Mask of Gold: Alchemy Empire, #3

By Meredith Rose

The power of an empire is hers—for the price of all she loves most…

 

Now that she's freshly-inducted into the Theatrical Guild, Minx Mellor's future is looking totally brass. With her own job and flat at the theater, she barely has time to enjoy her first real date with Dietrich before they and their friends are whisked away to the imperial summer palace in Hellenia. 

 

Elevated by the empress to a position far beyond any actress's dreams, Minx suddenly has the power and influence to help people she otherwise never could. But life as the empress's protégé is a ruthless show without closing night or even intermission. And if she wants to hang on to her newfound prestige, the only audience who matters is the empress herself.  

 

As revolution brews in Hellenia, the spotlight on Minx burns hotter. Her role threatens to consume her, but with hundreds of lives depending on this performance, the one power she may not have is the power to walk away…

• Language: English
• Publisher: Coedwig Books
• Release date: May 19, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386056690

Meredith Rose

Meredith Rose has been a literary rebel since the age of nine when she began rewriting novel endings she didn’t like. Childhood peers mocked her for using words longer than two syllables, and adults told her that she would never be able to make it as a writer–because it’s, like, not a real career. Thoroughly undaunted, (well, maybe a little daunted at times, to be honest) over the next two decades she secretly pursued writing novels and finally sold her first book at age twenty-nine (under a different name). She went on to publish another three novels, in which the experience of rewriting stuff actually came in useful. Chains of Silver is her first young adult novel, and she wrote it for her two teenage daughters who are also talented rebels in their own ways. When she’s not writing, Meredith goes on bookstore dates with her husband, studies Welsh, dabbles in graphic design and altered art, and reads Tumblr way too much. Bucket list items include becoming a yarn bomber, Argentine tango dancer, and an opera singer. Meredith loves interacting with readers—well, all you normal, non-stalker type readers, anyway. She can be found mostly lurking, but occasionally stirring up trouble at the following locations: Tumblr: tumblr.com/blog/wildwoodgoddess Instagram: instagram.com/wildwoodgoddess Twitter: twitter.com/wildwoodgoddess Facebook: facebook.com/meredithrosebooks Pinterest: pinterest.com/wildwoodgoddess Wattpad: wattpad.com/user/wildwoodgoddess Her website: meredithrosebooks.com And for you old-fashioned types who like email: [e-mail] And for you even older-fashioned types, or you vintage-loving sentimental types, you can send her actual handwritten notes and letters on stationery here and she will enthusiastically respond in kind: Meredith Rose 2885 Sanford Ave SW #17598 Grandville, MI  49418

Book preview

Chapter One

Meet me at the pagoda at sunset. We’re going out. —Dietrich

I sat on my bed, surrounded by small piles of clothing and books, holding the slip of paper in my hand. I ran my thumb across the words inked in Dietrich’s elegant script. He passed me the note after breakfast with barely a glance like we were spies on a mission. But I caught a glimmer of a grin as he strode out of the dining hall.

I slid the note back into my pocket, my heart fizzing like a glass of champagne.

Stop it. No need to be so excited. It was not a date. We were just friends going out to celebrate the fact that I was now an official Theatrical Guild member.

Oh god. I, Official Theatrical Guild Member, was going out socially with Dietrich Wolff.

An internal squeal rolled through me like steam under pressure.

Calm down, you cogged mess. He was still a presul. I was still a vicimorph. We still had lots of problems to figure out…

But I could barely hear those sensible thoughts over the whistling, puffing, and hissing in my brain.

Fine. Be a fool if I must. At least get my packing done first.

I wrinkled my nose at my practical self, but it was right. I had to finish packing. Last night was the induction ceremony, and today I had to move out of the room that had been my home for the last nine years.

The room I’d shared with Thea Wright.

Thea.

God, I still missed her.

This room echoed with her voice, her laugh, the carefree way she flung open the wardrobe to create some crazy outfit out of our hand-me-down clothes.

There, on her bed, I used to read penny dreadful novels to her, and we giggled about the stupidity of the heroes and made fun of the fainting, gullible heroines.

Here, on my bed, she held me when I woke, sweating and moaning, from nightmare after nightmare.

And over on my nightstand was where I found her letter. She abandoned me, running away rather than admitting she had kissed Raymond Carrew.

It was one of the few secrets she never told me.

I had known she had feelings for him. Yet she pushed me to be with him…why? Misguided loyalty? Or did she think she’d never have a chance with him? And why had I gone along with it?

