“We are not fools,” Sabine said. She reached over to Calliope, who handed her one of the glass jars. “It is no different than the healing concoctions, and we are very careful with the measurements.” She set it on the table in front of him.
“‘Tobias Miracle Crème for the Face,’” Madigan read. “Are you quite serious?”
She said nothing more, but sat quietly while he thought on what she’d told him. So far, her aunts had said nothing. This had been her idea, a plan to protect Agnes. They had thought long and hard before agreeing and setting the plan in motion. Now, several months later, their products were successful, and the elixir was slowly being spread across London.
He uncorked the lid, then held the jar of crème to his nose and inhaled. With the tip of one finger, he withdrew a small amount and rubbed it onto his arm. “It absorbs into their skin,” he muttered. His brown gaze lifted to meet hers. “So to him, we all look the same.”
She nodded. “We also have other products. In fact, we’ve become somewhat of a sensation in the last few weeks. Society, it would seem, has taken notice.”
“How much elixir do you use in each jar?” Madigan asked.
“One single drop,” Agnes said.
“I suppose the women in town are loving how well it dispels their wrinkles,” Madigan said.
“Precisely,” Agnes said. “The more they use it, the more it throws him off our scent, so to speak.”
Madigan was quiet for a few moments, then he nodded. “That’s brilliant. I had wondered why you’d relocated to London. It’s rather unorthodox for guardians to abandon their village.”
“For their protection,” Sabine said. She’d known it was a risk to move Agnes away from their people, but it would have been an even greater risk to stay. They’d made arrangements for their people to come and retrieve the healing ointments and tonics and bring them back to the village.
“Madigan, I don’t understand how you know the prophecy has begun. Have you spoken with Phinneas recently?” Agnes asked. “He has not mentioned it in his letters.”
“No, not in the last month or two,” he said.
Lydia stepped forward. “Did you find the map?”
Generations of their people had searched for the map of Atlantis, as it was the only remaining place to find the prophecy in its entirety. But their hunts had been futile.
“Not precisely found it, but I have located it,” Madigan said, then he coughed, a chest-rattling, body-racking cough that resulted in his wiping blood from his mouth.
“Madigan, why have you not taken some of your elixir to clear your lungs?” Sabine asked. “Or allowed Agnes to assist you; she’s a wonderful healer.”
“I told you, it is far too late for me.” He shook his head and was quiet for a moment before he spoke again. “I couldn’t stop him. He hit me over the head, knocked me out. He took it.”
“The elixir?” Lydia asked.
Madigan simply nodded.
“How long have you been without it?” Agnes asked.
“More than a day,” he said. Then shook his head. “I don’t know how long I was out, so I’m really not certain how long. I was so careful.” He gripped Agnes’s hand. “I’m so sorry.”
“It has begun then,” Calliope said.
That was why Madigan looked so ill. If a guardian lost his elixir and did not recover it within two days’ time, he would perish. She had seen it happen before with her own mother. It was a mystical connection that even Sabine did not understand, but there were some facts that you simply did not question.
“Give him some of your elixir,” Sabine suggested.
He shook his head. “Elixir won’t work for me now, at least none but my own. Besides, she needs her own.” He met Sabine’s eyes. “She’s the important one.” His breathing was labored and raspy. “I used my time getting here to warn you. Phinneas can look after himself. Though I did send him a message to warn him.”
“What do we need to do?” Sabine asked. Whatever it took, she would do it to ensure Agnes and the rest of her aunts were safe. She would not lose anyone else. Madigan had used precious time to come and warn them instead of pursuing his own elixir. She owed him her gratitude.
“You need the entire prophecy,” Madigan said. “You must have it to have any hope of destroying the Chosen One.”
“The map,” Sabine said. “You said you located it.”
He coughed again, took another sip of the whiskey, then released a weary breath. “A man, an Englishman, found it many years ago. He still has it now.”
