by Gigi Pandian
“She could have been swayed by a dangerous man with ill intentions,” Tobias said.
“The Flamels’ home was filled with art by Philippe Hayden and other painters,” I said. “It was one of the many things I loved about my time with them. Do you think Philippe Hayden could have been one of their students, like I was, and that’s how he met Perenelle?”
“Isabella Magnus,” Dorian declared. He puffed up his chest before continuing. “The mysterious woman who is a metalworker yet cannot paint. Who possesses ergot poison, which has been manipulated for many centuries. Who was the last person in possession of The Alchemist before it disappeared.”
The gargoyle paused, straightened his wings, and drummed his claws together. If he wore glasses, I was sure he would have adjusted them for effect.
“Isabella Magnus,” he said, “is Perenelle Flamel.”
twenty-nine
“You’re forgetting one very important thing,” I said. “I know what Perenelle looks like. And Isabella Magnus is not Perenelle Flamel.”
“But as you admitted,” Dorian said, “plastic surgery and psychology—”
“Neither can make people a foot taller.”
Dorian’s nostril’s flared. “But … But I was so certain! It was such a perfect solution. Are you quite sure?”
“I am. I haven’t seen Perenelle Flamel anywhere since 1704. Not over the years, and not here in Portland now.”
“That is a long period of time,” Dorian said, his wings slumping. “You could have forgotten, no?”
“No. But she could be trapped inside a painting as well. That would explain things, if they were both imprisoned. If I can get him out of the painting and help him with the important task he wrote of, I can also help him find her again. He was never happy when she wasn’t at his side.”
“I hope she wasn’t involved with whatever Nicolas was trying to stop,” Tobias said, grabbing his leather jacket from the coat rack. “Perenelle has got to fit into this somehow. You said she and Nick were inseparable. So where is she?”
“Where are you going?”
“I’m the only one who can do something beyond play armchair detective today,” Tobias said. “Looks like it’s up to me to figure out whatever else I can from the Magnus family. What other alchemy-related paintings do they have in their mansion?”
“You can’t go back there. Isabella had poison—”
“You’re not the one the police are most suspicious of, Zoe.”
“Exactly. You can’t go investigating—”
“It’s my neck on the line. I know the cops mean well, and that I explained away my past, but there are some blank spots and inconsistencies that won’t be so easy to explain if they go digging … I want the murder solved as quickly as possible, as well as help to get Nick back to you.”
“He makes a good point,” Dorian said. “I am less clear on why Monsieur Freeman refers to the alchemist as ‘Nick.’”
Tobias and I looked at one another. “Do you remember, Zoe?” he asked.
“What does she remember?” Dorian asked, jumping up and down.
“The man who once owned Tobias,” I said softly. “His name was Nicholas.”
“Merde,” Dorian said.
Tobias grabbed my keys from the glass bowl next to the door. “I promise I’ll take good care of your truck.”
“But you can’t just barge in—” I began.
“She’ll let me in,” Tobias said. “I have a good reason.”
Before I could ask what he meant, he was out the door.
“He is an enigmatic one,” Dorian said once the front door had shut behind Tobias. “What do you presume he has in mind?”
“I don’t know. But I’ve learned not to doubt him.”
“Bon.”
“Could you help me up?”
“If you can wait a few moments,” the gargoyle said, hopping onto the first step of the stairway leading to the second floor, “I have a better idea.”
He returned a few minutes later holding a stack of my clothes and an ornate wooden cane that I hadn’t thought about in years.
“Now you understand what it is to be housebound,” Dorian said as he handed me the antique Chinese cane. “Yet you also observe how it gives your little gray cells more incentive to work. But this cane will help you move around the house. At least on the ground floor.”
“You know my inventory better than I do,” I said, smiling at the dragon carved into the smooth handle. It reminded me of the phoenix pendant. Fierce, symbolic creatures that rose from flames.
“Where are you going now?” I asked, noticing Dorian was already halfway up the stairs again.
“My work station is set up in the attic.”
“Your work station?” I’d been wondering why he’d set up my old printer in the attic.
He pointed at the books surrounding me and the laptop on the coffee table. “You should get to work as well.”
Before returning to the books, I took a bath in the downstairs bathroom to give myself a chance to think about what we’d learned. I couldn’t get it out of my mind that Perenelle was a missing piece of the puzzle. Why hadn’t I thought more about that? I knew a big part of the answer. Perenelle and I had never been close. Nicolas was the mentor I needed, but Perenelle had never seemed fully comfortable with my presence in the house. I don’t think she was jealous of me. It was something else. Something I never understood at the time, and didn’t have a chance to learn before I fled.
I’d also been terribly selfish. I hadn’t thought about how worried Tobias must be feeling, knowing the police were looking into him.
Tobias shook me awake from where I’d accidentally fallen asleep curled up on the couch.
“You could have texted,” I said, stretching my kinked neck. “I was getting worried.”
“I didn’t realize how late it was. But it looks like the gargoyle took good care of you.” He pointed at a tray of food on the coffee table. I hadn’t even realized Dorian had brought it out. “That spread explains why you’re dressed like this. Couldn’t fit into your other clothes? No judgment. I’ve been there.”