She said she would be fine. But it turned out none of us were fine—we all wanted someone we couldn’t have, and I’d never seen such a colossal screw-up in my life.

Before I could get too maudlin about it, I heard a knock at my door. When I opened it, my friends Amberlyn and Evelyn piled in.

Delphine and I got contracts! Evelyn waved a folded sheet of paper in my face. We’re staying here!

I hugged her. I’m thrilled for you.

Evelyn pulled back, one eyebrow raised.

Both, I said. Thrilled for you both. It was stretching the truth slightly. I’d have been much more thrilled if only Evelyn was staying, but I’d expected Master Fenrey to offer Delphine a contract too.

She relaxed and gave me another hug. We’re not boarding at the theater though. Ugh. We’ve lived here long enough. We’re looking at flats today—probably in the Ipswich building. Lots of Alchemy Empire company members are already there.

So you’re going to be flatmates with Delphine? Even though you don’t have to now.

Hey. Evelyn shot me a warning frown.

Sorry. I just can’t seem to wrap copper around the idea that you’d willingly be friends with her.

Yes, well, she says the same about you. She smirked like a perky spring that wouldn’t stay in place.

With a spring, you could always squash it under a good fifty pounds of iron or something. A friend? Not so much. I gave her as squashing a glare as I could and turned to Amberlyn. Anything for you?

It would be great for her to stay at the theater too, but the Alchemy Empire Theater already had several fine presuls at the moment. They probably weren’t looking to hire any others.

She shrugged. Not yet. But I’m not worried. I’ll get contracted somewhere.

I hid my disappointment under a bright smile. Of course. Where are you staying until we leave for Hellenia?

We all paid some of our induction stipend to stay in the student wing, Evelyn explained. At least until we leave.

I stepped back, almost tripping over a sprawled pair of boots. Makes sense. I would have done too, but Fenrey said I could go ahead and move into my suite in the Guild wing today.

Did you get your formal contract? Amberlyn asked.

Just this morning like anyone else.

I’m happy for you. Her eyes gleamed and she squeezed my arm.

Thanks. I wish you’d gotten one too. I am going to miss you so much.

Don’t count me out. You never know when I’ll turn back up.

We’ll throw the biggest welcome back party for you when you do.

Deal!

We came to see if you needed any help moving, Evelyn said, sweeping a glance across the chaotic room.

Yes, please! I don’t have a lot of things, but I can’t take the trunk with me, and I could only grab two crates from the kitchen today. Everybody was wanting them.

Amberlyn held up two canvas bags. We’ve got laundry bags.

Perfect.

The three of us fell to work, and by lunchtime all my earthly goods were moved from the girls’ student wing to my new suite in the Guild members’ wing.

The last item I took from my old room was the alarm clock I paid for myself with almost all of my fifth year student stipend.

A draft swirled around the bare beds and now-empty room. Goosebumps raised on my arms. And for one second, I would have done anything to turn back time.

In a few months, two more little girls would sleep in those beds, put their treasures in that trunk. Maybe they’d sit in my class. They’d never know their room was full of the ghosts of those of us who had gone before.

I shivered. This was not my room anymore. Take care of them, I whispered.

I shut the door, locked it, and pocketed the key to turn in to Master Fenrey’s secretary. Alarm clock in hand, I walked down the quiet corridor and left the student wing for the last time.

My new little flat was on the second floor of the Guild wing, up the staircase and around the corner from Nadine Fairchild’s suite. Nearly as far away from Dietrich’s first-floor rooms as possible. It was jammed between a utility closet and the home of Mrs. McCrone—the older and well-meaning, but slightly batty, wardrobe manager. She stopped by to see me while we were moving, gushing like an oil leak about how happy she was to have such a dear girl to look after and how I simply must come by for tea any time I wanted.

Bloody hell. It wasn’t that I didn’t like her. She had always been genuinely kind to me. But I was an adult now. I didn’t need to be looked after, and if I wanted to pop by for tea, it would be with Nadine, not Mrs. McCrone.

There was no polite way to say any of that, so I gritted my teeth and smiled, feeling like the most ungrateful wretch ever as I promised to join her for tea the next afternoon.

When I closed the door after her, Evelyn and Amberlyn stared at me a second before bursting into giggles.

Are you sure you don’t want to look at the Ipswich with us? Evelyn asked after she could talk again.

Tempting. But…I do want to live here. I’ll be doing some teaching. It just makes more sense.

