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As they left the table, Thierry fell in behind him as they strode out into the courtyard.

Thierry asked, keeping his voice low, “Am I understanding correctly?”

“Yes. My wife has overstayed her welcome, so she will be doing her part to keep the Elixir brand afloat.”

“As you wish. You’ll stage it as before?”

“That will be fine. I’ll leave my horse in the usual place.”

“Excellent. And the Lady?”

“I doubt she’ll last more than an hour, so we’ll need to be vigilant.”

“I will take that into consideration. And your young apprentice?”

This was perhaps the greatest triumph of the entire affair. Beatrice’s sacrifice would be serving double duty. He said, “It’s time that Zayan learned the nature of his true calling. You need not worry. He never leaves his laboratory, so once I set the play into motion, that scene will attend to itself.”

CHAPTER 26

Zayan chided himself. When did he turn into such a sentimental fool? There he was, standing at the promontory, trying to catch a final glimpse of Tom before he powered off to the mainland in search of Hoyle’s new plant. He waved his arms when he spotted the boat, but Tom didn’t notice. They were too far away, and Tom didn’t think to look back. Tom always had his eyes forward in everything he did, and that was something he admired about him. No matter. He got his goodbye kiss at the dock, and they’d only be separated for a couple weeks. His dash to the promontory was a fancy with no real hope of success. He watched as the boat got smaller and smaller, and with no discernable cause, simply disappeared from the water.

Weeks without Tom…what would he do to fill his days, or more tragically, his nights? He was getting very comfortable in Tom’s canopy bed, exploring how they fit together, learning his way around Tom’s exuberant attentions. He still had no idea where the man found his energy, or how Tom always managed to coax so much out of him. Was this what happiness felt like, finding him at last?

As he tromped back down the trail, trying to keep hold of that happiness, he thought of how quiet the castle would be with only Beatrice and Thierry for company. With luck, he could hole up in his lab and emerge only for meals with her and the taciturn steward. Or perhaps, if he needed a break, he could coax Beatrice into an excursion for tea in Riverford. If nothing else, she might let something slip about whatever nonsense she was up to. Anything to fill the emptiness he felt right then.

Bluebeard had him perfecting his transmutation, focusing on quality and completion. He was nearly there, with almost 99% purity. The Mage had mentioned something about taking the next step in his training, and he imagined it would involve bulk transmutation, scaling up his methods to produce quantities that could support a castle full of people. As he stepped down the rocky path from the promontory, he scoffed. What was on his agenda today? Nothing special, just creating gold.

His mind spun with ideas. First up, he needed to work on a new meditation to sharpen his intention on the regenerative aspects of the transformation. That would hopefully close the gap to pure 24 karat gold. As Bluebeard drummed into him, bodies burn each other and rekindle each other again. Now he needed to get himself to believe it right down into his core, this alchemical cycle of death and then rebirth in an exalted form. He certainly wouldn’t have any distractions over the next few days, although he was already missing his steady diet of distractions from his enthusiastic boyfriend.

As he approached the castle, Beatrice stood in the entryway, talking with Bluebeard, astride his gray stallion. He unhooked his keyring from his belt, handing it down to her, and the little gold key flashed in the sunlight. With that, the Mage turned his horse and galloped down the road. Zayan didn’t bother to wave. What would be the point, since he would never expect to get an acknowledgment? But he did approach Beatrice as she stood watching her husband disappear into the forest.

“Looks like we have the castle to ourselves,” Zayan said. “And you're the keeper of the keys! Do you have any plans?”

In contrast to his wistful mood, Beatrice looked happy with her momentary independence, saying, “I have some correspondence I’ve been avoiding, and I should talk to Cook and arrange for our evening meal.”

Catching her mood, he bent the truth and said, “Between you and me, I’m looking forward to some quiet.” He missed Tom, but he was relishing the time free from Bluebeard’s strictures.

She said, “Yes, I am as well. I’m sure we’ll both find something to occupy our time.” And just as Tom had mentioned, she smiled that secret smile. Now that he watched for it, it was always there. She was up to something.

“The laboratory is calling, so I’ll leave you to it,” Zayan said, entering the castle and descending directly to the dungeon to get to work.

Immersed in his crucibles, the morning flew by. His new calcination went beautifully, his best yet with the purest snow-white product, and he gifted himself with a short break before preparing the putrefaction. That was always a smelly mess, and some soda water helped to settle his stomach.

As he opened the door, he heard footsteps from the stairwell. That was odd, since Thierry rarely came down to the dungeon unless summoned by Bluebeard. He lingered in his doorway, closing it to a crack, barely in time to see Beatrice bustle in from the stairs.

With no nonsense, she crossed directly to the door of Bluebeard’s laboratory, sorting through the keyring and inserting the gold key in the ornate lock. As she turned the key, she gave a sharp cry, jerking her hand away and raising her fingers to her mouth. From his vantage across the room, Zayan could barely see a stain of blood on the handle of the key, so she must have pricked her finger. Then she gathered up part of her skirt and warily used it to extract the key from the lock, and pushed into the dark laboratory, closing the door carefully behind her.

Zayan crept from his lab. As he reached for the door handle, he heard another sharp cry from within, and the sharp metallic clang of the keys hitting the floor. Beatrice burst through the door with wild eyes, knocking him backward.

“Get out while you can!” she exclaimed, holding her skirt and making a mad dash for the stairs. Horrified, Zayan saw that her hand was now streaming blood, flowing in a scarlet gash down the front of her dress. That prick from the gold key must have been worse than it looked.

Perhaps he should heed her warning—she was absolutely terrified—but the door was calling, the door to Bluebeard’s most private lair. He shouldn’t, but he couldn’t resist one look. What was beyond? Eternal life? Creation of life? Anything was possible with alchemy, and Bluebeard was a master alchemist.

He pulled open the door and surveyed the scene, and sagged with disappointment. It was simply a larger version of his laboratory. The tables were more ornate, stuffed with glassware and elaborate furnaces he didn’t quite understand, but there was nothing particularly magical about it. Then his eyes wandered to the back wall, to a stone arch decorated with graven angels and demons. A plinth stood behind the arch, barely visible in the dim light beyond. As he crept forward, he found a desiccated corpse laid there, wearing a dusty and decaying dress with a fanciful medieval style. He stepped further into the dim room, almost to the stone arch, and the scene beyond deepened in horror. Shelves, dozens of them, maybe hundreds, lined the walls of the room—the crypt—each with the preserved remains of a woman. They extended into the dark, maybe encompassing the entire depth of the castle above, body after body after body.

As he turned to make his own escape, Bluebeard hulked through the door, hefting Beatrice over his shoulder.

“Stupid, selfish woman,” he scolded, but it was a playful scolding, not his usual anger. “You didn’t last the first morning.”