The Romeo Catchers

by Arden, Alys

  “This is a very old laboratory,” he says. “Different times called for different measures.”

  I gaze around again at all the ancient tools and modern inventions and feel a ripple of excitement. “If León and I can use this laboratory, Father, we will doubtless become the best surgeons in all of Europe.”

  “You will become much more than surgeons,” my father says. “Niccolò, you will be the first to create the Elixir of Life. Your work here will elevate the Medici back to the greatest family in Europe.”

  I laugh. “The Elixir of Life is a thing of legends. All those who have tried have failed.”

  He smiles. “That’s because all who have tried were alchemists, charlatans, and magicians. You are a Medici. Surely you don’t think I let you continue on this medicinal path so you could pull teeth and treat syphilis? I have been priming you since birth, Niccolò. You will be the one who unites the microcosm with the macrocosm.

  “You will be the one who draws together all the knowledge of medicine and mysticism to create the substance mankind has so desperately searched for since time began. The power of the heavens, of life and death itself, distilled into a potion that defies mortality.”

  If only my professors could hear the way my father speaks, they’d get the true effect of the grandeur of the Medici tongue.

  “Your brilliant mind and your magical touch will take my work to places I could never imagine. Here you will no longer be stifled by the Aristotelian teachings of the university, nor will you be controlled by papal rule. Here you are bound only by your own dreams. And once the Elixir is complete, just think of the people you will be able to heal. You will not be one who treats the plague; you will be the one to eradicate the plague!”

  “You have high hopes for me, Father, and I love you for that. I just hope that I won’t disappoint you.”

  “It is not possible. I have waited with paternal excitement for this moment since you were born.” He looks at each of my brothers. “Just like I waited for each one of my children to take their places in the family.”

  He beckons for me to follow and walks to a grand podium in the center of the room, upon which rests an aged tome.

  The book is opened to a handwritten page. Scrolled across the top in Italian, rather than the Latin or Greek I expect based on how old the book looks, are the words:

  MEDICI ELIXIR della VITA

  Paragraphs turn into pages, and pages, and pages of notes, charts, diagrams on distillation and transmutation of the elements.

  “You will take the helm, just as your grandfather did before you, and his grandfather, all the way back to Cosimo the Elder. They will all be here with you. Take guidance from their spirits, and finish the Elixir, Niccolò. I always knew it would be you who would take my place here.”

  I turn to my brothers, who have been unusually quiet throughout my father’s speech, giving it even more gravity. Both of them smile at me crookedly, but with pride, and I wonder how long they’ve had to keep this secret. I hook one arm around each of their necks, as it’s difficult for me to come up with words that express my feelings.

  I have my calling, and it is neither sword, nor cross, nor coin.

  In my old age, it won’t just be poems I write, but history.

  Creating the Elixir will be more important than the victory of war or acquiring wealth or land—for the Elixir will change our world. It will be truly magical, worthy of a place in antiquity, like the relics my father collects from ancient times.

  “I bet you didn’t think we could top the birthday when Bianca made you a man?” Gabriel says.

  “No . . . No, I did not.”

  My father embraces me. “You are more than a man, Niccolò. You are a Medici.”

  The church bells boom high above us.

  How can we hear the church bells from so far underground?

  They grow louder, echoing in my chest, and when my father pulls away, I blink because I swear I can see the podium through his chest.

  “Father?” I reach out for his shoulder, but my hand passes right through him. “Father!”

  “Gabriel!” I yell, turning to my brothers, but they fade away too. The flames in the sconces go out one by one until the room is pitch black and I am alone. “León? León!” I scream until the sound of my voice fades into nothingness.

  And from nothingness comes schoolyard chatter, and I am awake. The bells at St. Mary’s church clang next to the attic.

  It’s seven a.m.

  Shit.

  CHAPTER 31

  Twin-Flames

  January 11th

  My phone buzzed as I looped the little metal rings together, a pair of needle-nose pliers in each of my hands. The clusters had turned into rows, and the rows into patches, and now I had a two-by-three-foot section of chainmaille, and the mountain of little rings was shrinking.

  I glanced down at my phone.

  Désirée 12:37 p.m. Is ur house arrest over yet?

  I set down the tools and punched back a message.

  Adele 12:37 p.m. No. My dad even told Isaac that the terms of my grounding exclude him from the metal shop.

  Being grounded for the last two days sucked, but it made not talking to Isaac easier. And I was definitely not talking to him. I looked over to his empty space at the worktable, to the sculpture of a coconut he was working on. He’d told me it reminded him of the island illustrations in Susannah’s sketchbook. I told him it reminded me of the Krewe of Zulu. He’d carved each little coconut-shell hair with meticulous precision, just like the wisps of the feather.

  I slipped on my coat, grabbed my bag from under the table, and continued the text conversation on my way to work.

  Désirée 12:38 p.m. Isaac should probably stay clear of Mac, anyway. And srsly, ur the only person on the planet who could get grounded for hooking up and still have their virginity intact.

  My fingertips blushed as I texted the response.