And she doesn’t want to miss out on tea with Mrs. McCrone, added Amberlyn, sending us all into giggles again.

The suite consisted of a small bedroom, an equally small sitting room, and an even smaller water closet and bathroom—with only a shower, no bathtub. I pictured the deep, long bathtub in Dietrich’s flat and scowled at my shower.

My only furniture was a bed, a wardrobe, and a desk and chair. I could rent bedding, towels, and a shower curtain for a few months, but if I wanted anything else, I would have to buy it with my theater paycheck.

Evelyn peered out the one window in the sitting room. Lovely view of a brick wall you have here, Miss Mellor.

Thank you, Miss Harrison. I find it quite invigorating.

She snorted and let the plain linen curtain fall back over the uninspiring view.

It didn’t take long to hang up my clothes in the wardrobe and pile the rest of my things on built-in shelves in the sitting room.

Amberlyn turned in a slow circle, surveying the blank plaster walls, scuffed wooden floor, and the ceiling with a little crack running along one edge. Well, this is quite…

Cozy, Evelyn supplied.

Lots of potential, Amberlyn added.

The most wretched, sad-looking flat imaginable, I said. But it’s mine. And just you wait—someday, it will be beautiful. Just like Nadine’s.

Evelyn patted me on the shoulder. Once you get popular enough, you can put in for a better suite. It won’t take you long.

I know. I glanced around the shabby space. But this is a good beginning.

Chapter Two

Iarrived at the pagoda in Barlow Public Gardens a little before sunset. I didn’t like being out by myself in the dark these days, but I felt safe in the pagoda-shaped garden folly whose locked bronze doors I shouldn’t have been able to open. It had been my refuge for years, and only a few people knew.

Dietrich knew.

I hurried up the brick steps to the small room at the top of the folly and plopped on the stone bench that lined the octagonal perimeter. I leaned on the window ledge, looking out at the bridge that spanned the lagoon separating the folly’s island from the rest of the gardens.

It had been a clear day, and the sun flamed orange across the sky making the gardens glow like firelight as the luminaries along the paths and fairy lights in the trees began blinking on, one by one.

I saw him cross the bridge, a dim shape in the fading light, but there was no mistaking the confident—if slightly dreamy—stride. I didn’t even try to tamp down the leap of my heart. It was useless.

For the thousandth time, I mentally kicked myself for insisting that he couldn’t court me until he could see me as his full, complete equal and not just a fragile victim of abuse. Why couldn’t I just get over it? He was everything kind and gentle and good, and yet I pushed him away.

But he knew, like no one else still alive could know, everything that had happened to me. Knew it from the mind of my tormentor. And though I had been able to break that connection, the knowledge was still there.

I could never forget or erase the things that had happened to me, but in order to move ahead, in order to really live, I had to learn to see them differently.

And if Dietrich wanted to be with me, he had to do the same. Had to let go of the desire to protect me, to make up for what had been done to me. He had to stop trying to fix me or be strong for me. He had to let me be strong for myself.

So far, that was proving to be more of a challenge for him than either of us expected. But he was trying, and it gave me hope.

And oh yes, there was the minor matter of me being a vicimorph—a shapeshifter—and him being a presul with catalyst magic that allowed my shapeshifting abilities to function. And the fact that vicimorphs and presuls tended to bond their magics when they had a deep enough emotional connection. And the fact that if that happened, we wouldn’t be able to use our magics with other people. And the fact that this would create a big problem for our careers at the theater because Master Fenrey couldn’t afford to hire us only to work with each other. We had to be able to magically partner with other people in the company.

Pesky facts.

But I had a possible way around those facts. This year, I’d found out I was not really a true vicimorph. I was an animancer—my magic dealt with the essence and soul of things and people. So I was hoping the usual vicimorph rules wouldn’t apply to me. But we couldn’t know for sure because the only other animancer I could ask was Empress Antonia, and she already disapproved of my feelings for Dietrich.

This summer. We would find a way this summer. We were all headed to the empress’s palace in Hellenia to do repertory theater. Those of us without jobs would meet potential patrons among the palace courtiers. My fate was to become the empress’s own protégé, to learn from her how to use my magic. Given her ruthlessness and reputation for cruelty, I couldn’t imagine that such training would come without some nasty strings attached. But there was really no way to avoid it.

And if I could find that loophole for Dietrich and me, it would be worth everything.

These thoughts swirling in my mind, I hurried down the steps to greet Dietrich outside the folly.

