The Alchemist's Illusion

by Gigi Pandian

  “There’s a chair,” the voice said. “I kicked it over, and now I’m going to push it over toward you. If you’re bound like me, your hands are behind you, but if you can move your head to the metal legs, you might be able to pull your gag off like I did. Hurry. He’s gone for now, but he’ll be back.”

  I was lying on my side, and while something was preventing me from moving my feet, I could move my upper body enough to back up until I hit the chair. I freed my mouth and took a few deep breaths of acidic air.

  “Where am I?” I asked.

  “Zoe?”

  “Detective Vega?”

  “Yes. You’ve been unconscious for a long time. Are you all right?”

  My head throbbed and I felt panic rising as I blinked. My eyes weren’t adjusting. “I can’t see—”

  “That’s not your vision. There’s not a drop of light in here. But did he hurt you? Are you injured?”

  I tried moving. Nothing was broken, but I couldn’t move. Rope cut into my wrists and ankles. “I’m tied tightly, but aside from a headache I don’t think I’m hurt. But this isn’t how I intended my entrance to be. I’m here to rescue you.” I tugged as hard as I could at my bindings. My only reward was scratched wrists and pain shooting through my ankle.

  “Please tell me you called for backup.”

  “Sort of … ” I said, thinking of my conversation with Dorian. What had he heard? Would he send the police? He had a deep skepticism of them, but he couldn’t very well fly across town to help. Even if he’d been willing to do it, his wing was broken.

  “Why does your answer sound so uncertain?”

  “The call was cut short.” I closed my eyes. The scent of paint was stronger in here. And also something else … “I think I’m going to be sick.”

  “It’s not just the smell in here. Judging by how long you were out, he must have knocked you out pretty good.”

  “I didn’t see him. Was it Ward Talbot?”

  “He was here when I checked inside the warehouse.” I heard her squirm. “Listen, he took my gun and keys, but he missed the Leatherman in my back pocket. I can’t reach it, but maybe you can. We need to move quickly. Tell me how you’re bound.”

  “Both hands and feet.” I tugged on both. My feet swung wide, but not my hands. “The ropes on my hands are tied to something. I can’t move.”

  She stifled a groan.

  “Doesn’t your team know you’re here?” I asked. “Don’t you have a partner or something?”

  This time she didn’t bother covering up a string of curses. “They didn’t believe me that this was a murder in the first place. Poisonings are always tricky, even without the factors that complicated this case. The guys on the force thought my interest in criminal justice history made me imagine a connection that wasn’t real. No way was I going to tell them I was following up on a long-shot lead of looking at all the properties Cleo Magnus owned.”

  “But you were right.”

  “Not completely. I didn’t think Ward would be here. Cleo owns a lot of property on the waterfront. In addition to the memorial gallery for her late father, she had a failed gallery of her own in one of the buildings a while back, and she rents to other artists—” Vega broke off and swore. “Point being, nobody’s coming. It’s up to us to get ourselves out of here.”

  “The fact that we’re alive,” I said, testing out my own tight bindings again. “That’s a good sign.” I couldn’t figure out what I was tied to. The ropes around my wrists were tied to something metal. A copper pipe?

  “Not always. Ward is smarter than I gave him credit for. He wouldn’t want to kill us here. Not a place he can be linked to.”

  “Oh!”

  “Did you hurt yourself?”

  “No. If Cleo owns this place, Max and the police will find us. I told Max it was Ward who tried to kill Perenelle.” I tugged again at the ropes. The rough weaving bit into my skin.

  “Who’s Perenelle?”

  “Long story. But the point is, he believed me. They’ll look into Cleo and find—”

  “I expect they already did.” Detective Vega sighed. “I thought I heard footsteps above a while ago. I hadn’t gotten my gag off yet to yell effectively. If you hadn’t noticed, we’re not exactly in the warehouse. I was in and out of consciousness when he carried me down a set of stairs.”

