Thirty-Eight

Human dignity is a complex thing. Ivan didn’t want me to see his body’s failings any more than Dorian wanted me to see his. I wished I could do more for Ivan, but my primary goal was helping Dorian—and now, Brixton.

After visiting Ivan, I was no closer to figuring out who killed Lucien. If I didn’t make progress soon, the police would connect him with Brixton. And if I didn’t get back to focusing on Dorian’s life force reversal soon, his whole body would return to stone.

I could think of only one person who might have been able to help me. Why had I acted so impulsively and sent Percy away? I didn’t even know his cell phone number! I’d reacted emotionally, but it was a stupid decision.

Berating myself, I shuffled up my stairs to the attic. The private and cozy space with a rooftop escape hatch was where Dorian and I had set up our research center. Dorian was using my laptop, since his clawed fingers didn’t work well on the touch screen of a phone, leaving me to use my phone to go online.

Was Dorian right that I’d made unfounded assumptions? I wasn’t so sure. All of the mysteries surrounding me were related to alchemy, so I couldn’t help thinking they were connected. Occam’s Razor: the simplest explanation was most likely the right one.

While I tried to put together the pieces of the puzzle, was Madame Leblanc working on a plan to get her nephew or a private investigator to find me and expose the fact that I was an alchemist? What would they find when they looked into the murder of my old acquaintance Jasper Dubois?

Because of more pressing matters, I hadn’t spent enough time either worrying about Madame Leblanc’s vendetta or researching Jasper’s death. Dorian hadn’t found anything, but I needed to try anyway. I again searched online library archives. As I narrowed my search, so many newspaper articles involved the police that I found myself distracted by thoughts of Max. If only I hadn’t been encumbered by the secrets of alchemy, he and I could have had a normal life together.

Normal life …

Damn. There was something else I’d been ignoring. I hadn’t checked my business orders in days.

I only listed high-end alchemical artifacts on my website, so I didn’t do a brisk pace of business. But when a customer bought an expensive matrix vase crafted in Prague or a set of apothecary jars once owned by a famous Bohemian painter in Paris, they expected good service.

I checked my orders through Elixir and found I’d made a sale two days before. I took a break to pack the item—a handwritten speech by Sylvester Graham. I added a small puzzle box as a gift to thank the customer for the delay in my acknowledging the purchase. Since the activities that had transpired earlier this spring, I hadn’t been too keen on having puzzle boxes around me anyway.

There was one more parcel I wanted to send. It was Rosa’s heart that ailed her, so I packaged a healing Hawthorn tincture for Tobias. Before sealing the padded brown paper envelope, I stepped outside and clipped a sprig of ivy growing wild along the side fence. Tobias would understand I meant it as a symbol of friendship.

After bringing the packages to the post office, I felt myself compelled to stay outdoors in nature. My sanctuary. I took a long walk. Too many ideas were flitting through my mind, and being outside with the early summer flowers of Portland would help me focus. Dozens of varieties of roses were beginning to bloom in the Rose City. Across time and cultures, roses have symbolized many things. Today, I let myself believe the fragrant new petals represented rebirth and life.

When I came home, I was much calmer. And hungry. I called upstairs to Dorian, but he didn’t answer. Since he hated it when I interrupted his reading these days, I let him be.

I ate leftovers for dinner. A small hearty scoop of Dorian’s secret garlic tomato sauce remained in the fridge in a glass mason jar, so I slathered it on crusty French bread and sprinkled arugula on top. A perfect combination of spicy and mellow flavors, and sharp and velvety textures, danced on my tongue. I had to remember to ask Dorian how he got the sauce so creamy.

There was enough food in the fridge to feed us ten times over, so I thought it would be nice to bring Ivan something else. I took out a nut loaf and a wild rice salad from the fridge and headed off. If I was honest with myself, it also served as another excuse to go for a walk outside.

Ivan wasn’t home. At least I hoped that was the case, and not that he was too sick to come to the door. Our alchemical discussion that afternoon had taken a lot out of him. Had it been too much for him?

I peeked in the window of his library, much like Lucien must have done. I didn’t see Ivan, but I saw something else I recognized. Percy’s leather jacket. My throat clenched and I staggered away from the window. The bag of food in my hand dropped to the ground.

Percy was staying with Ivan.

That’s why Ivan had glanced at the clock. He wasn’t feeling as ill as he pretended; he was expecting Percy to return.

This connection couldn’t be good. Using tricks I’d learned from watching Dorian use his claws to pick locks, I tried to pick the lock to Ivan’s back door, shielded from view. I failed miserably.

I checked all the windows and found one that wasn’t locked. It was a high one, but I was glad to find that slipping into a narrow high window was a skill one didn’t forget. Either that or I had enough adrenaline pumping through my veins that I could do anything at that moment.

On Ivan’s desk I found a copy of a flight itinerary. Ivan was going to Paris. Was he going with Percy? Why?

I rushed home and up to the attic to share these latest developments with Dorian.

I found my gargoyle friend tied up. His wrists were bound behind his back, rope had been wound around his body to prevent him from flapping his wings, and a handkerchief stuffed in his mouth.

His precious Non Degenera Alchemia was nowhere in sight.