The door into the pagoda was on the other side from the bridge, so after I locked it, I flitted around the building until I could see him.

Dietrich!

He turned, and a huge smile brightened his face. He closed the distance between us, and I wanted to throw my arms around him. Instead, I held out my gloved hands.

He lifted them to his lips, bowing. You look beautiful, Minx.

The words flowed over me like scented oil. Thank you. I said in my best non-besotted tone. You wouldn’t believe how great it was today not wearing a student uniform. Not even once.

I do remember that feeling, actually. He rubbed one hand over his cheek, eyes glimmering. And then I remember the feeling I’ve had every day since then, of wishing I didn’t have pay for my own clothing.

Snozzlerot, I said, smoothing my hands down the blue pinstriped skirt that fell over my petticoats in soft flounces around my ankles. You would give up all your elegance to go back to a student uniform? I don’t believe it for a second.

His expression grew soft. You think I’m elegant?

I stared up into his eyes, glinting a golden green in the fairy lights. A stillness descended between us, thick with all the words I dared not say. He was the most elegant man I’d even seen. And the garden was too quiet. Too perfect. And we were too alone for me to risk an answer.

I tucked my hand around his arm, forcing a smile to my face. We should get going before the night guard catches us. The gardens close at sundown.

Right you are. His voice was only a little husky.

We walked in relaxed silence over the bridge and through the gardens to the street.

At the entrance stood a black, horse-drawn hansom cab. Dietrich gestured to it.

You hired a cab? I was used to walking unless Fenrey allowed me to ride in one of the theater’s carriages for some special purpose. A cab was a luxury I was barely familiar with.

It’s a little far to walk.

I nodded distractedly and edged past him toward the cab. Not a date. Not a date. Not a date.

But oh how I wished it were.

He helped me into the cab and then we were off. We sat side by side, and I felt the warmth of him seeping into me. I wanted to take his hand, but I settled instead for looking out the window at the city rumbling by.

Where are we going, anyway? I’d been trying for a tone of mild disinterest, but I sounded more like a child setting off on her first holiday, wriggly and bouncy.

Get it in gear, Minx—that’s an order!

If I’d wanted you to know, I’d have put it in the note. His voice sounded warm. Amused.

I peeked at him then. It was worth a try.

I’m just keeping a promise.

What promise could he mean?

He laughed. Don’t look so worried. You’ll like it. The cab jostled over a hole in the road, and he braced one hand on the ceiling and the other on my shoulder to steady me. Did you get moved into your new suite today?

Yes—Amberlyn and Evelyn helped me.

His hand slid gently off my shoulder. There’s nothing like your first suite. First home of your own.

It’s…something, for certain.

Everything all right?

I explained about the sparseness, the bad view, and my hovering neighbor.

He laughed. Give it time. You’ll make it into a home.

That’s what I told the girls. But I don’t actually know how to do that. Where do I even start?

You can get used furniture, he told me. Some of it’s quite nice. I can show you some good shops. But you should probably wait until we come back from Hellenia.

Shopping with Dietrich? Yes, please. I’d love that. Thank you.

Of course. Guild members have to stick together.

His tone seemed a little too casual. A little too bright and cheery. It sounded odd. Dietrich was many things, but bright and cheery were not usually two of them.

He told me more about his favorite shops until the cab stopped on a side street in front of a little café. The neighborhood reminded me of scuffed boots—a bit shabby but warm and comfortable.

He swung gracefully out of the cab and held his hand to me. Here we are.

I stepped down to the curb, eyeing the café. And this is where?

He threw me a grin. Huh-uh. None of that. Come.

The café was small, decorated in tones of rose and red and brown. A large fireplace in stone and brass rose from the middle of the room, casting a circle of warm light whose fingers barely touched the small, round tables scattered along dark walls and secluded corners. Candles flickered on every table, and a mechanical harpist in the corner plucked out a soft melody.

This is enchanting, I whispered.

He set his hand over the one I had wrapped around his arm. I knew you’d like it.

A short man, with a deeper complexion than Dietrich, in glasses and evening wear approached us and introduced himself as Mr. Cuttlesprite, proprietor of the café Titania’s Table.

It’s good to set eyes on you again, Presul Wolff. He clapped Dietrich on the shoulder. It’s been months.

I was…ill, Dietrich replied, side-eyeing me.

I’m sorry to hear it, but it’s excellent to find you looking hale and sturdy once again, my friend.

Thank you, sir. I feel very fortunate.