  Adele 12:38 p.m. That’s not why I got grounded. I got grounded for not coming home. My dad just assumes I was with Isaac.

  The cool breeze felt good against my face after being cooped up. My father had even made me call into work. At least he had calmed down a little.

  Désirée 12:41 p.m. This is the part where u tell me where u really were, if u weren’t actually hooking up with our other coven member.

  Adele 12:42 p.m. Um. . . Later. Not a convo for text.

  Désirée 12:42 p.m. u can’t stay mad at him forever, u know?

  And with that I put my phone away because I still felt like I could, in fact, stay mad at Isaac forever. I hadn’t returned any of his messages—for whatever reason, “sorry” wasn’t enough this time—which meant there was a zero percent chance of him not showing up during my shift.

  Despite the inevitable confrontation, I was eager to get to the tearoom. I had a laundry list of magical things I wanted to investigate, most of which had to do with dreamcasting, as Papa Olsin called it in his book. If it was my Spektral power, I sucked at it, and no wonder I didn’t have my mark. Despite my jailbird status, I’d snuck out the last two nights and gone to the attic to try to connect with Nicco, to no avail. It was like the dream magic had suddenly stopped working. But most importantly, I needed to know if Callis had made any progress with his plan.

  And that frazzled my nerves as I opened the door at Bottom of the Cup.

  He was behind the counter, sweeping up what sounded like large chunks of glass. “I’m beginning to come to terms with the fact that she hates me,” he said, clearly frustrated.

  I walked over. “Who hates you?”

  “Julie.” He dumped the dustpan into the bin. More broken moons.

  “Why do they keep hanging that shelf?” It seemed illogical even for the Daures. I took the broom from him and finished sweeping as he held the dustpan steady. Onyx leaped onto the counter and supervised. “Thanks for covering my shift yesterday.”

  “No problemo. Isaac told me you’ve been grounded.”

  “Mmmhmm.”
/>
  “Aaand that you’re not speaking to him.”

  I did my best not to look annoyed—this was not something I wanted to discuss with Callis. “Did you tell Isaac? About your . . . mission?”

  “Yeah, he didn’t know anything about Niccolò and Emilio.”

  Every muscle in my back eased. It was such a moment of relief, I worried Callis might have noticed. Not that I really thought Isaac was going to rat, but then again, he hates vampires so much. Especially Emilio. Especially Nicco.

  “I figured he didn’t know anything.”

  “Unless it happened in the last two days?”

  I smirked.

  “None of my business.” He held his hands up.

  The phone rang.

  “Bottom of the Cup Tearoom?” I answered.

  “I need to speak with Olsin, please,” quivered a woman on the other end.

  “Okay.” I glanced at his appointment book. “He has an opening in, like, ten minutes.”

  “I don’t want an appointment. I just need to ask him a question.”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am. All psychics are by appointment only.”

  Click.

  A little girl entered the shop from the hallway. She couldn’t have been more than eight or nine, but her long black ringlets tied up into a floppy white bow made her look younger and doll-like. Her thin-lipped smile and deep-blue eyes looked just like Callis’s.

  I smiled at her, but before I could introduce myself, the phone rang again.

  “Bottom of the Cup?”

  “Hi, it’s me again. Jessie. I just need to ask Olsin a question. It will be fast, I promise.”

  “I’m sorry, Jessie, but we can’t transfer any calls unless you have an appointment.”

  She burst into tears.

  I covered the receiver and mouthed She’s crying to Callis.

  He shook his head.

  “I’m so sorry, are you sure you don’t want to make an appointment?”

  “No, thank you.” Click.

  “Always an appointment,” Callis said.

  I nodded and hung up the phone.

  He turned to the little girl. “Celestina, this is Adele. I told you about her. She’s a friend of Isaac’s. Do you remember him?”

  Her head bobbed.

  “Nice to meet you, Celestina. I really like your bow.”

  The phone rang a third time. I answered, but someone reached from behind me and pulled it from my hand. Papa Olsin.

  “Go look under the porch steps,” he said into the phone before handing it back to me.

  “Um?” I held the receiver back to my ear, but the lady had already hung up. And Papa Olsin was already shuffling back down the hallway, mumbling to himself.

  Callis shrugged.

  “You’re pretty,” said the little girl.

  “Merci beaucoup, toi aussi.”

  Before I could translate, she replied, “Pas aussi belle que toi.”

  “Celestina!” Callis yelled.

  A giggle slipped from my lips. “Ton accent est parfait!” And it was the truth—her accent was perfect.

  “I’m so glad you’ve been watching the films I gave you,” Callis said to his sister, and then looked at me. “She really is the cleverest little girl.”

  When I looked back to her, she was running toward me. She threw her arms around my waist.

  “Celestina!” Callis stepped toward us. “I’m sorry. She doesn’t get much interaction with children her own age. Or girls really, ever.”

  “It’s okay,” I said, trying to hide the startled look on my face. I patted her head. Vibrations came from above us. Oh no. I shoved her out of the way as the metal shelf above us tipped, and my arm flew straight up, shielding myself—the metal shelf froze in midair right above my head.

