The Accidental Alchemist (19 page)

twenty-seven

The next morning, I
willed my eyes to focus on the woodcut illustrations from Dorian’s book. The longer I stared at them, the more they blurred together. The twisted birds, the desolate landscapes, the fragments of Latin text that spoke vaguely of alchemy but didn’t include nearly enough steps.

I took a brief break to fix myself a bowl of date and cinnamon oatmeal, as much for warmth as energy. In addition to rainwater, the house was leaking enough cold air that I couldn’t shake a chill. I was seriously considering moving back into my trailer until I got the house fixed up. As I held the bowl cupped in my hands for warmth, there was a knock at the door.

Brixton stood in the doorway, a small paper bag in his hand.

“Don’t you have school?”

“It’s Sunday. But it’s cool. You’ve got enough going on that I don’t think you’re senile or anything.”

“Thanks. I think.”

“So can I come in or what? It’s freezing out here.”

The rain had stopped but a cold wind was blowing. Brixton was dressed in his usual jeans, t-shirt, and hoodie, but it was cold enough that he’d also bundled in a bomber jacket.

“Sure,” I said, “but it’s not much warmer inside the house. And I thought your mom would want to spend time with you, now that she’s home.”

He rolled his eyes as he came inside. “Where’s Dorian? I bought him something.”

“He’s upstairs dumping out the buckets of rainwater we collected last night, courtesy of the leaking roof.”

“Do you need help with the tarp? I’m a good climber.”

“I’ve got a professional coming over later today, hopefully before the rain comes back.”

“How’d you find someone to come to a haunted house?”

“I don’t think superstition would keep rational adults from a good job.”

“It’s not just superstition. We
told you
the place was haunted. That’s why I came to check it out the first day I met you.”

“You really believe that? Why weren’t you afraid to stay in a haunted house?”

He shrugged. “I think it would be cool to see a ghost.”

“Sorry to disappoint you.”

“It could still happen. I’ve only been hanging out with you for a few days. The strange lights didn’t appear that often.”

I froze. “
What
strange lights?”

“The people who sold you the house didn’t tell you? I thought they had to, like, legally tell you that stuff.”

“
What lights
, Brixton?”

“That’s why the house was empty for so long. Because nobody wanted to move into a haunted house.”

“It was empty because there was a legal disagreement between the heirs.”

“That’s not what I heard. But it doesn’t matter what I heard. It’s what I saw. What
everyone
saw. Weird lights coming from this place. At first people said there must be homeless people crashing here. But whenever they sent the cops out here, they could never find a soul. Pretty freaky, right?”

Pretty freaky indeed. So
that
explained why everyone I called already knew about the house I was talking about.
What was going on here?

Even if I believed in ghosts—and I’d never seen one in over three hundred years—I hadn’t seen anything strange at the house. Various creaking noises, sure, but that was to be expected in an old house.

Dorian appeared on the stairs. He stepped more slowly than usual, holding the railing. At the sight of the limping creature, I forgot about Brixton’s ghost story.

“I brought you Stumptown beans,” Brixton said. “These are the ones I told you about that are wicked good.”

“
Tres bon
,” Dorian said, taking a bag of coffee beans from Brixton’s hands when he reached the bottom of the stairs. “
Merci
, my young friend.”

“Aren’t you too young to be drinking coffee?” I said to Brixton.

He gave me a look that reminded me I was over three hundred years old. Come to think of it, Brixton had never asked me how old I was. He’d asked me about gold and transformations, about being immortal, and about food, but he hadn’t specifically asked about my age. At fourteen, he must have felt like he’d live forever, so a formula to live forever wouldn’t have been of much interest. But gold for a poor kid? And food for an eternally hungry kid? Those were things he could relate to.

“Brixton, how old do you think I am?”

“My mom told me I was never supposed to answer that question if I knew what was good for me.”

Dorian laughed, then retreated into the kitchen with his coffee beans.

“It’s okay,” I said, “I promise I won’t be upset.”

Brixton studied me for a few moments. “I dunno. I know you’re old.”