Indeed, indeed! And you’ve brought your beau, good, good. He turned to me and extended his hand. When I placed mine on his, he bowed over it with a flourish.

This is Miss Mellor.

It’s lovely to meet you, I told him.

I’ve saved you my best table, he said, motioning us to follow him. Not that it’s very busy tonight, as you can see.

It was true—most of the tables were empty, but he didn’t seem the least bit concerned. He showed us to a table on the other side of the room, tucked into a small alcove with a view of the fireplace.

After he had seated me, he clapped his hands together once, beaming at Dietrich. I know exactly what you are here for, Presul. What about your lady friend?

I opened my mouth to tell them both that I was perfectly capable of reading a menu and choosing my own food. But Dietrich winked at me and held up a finger.

This will be her first experience.

Ah! Fabulous! Well, then, you both should eat. It will be a lesser shock to your system. If you’ll allow me, I will prepare a sampling myself.

He hurried away, and Dietrich turned to me, his eyes dancing. Don’t be angry, Minx. Trust me.

I’m not angry.

He looked skeptical.

I’m not. I just didn’t like the two of you talking over my head like I wasn’t here.

His face reddened. I’m sorry. I was only doing that because I didn’t want to ruin the surprise.

After a moment, I relented. This had better be worth it. Whatever it is.

He told me about his latest letter from his sister, Gwynn. She sent along some books for you, he said.

I leaned forward. On animancy?

He held up his hands. I don’t know. She said she wasn’t sure if any of them would be helpful or not, but her mentor thought they might be relevant.

She didn’t tell her mentor about my magic, did she? Animancy was rare, and I already had enough notoriety. And it seemed that the empress deliberately kept her abilities as secret as possible, so I figured I should too.

No. She said a friend of hers was doing some research.

Good. I will have to write her to say thank you.

Ever since I’d broken the soul tie that nearly killed Dietrich, Gwynn had been much warmer toward me. Her relationship with her brother had a ways to go, but she was trying her best to reconnect with him after years of separation. Almost losing him must have made her see how important it was to know her older brother.

He was overjoyed just to get a letter from her. During his recovery, the days that Gwynn stopped by the clinic to visit him were the days he seemed to leap ahead in strength and energy.

Mr. Cuttlesprite soon brought us a great pitcher of water infused with cucumber and roses and a sampling plate full of different smoked fishes on crackers, cubes of mild, salty cheese, melon balls rolled in herbs, and small potatoes, salted and buttered. No piece was more than a few bites, but like tea sandwiches, they disappeared one by one, and I soon felt sated and comfortable.

As we ate, we talked of Hellenia. Neither of us had ever been there, but we’d heard tales of the marble ruins of ancient temples and colosseums, of the bright blue Mesogeios Sea, and the shining summer palace of Brymclyf that sat high on the seaside cliffs over the provincial capital of Cetines.

Almost from the start of her reign, the empress had instituted a Cinderella-esque tradition of choosing the inductees from one lucky theater every year to spend the summer doing repertory shows at Brymclyf Palace and hobnobbing with the powerful aristocrats who gathered there. For new Guild members who didn’t receive contracts from the theater where they’d attended academy, a summer at Brymclyf opened lots of opportunities they would never have otherwise.

I suspected she chose the Alchemy Empire Theater this year in order to gain my cooperation in learning animancy from her. What she planned to do with me after that concerned me most. But I could hardly say no, especially when the futures of my friends were at stake.

Dietrich, as director of the student theater company, had been invited to go with us.

So had my new mentor, Presul Neela Khan.

When Dietrich told me, I frowned. Why are both of you going? Who’s going to work with the students over the summer?

He scowled. Usually, the student company director is sent as a reward for working with the students, and one of the other presuls will manage the student company back at the academy. This year, since I was gone for most of it, and Neela took my place, we both are being allowed to go.

You’re unhappy about that.

She seems to see me as some kind of rival. I don’t enjoy competition, and I didn’t ask for this one.

I laughed. She doesn’t see you as competition. She sees you as a barrier to be got out of the way.

I like that even less.

Well, then, make sure she knows you’re not a threat.

What, and just let her steal all my opportunities from under me?

Hah!

He leaned back, staring at me. What’s that supposed to mean?

It means, I said with exaggerated patience, that you are not as uncompetitive as you’d like to believe.

Abashed, he dropped his gaze. I don’t like competition. But I don’t like losing either.

I giggled.

He groaned. I know. I’m ridiculous.

