Page 36 of Adam, Mine

A pang of anxiety thrilled him. Victor suppressed it and began.

“I’m looking to undo a spell.”

Alain raised an eyebrow and Victor was forced to continue.

“A . . . friend of mine was near death and I pulled him back to life. Now I am . . . unsure of the consequences.”

Alain looked thoughtful. He tore a crust off the side of a kitchen loaf and dipped it in soft butter.

“Do you have the spell with you?” Alain asked through ungentlemanly chewing.

Victor rustled in his pocket and pulled out his notes. He unfolded them and passed them across the table.

Alain’s face went through a fascinating journey as he read: curiosity, fear, anger, revulsion, then, most frighteningly, amusement, and Victor remembered Fitz’s warning. Vicious.

“Hmm.” He pushed the paper back to Victor. “Your French is not good, I don’t think,” he said.

Most French people thought that about people who were not French.

“I studied it mostly for academic purposes. My spoken French is weak, but my reading is competent.”

Alain laughed, and it wasn’t a nice one.

“If your reading were strong, you would not have done this.” He took another large bite out of his bread. “This man, he was your friend, no? Why then is he not with you?”

Victor grasped for an explanation. “He cannot afford to travel, and he is still ill.”

Alain pursed his lips and made a questioning gesture. “That may be; you still look healthy.”

“Can you just tell me what’s going on?” Victor snapped, having reached the end of his patience.

Alain put the bread on his naked wood table and sat up, leaning forward. He layered his hands beneath his chin, bulky arms flexing beneath his shirt, and fixed Victor with a gaze that made him regret his outburst.

“Victor? Victor. I am a businessman. I do not believe you would travel such distance with expectations of receiving assistance for free.”

Victor gritted his teeth. “I have money, if that’s what you’re asking. What’s your price?”

“I have money,” Alain said, shrugging. “What use have I for yours? The question should be what are you willing to pay? For a cut of your hair, I will tell you what this enchantment is. For a bit of your tears, I will tell you what it does. For a little of your blood, I’ll think of what must be done. . . . For a lot of your blood, I can try to save you.”

Victor leaned away from Alain, as the man had begun to lean closer in excitement.

“What would you do with my hair?” Victor asked, morbidly curious.

Alain shrugged. “You can make this into incense that wards off dark spirits. I have many of these. I am not a man the spirits are fond of. In your case, I think it may be more powerful than from most donors due to your . . . situation.”

Victor frowned, but that wasn’t so bad. “Can we start with the hair and the tears?”

Alain grinned, getting up immediately. He stalked across the kitchen and pulled a pair of sheers out of his knife block. He scraped them across a sharpening strip, each stroke grating against Victor’s peace, raising goose bumps on the back of his neck.

The French alchemist returned to his side with a bowl. Without any question or preamble, he gripped the side of Victor’s head hard and selected a spot under where Victor preferred to part his hair. Kind enough to choose a place that would be hidden by his hairstyle.

“Hold this,” he commanded, pushing the bowl into Victor’s hands. After a few short snips, he patted Victor’s hair back where it should be.

“Hmm.” Alain looked at the strands in his bowl, then sniffed them hard. “Good. I will return.”

He marched out to place the bowl in a different part of the house. When he returned, his hands were empty and he was rubbing them together.

“Are you ready for tears?” Alain asked.