeth’s mouth curved upward. “No reason to fret, Stassi. I said it would be nearly impossible.” Her grin widened. “If you give me a physical description, I can search for him by characteristics. It certainly will take quite a bit a longer.” Her dark eyes lit up. “There is one other option that didn’t occur to me until just now. Victor is not only a wonderful forger, he is also an excellent sketch artist. If one of you could sit with him to describe the target…?”
The question hung in the air. All three of us could describe him in detail from the trial. Unfortunately, I had been the only one to come face-to-face with the murderer in Paris.
“I can describe him,” I said, resigning myself to the task.
“Wonderful,” Elizebeth declared.
“Maybe you could look up Lachlan Shepard, too,” I suggested. “Since he’s a runner, I doubt he’s using his real name. Do you have access to runner files? There should be a picture of him in there. Where Shepard is, we might find Baylarian.”
“I will see what I can do,” she replied noncommittally. The attitude did not instill confidence in me.
Turning my attention to Gaige and Molly, I shrugged with my palms up. “Where do we start looking?”
Gaige held up his hands. “Woah. Don’t ask me. For the record,” his gaze bounced from me to Molly to Elizebeth, finally landing back on me, “I am a reluctant co-conspirator.”
I rolled my eyes. “It’s not a conspiracy. But your reluctancy has been noted.”
“Whatever you say,” Gaige replied. “All I’m saying is I don’t think this plan is a great idea. Stass, the man is a serial killer.” He spoke the last words softer than the rest. “I thought the idea was to avoid him.” Gaige walked over and placed a hand on my shoulder. “I like the avoidance angle. Maybe it’s just me, but it feels safer to avoid him at all costs.”
Gaige was right, of course. Avoiding Baylarian was the safest and smartest option. Interacting with him before his murder spree in Paris could royally screw up time. While it might help the victims of his crime spree back in the City of Light, it also might not be the most prudent course of action.
“You can’t save him, Stass.” Gaige squeezed my shoulder. “You heard Flamel’s verdict on resetting the timeline; he said it will do more harm than good. The Godfather of Time decreed it a bad idea, so I’m thinking we should respect that. The Night Gentlemen is now a part of history, who knows what will happen if we attempt to change that?”
“I’m not trying to save him,” I said stiffly. The thought had crossed my mind more than once, but I wasn’t about to admit that. “I just want answers.”
“This pre-Paris Baylarian might not have them,” Gaige pointed out.
“He also might know everything,” I countered. “I’m willing to gamble.”
“And here I thought you were supposed to be the cautious one,” Elizebeth commented.
Considering I had been running around like a chicken with its head cut off and making horrible decisions since I arrived in New Orleans, I found this hard to believe. Then again, there was one way the alchemist could’ve gotten the impression that I was the cautious one—my runner file. I usually lived up to that moniker; it wasn’t difficult with someone like Gaige as a running partner. Molly had always been the one who looked danger in the face and cackled in defiance. Gaige was the fun-loving one. When he was on his game, he could charm just about anyone. And Charles…well, no one cared about Charles at the moment.
I wasn’t sure how I felt about Elizebeth knowing so much about us when we knew nothing about her. More so, though, I really wanted to get my hands on that file. What would it say about me? Was there anything more about my past in there?
It can wait, I decided.
Looking up at Gaige, I asked the question that had been weighing on my mind since we’d arrived. “Do you think it’s possible that Baylarian happened to be in Paris and now here?” I asked softly. “Do you think it’s a coincidence we’ve run across him in the two cities where we also found royal children relocated through time? Paris and London…it seems too great a coincidence.”
“I hadn’t given it any thought until now,” Gaige admitted. “I’ll give you that it seems…suspicious.”
“Suspicious?” I retorted. “He had Tessa’s journal.” I waited for someone to protest, but no one did. I pressed on. “Baylarian knows things. He’s connected to Tessa in some way. He knows about the relocations. He sent me that journal for a reason. Now that I know the truth about Charles, that reason is more important than before.”
“He sent you an encrypted journal with no key. He probably wants you to decode it for him. Maybe you’re the workhorse here?”
“Except I can’t do that,” I reminded him. My voice raised, purely because of the frustration I felt at my own ineptitude.
Gaige bit down on his bottom lip as he thought of what to say next. Or maybe how to say it.
Molly had obviously worked her magic and convinced him to stay in New Orleans, but I wanted Gaige’s backing. I wanted him to be fully on board with whatever plan we concocted. I needed my partner’s backing. I’d trusted him with my own life too many times to feel that his input was irrelevant.
