The Elusive Elixir Page 12

  I drove home past the combination of parks and forests, bridges stretching across the river and urban neighborhoods, wondering what secrets were hiding beyond what I could see. The brief summer storm had felled an old tree that had crumpled a small car, and a detour rerouted me onto a different street. If I were to be killed by a falling tree branch, would I die with regrets? I was doing everything I could to help those I cared about. But what about my own life? I was pushing Max away for stupid reasons.

  When I got back to my house, a bouquet of amaryllis was waiting for me on the porch in a simple hourglass vase. The red flowers streaked with white were the perfect choice, for the scent was beautiful but subtle. It struck the right balance: heartfelt but not too pushy.

  The card read Peace Offering. I’m cooking a veg curry for an early dinner tonight. There’s plenty. The card wasn’t signed, but it was Max’s handwriting.

  I brought the flowers inside and placed them in the center of my beloved dining table, then picked out a bottle of wine to bring to Max’s house. I would have asked Dorian’s opinion, because he was the one who created our wine list, but he wasn’t home that I could see. Was he cooking at his new employer Julian Lake’s house? I couldn’t help worrying that he would struggle with his arm and foot while away from home.

  I was used to living on my own, so the stillness of an empty house didn’t usually bother me. But with the unexplained deaths surrounding us, being in the house alone filled me with apprehension. I walked through my basement alchemy lab and watered my plants, then methodically checked the locks on all of the windows and doors. My locksmith friend had come over as soon as I’d called him. The house was secure. I checked again. And maybe one last time. Third time’s a charm, right?

  I picked up the bottle of organic Zinfandel and walked to Max’s house.

  Max opened the door with his black hair spikier than usual, wearing a once-white apron over his black clothes. He grinned sheepishly as he wiped his hands on a clean corner of the apron and accepted the bottle of wine.

  I knew a fair amount about wine from when I lived in France, but it was Dorian who forced me to get caught up to the twenty-first century. He didn’t believe in using cooking wine or table wine. According to the little chef, the wine used in cooking had to be every bit as good as a wine you’d order to drink. Since Dorian couldn’t come to the local markets with me, I photographed the wine shelves and he gave me lessons on which ones to buy for different dishes. I wasn’t completely convinced it mattered as much as he thought it did, but there was something to the idea of pairing.

  “This wine goes well with spicy food,” I said. “From the smell of sizzling cumin seeds and cayenne, I think I chose wisely.”

  Max sniffed the air and bolted for the kitchen. His modern kitchen was sparsely decorated but simultaneously full of character. Teacups and a kettle from his grandmother gave the room an elegant simplicity that embodied Max. A philosophically decorated room.

  “I didn’t know I was getting in over my head when I started this curry,” he said as he stirred the pot with a bamboo spoon. “It always looked so easy when I watched it being prepared.”

  “Thanks for the flowers, Max. And for inviting me over.”

  “When I heard about Heather’s dad, it made me realize how stupid our fight was. I mean, it wasn’t even a fight fight. But I didn’t like it.”

  “I don’t even know what we were fighting about anymore.” I felt for my locket. My security blanket.

  His eyes dropped from my eyes to my neck, where I held my gold locket between my fingertips. “You’re holding me at arm’s length, as usual. Your actions speak louder than words. I know you’re not completely over your ex.”

  I stopped fiddling with the locket. That’s what this was about? Jealousy?

  “It’s supposed to be a difficult thing to work through,” Max continued. “We each have our baggage. Plus I’m too old for you.”

  “What are you saying?” Had I misinterpreted the flowers, and this whole invitation? “Is this a break-up dinner?”

  “I said it’s supposed to be difficult.” He set the wooden spoon on the counter and took my hands in his. “But it’s not. When I’m with you, the hours pass like minutes. I like being with you. So much. Can we forget about all that other stuff? And just be here in the present?”