  “Down?”

  “This city has a history of smuggling and Shanghaiing. There’s a whole network of tunnels.”

  “I know,” I grumbled into the darkness.

  “As far as I can tell, this basement isn’t connected to a tunnel, but it’s meant to hide things. And it’s well hidden.”

  “But if it’s not tied to a tunnel,” I said, “he won’t be able to come back until the police are gone from the area.”

  “We don’t have infinite resources like they do on television. The police don’t know where Ward is, and they can’t stake out every location he has a minor connection to.”

  “But Ward is careful,” I said, thinking out loud. “He won’t take risks.”

  “You’re talking like you know him well.”

  “Someone I’m close to does.”

  “This Perenelle person?”

  “He forced her to swallow poisonous paints, just like he did with Logan Magnus.”

  “He tried that on me. I spit it back up in his face.”

  “Odd. He could have forced you.”

  “I know,” she said. “It was as if once he couldn’t convince me to do it, he had no interest in forcing me himself.”

  “So he left you here to die?”

  “He’ll be back. He won’t leave it to chance.”

  “What about our phones?”

  “Smashed. Along with my radio. No way to trace us.”

  “Your car?”

  “He took my keys, so it’ll be far away by now. Get back to work on your ropes. He’ll return before sunrise. He won’t want any witnesses for whatever he has in store for—” She broke off, and when she continued, her voice was a whisper. “What was that noise?”

  “Me. I was moving to sit up.”

  Her breath caught. “You can sit up?”

  “Barely. I think I’m tied to a pipe running along the wall.”

  “Can you move closer to me?”

  I slide my body toward her voice. My head felt dizzy, but it worked. I shuffled across the floor until I bumped into her shoulder.

  “My back right pocket,” she said. “Can you reach it? He took the tools in my jacket, but he missed this one.”

  “My hands don’t reach,” I said, “but … ” With a twinge of pain, I kicked off one shoe. My ankles were still bound, but I could move my feet.

  Detective Vega grunted as I accidentally kicked her stomach.

  “Sorry.”

  “No,” she said. “That’s good. You’re a few inches away. Just move to your left. That’s it.”

  I wriggled my toes until I felt the small metal tool. She moved a little bit, and a moment later I felt the tool slide out and heard it hit the floor. My hands didn’t reach the floor, but I gripped it between my feet and placed it in her hands.

  The detective worked in near-silence for the next several minutes. I heard her labored breathing and cursing as she sliced through the rope binding her wrists. In the pitch black and air that was becoming increasingly stifling, I imagined I was deep under water. I thought back to Logan Magnus’s painting The Underwater Underground—the modern, man-made junk deep in the ocean with the ghostly figures of people from medieval times. If circumstances had been different, I would have laughed at the parallels as a female detective used a multifaceted metal tool to free us from the centuries-old alchemist who’d tied us to modern metal pipes.

  “I got it!”

  I heard the sounds of Vega shuffling on the ground, and a momen
t later I felt her hands in mine.

  “Be still,” she said. “The knife is sharp.”

  It took her several minutes to cut through the thick rope, and as she worked I felt a wet substance dripping onto my palms. My first thought was that she’d nicked the water pipe—until I realized the wetness was sticky.

  “You’re hurt,” I said.

  “I’m fine.”

  “You cut yourself. Badly.”

  “Be still.”

  The ropes gave way from my wrists, and as I carefully felt the area around me she cut through the ropes on our ankles. I had to find something to wrap around her injuries. Her hands had been slick with blood.

  “Stay here,” she said, her voice above me.

  “I’m not—”

  “I need to find our way out. It could be dangerous.”

  “You need to bandage your hands—”

  “What I need to do is get you out of here.” Her voice was further away.

  I stood and followed the path along the wall toward her voice. A blinding light filled the room.

  Detective Vega stood at the top of rickety wooden steps, her hand on a light switch and a grin on her face. The narrow wooden steps were built against one wall and led to a wooden door. “Door’s locked as expected,” she said, “but I think I can pick it.”