Adorable was more like it, but I didn’t say so.

Our dinner ended with a cold, smooth lemon basil sorbet.

After a few minutes, all of it was cleared away, and Dietrich watched me with a sort of glowing, fond anticipation.

Should I even bother asking again what’s going on?

His lips curved in a sultry smirk. What do you imagine?

Images fluttered through my mind—of skin and heat, firelight, of secret portals to worlds where nothing else mattered than our desire to be together. Now it was my turn to feel flushed and to look away without speaking.

He made a sound like a sigh tinged with laughter, and I glanced back to him. His eyes were dark, the rings of green thinned to a glowing line in the dim light. His lips were soft and parted, and he drew a slow breath as the silence lengthened between us.

"I’m working on it, cariad, I promise."

Before I could respond, Mr. Cuttlesprite returned with a silver tray holding two glass goblets with sinuous, knobby stems, two flat, slotted spoons, and a silver bowl piled with small bricks of sugar.

He unloaded the tray, arranging the contents prettily on the table, and then left, promising to return with the rest of it in a moment.

I gasped, finally guessing the secret. Really? I said, hating how naïve I must sound, but how could I possibly be expected to contain my excitement? Absinthe for real?

His smile looked boyish, pleased. For real. Don’t you remember I promised you?

Did you? My brows scrunched together. When?

At the Season Opener last fall, at the Airship Club. You wanted a taste of my absinthe and—

You said not until after I’d been inducted, I finished for him. That’s right! I can’t believe you remembered.

I try to remember everything about you, he murmured.

The quiet words sank into me like a stone in water, settling into the deep, dark places of my heart, a memory that my soul would polish and treasure, even if it was never brought to the light again. I swallowed hard, not trusting my voice for a moment.

As friends do, he added, after a pause.

As friends do, I echoed.

Mr. Cuttlesprite returned once again, this time pushing a cart with the bottle of absinthe and a beautiful globe of water on a brass stand with two spigots. He set the water globe on the table between us, the spigots just higher than the glasses. He poured the absinthe until it filled the knobby stems of the glasses.

I think, Presul, he said to Dietrich, you’ll find this is one of the finest absinthes you’ve ever had the pleasure of enjoying.

I’ve no doubt. Dietrich nodded to me. This is why we came here. Cuttlesprite serves the best absinthe in the whole city.

Mr. Cuttlesprite nearly glowed. Thank you, sir! I do consider myself something of a connoisseur.

After he left us, I leaned forward. If he is such a connoisseur, then why isn’t it busier here? I glanced around at all the empty tables. We’re almost the only ones left.

Dietrich looked suddenly embarrassed. And a little guilty.

Dietrich…what did you do?

Nothing. Mostly.

I just stared at him, waiting.

He inhaled, held it a minute, then blew it out slowly. Well, it’s just…so last summer, shortly after I moved to Aldwych, I found Titania’s Table. I was looking for a good absinthe lounge, and someone had recommended it. When I first arrived, Mr. Cuttlesprite was in a bit of a fix. He got a sous chef automaton that had malfunctioned and started throwing knives at anyone who went in the kitchen. He had a technomancer there trying to fix it when I arrived, only she was having a hard time getting control of the machine. When I found them, they’d both been pinned to the wall through their clothing by butcher knives.

Bloody hell.

Very. He leaned toward me, the lights and shadows from the fire flickering on his face. I couldn’t be sure that if I left to go for help that they’d still be alive when I returned. So I told the technomancer I was a presul and offered to try an experiment—let me enhance her magic and see if between the two of us, we could get the machine shut down.

And did you?

It was touch and go for a few minutes—the automaton had sensed my presence by then, and I had to dodge and crawl across the floor to avoid the knives. But I made it over to the technomancer and freed her. She wouldn’t have known how to use an alchemist chain like I use with vicimorphs, so we just worked without a mental link. She had been trying to disable the arms so she could get to the control panel in the back and shut it down. But I suggested maybe she should try disconnecting the power source directly. She still needed to have her hands on the machine to do this.

So what happened? I scooted my absinthe glass out of the way so I could lean my elbows on the table and watch his face while he continued the story.

I was able to connect with her magic, which sprocked her out a bit, but it did increase her power a lot. I got the automaton’s attention and dodged another knife while she ran around behind it and jumped on its back.

Did it work?

