“It wasn’t so bad,” I say. “Father’s methods may have been unorthodox, but he wouldn’t have let me die.”
Josse’s frown deepens and he scoots closer. As if protecting me from events that took place half a lifetime ago. A prickle of warmth stirs in my belly, like coals being prodded by a poker, but another moan from the wharf douses the ember. I ball my fists and glance up and down the riverbank. The Society soldiers are finally gone. “Let’s go.”
“I’ll start at the far end, near the Pont Marie,” Josse says, gripping his bottle of antipoison and casting me a look that is equal parts reassurance and fear. Desgrez heads to the nearest shacks to see if anyone is still inside, and I pick up my skirts and wade straight into the center of the carnage.
I come first to a man lying prostrate on the slippery boards. He’s twice my size, with deep brown skin and thick black hair. It takes all my strength to turn him over, and the sight of his bloated face is so horrific, I gag. Froth seeps from his lips, and his breath rumbles like boiling water.
I close my eyes and dig my knuckles into my thighs, but still the faces of the dead rise like phantoms from the mist: the Sun King, Madame de Montespan, and now the Duc de Luxembourg. A whimper escapes my lips and tremors start in my smallest toe and overtake me to the crown.
The man’s eyes flutter open, and he thrashes beneath me. The phial slips in my sweaty hand. I can’t bear to fail again. I won’t survive it. I want to scramble back. I want to return to the dark safety of the millinery. But Father’s hands shove me forward. His voice hums in my ear. I bring the bottle to the man’s lips, but they’re cold and stiff and his head flops to the side.
No, no, no.I can feel the scream welling up inside of me. My hand shakes so hard, the antipoison splashes across his lips and dribbles down his chin. I climb atop his chest and force the neck of the bottle between his lips.
Then I wait.
Each second lasts a lifetime.
I’m about to slide down to the slimy boards and never rise again when a door slams open and a squalling woman with the same dark skin and long black hair storms across the quai, Desgrez on her heels.
“Étienne!” she shrieks at the motionless man beneath me. “I forbid you to be dead!” She elbows me aside and slaps the man across the face. “Wake up this instant!”
Just as I’m about to tell her it’s useless, she slaps her husband again and his eyes fly open. He clutches his chest and is immediately gripped by a fit of coughing.
My eyes burn with tears and I bury my face in my hands, crying and laughing so hard that I can’t catch my breath.
He lives.
It worked.
“Don’t sit there blubbering!” the woman shouts at me. “The rest, girl. Tend the rest.”
Desgrez helps me to my feet and we continue our work down the river, doling out antipoison and whispering my new name, La Vie, until it’s on every tongue. Floating down the riverside. Once again shaking the bearings of my soul.
“We knew you’d come,” a girl says as she pushes up to her elbows. “Rumors have been swirling down the dock and tangling through Les Halles. They say you’re an angel, sent from God himself.”
I’m no angel, that’s for certain, but I feel something powerful, something transcendent, stir deep within me as I watch the dead return to life. Women and children rush from the shabby riverside shacks and collide with the men in great, weeping hugs. A small dark-eyed girl throws herself atop the first man I healed and clutches his face, kissing his scruffy cheeks.
My eyes sting and my lips quiver. Father’s voice drifts past me on the wind.You will be a great alchemist one day… .
This is what he meant. This feeling gave him the courage to stand up to Mother, to prize alchemy above all else. “Miraculous,” Desgrez whispers.
My eyes widen. “Is that a compliment, Captain?”
Desgrez scoffs and assaults me with the full force of his most intimidating scowl. “If you’re trying to get an admission out of me, poisoner, it will never happen.”
“I think the tears glistening in your eyes are admission enough.”
“Raindrops. Obviously.” He wipes his sleeve across his face.
A few minutes later, Josse comes tearing down the dock, whooping and wide-eyed. “It worked! Our antipoison worked!” He catches me up in his arms and we spin across the rain-slicked boards.
For a second, I can’t breathe—it’s so reminiscent of the day I healed Anne and Françoise. And yet, everything has changed. Instead of pushing him away, my arms tighten around his neck. My fingers hungrily clutch his tunic. And instead of freezing with horror, I bury my face in his chest.
He sets me down, takes my chin in his hands, and presses his forehead to mine. He’s laughing and misty-eyed, and his lips are so close I can practically taste them. The tiny space between us bubbles and pops. His warm breath spills across my frozen cheeks. His hands slide down my neck and tangle in my hair. It would be so easy to lift my chin a fraction.
Josse glances down, and his lip catches between his teeth.
I close my eyes and lean up on my toes.