“There’s no guarantee this version of Baylarian is the one who sent you the journal,” he warned. “He might not even be the one who sent you the note to this customs station. This guy may have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I understand that,” I promised. “Believe me, I know the risks here.” A lump formed in my throat. “It doesn’t matter. Gaige, I need answers. That’s why we really came to New Orleans. I thought the princes would have them, but they don’t. I can’t trust anything Charles says, so Baylarian is my last hope.” I turned so we were face to face. “Please, Gaige. I need you on my side for this.”
He heaved an enormous sigh. “Okay, Stass.” He held up the index finger of his right hand. “Let me ask you one question first, but you have to answer honestly.” He wiggled the finger in my face. “I’ll know if you’re lying.”
Irritated, I pushed his hand away. “What is it?”
“Do you have a death wish?” He arched an eyebrow. “Because this sort of feels like you have a death wish. This version of Baylarian is probably the one who sent the note with the courier to Toulouse Theater. This version of Baylarian is just as obsessed with you as the one in Paris. Maybe that’s something to think about?”
“We don’t know that,” I protested. “It’s entirely possible that this version of Baylarian has never heard of me.”
“Exactly,” Gaige said, as though I’d proved his point for him. “In which case, he can’t help us.”
“Just because he doesn’t know me, that doesn’t mean he hasn’t already met Tessa,” I reasoned.
The conversation had grown circular, and it could have gone on all night with neither of us convincing the other to change views. I sighed and placed a hand on his arm.
“You don’t need to worry. I’m not waiting for the first opportunity to throw myself off a cliff into the roiling ocean below or stick my head in an oven.” I held his gaze. “I’m aware of the risk that comes with seeking out Baylarian. But we’re here. He’s here. If there is even the slightest chance that this version of him knows Tessa—or anything about why she chanced time folding in on itself to relocate royal children—I need to talk to him.”
“Stassi…,” Gaige said quietly, stuffing so many emotions into my name that they suffocated me.
“I don’t have a death wish, Gaige,” I assured him. “I promise. I just want answers. Please. Will you help me?”
His shoulders slumped like he’d suffered a great defeat. “Okay. Tomorrow, we hunt a serial killer in training.” He reconsidered as soon as the words left his mouth. “Pre-serial killer? Molls, help me out with the terminology here.”
She considered it for a moment, and then her blue eyes lit up. “Team Stassi. We’re all Team Stassi. One million percent. I think that’s what Gaige means to say. That’s all that matters.”
Gaige pinned me with steely eyes. “I have always been and always will be one million percent Team Stassi. You are my partner. When we became runners, I took an oath to always have your back. Even when I think you’re doing something ill-advised.”
Tears threatened my eyes. This is no time to cry, I told myself. It was sometimes hard to believe that I truly had a group of people who would do anything for me.
“I’ll sit with Victor and do the Baylarian sketch. Elizebeth will get us a picture of Lachlan,” Gaige continued, switching to business mode. “Then we can canvass the hotels like you suggested. But,” he held up that annoying index finger again, “we should put a time limit on this hunt. Let’s say forty-eight hours.”
“Ninety-six,” I countered.
“Seventy-two it is,” Molly said.
“Seventy-two,” Gaige repeated, holding out his hand so we could shake on the deal. “If we don’t find Baylarian by then, we go home. “
“That sounds fair. We can’t avoid Cyrus forever,” Molly chimed in. “I kind of miss our bungalow, the beach and the sunshine.” Her eyes cut to the balcony doors, as if pointing out the vastly different time and place we were currently in. Rain had started to fall outside, and I noticed the soft pitter patter for the first time.
“Deal.” I took Gaige’s proffered hand. “Three days.”
I didn’t see Charles for the rest of the evening, thanks in large part to Elizebeth. She made up an excuse about having some trouble with neighborhood kids vandalizing a shed on the back of her property and asked if Molly and I would help her secure everything. The kids were all fast asleep when we arrived at the Werlein residence.
A woman in a maid’s uniform opened the door for us, and Elizebeth introduced her as Mrs. Kaye.
“These are the two women I told you about who are visiting from New York,” Elizebeth said. “Molly and Stassi. I do hope there is enough dinner for three?”
“It should be enough,” the maid said primly.
“Wonderful. Did the children go down without a fuss?” Elizebeth asked.
“Yes, ma’am,” Mrs. Kaye replied.
“Very well. Why don’t you go on home, Mrs. Kaye?”
The maid was clearly affronted. “I still have two hours more work. The silver needs polishing, and the—”
“You need not worry, Mrs. Kaye. I will pay you for the full day. The silver can wait until tomorrow.”
This made the other woman blush. “Thank you, Mrs. Werlein.”
Elizebeth showed us into the kitchen. She poured us each a glass of wine and set about serving the dinner Mrs. Kaye had prepared, pasta in heavy cream sauce with shrimp and a garden salad. We ate in the kitchen instead of using the formal dining room that could’ve accommodated a much larger group.