  Callis dove onto the counter, arm outstretched, as a crystal ball tipped over its edge. “Got it.”

  All I could do was breathe loudly and bring my hand to the shelf so it looked like I was physically holding it up. Celestina’s eyes grew big.

  Callis swung over the counter and helped me lift the shelf down without tipping any of the other crystal balls.

  Two long screws rolled around on the brick floor. “What the hell?” I whispered, picking them up, momentarily forgetting there was a child in the room.

  Callis looked at me. “I told you she hates me.”

  The phone rang a fourth time. I hesitated before answering.

  “Thank you. Thank you!” The woman was now crying hysterically. “I found her. I found Goldie under the porch just like Olsin said. We’ve had that puppy for twelve years. She was like our baby.”

  “Whoa . . . Glad we could help.”

  I hung up the phone a little stunned, both by the psychic experience and from nearly getting my head crushed by a crystal ball.

  Callis ushered Celestina back upstairs while I lit a stick of incense called Ocean’s Breeze, hoping it would have a calming effect.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, reentering the room from the corridor.

  “Yeah, fine.” I leaned on the counter, trying to find a position that looked natural, but everything felt awkward because of the question I was trying to formulate in my head. How does one just bring up a vampire hunt a second time without sounding suspicious?

  He looked at the two screws on the counter and then held the shelf up against the wall and stared at me, waiting. I hadn’t told him about my metal powers, but I guess it was obvious after seeing me catch the shelf midair. My hand whipped to the screws, and they floated to the shelf; I twisted my finger in a circular motion, and the screws bolted themselves back into the brick.

  “I have this sense,” he said, testing the shelf’s integrity with his palm, “though I’d hate for it to be true, that they’re being protected by magic. Niccolò and Emilio. Like they’ve coerced a witch—or, worse, threatened one with violence—to protect them.”

  I laughed nervously, placing the grapefruit-size, smoky-quartz crystal ball back on the shelf. “That seems kind of silly. Why would vampires need protection?”

  He smiled at me. “You underestimate me.”

  “No, that’s not what I meant—I’m sure you’re the best vampire-hunter witch person ever.” My tone turned more somber. “You certainly have enough motive.”

  “I’ve been getting stronger—”

  “Oui, you look better. I mean, not that there was anything wrong with the way you looked before.” He smiled again as I stumbled through the words. “You just look healthier.”

  “I am healthier. The best I’ve felt in . . . a very long time. This city has done wonders for me.”

  “Does that mean you’re getting your Elemental power back?”

  He sighed. “Alas, it will take a lot more for me to get my Fire, if ever at all.”

  He looked at the basket of candles on the counter, and my heart broke a little. I pulled one out and set it on the counter between us. “Just try.”

  He faced me meekly, like he appreciated my enthusiasm but that it was a lost cause.

  “Come on.”

  It felt strange, me coaching someone with their magic. It made me think of Nicco and the bell tower, when I was coming into my Fire. Then again, everything in the last couple days made me think of Nicco, and thinking about him nonstop frustrated me to no end. I didn’t want to think about Nicco the human—the humanitarian. Especially after what he’d done to Callis.

  He let out a sigh, and then focused on the fresh wick. I put up a wall in my mind so I didn’t accidently light it, giving him false hope.

  A line crinkled across his forehead, and a little puff of smoke wafted from the wick where a burn mark appeared. His face turned red as he continued to struggle with it.

  “It’s okay.” I gently touched his arm.

  His eyes popped open wide. My gaze dropped to the candle. The wick now had a flame of unnatural proportion. A flickering in my peripheral vision drew my attention. We both looked out to the shop.

  Every wick in the ro
om was lit: the candelabras across the fireplace mantel, the small candles nestled in chunks of crystal on the glass shelves, and the tea lights in brass boxes with star cutouts. It was almost romantic. For the first time in two days, I suddenly found myself wishing Isaac was near.

  “Show off,” he said.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

  “Please don’t be sorry.” He walked around the counter, looking at the flames as if it was the first time he’d ever seen fire. “Did you say your magic came from your mother’s side?”

  “No.”

  “So it’s Le Moyne magic, then?”

  “Oui, but before La Nouvelle-Orléans, we were the Saint-Germains, of Paris.”

  “Saint-Germain? And I thought I knew all of the Fire-witch family lines. We’re quite rare, you know?”

  “I didn’t. And I wish I knew more about the Saint-Germains. Sometimes I feel like a loser when Isaac and Dee are poring over their grimoires, learning their family secrets.”

  “You don’t have your family book of magic?”

  My head shook.

  “I know the feeling . . .”

  “In other news,” I said, “I think I’m coming into my Spektral power.” I immediately regretted saying it. I didn’t want to sound braggadocious.

  “That’s magnificent!” His eyes dropped to my arm, even though I had a sweater on. “Have you received your Maleficium?”

  “No . . . but soon, hopefully. Dreams. It’s something to do with dream magic.”

  A slight look of disappointment appeared on his face.