The Alchemist in the Attic

by Urias, Antonio

  “Oh yes,” Atwood said with a smirk. “Definitely.”

  “That’s what I thought,” Hearst said with a smile.

  Behind them, Atwood could hear a low, familiar chuckle. Selby and Maguire were arguing. He strained to listen.

  “Why are you laughing?” Selby muttered. “He’ll be coming after you too.”

  “I’m an old man now,” Maguire said. “My secrets can’t hurt me, and I know most of his. Besides, I get to watch him tear you apart. That’s always good for a laugh.”

  Atwood grinned at Selby over his shoulder. Already, plans were starting to take root. Maguire was right. He had old scores to settle. Maybe this time Atwood would be the one who ran Selby out of town. There was a certain vicious poetry to that, and as for Maguire, Atwood would think of something. He was still his father’s son.

  “Careful,” Hearst said softly, drawing Atwood back from his thoughts. “You have your uses, Mr. Atwood, but so does Selby.” His voice was implacable. “You’ll both learn to keep your feud to yourselves, or you won’t be of any more use. Do you understand me, Mr. Atwood?”

  “Yes, sir,” Atwood said. Hearst might be young, but there was a core of iron in him that would not bend.

  “Excellent,” Hearst said softly. “Welcome to the future of journalism.”

  They shook hands.

  *

  Madame Valli found Atwood afterward, alone on the edge of the crowd. The fire was burning itself out, leaving the nearby houses largely untouched. Around them the crowd began to disperse, slowly at first, some trickling back to their beds, others out into the night. Even the opium eater managed to stagger away to find solace and a home of sorts in familiar dens and pipes, but the two of them remained in comfortable, watching silence.

  Atwood could feel her beside him, waiting silently. He appreciated her patience, but he knew it wouldn’t last. They both had too many questions, but for now at least she was leaving him to his thoughts. He had lost his best friend twice over tonight, and nearly his life.

  The hollowed, blackened shell of 7 Pretorius Street loomed above them. A few people were already picking their way through the ruins, scavengers mostly, bitter and desperate. A handful of policemen were trying to hold them back. He wondered what they would make of the attic, what they might scavenge from the ruins of Valencourt’s madness. He shivered, but it was mostly from the autumn chill. It was nearly winter, and the wind from the Bay had a biting edge.

  Atwood considered returning to the attic, making the dangerous climb to see for himself, and to put all doubts to rest that they were really dead. But he felt so tired, and the thought of the terrible tableau waiting for him brought with it a strange, unlooked-for sadness. Perhaps it was better not knowing for certain.

  “Where did you disappear to?” he asked, finally.

  “Nowhere in particular, darling.” Madame Valli smirked up at him, almost fondly. “But I had no desire to answer any of your friend’s tedious questions.”

  “What about my tedious questions?”

  “That depends, but first I have one of my own.”

  “Oh?” Atwood raised an eyebrow.

  “Yes. You see, darling, I can’t help noticing that the police arrived suspiciously quickly.”

  “Hmm. It was fortuitous, wasn’t it?”

  “Very,” Madame Valli agreed. “And at first I thought they might have been following us, but no, that’s not it at all. It was you, darling. You told them about Valencourt.”

  “I did, though I made sure we arrived a little early.”

  “You lied to me.”

  “I wasn’t sure I could trust you.”

  “And now?”

  Atwood shrugged and Madame Valli gave him an appreciative grin. “You arranged the whole thing. You would get your story, the inspector would get his arrest, and I…”

  “Would get your notebook,” Atwood finished. “Unless you betrayed me, in which case you would be arrested as well.”

  “Very neat. And everything seems to have worked out for you in the end.”

  “Not everything,” Atwood muttered darkly.

  Madame Valli sighed. “I’m sorry, darling.”

  “No,” Atwood said quietly. “It’s not your fault. And as you said, I got my story and a job.”

  “Congratulations.”

  “Thank you, but now it’s my turn.” Atwood turned to her. “I have a few questions, more than a few actually.”

  Madame Valli smirked. “I’m sure you do, darling, but that doesn’t mean I’ll answer them.”

  “No,” Atwood agreed. “But this does.” He produced Valencourt’s notebook from his pocket with a tired, triumphant smile.

  Madame Valli gaped at him. “How did you…?”

  “I removed it during the confusion. I’m surprised you didn’t notice.”

  “You quick-fingered son of a bitch.”

  “Thank you,” he said.

  “Let me buy you a drink,” she said. “And I’ll answer all your many questions.”

  “I’d love to,” he said. “But you can’t. All your earthly possessions just went up in smoke.”

  “True,” she said. “So how about you buy me one.”

  “I can’t afford it either.” He nodded to the smoldering wreck. “All my belongings just burned too.”

  “Well, we’ll think of something.” She held out her arm. “Shall we, darling?”

  “We shall,” he said, taking her arm. “And please, call me Teddy.”

  “Then you can call me Madame,” she said with a weary twinkle. There was nothing teasing in her eyes, only companionship and sympathy.

  They turned and made their way half-stumbling down the street, away from the madness and into the dawn.

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  Chronicles of Talis Book 1: Irons in the Fire

  The City of Talis is a fragile beacon of civilization on the edge of the Faërie Lands. Beyond lies a wilder world of dark enchantments and terrible wonders, but behind the city walls humans and faëries live together in uneasy peace—until an explosion rocks the city and long-smoldering tensions threaten to ignite.

  As the Commandant of Police, Baron Hessing has maintained stability for decades. But with a murderer on the loose, an anarchist bombing the city, and rumors of a faërie uprising, he is starting to lose control. Hessing finds himself caught in a web of interlocking conspiracies and he may need to choose between saving his city and saving his family.

  Into this maelstrom appears the Countess. Trained from birth for a single purpose—vengeance—suddenly she appears everywhere from secret catacombs to the halls of power. Beset by enemies on all sides, it will take all her training to succeed in a city on the brink of revolution. Plans are in motion, centuries in the making, that will change the fate of Talis forever.

  Irons in the Fire is the first novel in the Chronicles of Talis.

  Click here to preview or purchase on Amazon.

  About the Author

  A New Yorker born and bred, Antonio Urias is a speculative fiction writer and a lifelong storyteller with a history of rooting for the villains and a love of the dark, the weird, and the cursed. When he was nine years old, he planned out an epic twelve book series about knights and dragons, before deciding that was too ambitious and downscaling to eight. This may explain a lot. He is also the author of Irons in the Fire, The Nightmare Man, and The Painletter.