  Ever since I’d met Max, that’s what I’d been hoping for. I was about to verbalize my answer, but as soon as I smiled, Max drew me into a kiss spicier than the curry cooking next to us.

  The coconut milk curry and basmati rice pilaf ended up slightly burned, but neither of us cared. The hours passed without me realizing where the time had gone or feeling tired.

  When I helped Max clean up the kitchen after dinner, I noticed the recipe. In a wrought iron cookbook holder sat a three-ring binder of recipes. Facing forward was a hand-written notecard behind a plastic sleeve. The handwriting wasn’t Max’s. Was it his grandmother’s? I set down the dish rag in my hand and flipped through the binder. More than half of the recipes were for Indian foods. This binder had belonged to Max’s dead wife, Chadna.

  I felt my cheeks burn with a small pang of jealousy. I willed myself to push away the baseless feeling. Why was I being so silly? I’d been in love before, too, and it didn’t change my feelings for Max.

  I set the binder down as Max placed the last dishes into the cabinets.

  “That was perfect,” I said.

  “When did you learn how to lie?”

  “I mean it. You make it so easy to relax and enjoy life, even if I only get a few hours’ break from it. Thank you for the perfect evening. But I should go. I’ve got an early day.”

  “I’ve gotta be up early too.”

  I hoped I didn’t show my disappointment. Part of me had hoped Max would try to convince me to stay. A big part of me.

  “But the thing is,” Max continued, “I don’t seem to care.”

  I didn’t either.

  I crawled out of Max’s bed at 4 a.m. I’d remembered to set my phone alarm for the time everyone thought I got up to bake for Blue Sky Teas. I glanced back at Max, who was sound asleep. I sent Dorian an email that he shouldn’t worry if he didn’t see me when he came home, then crawled back into bed.

  My locket felt cool on my chest. I realized I hadn’t thought of it all night. That hadn’t happened in … I couldn’t remember how long. I fell back asleep with a contented smile on my face.

  I woke up next as the sun rose shortly after 5:30. I rolled over onto my stomach, enjoying the comfortable warmth of Max’s bed. Thin rays of sunlight pushed their way through breaks in the curtains. The top of Max’s head poked out from the duvet. He was always so put-together that I smiled at the sight of his sleek black hair askew on his forehead.

  I was so contented that I must have dozed off again, because I awoke to the sensation of kisses on my bare shoulder.

  “I’m glad you came back after baking,” Max said.

  “I wanted to be here with you when you woke up.”

  “I’m glad.” He propped himself up on one elbow and ran his hand through my hair. “I always assumed you dyed your hair. I mean, the bright white suits you. It adds to your beauty. But … ” He ran his finger down my arm. “What happened, Zoe? Every hair on your body is white.”

  “Life,” I said. Honesty is the best policy.

  “You told me about the stuff you went through losing your family so young, and I’ve heard of people getting streaks of white hair from stressful encounters. But all of your hair?”

  “We all experience life differently, Max.” I put a finger to his lips as he tried to speak. “I’m glad I’m experiencing mine here with you. What’s up with the skeleton at the end of the hallway?”

  “You’re changing the subject.”

  “It’s a fair question, considering I spent the night with a detective who might moonlight as a hom
icidal maniac.”

  Max laughed and covered his face with a pillow. “I’m not very good at disposing of bodies, though, am I?” he mumbled.

  I pulled the pillow from his handsome head. “Maybe you’re just a body snatcher.”

  He grinned and grabbed me. “You caught me. I’m a body snatcher.” He ran his hands over my hips. “You’re not too tired after getting up in the middle of the night?”

  I shook my head. “I’m a morning person.”

  “Good.”

  An hour later, I stepped out of the bathroom, drying my hair with a towel, and found Max putting on his shoes.

  “I really do have to get to the office to finish the paperwork on this case,” Max said. “Want to grab a cup of tea at Blue’s before I head on to work?”

  Max and I both lived in the Hawthorne neighborhood within walking distance to Blue Sky Teas. The storm from the previous day had passed, and we walked to the teashop under a bright blue sky.