It did. The machine sank onto the floor and went limp. The technomancer was able to fix the automaton, but Mr. Cuttlesprite said he’d rather spend the extra money to hire real people to do food prep from then on. And he credited the technomancer and me with saving his life and business. So now, if either of us visit the café, he never makes us pay, and he gives us the best of everything.

That’s so brass! I put my hand over my racing heart, knowing full well I looked like a swooning heroine and not caring in the least. Is that how you knew you could do comagica with Thea, Raymond, and me?

He frowned thoughtfully. It must be, though I don’t recall thinking much about it at the time.

He was so oblivious to his own brilliance, it made me smile. I can’t believe you never told me about this before.

It never came up.

Well, it’s amazing. You’re amazing.

He lowered his head. Thank you, he whispered.

I needed to change the subject quickly before I gave into temptation and took his hand. I still don’t understand why there’s nobody here tonight.

He looked shy again. When I wrote to Cuttlesprite to tell him I wanted to bring a lady friend to try absinthe for the first time, he told me he would close the café early so we could have the place to ourselves. I tried to talk him out of it, but he wouldn’t hear of it.

Warmth flooded me. I looked down at the absinthe glowing pale green in the stem of the glass. That’s very kind of him. Why did you want to stop him?

He didn’t reply for several moments. Just ran his forefinger slowly around the rim of his glass until I started feeling jealous of the glass.

At last he lifted his eyes to mine. I didn’t want you to think I was attempting to romance you after you said no. I would never do that.

My heart clenched, and I closed my eyes against the surge of desire and affection coiling in my abdomen. Too late. Much too late for that. Dietrich. A plea, a protest, I didn’t know.

I heard him draw breath, and then, We should try the absinthe before it’s room temperature. It was that weird cheery tone again, but this time I recognized it for the mask that it was.

I opened my eyes and nodded. Right. So what do I do?

He stared at the absinthe for a second, then blinked. You understand, don’t you, the power of the green fairy?

What?

He pointed to our glasses. The green fairy. That’s what the absinthe is called.

Oh, yes, of course. I knew that.

His eyes grew dark, though I fancied there was perhaps a spark of humor deep in them. This is the drink of poets and dreamers, of artists and philosophers. It’s powerful, potent, and rumored to be dangerous.

His voice had dropped several pitches, and it floated around me like steam.

I was fairly sure he was just having me on, being dramatic in order to create a mood for the occasion. But I couldn’t quite tell for certain. Does it really cause hallucinations? I whispered.

Sometimes. His expression was somber. Though it’s never happened to me. I suspect that effect may be due to contaminants in low-quality absinthe and not the spirit itself.

I see.

But, he went on, it isn’t a drink to be taken lightly, which is why students are forbidden to even taste it until they finish their schooling. It’s powerful, and too much will destroy you. You must promise me that you will never let it master you.

I promise. Intentional drama or not, I held up my right hand like a vow.

It’s my favorite drink in the world, and I’ve been looking forward to sharing it with you. For a while this year, I thought I would never make it this far.

Sod it. I took his hand. Friends could do that. Hold each other’s hand. Especially in light of such an admission.

Show me what to do.

The words came out softer than I intended, and I saw the flare of desire like an absinthe-green flame in his eyes. He tensed as if bracing himself and picked up the flat, slotted spoon next to his glass. He rested it across the rim of the glass like a bridge and placed a little sugar brick on top.

I copied him.

He pulled the water globe closer to us. Absinthe has a very high alcohol content. You don’t really want to drink it straight. So we louche it with water. It’s naturally a little bitter, so the sugar helps sweeten it.

All right.

He slid his glass with the spoon and sugar brick under one of the spigots on the water globe. I did the same with my glass.

Raise the lever like this. He demonstrated, and drops of water fell from the spigot and plopped onto the thirsty sugar cube. Soon it dribbled through the slotted spoon and into the absinthe. As the flow of water increased, the absinthe flushed from a clear, pale green, to a milky jade color.

So pretty. I murmured. Carefully, I raised the lever on my spigot and watched my drink do the same.

He instructed me to let the glass fill with water, diluting and sweetening the absinthe as the sugar brick disintegrated. When the glasses were almost full, we closed the spigots and eased the water globe away.

He held up his glass. "To you, cariad. May your future be brighter and happier than your past. And may you—" His voice broke.

My hand tightened around my glass. I waited for him to continue.

He cleared his throat and clenched his fist, relaxing it slowly. May you only know kindness and love from this moment on.

Thank you.

We clinked our glasses together, and he took a sip. Drawing a big breath, I stared down into the cloudy liquid. I could do this. I tipped the glass to my lips and filled my mouth with absinthe.

