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As Thierry left him to get settled in his room, Tom marveled. On top of everything, a wedding. A wedding in a castle on an inexplicable island reachable by an equally inexplicable boat. What on earth had he gotten himself into?

CHAPTER 6

“Let me make this clear,” Bluebeard said, striving not to lose his temper. “You have two options. You can accept the half-dram of elixir at the new price, or you can walk out that door with nothing.”

“You’re not understanding me, Giles,” Senator Fieldstone said, waving his liver-spotted hands, but Bluebeard understood perfectly. He’d had this same conversation an appalling number of times before, with people far more influential than this self-styled kingmaker. It was all so tiresome. The veiled threats were bound to be next.

The senator continued, “You and I, we must work together, or our businesses will suffer. These new regulations need not impact you…”

Bluebeard picked up his phone and directed, “Archimedes, our guest will be leaving now.”

Alarm flitted through the aging senator’s eyes, as Bluebeard knew it would. “One moment, Giles. Let’s not be hasty. I was simply suggesting that there may be areas of mutual benefit we haven’t explored.”

And now, perfectly on cue, the wheedling would begin. It happened like clockwork with men of his age, their bodies failing and staring death squarely in the eyes. They were so predictable, and Bluebeard struggled to stay patient.

His client continued, “You promised me a sufficient quantity to…”

This was intolerable! He launched out of his chair in a fury, shouting, “I certainly made no such promise! My product is available when it is available, and no more. You have no conception of the....” He broke off here, unwilling to continue, and strode around the desk, taking the whimpering fool by the shoulder. “Enough talk. You’re leaving.”

The senator looked at the hand on his shoulder, as if nobody had ever dared to touch him, and tried to stand firm, but there was the slightest tinge of defeat in his eyes. Bluebeard held all the cards, after all. When you had everlasting life to offer, negotiations always went your way.

“I’ll take the dram,” the senator said, accepting his fate. “When did you say you’ll have more?”

“Half a dram, and I didn’t say, but I should have something shortly,” Bluebeard said, handing over the small bottle. “I’m happy to retain you on the short list, but again, I make no promises.”

“Do that,” the senator growled, glaring at Bluebeard and trying to reassert some control of the situation.

As Archimedes entered and ushered the senator firmly to the door, Bluebeard was already pulling up information about the next grasping wretch on his list, coming in from Tokyo this time. But he needed a moment to rein in his temper first. Maybe he could catch a massage before continuing…or not. Best to get it over with.

Half of his clients would need to go without, at least that’s what Thierry estimated. His Philosopher’s Stone, the miracle that launched his alchemical career and the reason he was still breathing after all these centuries, could only be pushed so far. He had multiplied his departed wife’s sacrifice a thousand-fold through his careful alchemical transformations, but he had optimized his process to its limit. Once he reached the final step, the exaltation through the Stone, the ultimate yield of the Elixir of Life was only what it was, and no more. He and the Stone could not generate life from nothing. This absolute limit had hounded him his entire long life.

He and Thierry came first, naturally, then he doled out the remaining Elixir starting at the top of the list. The woeful yield from his wife’s sacrifice had forced him to stretch the last dregs, cutting it with some wellness tonic, but that would only go so far. These powerful men and women must always be treated carefully, and if they started seeing signs of aging, real or perceived, there would be repercussions. He held all the cards, but he was also practical enough to know his control had limits. Bluebeard loathed them, but they were a necessary evil—after all, they were the most influential market for his most precious commodity.

He poured himself a whiskey and settled back in his chair, allowing himself a moment of procrastination. If it all went to ruin, he could always dock the ferry and hole up in the castle for a few decades. He could let the inevitable march of time solve his problems and pick it all up with the next generation. It’s not like it would be the first time…but it hadn’t come to that yet. When he brought this new plan to completion, when he crafted the perfect relationship between his two new charges, the cunning Zayan and the innocent Thomas, it would be like the glory days again, with Elixir to spare.

One more client, he promised himself, and he’d postpone the rest until after the marriage. He must be getting back to the Château.

“Your keys, Mage Bluebeard,” Thierry said, meeting him at the door of the castle and handing him the ring. “I trust your meetings were successful?”

“As much as could be expected,” he grumbled, still angered by the fawning and begging. Mortal men were so weak—it turned his stomach and made his blood boil. “Have my apprentices arrived?”

“Thomas arrived this morning. I suggested he assist Hoyle in the greenhouse. Zayan is en route.”

“And Beatrice?” He almost smiled at the thought. His future wife was even more lovely than her photograph, and the arranged marriage had come together so easily. Now, the familiar dance would begin yet again.

“Last I saw of her, she was in the Cliff Tower.”

“The wedding ceremony and feast?”

“All will proceed as you requested.”

“Excellent,” Bluebeard said, feeling optimistic for the first time that day. “I need time in the laboratory to gather my thoughts. I’ll ring when I’m ready for you. Oh, and this is for you.”

He passed a small crystal bottle of Elixir to Thierry’s waiting hand, who quickly secreted it into a pocket with no fuss. Bluebeard allowed a short moment to acknowledge his luck in finding his steward. The man was nothing if not professional, and that’s why they had worked together so smoothly these many centuries.

“Thank you, Mage Bluebeard,” he said with the smallest bow. “I await your call.”

His first stop was the laboratory to check on the putrefaction of his dearly departed wife’s terror, then he’d need to find time for Thierry to strap him into his blasted wedding clothes. By the stars and all that’s holy, why did he keep agreeing to these formal weddings, here, in his castle, where he should be king? But he supposed the ritual was an essential part of it, setting a proper tone for the entire affair and ensuring that each new wife spoke the proper words.