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“As you gain experience, you will find that the Great Work far surpasses all mundane considerations. Do not be impatient with yourself, young apprentice. You will see.”

Perhaps it would be worth the cost. For the time being, he would reserve judgment—after all, Beatrice’s blood was on Bluebeard’s hands, not his own. He was merely an observer here. He would never sink to this depth of depravity. As he grew in skill, Tom would be there with him, steadying him. If their relationship continued on the path it seemed to be heading, Tom would be his conscience, guiding him on a straight course. Did he want that? He’d never experienced it before. Love, if he did indeed love Tom, was new and exciting, and maybe fulfilling, but who could say? With immortality in the balance, all traditional considerations would crumble into ash and blow away.

Bluebeard stroked his beard, continuing, “You must understand, the Great Work does not leave this room. Am I understood?”

“Of course, Master,” he said, and he fully understood. He would have to bear this burden on his own. He couldn’t enmesh Tom in this web of treachery and deceit and lies…and death. Tom was too precious for that.

CHAPTER 27

“It’s nearly over, my love,” Bluebeard said, mopping her brow with a cool cloth. It was the least he could do, allowing himself this small kindness in her final moments, despite her treachery. Already, he despaired of the product. From the start of the entire charade, he had hoped her exuberance would enhance the vitality, but her shameful machinations were sure to lace it with vile impurities. Truly, he was showing her more mercy than she deserved.

“Apprentice, attend,” he called when her resigned eyes finally lost their light. “Have you made your decision?”

“I have, Master,” Zayan said in a flat voice. “Teach me.”

The best of all possible outcomes! He had judged his apprentice’s character correctly, and Zayan had now fully accepted his place as apprentice, an empty vessel waiting to be filled.

“I will gift you two pints, and we will work in parallel. Properly done, a week’s work on this gift will yield enough Elixir to extend your life by roughly a century. Gather your intention and practice wisely. We begin, as always, with the calcination.”

Zayan intoned, “Nature delights in Nature.”

“Precisely,” Bluebeard said, well pleased. “But a gentler approach is required with the flame, dancing on the edge of volatility, or it will yellow. Watch.”

He dipped the first pint from the burgeoning basin and added the salt and spirits, consigning it to the flame. Zayan stood at his side, laser-focused and silent, as befitted an apprentice.

“Questions?” he asked when it had burned to gray ashes.

“The color. We’ve always strived for pure white in my calcination.”

“It is disappointing, isn’t it?” he said, shaking the dirty ashes into the waiting sublimation vessel. “Unlike the base materials of transmutation, working with living matter always means dealing with unique impurities. That will be the major task of the purification, and that is why it will require so much more time.”

In a contrite, almost robotic voice, Zayan responded. “I understand. I have no further questions.”

“Ready your equipment, and we will do the next pint together.”

Bluebeard commended himself for holding his tongue when he noted the tremor of his apprentice’s hand and his less than fluid handling of the tongs. It was the boy’s first time. Was he himself ever like this, so unsure? It was so hard to remember. It seemed he had always had the talent. He let his intention drift back to the task at hand, hearing the sizzle as they together released the essence of iron. Truly, he was the luckiest man on earth to experience this.

“Show me,” he demanded at the completion, and Zayan tipped his crucible toward him. The residue was impeccable, the same light gray as his own, a visible tribute to his own tutelage. His apprentice had been listening during all those hours in the laboratory.

“And so, we continue. Another pint for you, then you may assist with the remainder.”

Bluebeard watched his apprentice slowly regain his normal vigor and apply himself to the noble task, and even seek to learn more.

“Why so much wine spirit?” he asked when the basin was half-emptied. “It just evaporates.”

“Yes, but it binds the essence of iron as the organics depart.”

“Would anhydrous alcohol work better?” he asked and Bluebeard frowned. Barely beginning his first attempt at the Great Work and already thinking he knew everything! But it wouldn’t do to strike the boy for his imprudence, as the violence would certainly show in the calcination.

Tamping down his temper, Bluebeard answered, “The uninitiated might think so, but it leads to excessive dehydration and later reacts unfavorably with the arsenic. Spirit of wine holds more life than artificially purified spirits.”

“I understand,” he answered simply, attention properly fixed on the crucible, and they continued, pint after precious pint, in silence.

As he allowed Zayan to complete the final dregs, he stepped to the door and turned the Key. Thierry, always proactive, had arranged a tray of refreshments on a small table, placed outside the door.

When he offered some to his apprentice, Zayan gulped down two full glasses of water, but only sipped at his wine and didn’t touch any of the food. Bluebeard certainly couldn’t let that go to waste, so he pulled up a chair and put his apprentice back to work.

“For the sublimation, add white sulfur, foam of the moon, salts of arsenic and mercury, and then back to the purifying flame. As always, it will require careful lavage. With something so valuable, we want to minimize the angel’s share.”