“I’m guessing your maid isn’t part of the ancient order of alchemists?” Molly asked. Elizebeth was staring at Molly’s plate, fascinated by her cutting the pasta with the side of the fork.
“No,” Elizebeth confirmed. “She comes in to mind the children while I’m at work and does a bit of light house cleaning while they nap.”
The house was spotless, so it seemed Mrs. Kaye did more than light housework.
Molly swallowed a large bite of shrimp with a sip of wine. “Why don’t you have an alchemist maid or nanny or whatever? Isn’t that the sort of thing the syndicate provides for you?”
Elizebeth laughed. “Hardly, dear. I make enough to employ Mrs. Kaye full time, but alchemists do not get free nannies.” She gave another loud laugh and shook her head as if the suggestion were crazy. “I could afford more staff, I suppose, but I prefer not to have more outsiders than necessary in my home.”
“Sounds to me like you need to renegotiate your contract,” Molly commented.
Wiping the corners of her mouth with a cloth napkin, Elizebeth shook her head. “The truth of the matter is, I did not mention my children when I interviewed for the position. I was never asked, either. Though Mr. Atlic did express his condolences over the recent and rather unexpected loss of my husband when I met him. He is quite kind.”
The corners of my mouth twitched. That was very Cyrus. He wouldn’t have mentioned the children, I realized, because they were irrelevant to the job. Yet he had acknowledged the death of Mr. Werlein, a small but nice gesture that had gone a long way with Elizebeth.
“Mr. Atlic knew my father from past business dealings, and he offered me the job on the spot. The pay was considerably higher than I would find elsewhere, and the hours were quite perfect with my current lifestyle.”
Molly and I exchanged glances across the table. Cyrus had visited New Orleans to interview her personally? That sounded like a lot of trouble to go to for one alchemist. Then again, I didn’t know much about the human resources part of operations. For all I knew, Cyrus personally interviewed all prospective employees. After all, he had been the one to visit the workcamp himself while looking for recruits.
“What sort of business was your father in?” Molly asked.
“Dynamite.” Elizebeth laughed at our reactions. “My father was a dynamite manufacturer,” she explained.
My eyes narrowed, while Molly’s expression turned thoughtful. I had the feeling we were both thinking the same thing; why would Cyrus need dynamite before 1920? I might have asked, but the alchemist continued unprompted.
“I was young when they became acquainted, it was before I moved to Paris for vocal training.” Taking a sip of white wine, she then added, “No one spoke of time travel, of course. Though, my father did tell me later in life that there was always something strange about Mr. Atlic and his associates. He swore he heard one of them say something about an archduke’s assassination.” She took another sip of wine. “So, you can imagine our surprise when Archduke Ferdinand was murdered and the world went to war.”
I could do more than imagine. For Molly, Gaige and most runners, the syndicates had been a part of their lives since birth. To them, time travel had always been simply a fact of the world. That wasn’t the case for outsiders like Elizebeth and me.
I had heard wild rumors in the workcamp about people travelling through time, but it took quite a while at STAV—Syndicate Training Academy at Versailles—until I truly believed. The first time I entered the vortex and felt the hum of my tattoo—that was when I became a convert.
The thought of STAV quickly turned to Charles; as the son of Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette, Versailles had once been his home. Charles had held my hand and watched Baylarian’s trial in the very throne room where his father once sat. Never once did he utter a word about his ties to the palace.
What didn’t he lie about? I wondered.
“Stass, you okay?” Molly poked my shoulder.
“Sorry. Just thinking,” I replied sheepishly.
“About Chuck?”
I shook my head. “The academy actually.” It was technically the truth.
Elizebeth stood and carried her plate to the sink.
“Oh, I can do the dishes,” I called to her. I looked down at my own mostly full bowl of pasta and untouched salad. Between my distractedness and lack of appetite, I’d been a terrible guest.
She waved off the offer. “Mrs. Kaye will see to them in the morning. How about a nip of brandy before bed?”
Without waiting for an answer, Elizebeth moved to a drinks carts in the corner. Gathering snifters and the decanter, she brought them back to the table.
“I thought prohibition was in effect?” Molly teased as Elizebeth poured us each a healthy amount of brandy.
“Don’t be ridiculous, dear. Only the sale and distribution of alcohol is illegal,” the alchemist reminded us. “I see no reason to pour out perfectly good liquor.”
Elizebeth sipped her nightcap while Molly and I just pretended to. Neither of us was a huge fan of brandy, but we didn’t want to be rude. This was the first time an alchemist had invited us into their private home, after all. People like Lord Holton who lived in castles with names didn’t count. The pompous earl had hosted us briefly at Holton Manor before we traveled to London, but that was very different than Elizebeth allowing two strangers in her private home with her children asleep.