  My gaze dropped from her face to her hand, my happiness of being freed replaced by dread. Dark red blood dripped down her forearm. She saw the fright in my eyes, and her expression turned to horror as she followed my gaze.

  “I didn’t think it was this bad. Adrenaline … ” She trailed off and sat down on the step. Hard. The silver pocketknife clattered down the steps as she clamped her right hand around the deep cut across her left wrist. We were locked underground and she was losing blood quickly.

  fifty-seven

  I scanned the room, looking for anything I could use to staunch the blood. It was a storage room, with boxes and narrow crates stacked on metal shelves. A lumpy six-foot rug was rolled up in one corner. There was also an easel with a cloth draped over it. I pulled the cloth off and ran up the stairs to the detective. The easel crashed to the floor behind me.

  The detective winced as I stopped the flow of blood by tying the cloth around her wrist.

  “We have to get you out of here,” she said. Her voice was weak. “Where did … ?” Her eyes seemed unfocused as she looked around.

  “I’ve got it,” I said, picking up the knife, which I saw now contained a whole set of tools. “Sit tight.”

  I stepped past her and tried the door handle. As she’d said, it was locked. I looked down at her. Detective Vega was in no shape to pick a lock, and I didn’t have my phone for Dorian to talk me through it. I looked to the hinges, remembering the way I’d opened another locked door the previous year. There were no hinges here. They were on the other side. That meant the door swung outward …

  I was willing to bet this room hadn’t been built with the purpose of locking people inside. At least I hoped so. If it was meant to hide illicit goods, its creator would want it to be hidden on the outside, but not necessarily secure on the inside. Which was why Ward had tied us up so tightly.

  “I have an idea,” I said, rushing down the stairs. I pushed my way through the various boxes on the shelves until I found something that was both heavy and maneuverable. A heavy, flat crate sat on a high shelf. Inside was a canvas painting, but that’s not what interested me. It was the ornate iron frame. Perfect.

  I hauled the framed canvas up the stairs and helped Detective Vega scoot down a few steps until she was out of the way. She didn’t object, which told me how much blood she’d lost.

  I swung the iron frame through the air a few times, getting a feel for the arc it made. I braced myself against the wall and heaved. The iron crashed against the door. I heard the wood crack, but it didn’t give.

  “Good,” Vega whispered. “Go for the frame of the door, not the door handle.”

  I swung again, this time aiming for the spot where the wall met the door. The wall didn’t appear to give, but I tried the door one more time. It swung open a few inches.

  Detective Vega smiled weakly. “We make a pretty good team. Now let’s get out of here.”

  I helped her up and we stepped out of the underground storage room. Or rather, we took half a step, and then the door stopped. The door was behind a file cabinet. I slammed my shoulder into the door three times before it was open far enough for us to slip through.

  We stepped into a dimly lit space, and I realized it wasn’t lit at all. It was the first rays of daylight coming through a narrow, high window. We were inside a sprawling warehouse—and we weren’t alone.

  “I thought I heard a commotion.” Ward approached, a knife in his hand.

  Detective Vega stepped in front of me. “Don’t make this worse for yourself. Help is on the way. Make it easy by turning yourself in.” Her voice was the perfect balance of calm and commanding. But she had better control of her voice than her body. She began to sway.

  Ward noticed it too. He and I both stepped toward her. Me to support her before she collapsed, Ward with the knife clenched in his gloved fist.

  I reached her and pushed her out of the way. We landed in a tangle on the hard floor, and I slammed into the side of the cabinet that had blocked the hidden door. The crash echoed through the warehouse. No, it wasn’t an echo. It was the sound of chains spinning as a wide metal door swung open.

  “Hey, you guys!” a young voice called. Veronica. “I told you I heard something in this one.”

  Sunlight streamed over us and three teenagers rode their bikes into the warehouse.

