Page 9 of Adam, Mine

“And what is the charge?” Jonsi asked, leaning forward.

Victor stood and took out his wallet.

“I am going to give the gift of life. Bring a man back from its shores and invent a thing that outlasts all of us,” he said.

He placed a few bills on the table, enough to cover everyone’s drinks.

“If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen.”

“Wait, this is too much—” Henry picked up the money to count it, bewildered.

Victor turned back around. “The bet will be settled the week after graduation. I’ll send invitations. Until then, I would prefer it if none of you spoke to me again unless it’s absolutely necessary. I . . . I am unsure if I could bear it.”

He clenched his hands into fists to stop them from shaking, then he bowed—polite—and fled the room.

Rut

Victor pushed out into the night and stood on the stoop outside. He titled his head back and took a deep breath. Let the steam billow out of his mouth.

“That was an interesting thing to witness.”

Victor turned sharply to find the man who had jostled their table many hours ago standing beside him, smoking a pipe. He was red haired and bearded and much less drunk than he seemed inside.

“M-may I help you?”

“You shouldn’t speak of the Incomparable Arts in the open among enemies and friends,” the man replied.

An odd response.

Victor frowned. “All right. Well. Have a good evening.”

He started to walk, but the man’s voice called out behind him.

“You’re not alone in your thoughts. There are others. A community of us, if you are interested.”

Victor stopped walking but kept his back turned away.

“We’re having a get-together next week, and I wondered if you would be averse to attending?” The voice came from beside him, and Victor jumped away in surprise. But the man just chuckled and patted him hard on the back.

“Sorry, a bit light on my feet. I’m Fitz.” He stuck out his hand to be shook.

Victor went to grasp it, but Fitz took it back, did something strange with his fingers, and flicked out a card for Victor to take instead.

“Just a fun little trick. Alchemists are all fond of the magic of science. Sleight of hand, though? A pauper’s delight. Always saw the charm in it,” Fitz said.

This close and under the streetlight, Victor could see how exceptionally sober this man was.

He smiled politely and nodded. “Thank you. I’ll . . . see you there?”

Fitz nodded, swaying on his feet. “Hopefully!” he said cheerily. “Good night, Dark Alchemist! See yourself safely home!”

Victor walked quickly away. He looked over his shoulder more than once and found Fitz still standing there watching him. Dark Alchemist? What a horrible thing to be called. He shivered and turned a corner, eager to put this terrible night behind him.

But still, Victor stuck the card in his breast pocket. Kept it there for days.

Dark

Victor took a deep breath and handled this the way he handled any emergency his father had needed him for: He had to be efficient, he had to take notes, and he had to be neat.