Then again, we weren’t really strangers; Elizebeth had studied our files. Liza had even commented that she felt like she knew us. That reminded me of the head alchemist’s request. I had yet to tell anyone that Liza had asked me to retrieve the file for the run that had cost her parents their lives. I decided not to mention it in front of Elizebeth, at least not until I talked it over with Molly and Gaige. Hopefully they wouldn’t be too pissed that I had already agreed to try.
That night I slept in one of Elizebeth’s guest rooms. As much as I loved my roommate, it was nice to be alone. Dinner had been a nice distraction from Charles, but I found he was all I could think about once I was laying beneath the covers and staring up at the bed’s canopy.
Images of the two of us in Paris flashed in my mind, particularly walking along the Seine after our dinner date. That was when he had told me about his parents and Tessa. The memory was tainted by his lies. He could have told me the truth then. He should have told me the truth then.
Would you have told the truth? I asked myself. There was only one truthful answer: no. I had lied to Charles in Paris a lot, too. That was my job. To lie and steal.
Tears collected in my eyes, and I blinked them back.
In my mind’s eye, I saw a collage of our brief life together on Branson. Molly, Gaige, and I had taken Charles out gliding in the ocean. He’d been so nervous at first. I almost smiled at the memory. Then I remembered that Charles had slept with me, knowing he was keeping a secret that could change my life.
“Asshole,” I muttered. Angrily, I swiped the salty liquid welling in my eyes again.
He didn’t deserve any more of my tears. I’d given him enough of myself already.
Focus on something else. Like whom you really are.
If Charles was the son of Marie Antoinette and Louis XVI, and Edward and Richard were the sons of Edward IV and Elizabeth Woodville, who was I? Two of the three men had once been destined to rule a country. The third was still an heir in the direct line of succession. Assuming that Molly was right, and the woman I thought was my mother was really Tessa, then the future was not my home time. I wasn’t Stassi 2446-89.
Who am I?
Or maybe Molly was wrong. Maybe the woman who gave me the locket was my mother. Maybe she was the one Tessa saved from a horrible fate, not me.
Why did she leave me to be raised in the workcamps?
Or maybe Tessa was my mother, and she hadn’t abandoned me deliberately. Maybe my years in the workcamp were a small price to pay for the life of a child who would have otherwise been killed as part of a revolution or coup. Or maybe I just liked the theory because, if true, my mother had meant to come back for me.
Outside, heavy rain had begun to fall. The wind howled like the wolves Gaige thought lived in the bayou. The temperature in the bedroom dropped several degrees, and I snuggled deeper beneath my blanket. A faint whistling sound grew louder as gusts shook the house. There was something eerily familiar about the tune, though I couldn’t recall any of the accompanying words. Except for three: My dear, Stassi.
An image of the dark-haired woman stroking my fairer tresses and singing those words flashed in my mind. I shivered. The window must not be closed all the way, I reassured myself, though I wasn’t confident enough to check. It’s an old house. Your mind is playing tricks on you. The memory probably isn’t even real.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I pretended that I was in my bungalow back on Branson during a strong storm. Even on the nights the wind whipped off the roiling sea and rained pelted our bungalow sideways, I never worried. The island was designed to withstand any act of Mother Nature. My racing heart soon calmed, and my breathing fell even.
I dreamt of a masquerade ball. Women in poufy dresses, men in coattails dancing, and all of them laughing. The champagne fountains flowed steadily, splashing down into a pyramid made of champagne flutes. A man in a black mask with peacock feathers asked me to dance. It was an intricate and beautiful design, but I would’ve known those golden eyes anywhere. In the dreamworld, I wasn’t mad at Charles.
While he and I danced a dance that wouldn’t become popular for centuries, we looked into one another’s eyes. He smiled conspiratorially, as though we had our own private joke. Like we were fooling all the other elaborately costumed attendees at the ball. In the dreamworld, Charles and I were in love. There were no secrets between us, and there never had been.
Charles spun me out, and then I twirled beneath his arm. Grinning from ear to ear, he dipped me low. That was when I saw them. Faceless angry men marched into the ball and manhandled everyone in sight. Charles’ grip on my waist broke as he was yanked backward. I fell through dark, empty space, bracing for an impact that never came.
I woke with a start to find Elizebeth throwing open the curtains in my room.
“Good morning, dear. I have left you an outfit whenever you are ready to come down for breakfast. Molly is awake, and Mrs. Kaye is already here, just so you know.”
She left before I could do more than yawn. After climbing out of bed, I splashed water on my face from the bowl on a side table. Head still fuzzy from my odd dream, I slipped on the cream-colored dress Elizebeth had left draped over a chair in the corner. The alchemist was several inches taller than me, so the garment hung a little awkwardly but was fine for our purposes. The matching stacked heels were a size too big and on the narrow side, but I could manage to wobble around in them if I didn’t go too far. With everything on, I looked in the mirror.
