“Because fear or anger is a big no-no.”
“That’s my point. Maybe we just need you to focus on another feeling. Switch gears in your mind. Happiness, sadness, nostalgia, love… those emotions are fine, right? I think that’s what happened that night with the Shades. You were focused on Kane instead of your fear.”
“I was not! I just, uh… I got it together, that’s all.”
“Uh-huh. Well, anyway, doesn’t it sound like it could work?”
I thought about it. “Maybe, yeah. I can make some condensed emotion pills. That way, whenever I feel scared or angry, I could just swallow a happiness pill or a sadness pill and—”
She took my hand. “Or, for once, you can avoid abusing your body with your concoctions, and just use regular human emotions, Lou.”
“Well, sure, if you want to ruin my fun,” I muttered.
“Let’s try it now. Close your eyes and focus on a memory. Something that evokes happiness. Something vivid.”
I shut my eyes, and it came almost instantly. Pink boots, purple skirt, red coat, and pigtails. Clutching her adoptive mother’s hand, half-walking, half-skipping, and talking nonstop. That bright excitement in her eyes as she thought of something new, the way she happily jumped with both feet into a puddle, splashing water, shrieking in laughter. And me, watching her from the corner of my eye, holding Magnus’ leash, yearning for her attention.
I wasn’t sure what I felt right then, but it was definitely powerful, and it wasn’t fear, or anger.
So I trained on focusing very hard on vivid thoughts. A memory of my mother’s smile. The feeling of my first kiss. More memories of my daughter—fragmented and much shorter than I wanted.
And, occasionally, thoughts of Kane. The way he grasped my wrist and pulled me to him. The sensation of him picking me up, carrying me in his arms out of that warehouse. His green eyes, staring into mine.
Sinead kept giving me the details of her nights tailing Maximillian Fuchs. He seemed to leave around nine every evening, choosing a different bar each time. All the bars were high-class joints, which Sinead enjoyed describing in her half-mocking, half-jealous manner. Maximillian spent his time there buying women drinks, talking to them. Every night he ended up leaving with a different woman, going to her place. He’d stay there for about an hour, then leave.
“So… he likes women,” I finally said after she told me about her third night of tailing him.
“He likes a lot of women. And he isn’t exactly the snuggle-until-morning type. He fucks and leaves, Lou. Every time. And he doesn’t seem to get out of the mansion during the day. But I have some good news. He has a type.”
“What’s his type?”
“Tall, pale, elegant. Two of the women were red-headed, the third blonde. All three were ravishing, but in an old-fashioned way. Long dresses, huge cleavage. One of them had a French accent; the second was definitely British; the third I think was German. So I think he’s into aristocratic European women.” She waggled her eyebrows. “Know anyone who matches this description?”
I looked at her innocently. “Ravishing and elegant? Doesn’t ring a bell. All the people I know are kinda crass and ill-mannered.”
“That’s…” She thought about it for a moment. “That’s actually probably true. But if I wanted, I could be an aristocratic European lady. May I introduce—” she changed her accent and tone— “Baroness Fleurette van Dijk.”
“What’s that ghastly accent?”
“It’s Dutch.”
“It sounds like you’re trying to poop.”
“Well, who’s crass now? I’m still working on the accent. Anyway, once Harutaka hacks the servers, he can add Baroness Fleurette van Dijk to the guest list. I’ll enter the banquet, use my feminine wiles to woo Maximillian, and have a drink with him.”
“Then, while you two are drinking, you can drip some truth serum into his wine.” I warmed up to the idea. “You get the combination from him, pick his pocket for the keycard, and voila! We’re in.”
“It’s a fantastic plan! Or, as the Baroness van Dijk would say, fantastisch.”
I flinched. “Awesome, just please work on that abysmal accent.”
I inched slowly across my bedroom, my body not yet entirely healed. The floor was icy cold, and each barefoot step ran chills up my spine. Twice I had to stop because Magnus blocked my way, mouth open wide, tongue lolling. His face indicated that he was ready for a walk, and that he assumed I was ready as well. My dog was cute, but intelligence wasn’t one of his stronger traits. I opened the door to my lab, and slammed it behind me before Magnus could slither inside. He whined and scratched at the door, but I ignored him. The lab was the one room that was off-limits.
Across the room, the counter where I did most of my work lined the wall. All my tools were there—some classic ancient alchemy tools, others more modern, because I tried to move with the times. There was a copper mortar and pestle standing next to a high-powered blender. My retort—a glass container with a long mouth pointed at a downward angle, like an overweight giraffe drinking—lay on a three-legged iron stand above a small gas grill. I had rows of empty tubes, pots, vials, bottles, pans… all waiting to be used. The rest of the lab consisted of shelves, trunks, and cupboards containing my ingredients. Those used to be full, but lately I’d been running out, and many of the jars that lined the shelves were empty.
Installed in one wall was a small safe, containing my most prized possession in the entire world. The safe had a combination dial, and even a skilled burglar would find it almost impossible to crack. But knowing how devious a dedicated burglar could be, it was also etched with various runes that would hopefully keep anyone but me away from the safe’s contents.
I crossed the room to the safe and unlocked it, the mechanism’s ticking echoing in the silent room. I pulled the safe door open, and, ignoring the gun and the meager amount of cash inside, I removed the false bottom. Underneath was a book.
It was thick and leather-bound, the pages yellow and brown with age. Engraved on the cover with spidery letters were the words Tenebris Scientiam. It was a book assumed long gone by sorcerers and alchemists alike. People had been looking for it for centuries, claiming to have seen it, or to have acquired a page of it. And it was in my possession.
The memory echoed in my mind. The sad, serious voice. Your mother left something for you, Lou. Something important.
I took it out, placing it on the counter, and opened it carefully, treating the pages with the utmost care. Once when I’d been careless, a page crackled and broke between my clumsy fingers, and I had cried for hours at my stupidity. Since then, I had coated all the pages with a special oil to strengthen them, and I flipped the pages as if I were touching a delicate butterfly that might flap its wings at any moment.