Thirty-One

“Whoa.” Brixton looked from me to the kitchen ceiling. The singing from overhead had stopped.

“We’re leaving,” I said. “Now.”

I scribbled a note to Percy about having to go to the police station for Heather, so he wouldn’t think I’d discovered his secret, grabbed my silver coat, and shoved Brixton out the door.

“The scent in this truck is always so weird,” Brixton mumbled as he climbed inside.

“It’s not weird,” I said as I put the key in the ignition of the truck. “Myrrh is a great air freshener. It works well in toothpaste too.”

“I remember. Like frankincense, from the Bible. My life is too weird.”

“Frankincense is too strong for an air freshener. Seatbelt.”

Brixton rolled his eyes but obliged.

“Is it possible that Lucien was already injured when he made his way to his alchemy supplies in the shed?” I asked, trying the engine again. That’s what I got for having a 1942 Chevy. I hated to think that Percy was stealthy enough to get into and out of the cabin without Brixton seeing him.

“Yeah. He was kind of disoriented, but I figured it was because he’d forgotten exactly where the shack was. It’s pretty overgrown out there. You think that could explain why I didn’t see Percy or anyone else?”

“Because Percy had already dealt him a fatal blow.”

The engine of my truck turned over three times before finally starting, just long enough that I wondered if Percy had disabled it. I gave silent thanks as we peeled out of the driveway.

How could I have been so stupid as to think Percy believed the old wives’ tale about alchemists not being able to kill people? He’d been trying to misdirect me this whole time. Had I fallen for it because he looked so much like Ambrose? Or because I’d wanted so badly to believe him because of my love for his father? Or maybe it was simply because I wanted to believe in the goodness of humanity.

Percy must have knocked himself out to cover his tracks after he searched my house for Dorian’s book. A superficial head wound was a good choice. Even a minor wound in that location would bleed profusely and could easily look more serious than it was. He hadn’t left the party to give me and Max space; he left so he’d have time alone to search my house. And I’d sent Dorian away, so I had no way to prove it. At least I’d asked Dorian to take Not Untrue Alchemy with him.

“Where are we going?” Brixton asked, gripping the dashboard as I turned a corner faster than was prudent. He winced.

“Is your hand still hurting?” I glanced at Brixton, expecting to see a bruise forming. Instead, I saw a bleeding scrape. “You didn’t tell me you cut yourself on the table.”

“It’s nothing.” He wrapped his sleeve around his hand. “And you didn’t say where we’re going.”

“Your mom didn’t do anything, so I’m guessing they’re going to let her go soon.”

“We’re going to hang out at the police station?” Brixton rolled his eyes. “I should have brought the rest of that pie with me.”

“How can you be so relaxed?”

“That guy Percy doesn’t seem like an evil mastermind. You and I could totally take him on. And with Dorian in the mix, he wouldn’t stand a chance.”

I pictured Dorian clawing at Percy’s perfect hair and burst out laughing. It was nervous laughter, brought on by the stress, but it was a welcome release of tension.

“See?” Brixton said. “You sure he could really be the killer?”

“I’m not taking any chances.”

I left Brixton with Abel, apologizing for not being able to hang out with Brixton because my houseguest was unwell.

When I got back to the house, Percy had his feet up on the couch with an icepack on his head and a tray of ginger cookies on his lap, watching a sitcom on his phone. He’d found the beer in the fridge. Two empty bottles sat on the coffee table, and a third was open on the floor next to the couch.

“How’s your friend?” he asked.

I was done playing things safe. I had to find out what was going on.

“Lucien is dead,” I said.

The platter of cookies dropped to the floor, as did Percy’s phone. The screen cracked as it struck the hardwood floor. He left it where it lay.

I could have sworn Percy’s reaction was genuine. Unlike his sincere expressions of regret from earlier that day, this was true shock.

“You saw him? Where?”

“He’s the dead body they found in the woods.”

The color drained from Percy’s face. “But you said—I mean, how—?”

“I know you lied about Lucien being the one to ransack my attic and basement in search of Non Degenera Alchemia. It was you.” I yanked the icepack from his head and pulled back his hair.

He howled with pain.

“It’s only a scratch,” I said. “It stopped bleeding right away. You didn’t even bother reapplying bandages after your shower. You also didn’t back up your lie by breaking down the door to get inside. You unlocked the door with the key I lent you—which you’re going to give back to me. Now. Did you think keeping track of your lies wasn’t necessary because I trusted you?”

“How can you—”

“Your most convincing lie was that you believe that silly legend about alchemists not being able to kill anyone.” I let go of his hair and let him sink back onto the couch.

“It’s true!”

“How can it possibly be true when you’re the one who killed Lucien?”

“I would never. I could never. It was awful with Father—” Percy stopped himself.