It’ll do, I decided.
Mrs. Kaye prepared poached eggs, toast, and sausage, which she served Molly and me in the formal dining room. Elizebeth visited with her children in the nursery while we ate.
“I trust you slept well?” asked the housekeeper-maid-nanny as she poured me a glass of fresh orange juice.
“I did, thank you,” I said politely. “That storm was intense—is that normal for this time of year?”
Mrs. Kaye frowned, wrinkles appearing on her smooth skin for the first time. But it was Molly who said, “What storm? I didn’t hear anything.”
I stared at my roommate across the table. Worry creases had formed between her brows. Inhaling through my nose, I forced a laugh. “I must have been dreaming it.”
Mrs. Kaye had left a newspaper beside each of our place settings. Mine was flipped open to a column called The Fashionable Woman. I began to read, purely so I would have something to focus on. A cup of rich coffee in one hand, Molly picked up her own paper and followed my lead.
“Just ring if there is anything else you would like.” Mrs. Kaye gestured to a small brass bell that she’d place next to Molly’s juice glass. Her tone was pleasant while still managing to convey that the bell was just a formality.
I was three paragraphs in to what was promising to be an interesting read about an up-and-coming fashion designer named Coco Chanel when Molly gasped. Her hand flew to cover her mouth.
“What? What is it?” I asked, lowering my paper.
It took Molly several tries to get out the words. “Here. Look for yourself.” She slid her paper across the table. I scanned the black and white print, starting at the top where “advertisements” was printed in bold, block letters. There was an ad for wheel repair on carriages and vehicles, one touting Squibb that promised a “Better Tomorrow”, and one for Lysol disinfectant.
“What am I supposed to be looking at?” I asked. Before I’d even finished the question, my eyes nearly popped out of my head.
“I assume you found it,” Molly said dryly.
I barely heard her. All my focus was on the jewelry advertisement. For Bonheurs. The same jeweler from Paris. The same jewelry store that Tessa had commissioned to make the locket, pocket watch, and cufflinks. As if to dispel any doubt that lingered, the bottom of the ad had the telltale five-leaf clover.
“It can’t be a coincidence, right?”
Was it a coincidence that Bonheurs had a store in each of the cities we’d found royal children? Not a chance.
My mouth was so dry, I couldn’t believe my reply came out coherently. “We should go.”
Molly shifted in her chair. “I don’t know, Stass. I mean, shouldn’t we do surveillance first?”
Elizebeth sashayed into the breakfast room, looking far more alive, alert, and enthusiastic than I felt. “What are we discussing?” she asked brightly, sliding into a chair at the head of the table.
My roommate and I exchanged glances.
“Bonheurs. Do you know it?” I asked before Molly could speak.
“You mean the jeweler on Canal Street?” Elizebeth nodded. “I’m familiar. They sell high-end pieces mostly. The craftsmanship is exquisite.” She held out her wrist to highlight a thin bracelet made of twisted gold and tiny rubies. “My late husband gave this to me on our last anniversary. He had it custom made by Monsieur Bonheur himself,” she said proudly.
“So, you’ve been there?” I asked.
“Only to browse. For their prices, I could hire a cook, a nanny, and butler so Mrs. Kaye could put her feet up every so often,” the alchemist replied with a short bark of laughter.
“I’d like to pay them a visit.” I didn’t look at Molly, because I knew she disapproved of going in without any further information. Surveillance was protocol. Fact-finding and expositional outings were necessary. Except, something about that damned five-leaf clover clouded my judgment. “Today,” I added, just in case that point needed clarifying. I’d already wasted eight of my seventy-two hours sleeping.
“I’ll telephone Victor and ask him to bring a car around. I would prefer not to take mine, if that is okay? I strive to maintain a separation between my personal life and work.”
I knew the feeling. Unfortunately, the two halves of my life were tangled in an impossible knot. It seemed every time I unraveled a bit of the mystery, the rest grew tighter.
Elizebeth outfitted Molly and me with hats, gloves, scarves, and coats that matched our individual ensembles. Victor arrived in one of the customs station’s cars ten minutes after Elizebeth had made the call.
Mrs. Kaye offered the alchemist the same breakfast Molly and I had just eaten. Since the three of us were already dressed, he declined politely.
Again, Elizebeth chose to ride up front with Victor, acting like a human GPS as she spouted off directions.
“What are the guys up to?” I asked, trying to make the question sound innocent.
Because Victor had just come from the customs station, I had assumed he’d answer. Instead, Molly spoke up.
“They’re canvassing hotels,” she answered.
I arched an eyebrow. “Have you talked to Gaige?” I asked.
Molly shrugged by way of answer.
