“Baroness Fleurette van Dijk had an interesting… scent. I assume she was working with you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I’m thinking you do. Rumor has it that you’re quite the alchemist. Did you make her blood smell and taste that way?”
“Maybe.”
“I need more of what you gave her.” His eyes had a sudden, hungry look. “Not whatever made me sleepy and stupid. But what made her blood so… peachy-keen.”
“You almost killed her out of excitement,” I said sharply. “If I make you some of that vampire Viagra, won’t it end with a bunch of dead people?”
“Why is that any of your concern?” He frowned. When he saw my jaw clenching, he added, “Oh, relax. I never would have killed her. Do I look like some teenage vampire who can’t control his impulses? I just want something that will improve my meals. Is that too much to ask? Should I remind you that the alternative is that you die, your friend the baroness dies, those servants of hers die… a lot of death for refusing me some food seasoning.”
“Fine.” I raised my hands. “I make you some seasoning, and you leave me the fuck alone.”
“No.” He laughed, a steely edge in his voice. “You make me some seasoning, and our budding relationship blossoms. And when I need something else, I’ll come visit.” He pushed himself from the door and turned to leave.
“I need some money for ingredients,” I said hurriedly.
He groaned, and turned around. “Mortals,” he muttered, as he took a checkbook from his pocket. “How much? Will ten thousand dollars be sufficient?”
“That,” I said, my voice becoming slightly high, “would be a good start.”
Chapter Forty-Two
The drill vibrated in my hand, and I leaned into it, pouring my frustrations into the materializing hole in the wall. Pieces of plaster and wall dust were scattered all around me, on my clothes, and in my hair.
I’d finished cleaning up my store, and was now installing the new shelves. There was a complex process. I’d measure the shelf, and mark the places I needed to drill. Then I would pray to the gods of drilling that my drill would not hit a water pipe or an electricity line. I would drill the holes, four for each shelf. Then, when installing, I would realize that one of them was not properly aligned. I would create a new, fifth hole. I would install the shelf, and see that it was crooked, and that the extra hole was very much visible and ugly.
And I’d decide it was good enough and move on to the next shelf.
Magnus was nowhere to be seen. The drill’s noise had scared him half to death, and I suspected he was hiding under the bed, head on his paws, waiting for the nightmare to be over.
I was working on the fifth hole of the third shelf when a knock on the door made me stop and turn around.
“Kane!”
He stood in the doorway, his hands in the pockets of his trench coat. He’d showered recently, his hair still glistening with that post-wetness sheen. I glanced at myself. I wore a black tank top—well, originally black, though now it was gray with wall dust. I was sweaty with the hard work of the morning, and since I often wiped my face with my grimy hands, I was probably thoroughly smudged with dirt. In the past week, I had twice tried to see him after showering, dressing nicely, and putting on makeup, only to find his office empty. And now, this was how he saw me. The female version of Bob the Builder.
“I… I thought you went back to New York,” I said. “I came looking for you.”
“I did go back.” He nodded. “Went to see my sister, and take care of some business.” He looked around at the shop. “Renovating?”
“Yeah. Breadknife and his goons did a number on this place.” I put the drill on a nearby shelf, which wobbled slightly. “So you returned to Boston?”
“Yeah. I encountered some promising leads about my sister here, and I want to investigate them. Actually…” He seemed to hesitate. It was the first time I’d seen him struggle with what he wanted to say. “I was hoping for your help.”
“My help in what?”
“Finding my sister’s soul.”
I stared at him, feeling confused.
“I’ve been looking for years. With no success. I don’t know where it is, and even if I did, I have no idea how to get it back. And I saw what you can do. Those things you create—”
“I’m just following recipes,” I said. “I’m a good cook, nothing more.”
“No! That’s not true! There’s magic in what you do, true magic. I knew it from the moment I first saw those distilled children’s dreams. You’re special.”
I frowned, a sudden idea popping into my mind. “Is that one of the reasons you wanted to do this job with me? To see if I could pull it off? To see what I could do?”
He looked away. “Everything I do is about one thing only,” he said hoarsely. “Returning my sister.”
I thought about it, desperately wanting to help, not knowing how. “I can ask around. I will ask around. And if there’s a potion or a crystal that you need—”
“I need you to search.” His eyes were desperate. “To use your powers for my sister.”
“Kane… I’m sorry. It’s just simple alchemy, nothing more. I have a few good recipes, and I’ve become very adept at following instructions. But I have no clue how to look for a soul. Maybe Isabel…”
The hope flickered away from his eyes. “You’re right. I guess I’ll talk to Isabel.”
“If there’s anything I can do to help, just tell me and I will. I promise.”
He was silent for a moment. “Did you find out if the crystal… is it the Yliaster crystal?”
“Maybe. I don’t know. All the research I did so far tells me it isn’t. The Yliaster crystal is probably a myth.” And even if it wasn’t, I couldn’t see how it would be able to help Kane’s sister.
“A myth like Pandora’s box?”
I smiled weakly. “Exactly.”
The silence stretched between us, and I was suddenly scared that this was how he would think of me. Another failure to help his sister. I cleared my throat and went to my desk, opening one of the drawers. I retrieved a small bottle.
“I have something we can drink,” I said. “It’s really potent. It can reduce inhibitions, and calm down nerves.” I located two smudged glasses on the table.
Magnus padded into the room, casting a baleful look at the discarded drill. He then approached Kane, sniffing his leg with interest.
“What is this magical potion called?” Kane asked, a sad smile on his lips. He scratched Magnus behind his ear distractedly.
“I call it the wondrous stupidifier. But I’ve heard people calling it scotch, so whatever. Call it what you like.”
I poured a glass of the amber-colored whisky for each of us.
“A bit more wondrous stupidifier for me, please,” Kane said.