Twenty-Three

Noisy voices swirled around me. I blinked and saw blue sky and clouds above me. No, that wasn’t right. It wasn’t real sky. A dream? No, I was awake. I was looking up at the painted ceiling of Blue Sky Teas. I was lying on my back. A group of people stared at me from above. I struggled to focus on the blurry faces.

“She’s coming to,” Heather said. “You guys, give her some room.”

Max and another man helped me up. A familiar man I’d known a century ago.

“Hello, Zoe,” he said in an English accent. “So sorry to have startled you.”

Could it really be Ambrose? I clutched my locket as my eyes focused on the handsome face in front of mine. No. This wasn’t Ambrose.

“Percy?”

It was Ambrose’s son.

The Old English accent was more refined than I remembered, as was the man. Gone was the plump insolent man suffering from gout, replaced by a younger, fitter man with a humbler tone of voice.

“It’s been a long time,” he said.

That was an understatement. Percy had died in 1935.

I closed my eyes. This wasn’t real. I was hallucinating. I must have fainted and hit my head after seeing a man who reminded me of the great love of my life. Percy had the same black hair, distinctive nose, and striking eyes as his father. The similarity hadn’t been as strong when I’d known them, because Percy’s fondness for beer and overindulgence in rich foods had given him a pudgy layer and a ruddy tinge.

Max put his arm around me and pressed a glass of water to my lips. “Do you want me to take you to a doctor? Work can wait.”

“I’m all right. I usually eat first thing. Must be low blood sugar.”

“Help her to a chair,” Heather suggested.

Max and Percy lifted me to a chair. Much more forcefully than was necessary, I thought. I looked sharply at them both as they lifted me off my feet. Were they each trying to prove they were stronger than the other? Percy’s flab had been replaced by lean muscle. He wore a leather jacket over a white dress shirt and trendy fitted jeans.

“Let me get you one of your carrot cake muffins,” Heather said. “Lot of natural sugars.”

I nodded. Even though I was pretty sure it was shock that had caused me to faint, one of Dorian’s treats couldn’t hurt.

“Max Liu,” Max said to Percy, extending his hand.

“Percival Smythe.”

I raised an eyebrow involuntarily and hoped Max didn’t catch the gesture. I wondered how long Percy had been using that surname. Though the last name he gave was false, he was very real. Rage and regret swirled inside me, feeding each other. Ambrose and I had been told Percy was dead, and Ambrose had bitterly mourned the loss of his son. Our lives would have been more different than I could fathom had we believed otherwise. Ambrose might still be alive today.

Percy had never had the patience and demeanor to become an alchemist. It had been painful for him that both I and his father had found the Elixir of Life while he continued to age, so he’d moved far away from us. Ambrose and I hadn’t seen Percy’s body, but we had no reason to doubt the news of his death. If only we’d known it had been a lie, Ambrose would never have killed himself.

“So you’re an old friend of Zoe’s?” Max asked, pulling up a chair protectively close to me.

“Percy is Ambrose’s son,” I said.

“Ambrose?” Max said. He knew I’d traveled across the US in my Airstream trailer after the man I was involved with died. Max didn’t know those travels had stretched over decades rather than just a few years. I could see the unspoken question on his lips. Percy looked like he was in his mid-twenties, the same age I claimed—far too old to be the son of a man I’d been involved with.

“I was hoping we could get caught up,” Percy said.

Heather saved me from answering by setting a carrot cake muffin in front of me. “I’ve gotta get back to the counter, but give me a holler if you need anything else.”

I didn’t feel hungry, but I forced myself to take a bite. Pecans and cranberries, salt and dates, a sweet and savory blend to awaken my senses while feeding my lightheaded body. Dorian continued to outdo himself.

“You want me to leave so you can get caught up with him?” Max asked. His voice was sharp, and I recognized the emotion. Jealousy. It was a stronger version of the same feeling I’d experienced the previous night when I realized the recipe I’d just enjoyed had come from Max’s dead wife. I couldn’t worry about Max’s jealousy now. My unfinished past trumped my love life.

Percy lowered his eyelids, giving me a hint of the petulant man I remembered.

I had never liked Percy, but I had to talk to him in private, without Max looking on.

“Go file your paperwork,” I said to Max. “I’m all right. I’ll stay here and catch up with Percy.”

His lips set in a frown, Max nodded and left.

“I really am sorry about all this,” Percy said. “I—”

“You died,” I whispered sharply.

“Rumors of my death were greatly exaggerated.”

“Very funny. While you were not dead, I see you’ve had more time to become well read. I can’t remember you opening the pages of a single book when you stayed with me and Ambrose.”

Percy was already a young adult when I met Ambrose. His mother had died in childbirth, and Ambrose had done the best he could. It was far better than most men had been able to do at the time, even the ones who’d been able to maintain custody of their children. But Ambrose had spoiled the boy.

Percy sighed. “I deserve that. But I’m a different man than when you knew me, Zoe. I’ve turned my life around.”

“Where have you been all these years? You discovered the Elixir but didn’t tell us? And now, all of a sudden, you decided it was time for a reunion? This isn’t the best time—”

“That’s not why I came. I’m here because I need to warn you. A dangerous alchemist followed you here to Portland. I believe you met him at a bookshop in Paris.”

The plain man from the bookshop? “Lucien? He’s an alchemist?”

Percy nodded. “Not just an alchemist. A backward alchemist.”