“We were able to get a picture of Lachlan. It seems he’s traveled here before on a sanctioned vacation,” Victor said over his shoulder. “So, we have him in the logs.”
“And Baylarian?” I asked.
Victor heaved a great sigh. “Gaige is not the best with descriptions. My drawing looked like a cartoon from a comic strip. We weren’t able to access Baylarian’s prison records, either.
I wanted to ask where Charles had been during all this, and why he couldn’t have helped, but I didn’t want to seem like I cared.
Molly put a hand on my shoulder. “They’re just checking stuff out. No one will make a move without telling you,” she promised.
“Liza is looking into the other matter,” Victor added, managing to look at us with one eye while keeping the other on the road ahead.
At first, I thought the comment was aimed at Elizebeth. But Molly was the one who paled.
“What other matter?” I asked, focusing on my best friend.
Molly wrinkled her nose and fiddled with her gloves as she gathered her thoughts and chose her words carefully.
“I asked the alchemists to look for other children who fit the same pattern as the English princes and Chuck the French liar,” she admitted. Though she refused to look at me, my roommate had the good grace to blush a little. “The more we know, the better.”
“I can’t wait to hear what she finds,” I deadpanned.
My mind was in a constant tug of war with itself. One second, I did want to know if I was some ill-fated princess. The next, I was positive that I would be happier to go on believing that I was just Stassi. There was no grand title or tragic back story necessary.
The Bonheur’s on Canal Street was situated between a bank and a clothing store. A wooden sign hung above the entrance with the name and the five-leaf clover insignia proudly displayed. Just as it did every time I saw the clover, my heart skipped a beat. I hesitated in front of the entrance. My locket, and by extension that symbol, had been the only links to my past for so long. I’d been so determined to unlock the mysteries surrounding them for as long as I could remember. And yet, Charles’ admission had made me see the jewelry through a different lens. Not for the first time, I wondered if I was truly ready to find the all-knowing wizard at the end of the golden road.
Molly took my hand and squeezed. “We can always come back. You know, after we have time to do a little recon.”
I shook my head. “No. We’re already here.”
“I can go in alone,” she offered. “Just in case?”
“No.” I gritted my teeth. “I need to do this.”
She smiled. “That’s my girl.”
The bell over the door chimed our arrival. Three other patrons were already inside. A couple in simple, inexpensive clothing leaned over a display case as the man behind the counter stared down his short nose at them. Another man perused a selection of watches across the store. His clothes were made from more expensive fabrics, but he definitely needed a new tailor if he thought the fit around his very round midsection was a good look.
“Welcome, ladies,” the lone worker called, gesturing the three of us inside. “I will be with you all in a moment.”
Elizebeth waved politely. “We are in no hurry,” she assured him.
For lack of something better to do while we waited for the man to finish up with his customers, I wandered over to a case of holiday items that had all been discounted. Most were nothing more than trinkets, keepsakes that people bought one another to remember things like a baby’s first Christmas. They were the strange sort of souvenirs a lot of runners liked to collect. Gaige’s roommate, Cross, had a pair of socks with some marking indicative of the year for every run he’d ever been on. Another runner, Arin, always brought back a bronzed pair of baby shoes. Which was strange to me for so many reasons.
“How may I be of assistance, Miss?”
I looked up to find the salesman standing across from me at the counter, the other customers gone. His smile was polite enough, but that fact I was looking at the clearance items didn’t give him any hope that I intended to spend real money. It was a fair guess.
“Are you the owner?” I asked.
The shopkeeper stood a little straighter and sounded offended when he replied. “I am, Miss. Jean Claude Bonheur.” He held out his hand to me. “And you are…?”
I said the first name that popped into my head. “Anastasia Prince. I visited your location in Paris last year.” The lie wasn’t rehearsed, but it was close enough to the actual truth that the words flowed.
Bonheur reassessed me, as though maybe he’d been wrong to think I wasn’t a woman of means. Particularly in this day and age, traveling to Europe wasn’t cheap. To keep his attention, I unhooked my necklace and held the locket in my palm for his inspection.
“This has been in my family for some time,” I began. “In Paris, they told me they didn’t have any of the matching pieces. I was hoping you might have a different answer for me.”
“May I?” Jean Claude arched an eyebrow in question.
I handed him the locket for closer inspection. “Truly exquisite craftsmanship,” he muttered under his breath. “This looks like my great-uncle’s work. How long did you say it has been in your family?”
“I honestly don’t know.” In truth, I was no longer sure it had ever been in my family. A woman I thought was my mother had given me the locket. Where she’d gotten it and whether it had ever actually belonged to anyone who shared my DNA remained mysteries.
He held the pendant up to the light so that the sapphires sparkled. “The stones are very high grade,” Jean Claude commented.
“Have you ever seen anything like it? The design, I mean?” I asked. “I understand that it might have been an artisanal series.”