It…burned. And all the sugar in the world couldn’t cover the bitterness, or the slippery, squeezing, sharp taste of—

I swallowed as fast as I could, choking and gasping. It felt like a lighted match sliding down my throat.

Are you all right? He was half out of his chair to come assist me.

I slammed the glass back to the table. "Bloody hell! That is the most…vile thing I have ever put in my mouth!"

He sank back into his chair looking like a kicked puppy. You didn’t like it?

Like? I squealed. It’s disgusting! How can something so pretty taste so awful? I grabbed my glass of water and drank greedily.

His eyes widened and his mouth drooped. It’s probably the anise, I guess. Some people don’t care for it.

Is that why it tastes like black licorice?

He nodded.

"I hate, despise, and even loathe black licorice, I hissed. Nasty, foul stuff."

I didn’t know, he said, his voice very low. I’m sorry.

Rusted hex nuts. He was practically smothering in disappointment. He’d gone through so much trouble to give me this beautiful—and yes, romantic—evening, and I just completely screwed it up.

God, Dietrich. Don’t be sorry. I’m the one who’s sorry. I just wasn’t expecting…look, I can try it again.

His lips clamped shut, and his face grew red. His eyes looked watery.

Was he going to cry? Oh my god, I made him cry.

Dietrich? Please. I didn’t mean to ruin anything.

His shoulders started to shake. I scrambled from my chair and around the table. I flung myself into his lap, my arms pulling his head against my neck.

I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I murmured.

He still shook, and then I heard a sound.

It was not the sound of sobs.

The wretch was…

Laughing.

I reared back, gawking at him. He scooted us away from the table, his eyes streaming with tears, his cheeks and forehead flushed from repressed laughter.

Your face! he burst out. Oh my god, it did this little grimace… and then it went…and all pale… like the whole thing turned inside out! He gasped for air.

You. Are. Laughing.

He wiped his eyes. That was the funniest—

At. Me.

Sorry! Then a few more guffaws. You hate licorice! He was nearly howling now. He hugged me close, giggling into my shoulder, his warm breath coming in jagged puffs against my skin.

I’d driven him mad. There was no other explanation.

He drew a few steadying breaths, trying to calm down, and then he took one look at me, and the giggles began all over again.

And after awhile I joined him. I couldn’t help it. I never dreamed Dietrich Wolff could be so silly. So free. It was like his whole body was collapsing from his mirth.

He stroked my cheeks, wiping away the tears. We leaned our faces together as if proximity could help us be quieter.

Without thinking, I kissed his cheek.

He kissed mine in return, chuckling through his nose.

Heart pounding, breathless from laughing, I kissed his cheek again, harder this time. His skin felt so good against my lips. I needed more.

Then we both were kissing each other’s faces, giggles steaming away in sudden hunger.

Cheeks, neck, forehead, ears, frantic, joyful, unthinking.

And when our mouths met, hard and greedy, I didn’t mind the slight tinge of licorice on his tongue. I fisted his jacket lapels in my hands and pressed against him, dragging the air from his lungs and giving him my breath in return. He held my face in his hands and drank from me, restlessly tasting my neck and the hardness of bone behind my ear.

He wrapped his arms around me. Something hit the table with a dull thud and swish. A second later, wet, cold liquid seeped down my back where it pressed against the table.

My spine stiffened. Oi! I twisted to look over my shoulder at the spilled glass of absinthe.

I swiveled back to him. He was breathing hard, looking like a third-year student caught sneaking out at night. I put two fingers against his lips to staunch the apology about to burst from them.

Friendship may be a little trickier than I thought, I said, far more calmly than I felt.

He smiled against my fingers and kissed them gently.

I stood, shaking a bit. He picked up his dinner napkin and dabbed at the wet spot on my back.

May I have your absinthe? He gave me a sheepish grin. Mine seems to have met with an accident.

He helped me sit again in my chair.

Of course, I said, when he was also again seated. I find it is a bit too overwhelming for my taste. I held out the glass to him.

For a moment, he looked stricken, as if he thought I was reprimanding him for our kiss.

We couldn’t have that. Especially since I started it.

I winked at him.

After another second, he relaxed. He took the glass and lifted it to me, half smiling.

Cheers, he said, and then he drank.

Chapter Three

When Mr. Cuttlesprite returned to our table, he made no mention of the spilled absinthe or the passionate tryst that had happened in