  “That’s him!” Ethan cried.

  Brixton hurdled his bike straight toward a shocked Ward. The knife flew from his hand as the bicycle collided with him. Brixton flew over the handlebars, but something soft broke his fall. Ward.

  Veronica and Ethan stopped their bikes in front of the mess and helped Brixton up. He’d scraped his palm but otherwise looked all right.

  Veronica jumped off her bike and gave Brixton a hug. “That was the bad guy, right, Ms. Faust?”

  “It was.” I looked at Ward. He wasn’t moving. Neither was Detective Vega. “I need one of your phones. The detective needs medical attention. I need to call 9-1-1.”

  “On it,” Ethan said.

  “Thank you all,” I said, “but how—”

  “Your French friend called Brix,” Veronica said. “He said the police didn’t take his anonymous tip seriously. He had to try Brix like half a dozen times before the phone finally woke him up. Sorry we’re late. There were a bunch of warehouses to try.”

  “But it was pretty cool we got here at sunrise, just like in Max’s favorite movie.”

  “I don’t know which warehouse,” Ethan was saying to the 9-1-1 operator. “How am I supposed to know that? Can’t you use GPS or something?”

  The sound of brakes screeching sounded from nearby. I knew modern emergency services were quick, but Ethan had called only a few seconds before. And the sound was familiar … especially after the door opened.

  “Mr. Freeman?” Veronica said as Tobias rushed inside with a duffel bag over his shoulder.

  He scanned the scene, his eyes widening at the sight of Ward lying unconscious on the floor, then jogged to Detective Vega’s prone form. “Anyone else hurt?”

  “No,” I said. “She’s lost a lot of blood. A knife sliced her wrist while she was cutting off the ropes. Ward hit his head when Brixton crashed into him to save us.”

  Tobias knelt at the detective’s side, took her pulse, and ripped open the bag.

  “I called 9-1-1,” Ethan said. “Paramedics should be here soon.”

  “We got here in time, didn’t we?” Brixton asked.

  “You did.” I couldn’t resist pulling him into a hug. His dark wavy hair wa
s windswept from the waterfront bike ride to find us, and his body shook from adrenaline. I would have kissed the top of his head if he hadn’t sprouted several inches in the past year. “But I still can’t believe Dorian dragged you into this.”

  Tobias’s head snapped up. “They know Dorian?”

  “He’s too shy to meet them in person,” I said. “They email. So he called you too?”

  Tobias shook his head as he continued to monitor the detective. “I don’t think he has my number. It was a cold night. Too cold for someone sick to be in the trailer. Nick needed more heat to recuperate, so I drove us back to your house, and—”

  “Um, you guys?” Veronica said, “I think that man on the floor is starting to wake up.”

  “Should I kick him in the head?” Ethan asked.

  “No!” I said. “Get away from him. I’ll be back in a few seconds. Tobias—watch Ward.”

  I ran down the steps of the room where I’d been held captive and grabbed the longest intact pieces of rope I could find. Just as he’d done to me, I bound Ward’s hands behind his back, and his ankles.

  The sound of a siren sounded in the distance. The ambulance was nearly here.

  I looked down at Ward. After mumbling for a few seconds while I tied him up, he’d fallen unconscious again. We couldn’t let the police get hold of him. I couldn’t let him go, either. Nor could I harm him …

  Tobias must have had a similar thought. “This was really heroic of you all,” he said to the kids, “but I’m guessing your parents won’t think of it that way. If you want to slip away to get to school before the authorities show up and question you, we won’t say anything.”

  The boys began to protest until Veronica said, “My dad will so kill me if he learns I’m here. I won’t be allowed to see either of you for the rest of the school year.”

  The handlebars of Brixton’s bike were bent but the bike was functional, so the three of them rode off, with only Brixton casting a glance back at us before they disappeared from sight.

  “You thinking what I’m thinking?” Tobias asked.