“As it happens, I actually do have two pieces in my collection with a similar design.” The comment was so offhand, only once the words left his mouth did both he and I realize he hadn’t meant to say something.
“You do?” I blurted out, not about to let the opportunity pass.
Elizebeth joined me at the counter. “Have you found something, dear?” she asked.
“Mr. Bonheur was just telling me that he has pieces that might match my locket,” I informed her.
Elizebeth smiled politely, as though she hadn’t heard our entire exchange up to that point. “Wonderful. May we see them?”
Jean Claude looked like a man sourly regretting some of his most recent decisions. “The design is similar,” he hedged, handing my locket back to me. “The latticework is different, though.”
“We would still like to see them if at all possible?” Elizebeth pressed. She gave a cursory glance around the shop. “You can just point us in that direction and let us judge for ourselves.”
“They are not on display,” Jean Claude said stiffly. “Items of such value are seen by appointment only.”
“Then we’d like to make an appointment.” Molly came to stand on my other side, her face the picture of innocence.
“I will have to look over my schedule. I believe I have an opening next week,” Jean Claude said.
“How is now?” There was an edge to Molly’s response that didn’t invite a refusal. She made a great show of looking around the empty jewelry store. “We are your only customers.”
Jean Claude cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable in the face of a demanding female. “We require a fee for the appointment,” he squeaked.
Without taking her eyes from the jeweler, Molly reached around me and gave Elizebeth’s shoulder a light smack. “Pay the man, Peacock.”
I pursed my lips and swallowed a groan. Molly really needed to stop hanging out with Gaige so much; it was exactly what he would’ve said in this situation.
Confused as to whether this was a codename we’d assigned her, Elizebeth played along. “How much?” she asked Jean Claude.
I’d suspected he was making up the bit about a fee, but I was certain once it took him a full ten seconds to come up with a cost.
The number he spouted meant nothing to me, so I knew it meant nothing to Molly either. That didn’t stop her from firing back with a counter of half the amount. Jean Claude became just short of indignant as she argued the fake fee with him.
“If you cannot afford the fee, then you cannot afford the jewelry,” he said in an overtly snotty French accent. Considering the accent hadn’t existed moments ago, the whole situation seemed like an elaborate farce.
Elizebeth opened her purse as though about to meet the man’s asking price. Molly held her arm out like a soccer mom to block her and shook her head.
“No, no, no, no. You’ll do it for half because all of us know your fee is bogus. Also, my girl has had a bad day,” she wrapped an arm around my shoulder and squeezed. “She needs a nice new bauble to make her smile. I think your fee is ridiculous, but I’ll pay it simply for her happiness. Run along, flip your little sign to closed, and let us see the pieces my friend might like.”
It went against every fiber of his steely pride to agree, but we all knew it was an ill-advised business decision to refuse us. He also seemed afraid that Molly might put a dead rat on his doorstep or something. Fear was a powerful motivator.
“Wait out here, ladies,” Jean Claude ordered us, straightening his jacket before disappearing behind a burgundy curtain into the back of the shop.
I turned to Molly once he was gone. “Really? Was that necessary? Who are you, Gaige?”
She pretended to laugh. “What? Politeness would’ve taken all day. Besides, he mentioned the pieces because he wanted to show them off. He just needed a little shove.”
I actually didn’t think that was true at all, but I wasn’t going to argue with her results. It was more a slip of the tongue situation, and I was positive Jean Claude would regret mentioning it for the foreseeable future.
“Are we going to buy them, if they are a true match?” Elizebeth asked, careful to keep her voice low in case Jean Claude was eavesdropping from the back.
Molly shrugged. “I mean, we could steal them instead.”
Elizebeth’s eyes went wide. “Like a jewel heist?” She sounded like she wasn’t opposed to the idea.
“Or a smash-and-grab. Less finesse than a full-on heist but way easier to plan,” Molly replied.
I held up my hand. “No stealing or smashing. We’ll buy them.”
“With what, our good looks?” Molly deadpanned.
I turned to Elizebeth. “Can you work out the funds?”
“Depending on the amount, that should not be a problem.”
Molly shook her head. “Unless you want Cyrus waiting for us back at customs, no way. An expenditure of that amount will need to be accounted for.”
I cocked an eyebrow. “And a jewel heist—excuse me, smash-and-grab—won’t get attention?”
“Come on, Stass,” Molly said, propping a hand on her hip. “This hypothetical thievery is tiny. A blip at most. We’re talking about two insignificant items. Nothing crazy.”
Admittedly, the chances of a small heist going unnoticed were much greater than a large monetary transaction going unflagged. And I really wasn’t ready for Cyrus to turn up just yet.
“Okay. Thievery it is,” I agreed.
Elizebeth looked back and forth between us. “Is this typical of how you settle disagreements on a run?”