Ambrose? My heart beat furiously in my throat. “What did you say?”

“Nothing.” He clutched his head in his hands. “I’m in shock over hearing that Lucien is dead. I don’t know what I’m saying.”

“What was awful with Ambrose?”

“Nothing. Truly. I didn’t mean anything.”

“Yes, you did. When you tell the truth, you lose the cocky tilt of your head. You did it a moment ago. That means you didn’t know Lucien was dead—I stand corrected there. I believe you about that.”

“Why are you looking at me like that, Zoe? You’re scaring me.”

“You believe that old wives’ tale from personal experience.” My pulse raced. “Did Ambrose find out you had turned to backward alchemy, and that’s the real reason he killed himself? No … Oh God, Percy, was your father’s suicide the death you needed?” With Percy providing no answers, my imagination began running wild with horrible thoughts. The room spun. I couldn’t catch my breath.

“You’re unbalanced, Zoe. You always were.”

My focus snapped to Percy. The spoiled little man who only superficially resembled his father. The physical similarities were striking, but not their souls. “I’ve never been more clear-headed,” I said. “I’ve always worked to protect the people I love.”

“What does that have to do with—”

“You don’t understand everything that’s going on, Percy. I’m someone with nothing left to lose.”

Percy tried to stand. I pushed him back onto the couch and stood over him. His beautiful eyes, so like his father’s in appearance but not spirit, opened wide with fear.

“This is how it’s going to go,” I said. “You’re going to tell me the truth about what happened to Ambrose.”

Percy’s eyes filled with tears. “I never meant to hurt either of you. I only wanted what you had. Can’t you understand that? It was so easy for you. Not for me.”

“What happened with your father? And what does it have to do with that stupid superstition?”

“You don’t know that it’s stupid, Zoe. You didn’t believe backward alchemy was real at first either.”

“That’s different. The death rotation makes sense. It’s sacrificing one element for another, or even one living being’s energy for another’s.” I thought of how creating Dorian’s Tea of Ashes depleted my own energy. “If anything, killing should make a backward alchemist stronger, not kill him.” I regretted the words as soon as they left my mouth. But alchemy is science, and that’s what made sense scientifically.

“How would you know?” Percy snapped. “Have you ever killed anyone?”

“Of course not.”

“Then you don’t know. It would kill you—or, if you’re strong, only bring you to the brink of death.” Percy’s lower lip trembled. The shaking spread to his whole body. He truly believed what he was saying; he truly was afraid of something.

“Oh God, Percy. What did you do?”

“Nothing,” he said too quickly. “I’m not talking about myself.” His eyes didn’t meet mine.

“What did you do?”

“I told you—nothing! I didn’t mean to do it. It was Father’s fault. And yours. The more I think about it, it was your fault. You put him in that awful place. That’s why it happened.”

“Why what happened?” I’d had no choice about sending Ambrose to Charenton Asylum. I was worried he would harm himself. The psychiatric hospital was known for its humanitarian treatment of patients, unlike so many other “lunatic asylums” of the time. It had been good for him, even though in the end they hadn’t been able to stop him from taking his own life. But that couldn’t have been what Percy was talking about.

“I don’t want to talk to you anymore. You’re a bully. You always were.”

I stared at the stranger in front of me; funny how the resemblance to his father faded more with every passing moment. Ambrose had been generous to a fault, never petulant or petty. “I’ve always showed you kindness, Percy. Always.”

“By rubbing my nose in your own perfection? By stealing my father from me?”

“Is that what you think I did?”

“He didn’t tell you everything, Zoe. My father is the one who told me about Lucien and Olav. He’s the one who told me how I could find the backward alchemists.” In my stunned silence, Percy rose and pushed past me.

“No, he would never—”

“You don’t know everything.” Percy rolled onto his heels and thrust his chin out, the same spoiled mannerism he’d had when he was twenty. Yet, he hadn’t regained control of his quivering body. He wasn’t nearly as confident as he wanted to appear.

“Sit down, Percival,” I said in my most commanding voice. “You’re going to tell me exactly what you’ve been dancing around. What do you know about Ambrose being in the asylum?”

He snorted. “Why would I tell you anything?”

I drew a deep breath and took a huge gamble. I could have played more on his superstitions, but there was a seed of a good man in Percy that I hoped I wasn’t mistaken about.

“Because you’re not a bad man, Percy. You never were. You’re weak, though. Whatever you’re holding in is what’s killing you even more quickly. The weight is crushing your soul.”

“I’m dying anyway, Zoe.” Percy closed his eyes. His lips moved, but no sound came out. Was he praying? When he opened his eyes, I caught a glimmer of humility in them.

“I might as well die with a clean conscience,” Percy said. “My father didn’t kill himself.”