“Thanks.”

His face reddened. “You told me I should guess!”

“I was kidding! Make your guess.”

“Not cool, Zoe. Not cool. Anyway, you’re like, at least ten years older than me. Maybe … twenty-six?”

“Not bad.” I had been twenty-eight when I accidentally discovered the Elixir of Life. If that hadn’t occurred to Brixton, it was a conversation for another day. “Twenty-eight.”

“I think Mr. Strum is around your age.”

“Your teacher?”

“Yeah, maybe you two should be hang out. I mean, when all this is over. All he ever does is work, and you two are like the only cool old people I know. Max is all right, too, but he’s a cop. And he’s ancient—he’s like forty.”

It was oddly refreshing to be considered “old.” Looking young did have its advantages, but it had almost as many disadvantages. It was difficult to be taken seriously as a young woman. The “woman” part of the equation had become easier over time, as society became more accepting of women being equal, but the “young” part had gotten worse. It used to be that someone was considered an adult at sixteen, the age that I fled from my home with my brother. It wasn’t unusual for people like me and my brother to be on our own and have already learned a trade. By twenty-eight, it was expected that you had come far in mastering a skill. Nowadays, it was more likely that a twenty-eight-year-old would be finishing graduate school or trying out different professions.

“Blue isn’t cool?” I asked.

“Nah. Blue is mom-cool. That’s different.”

“That was nice of you to bring Dorian coffee,” I said, suppressing a smile. I didn’t think he was working an angle like he was before, but I couldn’t figure out where the gesture had come from.

“Yeah, well, he said he was having trouble staying awake, so, you know …” He shrugged and looked down at the floor.

“It was really thoughtful, Brixton.”

“Whatever.”

Dorian stuck his head out of the kitchen. “Espresso, Brixton?”

“Americano. Six sugars.”

And that explained why he liked coffee. Diluted and with plenty of sweetness.

“I need to take care of a few things,” I said. “Are you two okay on your own?”

They both gave me a look that
really
made me feel three hundred.

“Sheesh, I was just being nice!”

As I headed to the basement, I heard Brixton explaining to Dorian, “It’s an expression that means she’s annoyed.”

“Ah, so.”

———

I’d found a
handyman who said he could be here later that morning. He couldn’t hear very well, so I hoped he got the address right—and that he wouldn’t leave after he realized what house it was. Now I had to get everything into the basement that I didn’t want the handyman to see. I began by cleaning up the mess I’d made, so there would be space to move things into the room without having them covered in
gray slime.

I didn’t have time to properly unpack my crates.
Still
. One day at a time.

Instead of unpacking my crates and moving them into the basement, I decided it made the most sense to seal them back up so the handyman wouldn’t go poking around. Most of the items inside were the objects I’d collected over the years that I sold online, but a few of them were more personal alchemy items I’d saved for myself. The items wouldn’t reveal my secret to anyone who didn’t already suspect anything, but I didn’t want anyone raising questions.

I hadn’t checked for online orders in a couple of days, so I went upstairs and opened my laptop. There wasn’t yet any furniture in the room that would become my home office. I hadn’t had a proper office before, only a small table in my trailer with my laptop computer plus the storage unit, so I hadn’t ever acquired office furniture. Sitting on the water-spattered hardwood floor, I scrolled through a couple dozen e
mails, half of them spam.

Most peop
le I’d met since the turn of the century would have been bombarded with many more emails and social media messages after staying offline for a couple of days. Though I was often tempted to stay in touch with many of the people I’d met on my travels, I had to be practical. The whole reason I moved on was because people couldn’t learn who I w
as. I couldn’t create an online presence. Though it was often painful at the time, it was for the best.

All I had was the email address I used for my shop, Elixir, which was a generic email that didn’t contain my name. Even my email was lonely.

Since I only sold a small collection of high-end items online, I didn’t have frequent sales to fulfill. The items I sold hadn’t cost me much when I bought them, so along with the compound interest on my savings, selling a few items a month kept me afloat. But now that I’d plunked down most of my savin
gs to buy and fix up this house, I had to step up my sales. Maybe even start
marketing
. I shuddered at the thought.