Molly grinned as Jean Claude came out from the back of the store. My roommate leaned closer to Elizebeth and whispered, “Sometimes we rub Gaige’s head and hope he spits out a nugget of wisdom.”
Jean Claude made a production out of laying a black velvet square on the glass counter before carefully unwrapping the first of two pouches. Until the sapphire and diamond tennis bracelet was in front of me, the jewels and gold gleaming against the black backdrop, I hadn’t let myself believe there were really more pieces in the set. I laid my locket beside the bracelet and traced the filigree design on both. It felt identical. I leaned closer to examine the pieces. There were small differences, which were expected since they hadn’t been crafted by the same hand. At least, I assumed not.
“You made this?” I asked Jean Claude.
“I did,” he said, a note of pride in his voice.
“Where did you get the design?” Molly asked, fixing her blue eyes on the jeweler as though he’d done something wrong.
“A client,” he admitted. “I was commissioned to make two specialty pieces for a client based on a hand drawing. It was rather crude, I might add. It is amazing I was able to match the original design.”
“Yeah, yeah. Don’t pat yourself on the back too much,” Molly said dryly.
I picked up the bracelet in one hand and my locket in the other, noting a significant weight difference.
“Was a hidden compartment part of the design schematic?” I asked.
Jean Claude furrowed his brow. “It was not.”
Another question popped into my head, one that bothered me since he brought it up.
“Why were you given a drawing?” Tessa should’ve had the necklace with her when she visited a much younger Jean Claude. “Wasn’t the woman who hired you wearing this locket? Or one just like it?”
Jean Claude frowned. “My client was a man.”
My eyes popped open. I looked from Molly to Elizebeth, feeling particularly stupid for having just assumed Tessa had commissioned the pieces.
“A man? You’re sure?” I stammered.
“Quite sure,” Jean Claude replied haughtily. His newfound confidence waivered. “Though he did originally come in with a woman. It was such a long time ago, I cannot recall specific details. I do know the man came back alone and commissioned two pieces with this design.” He gestured to the tennis bracelet. “One for a woman.” The jeweler carefully unwrapped the second piece—a solid gold cuff with the filigree pattern etched lightly on top and three sapphires inlaid. “And one for a man.”
A man commissioned matching bracelets in the same design as my locket but without the prima compartments. Did Tessa have a partner at one point? Was Baylarian that partner? Was that why he’d had her journal?
“He never did return to collect them. I tried to contact the man, but all the information he gave me was fraudulent,” Jean Claude continued.
“How long ago was that?” Molly pressed.
Jean Claude considered her question. “About ten, maybe twelve years ago.”
“Like, 1908?” Molly hedge.
The jeweler frowned. “I would have to check the records to be certain.” He straightened and resumed his snooty expression. “Which I most certainly cannot do. My records are private. I have told you too much already.”
His eyes darted around the store and sweat beaded on his brow.
Why so nervous all of a sudden? I wondered.
“Who was your client?” I asked.
Jean Claude became defensive, snatching the bangle from my hand and placing it back in the pouch. “As I just said, my records are private. I cannot divulge that information.”
“It’s been over a decade. I’m also pretty sure jeweler-client privilege isn’t a thing,” Molly said. Then, she glanced pointedly at Elizebeth’s purse. “How much?”
Jean Claude made a big production of being offended, as if he would never consider accepting a bribe. But everyone had a price.
“We will buy the set,” I offered, much to the horror of Molly and Elizebeth. “In exchange, you will give us the name of your client.”
After a long pause, the jeweler quoted a price ten times that of the appointment fee. Elizebeth cringed, letting me know we were talking about a significant amount of money. Molly countered with half the amount.
“Come on, JC,” she prodded when he feigned offense. “We both know these pieces have already been paid for. You wouldn’t have made them otherwise. Whatever we pay you is just a bonus. Let’s not be greedy.”
They went back and forth a few more times, finally settling on a price that didn’t make the vein in Elizebeth’s forehead throb. The alchemist counted out the cash on top of the glass jewelry case. Dollar signs danced in Jean Claude’s eyes.
“Now, the name,” Molly demanded once the transaction was complete.
I thought the jeweler would disappear into the back to consult the records. After all, it had been over a decade since the commission. Jean Claude didn’t move, though, except to place his hands on the jewelry counter.
“I don’t know the woman. The pair only came in briefly to look around. I wouldn’t have remembered them at all, except I overhead a bit of their conversation. They had odd accents,” Jean Claude admitted. “A week later, the man returned alone with the drawing.”
“The. Name.” Molly’s voice was devoid of all emotion, her eyes fixed on the jeweler.
Jean Claude swallowed audibly. “Cyrus Atlic. The man who hired me to make these was named Cyrus Atlic.”