Page 27 of Adam, Mine

Mr. Sauer shook his head. “Fitz left an address book here for you weeks ago, thrilled by the idea of finding you a mentor. Someone to help guide you in your arts. What a waste. When you didn’t return for those months, I assumed you absconded with my property. I intended to wait until spring, then send a friend off in pursuit of it.”

Another peal of laughter. “And now you’re here! Standing on my doorstep. Smelling of smoke, guilt, and desperation. Begging to be forgiven for your transgressions like a chastened schoolboy. Well, I’m sorry, Victor, but I cannot grant you the absolution you seek. I doubt that I am of a high enough authority, and for my role in assisting you I am in need of absolution myself.”

He turned on a heel and marched deeper into the library. Victor stood and watched as he snatched a small black book off the shelf. Mr. Sauer grabbed up a few sheets of paper and a pen and stalked back to where Victor was waiting, trembling.

He flipped open the book.

“What was your disgrace? Human, animal? Living or dead?”

Victor looked at the black carpet beneath them. “Human. Living reanimation.”

Mr. Sauer made a sound of anger and disgust. Victor could see him writing something in the black book, then the paper and pen was shoved beneath Victor’s nose.

“The names and contacts I’ve circled are your best bet if you’re seeking assistance. They won’t slam a door in your face at least, and their specialties are tangentially related,” he snapped. “Copy them down and any other information you may need from the book you borrowed and leave with only what you’ve written. You are now unable to borrow from this library.”

Victor took the paper and sank into the armchair where the blue book was waiting for him.

Mr. Sauer stood before him, and it took ages for Victor to lift his head to meet his eyes. He expected paternalistic fury but found disappointment and dread instead.

“If you manage to reverse the circumstances for which you needed my assistance, you must write an account of your crimes and submit it to the council,” Mr. Sauer said. “They will review the full circumstances and the efficacy of your penance. Then they will consider whether to send you for apprenticeship or turn their backs on you for good.”

Victor’s eyes began to smart, but he willed them to stay dry. He couldn’t cry in front of this man, deepen his shame.

Then Mr. Sauer surprised him. He knelt so Victor had no choice but to look him in the face.

“You are lucky you’re just a boy,” Mr. Sauer said, careless of the way that stung him. “In the end it is my fault for disregarding that. For thinking you would just read and ponder the mysteries instead of act. Especially a boy so decisive and so bright. In time, youthful impatience whittles down into a heady wisdom that helps with choice. But it may be too late for that, and for this I must apologize.”

He caught one of Victor’s hands in his and squeezed it tight in what felt like goodbye.

“Let us hope that they have the chance to judge you with the kindness and guidance of man, and that the natural consequences of your transgressions don’t punish you with the severity of the gods. I am not so sure they will be so lenient with me for my recklessness and enthusiasm in handing you this opportunity.”

With that, Mr. Sauer left him to his work and despair.

Ride

There had to be a way to undo this. A spell was just words, but he knew he would probably have to at least have Elias with him to undo this situation himself. There was nothing he wanted less than to see that man’s face again, so he had to find someone powerful enough to sever whatever bond he had created between them.

The feeling of being watched had not left him since waking two days ago, and the dizziness had not abated either. It had instead settled into something less like a hangover and more like persistent vertigo. No one had to tell him it was Elias, or at least something to do with him. There was nothing in the book that discussed in detail what the aftereffects of any of the incantations were, much less how to reverse them, and the language barrier concerned him. First, he needed to find someone who knew French—for clarity—then maybe someone skilled in bonds or currents, then life/death alchemy.

He charted a path of lowest expense and shortest travel and sent a telegram ahead to his family that he would be making a diversion instead of heading straight home to visit after graduation.

It pained him to request a large sum of money along with denying them the pleasure of his company, but he was certain to his bones that he did not have a choice about the matter. He knew it was time to face the music: he knew Elias would come for him. The way Elias’s eyes burned as they stared at each other in the belly of Victor’s lab, Victor knew with certainty that he was about to be hunted.

A person strong enough to rip nails out of a surgical table and beat his way through a burning door was someone to reckon with. Victor had . . . miscalculated . . . had assumed frailty meant weakness, and now someone strong and furious was on his tail. He had to fix this before Elias located him. So Victor had his list and, with it, his mission.

He left town straightaway from Mr. Sauer’s estate and boarded a train for France to await the portion of his fortune. He did not like France much, but it was as good a place as any, being close to Germany and housing the first alchemist he had to visit.

The French alchemist’s name was Alain Cloutier, and he lived in southwest France in Dax, Landes.

The book had only a few words of description next to each name, and M. Cloutier’s were “Mud and Blood, Vicious” underlined three times in Fitz’s spindly handwriting. Which, frankly, did not sound at all appealing.

The alchemists in order of travel were as follows:

France: Alain Cloutier—mud and blood; vicious

The Netherlands: Willem Dijkstra—currents: air, water, and electricity; funny

England: Bradley King—gold, lead, and lives; come with a gift