I hadn’t had any new sales since the last time I’d checked, which was fortunate. It meant I didn’t have to waste time rooting through crates and could devote my time to helping Dorian. I hoped the handyman would be able to stabilize the worst parts of the house quickly. I shut my laptop and went downstairs.

At the dining table, Dorian and Brixton sat across from each other, a crystal on a gold necklace chain in Dorian’s hand. In an outstretched arm, he held the chain so the crystal swayed back and forth in a rhythmic cadence.

I knew where the crystal had come from. I sighed as I looked over at the crate I’d sealed up, now open with its contents spilling out on the living room floor.

“Dorian, what are you—”

“Do not interrupt us! He will forever think he is a chicken!”

“Um …” What did one say to that?

“I’m not hypnotized, Dorian,” Brixton said.

Dorian frowned. “You are not?”

“No.”

“Not even a little?”

“I don’t think so.”

I snatched the crystal from Dorian’s hand. “What are you two doing?”

“You tell her,” Brixton said. “It was your idea.”

“It is a good idea,” Dorian said. “Once she has thought it through, Zoe will agree.”

“That means I’m not going to like it, doesn’t it?”

“You said the detectives are keeping information from you,” Dorian said. “Information that is vital for solving the case, clearing Blue’s name, and retrieving the book that can save my life.”

“I haven’t even deciphered the pages I photographed yet,” I said.

“Yes, but with the entire book it will be easier.”

“I know. That’s why I agreed to go to Blue’s house with you, against my better judgment. What does that have to do with hypnotizing Brixton?”

“We wish to learn what the detectives know.”

“By turning Brixton into a chicken?”

“I am teaching him to hypnotize people. I know of this skill from the magicians my father worked with. Once I impart my knowledge, Brixton can hypnotize the new detective and he will tell us many things.”

“That’s a terrible idea,”
I said, “for so many reasons.” I knew of the varied skills of Jean-Eugène Robert-Houdin. When I had seen him perform, I had been impressed by the range of illusions he had perfected. In addition to his automated “orange tree,” a mechanized tree that hid many wonders, he took advantage of modern ideas that interested the people of the mid-1800s. He used “ether” to make his son float into the air, hovering high above the stage. And using “second sight,” he would read the minds of audien
ce members. Jea
n-Eugène Robert-Houdin was such an accomplished man that it was no wonder Dorian had the confidence to think he could teach Brixton to hypnotize a detective.

“Even if you
could
teach Brixton to hypnotize someone on our timeframe,” I said, “you realize there’s no way you could get a detective to agree to sit there while Brixton mesmerizes him with a crystal.”

“You think I have not thought of this?” Dorian said.

I crossed my arms.

Dorian crossed his own arms and stared me down. His black eyes could be unnerving. I was glad he was on my side.

“The crystal is only phase one,” Brixton said. “It’s the easiest way to hypnotize people. Once I master it, then he’ll show me how to hypnotize people without them knowing I’m doing it.”

“Nobody,” I said, “is hypnotizing anyone. Dorian, put everything back into the crate and seal it up. Brixton, you’re welcome to stay here, but a handyman will be here to patch up the roof and look at the pipes shortly, so Dorian will need to be down in the basement. I need to run a few errands—”

“I have made a shopping list,” Dorian said.

“I expected nothing less.”

“It is on the fridge. You cannot miss it.”

“I’ll stop by the market. I’m also getti
ng a lock for the inside of the basement door, so you can lock yourself in there while there are strangers in the house. No hypnotizing. Agreed?”

“It wasn’t working anyway,” Brixton said.

Dorian pouted for another few seconds before giving in. “Agreed.”

———

I’ve never gotten used to modern supermarkets. I don’t mind picking out my own items, as opposed to having a shop clerk select things from behind the counter, the way things used to be done. But small specialty shops have always made much more sense to me. Nobody can be an expert at everything. I liked that there was a revival of specialty shops going on in towns like Portland.