I looked down at my pink sweatpants, hand-knitted green sweater, and yellow sun-and-moon socks and laughed. “No. Actually I’m wearing these because Dorian went upstairs to get fresh clothes for me before I took a bath downstairs. I didn’t want to try the stairs yet.”
Tobias laughed so hard a tear rolled down his cheek.
“It’s not funny,” I said, gasping through my own laughter. “I think he might be color-blind.”
“Where is the little guy, anyway?”
“He should have heard us talking. I expected he’d be down by now.”
Tobias hefted a satchel onto the floor. I hadn’t noticed it in the dim light. I would have assumed it was more baking supplies for Dorian except that it bulged at sharp angles.
“What on earth?” I asked.
“Gift from Isabella.” He lifted a two-foot metal sculpture from the canvas bag. Like the ones I’d seen in front of the Castle, it was a series of twisted iron beams.
“A gift? You’re friends now?” I couldn’t take my eyes off the sleek and beautiful lines of the sculpture.
“It’s two intertwined crows,” he said, following my gaze. “When the light hits them just right, they look like they’re flying.”
I sniffed the air.
“What are you doing?” Tobias asked. “Do you need a tissue?”
“I’m making sure there’s no poison on the statue or in the bag. Stop looking at me like that. I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”
Tobias sighed. “Why is it so hard to believe she’d be generous?”
“She’s a murder suspect.”
“So are we. Crows were Rosa’s favorite. They’re arguably the smartest non-human animal.” He paused and
gave me a pained look. “And loyal.”
“Rosa. That’s why you two bonded.”
“We both know what it’s like to lose a spouse. Especially so recently.”
I’d felt that pain before, but time had done its job healing the sharp edges of grief.
“That’s why you guessed she’d see you.”
“I gave Isabella my condolences and told her about Rosa. She already knew who I was. She knew the police had questioned me in relation to the case because of the misunderstanding at your house. She was horrified about it, especially since I’d been coming to visit after Rosa’s funeral. That detective questioned her about me as well. Wondering if I’d crossed paths with Logan at some point in my ‘spotty past.’”
“I’m sorry.”
“For what? You didn’t know I’d be arriving in Portland so soon. You had no way to know they’d pick me up.”
“I’ve failed spectacularly at giving you the relaxing break you needed. And for not trusting you.”
“Zoe.” Tobias scooted my feet on the couch over to make room to sit down. “We need to talk.”
“Conversations beginning with those words never end well.”
Tobias nodded. “You know there are these rumors that an art forger was somehow connected to Logan Magnus? Isabella says she found information proving that an art forger murdered her husband.”
thirty
“Did she go to the police?” I asked. “Who—?”
“Two problems.” Tobias cut me off. “First, she doesn’t know who the person is—if it’s the forger Neo who’s on the run, or someone else. Second, she doesn’t have the proof. It was something Logan found, which she discovered in their safe after he died. When she went back to look more closely at what she realized it was, she says it was gone, just like the painting.”
“That’s an even better reason to go to the police.”
“Without any hard evidence, and without even knowing who the documents implicate, she’s worried nothing will come of it except for scandal—that there’ll be headlines saying Logan Magnus was in league with an art forger. The police already know about the possible art forgery connection.”
“You realize she could have made up the whole thing to get false sympathy from you.”
“And to draw suspicion away from herself,” Tobias added. “Yeah, I know all that. But my gut is telling me Isabella is good people. One of the lessons I’ve learned from alchemy, especially spiritual alchemy, is that you’ve gotta believe your gut. Even when there’s no rational reason to do so. You’re certainly keeping my mind preoccupied, Zoe Faust. For that, I thank you. Shall we solve this thing or what? Where is Dorian? I have to admit he’s good with coming up with plans under strange circumstances like these.”
Tobias went upstairs to fetch the gargoyle, but returned a minute later shaking his head. “This is weird. He must’ve already gone out for the night. It’s a bit early.”
“He needs to spend even more of the night baking at Blue’s to meet the new demand.”
“Are you sure that’s what he’s up to?” Tobias asked.
“Why do you say that?”
Tobias handed me his phone and showed me a photo of the attic. Only it looked nothing like the space I knew. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.
“You took this just now?”
He nodded.
“Help me up the stairs,” I croaked.
“You sure?”
“I have to see this with my own eyes.”
With the railing, I barely needed Tobias’s help on the first set of stairs. The steep, narrow stairs leading to the attic were trickier, but I had to see for myself …
I didn’t recognize my attic. Dozens of printouts were taped to the walls, with yards of red yarn strung between the pages. The room had been transformed from a cozy sanctuary to the lair of a conspiracy theorist.
I yanked one paper off the wall. A picture of Isabella Magnus from a newspaper, taken at an art gallery. “This area is a dossier of the whole Magnus family,” I said. “Logan, Cleo, Ward, and Cleo’s ex the mysterious Archer. Even Logan’s parents, Isabella’s sister and parents, and Ward’s family back in England. We’re surrounded by everything publicly available on the family that Dorian could find online and print. Plus the paintings of Philippe Hayden that might be relevant … and clippings about the Portland art forger who escaped after his studio was raided.”