  Heather stood behind the counter and waved at me as we walked through the welcoming door of the teashop.

  “Here she is,” Heather said to a man who stood at the counter.

  He turned around. My balance gave way. It felt as if the world was spinning out of control. Max steadied me. My heart raced and my limbs went numb. I grasped the locket hanging around my neck, but I could barely feel it between my fingers.

  Though I hadn’t seen him in nearly a hundred years, I knew the man. Or at least, I had known my beloved a century ago. Before he died.

  Ambrose.

  Twenty-Three

  Noisy voices swirled around me. I blinked and saw blue sky and clouds above me. No, that wasn’t right. It wasn’t real sky. A dream? No, I was awake. I was looking up at the painted ceiling of Blue Sky Teas. I was lying on my back. A group of people stared at me from above. I struggled to focus on the blurry faces.

  “She’s coming to,” Heather said. “You guys, give her some room.”

  Max and another man helped me up. A familiar man I’d known a century ago.

  “Hello, Zoe,” he said in an English accent. “So sorry to have startled you.”

  Could it really be Ambrose? I clutched my locket as my eyes focused on the handsome face in front of mine. No. This wasn’t Ambrose.

  “Percy?”

  It was Ambrose’s son.

  The Old English accent was more refined than I remembered, as was the man. Gone was the plump insolent man suffering from gout, replaced by a younger, fitter man with a humbler tone of voice.

  “It’s been a long time,” he said.

  That was an understatement. Percy had died in 1935.

  I closed my eyes. This wasn’t real. I was hallucinating. I must have fainted and hit my head after seeing a man who reminded me of the great love of my life. Percy had the same black hair, distinctive nose, and striking eyes as his father. The similarity hadn’t been as strong when I’d known them, because Percy’s fondness for beer and overindulgence in rich foods had given him a pudgy layer and a ruddy tinge.

  Max put his arm around me and pressed a glass of water to my lips. “Do you want me to take you to a doctor? Work can wait.”

  “I’m all right. I usually eat first thing. Must be low blood sugar.”

  “Help her to a chair,” Heather suggested.

  Max and Percy lifted me to a chair. Much more forcefully than was necessary, I thought. I looked sharply at them both as they lifted me off my feet. Were they each trying to prove they were stronger than the other? Percy’s flab had been replaced by lean muscle. He wore a leather jacket over a white dress shirt and trendy fitted jeans.

  “Let me get you one of your carrot cake muffins,” Heather said. “Lot of natural sugars.”

  I nodded. Even though I was pretty sure it was shock that had caused me to faint, one of Dorian’s treats couldn’t hurt.

  “Max Liu,” Max said to Percy, extending his hand.

  “Percival Smythe.”

  I raised an eyebrow involuntarily and hoped Max didn’t catch the gesture. I wondered how long Percy had been using that surname. Though the last name he gave was false, he was very real. Rage and regret swirled inside me, feeding each other. Ambrose and I had been told Percy was dead, and Ambrose had bitterly mourned the loss of his son. Our lives would have been more different than I could fathom had we believed otherwise. Ambrose might still be alive today.

  Percy had never had the patience and demeanor to become an alchemist. It had been painful for him that both I and his father had found the Elixir of Life while he continued to age, so he’d moved far away from us. Ambrose and I hadn’t seen Percy’s body, but we had no reason to doubt the news of his death. If only we’d known it had been a lie, Ambrose would never have killed himself.

  “So you’re an old friend of Zoe’s?” Max asked, pulling up a chair protectively close to me.

  “Percy is Ambrose’s son,” I said.

  “Ambrose?” Max said. He knew I’d traveled across the US in my Airstream trailer after the man I was involved with died. Max didn’t know those travels had stretched over decades rather than just a few years. I could see the unspoken question on his lips. Percy looked like he was in his mid-twenties, the same age I claimed—far too old to be the son of a man I’d been involved with.

