Page 60 of Adam, Mine

There was a tightness in his neck, pleasure running down to his stomach. Elias frowned. It felt like . . . haughty satisfaction?

Elias immediately closed his eyes, imagined the string, and shut this down.

“What have you done to me?” he demanded.

Alain stepped back and put the mixture on his table.

“I gave of my heart’s blood directly from its chambers, tears of grief cried once every ten years, dust from a rock not made on this earth, and the combined cursed blood from you and your tethered to give you a channel to force this man to feel your pain,” he said simply. “Wherever you are. Wherever he is. If you open the path and feel something stronger than whatever he is feeling, you will overwhelm him.”

Elias just stared at Alain, speechless.

“The only thing you’re feeling is cautious or curious, maybe disgust. So Victor’s feelings came through first,” Alain said, brushing his hands against his trousers. “But when you are ready, play the note of your hearts and burn him from the inside out. Rock him with the wave of your loss and the heat of your anger. Rouse him from sleep, crush him with guilt. Drive him mad if you wish.”

Elias pressed a hand to the circle on his chest. He didn’t know how to feel about this.

The French alchemist looked at him through lowered lids. “You did not need to practice after all. It comes easily to you, little butcher. Perhaps you are more like us than you think. You smell of blood like me, at any rate, but that’s probably because of your violence.”

Elias frowned, embarrassed.

Alain opened the door and guided him back into the living room.

“I need to rest and recover. If you must—stay. Eat what you find in my kitchens, walk through my garden, take a shirt from the line outside to replace your own. But I must lie down.”

Elias wanted to leave. Or he wanted to be beside this man, for the first time in weeks to sleep in a bed warm as the one he shared with Magda and Gida. He wanted to scrub his chest of this grimy paste, settle somewhere private and dream alone.

Alain made his choice for him. He brushed a hand over Elias’s head in obvious fondness, then walked past him into another room and shut the door.

Elias heard the click of a lock.

So he drank crisp, clean water from Alain’s stores and filled his canister. Smelled the sweetness of peaches grown from his hot, enchanted soil. Put on a shirt too big by half, then covered it with his jacket. Counted his knives, counted his money, hid his book.

Then he walked out of the French alchemist’s house and into the sun.

England

Victor thumbed the words he’d copied from Fitz about Bradley King. Gold, Lead, and Lives. Come with a gift. “Lives” was alarming, but he felt confident about his choices.

Bradley King lived in a stately house: large gardens, big fountain, staff walking the grounds, the whole lot. His home made Mr. Sauer’s mansion look quaint. Thankfully, unlike Alain and Willem, he lived in London city proper so Victor didn’t have to go deep into the wilderness.

When Victor reached the door, he was unable to enter until he showed the facsimile of his diploma. Mr. King’s staff brought him on a pleasant walk through the front gardens and into a small tearoom near the entrance door.

Victor waited anxiously for nearly an hour before they came to retrieve him and bring him to Mr. King himself. He was told that Mr. King wasn’t fond of surprise visitors and had been otherwise occupied before Victor arrived. This might even be the “King” Fitz mentioned during his meeting at Sauer’s house.

This didn’t matter to Victor. He was certain the likelihood of Mr. King being somehow worse than what he’d already experienced was low. Save if he chose to kill him, of course.

They led him to a place called the Gift Room and abandoned him outside its large cherrywood door.

Victor sighed and knocked.

“Come in.”

Victor pushed inside, alarmed at how heavy the door was. It slammed behind him rudely. Victor whirled around but he didn’t see anyone and didn’t immediately get reprimanded, which was a relief.

The Gift Room was like a private museum. There were dozens of domed pedestals along each wall and in perfect rows across the room like a giant chessboard. Under each dome was a labeled gift that, presumably, Bradley King had received.

“Well, then, what have you brought?” A door to the left closed with a click, and Bradley King strode quickly across the room.

Like Willem, he was younger than Victor had imagined. Strong jaw, thick mustache, navy-blue suit, well-muscled. He reminded Victor immediately of Alain. But what Victor hadn’t expected was this: Bradley was Black.