“Look at this side,” Tobias said. “Here on this wall, we’ve also got a few references to Nick and Perenelle—though I’m guessing most of these are wrong. The little fellow has lost it.”
I shook my head and picked up a 1970s spy novel sitting on top of a garage sale box of books and magazines. “He’s simply impressionable. What do you want to bet the characters in this spy novel constructed a suspect chart like this?”
Tobias ran his hands across his face and stifled a laugh.
“It looks like he’s not finished,” I said. “The section above the chess set stops abruptly. He must have realized he needed to leave to start baking—”
I broke off when I saw the note Dorian had left for us: Arrêtez! Stop! Mes amies, I will explain my system once I have returned. There are clues here, but I cannot yet see the forest for the trees.
I woke up at sunrise with my heart beating furiously, the echoes of a dream fresh but fading. I struggled against the image seared into my mind of Philippe Hayden and Perenelle Flamel as partners in crime, laughing as they imprisoned Nicolas in the painting.
If Philippe Hayden was an alchemist who’d discovered the Elixir of Life thanks to Perenelle, could they have worked together to trap Nicolas in a painting? Why would they have let the painting out of their control, and why steal it back now? How was it related to the death of Logan Magnus?
I cautiously stretched my toes, bent my ankle, and stepped softly onto the hardwood floor. Thankfully, my ankle didn’t give way. I felt it twinge, but the ice, poultice, and rest had worked. I could walk with only a minor limp today.
I watered my kitchen window box herb garden and got myself a glass of water with a squeeze of lemon. I slipped on sandals and sat down on the back porch steps, drinking the water as I looked over my garden coming to life with the sun. The plants were covered in dew and the soil was damp from the rain, so I only needed to water the plants in containers on the covered back porch. Max had given me lavender clippings that I’d planted in old tomato cans.
Mint, thyme, and blackberry brambles were taking over the yard. I’d shown Brixton how to safely cut back invasive plants, but he’d resisted cutting down plants that were healthy, asking why we couldn’t simply let the yard run wild as long as everything was doing well. He couldn’t see the underground network of roots that would squeeze out other plants, choking the life out of them. And he wouldn’t believe what he couldn’t see.
In the planned part of the garden, kale, parsley, mustard greens, and mizuna were interspersed with fall squashes. The pumpkins were doing especially well. Only a little bit of powdery mildew touched their leaves.
Back inside, I started hot water for tea and rooted through Dorian’s misshapen creations to see what I’d like for breakfast. Even with the influx of customers, Dorian still refused to serve anything that looked less than perfect. The misshapen pastries tasted every bit as good—arguably better, for having character and more nooks and crannies for the natural sweetness of crisping in the oven—but of course Dorian believed presentation was an essential part of stoking the palette.
I decided it was late enough that I could knock on Tobias’s door to see if he wanted to join me for breakfast. The door swung open as I knocked. The bed was made and the room was empty.
He wasn’t in the bathroom or backyard either. I even checked my Airstream trailer.
“Dorian,” I called as I carefully climbed the attic stairs. “Do you know where Tobias went? Do
rian?”
The attic was empty of life as well. My truck was still in the driveway, so they must have walked to wherever they went. Where had they gone?
Only belatedly did I think to look for a message on my cell phone. But there were no messages. I texted Tobias and he wrote back immediately: At breakfast. Back soon.
I sighed. I’m much better at picking up local languages, including accents and dialects, than adapting to new technology. I prefer landline phones that don’t drop a signal and classic cars that can be fixed by hand, and I firmly believe that kitchen tools were perfected in the 1960s. That’s when gadgets served multiple purposes and were built to last. I had the same blender I’d used for fifty years. Like my Chevy, all it needed was a new engine every so often.
Tobias’s text didn’t explain everything, though. Dorian couldn’t go out to breakfast. So where was Dorian?
I had a cup of green tea, a fruit and vegetable smoothie made in my blender, and a misshapen carrot cake breakfast cookie Dorian had rejected the day before—the cookie looked like the state of Florida—all before Tobias walked in the front door.
“How are the teashop crowds?” I asked.
“I wasn’t at Blue’s.”
“You weren’t? I thought you said you were at breakfast? Don’t tell Dorian you’ve found a better spot.”
“I called a car to take me to the Castle to see Isabella again,” Tobias said. “She invited me over for an early breakfast. I thought I’d be back sooner.”
“So last night wasn’t just a one-time sharing of grief … ”
“I can take care of myself, Zoe. And so what if there’s a risk? What good is living for so long if we don’t help people? You used to know that.”
“You think I’m not?”
“Hey, where’s Dorian?”
“He’s not here.”
“What do you mean? It’s daytime. He should be back here.”
“I know.”
Tobias picked up his phone.
“He doesn’t have a cell phone,” I said. “It doesn’t work well with his clawed hands. He can only use a proper keyboard and the landline phone in the house.”