  “I was hoping we could get caught up,” Percy said.

  Heather saved me from answering by setting a carrot cake muffin in front of me. “I’ve gotta get back to the counter, but give me a holler if you need anything else.”

  I didn’t feel hungry, but I forced myself to take a bite. Pecans and cranberries, salt and dates, a sweet and savory blend to awaken my senses while feeding my lightheaded body. Dorian continued to outdo himself.

  “You want me to leave so you can get caught up with him?” Max asked. His voice was sharp, and I recognized the emotion. Jealousy. It was a stronger version of the same feeling I’d experienced the previous night when I realized the recipe I’d just enjoyed had come from Max’s dead wife. I couldn’t worry about Max’s jealousy now. My unfinished past trumped my love life.

  Percy lowered his eyelids, giving me a hint of the petulant man I remembered.

  I had never liked Percy, but I had to talk to him in private, without Max looking on.

  “Go file your paperwork,” I said to Max. “I’m all right. I’ll stay here and catch up with Percy.”

  His lips set in a frown, Max nodded and left.

  “I really am sorry about all this,” Percy said. “I—”

  “You died,” I whispered sharply.

  “Rumors of my death were greatly exaggerated.”

  “Very funny. While you were not dead, I see you’ve had more time to become well read. I can’t remember you opening the pages of a single book when you stayed with me and Ambrose.”

  Percy was already a young adult when I met Ambrose. His mother had died in childbirth, and Ambrose had done the best he could. It was far better than most men had been able to do at the time, even the ones who’d been able to maintain custody of their children. But Ambrose had spoiled the boy.

  Percy sighed. “I deserve that. But I’m a different man than when you knew me, Zoe. I’ve turned my life around.”

  “Where have you been all these years? You discovered the Elixir but didn’t tell us? And now, all of a sudden, you decided it was time for a reunion? This isn’t the best time—”

  “That’s not why I came. I’m here because I need to warn you. A dangerous alchemist followed you here to Portland. I believe you met him at a bookshop in Paris.”

  The plain man from the bookshop? “Lucien? He’s an alchemist?”

  Percy nodded. “Not just an alchemist. A backward alchemist.”

  Twenty-Four

  I’d found a backward alchemist and hadn’t even known it.

  Worse yet, the backward alchemist had
turned the tables. While I’d been blindly seeking someone like Lucien, he knew exactly who I was. And he’d followed me to Portland. But why? He’d taken the time to lead me on with talk of the obscure book that could have helped me locate backward alchemists, but it now seemed he never meant to send the book at all.

  “Why?” I croaked. “Why is he here?”

  Percy seemed surprised by my expression of horror. Had he expected me to be surprised or disbelieving instead?

  “I take it you know what that means, to be a backward alchemist,” he said, his gaze unwavering. “I didn’t figure you for the type to know about that kind of thing.”

  “What kind of thing?”

  “Not untrue alchemy.”

  Not Untrue Alchemy. The translated name of Dorian’s book.

  “That’s what they call it these days, you know,” Percy continued. “‘Backward alchemy’ is so passé.”

  “What they practice isn’t true alchemy,” I murmured mostly to myself. “But it’s not completely false either. So they practice not untrue alchemy.” He was talking about a phrase, I realized, not the name of Dorian’s book itself.

  Percy nodded. “Lucien Augustin is a very dangerous man.”

  “Percy, what the devil is going on? A backward alchemist is following me—and you! You let us think you were dead.”

  “I didn’t have a choice—” He started to raise his voice but glanced around the café and broke off. “I know you’ve got no reason to trust me,” he continued in an earnest whisper, “but I want to help you.”

  “Why? You never made a secret of the fact you despised me.”

  “Half a century can do a lot for one’s maturity. It took me awhile, Zoe, but I’ve grown up. I may look nearly as young as the day you last saw me, but I’ve had a lot of time to think. You and I may not have always gotten along—”