Page 34 of Adam, Mine

“I cannot tell you in which order he has traveled, but here are the places he will be visiting and the people waiting for him.” Jaan handed Elias the list. “He is headed to France to see Alain Cloutier, the Netherlands to see Willem Dijkstra, England to see Bradley King, Scotland to see Ayan McClean, Ireland to see Brogan, Italy to see Cupido Colombo, Greece to see Orazio Sal, and Russia to see Yaroslav Voronof. Victor . . . is the son of Alphonse Frankenstein, who works in Geneva. I do not know his exact address, but he is well known for his work and once there, can be sought by the asking.”

Jaan looked contemplative for a moment. “Wait here.”

He went deeper into the book room, then returned with the tome Elias had been seeking beneath his arm.

“Perhaps in the hands of a man who cannot know it, things may be different.”

Elias took the volume from him and stared at it.

“These men, are they like Victor or are they like you?” he asked.

“Alchemists are a mixed selection. The only traits they share are respect for the arts and being inordinately powerful. Some are monsters of greed and wealth; some are farmers with an extra touch of green,” Jaan admitted. “You should be careful at all times when you are with them.”

Elias handed the book back to Jaan.

“Go to the section you think Victor may have used and read the first few words from each page so I may recognize them.”

Jaan looked worried but complied. When Elias heard a familiar phrase, he snatched the book back. Then he parted the pages around the section. Before Jaan could stop him, Elias drew his knife and sliced the section clean out of the book.

“What—?”

Jaan watched in horror as Elias turned to the beginning of the chapter, using the bold typography as a starting point, and cut the rest of the chapter on incantations out completely—leaving just the entire first two-thirds of the book and the single three pages of the incantation Victor used intact. Then he slid the book into his jacket and placed the rest of it on the table.

“If the only thing these demons share is a respect for their art, then I will use this as currency. The pages removed you can keep. I assume they’re the dangerous ones.”

Jaan touched the paper with shaking hands. He looked extremely upset.

“Only a man who doesn’t understand books, doesn’t love them and the beauty of their form, could find a solution such as this,” he murmured.

Elias pressed his blade against Jaan’s throat in gentle warning.

“I understand books. I’ve been read to. The letters just swim before my eyes. Don’t make the mistake of assuming I am simple.”*

Jaan met his gaze, and a tear finally fell. He said nothing.

“When Victor is dead, I will return to this city and find you. I will tell of my travels and what I have learned from this wickedness done to me and you will write it down. It will be put together with these pages to make a new book. Do not lose them,” Elias said sternly.

Jaan nodded. Elias’s blade made a shallow cut on his skin from the motion, and Elias took the knife back immediately.

“I didn’t know you would move; I am sorry,” he said, immediately contrite. He reached out to swipe a tender thumb across the wound.

Jaan shook his head, then swallowed hard.

“You . . . are something new, entirely,” he whispered.

Elias stood. He didn’t like the idea of being changed by this madness.

“I am still Margarite’s child. I must go.” He folded the paper of names and places and tucked it into his jacket with the book.

“Where are you going?” Jaan asked. He stared up at him like he was looking at God.

“A hospital. Every inch of me bleeds.” Elias began to walk away.

“A religious hospital?” Jaan called after him.

“I do not know.”

“Wait!”