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Zayan gave him an odd look, so he added, “Have I never used that term? It’s the trace of vapor that escapes and is lost. The irony of the term appeals to me.”

“Irony of the iron,” Zayan said, laughing at his own ill-formed joke, but with a hysterical edge. That wouldn’t do. He must keep the tender lad busy to keep him from breaking.

Bluebeard directed, taking a few grapes from the platter, “Begin at once to minimize spurious oxidation. White sulfur first, in equal proportion to the calcinate, and with intention. We’re capturing pure living vitality here.”

It would be hours before they were greeted with the happy result, so he set to finishing his lunch, supervising the sublimation mixture.

When Zayan finally set Bluebeard’s vessel and his own smaller one on the coals, Bluebeard asked, “Can you feel it? The vitality, struggling for release?”

Zayan stared for a moment, swabbing the upper bowls with cool water, and answered, “Yes, I think so. There’s a warmth, not the warmth of the furnace, more internal. In my core.”

“That’s it. Be warned. The putrefaction, when we get there, will mask it, but it will still be there, nonetheless. You’ll get a fuller expression when we move to the distillation later this week.”

Bluebeard warmed to his subject. He’d never had the opportunity to share his discoveries, to express the miracle of what they were doing, not since those early days of experimentation, and even then, his colleagues often clutched their knowledge tightly to their chests. He continued, “As many times as I’ve done this, it never gets old. You’ll see. This first time may be difficult, but when you have eternal life right here, in your hands, it will become clear. The outcome is well worth the sacrifice.”

Zayan faltered, asking, “Why are you doing this? Why am I here?”

Bluebeard wasn’t ready to show all his cards yet, so he dissembled. “I have chosen this moment to share my talent, to train a worthy apprentice to assist me. Look at yourself, adding your hands to mine, working in synchrony on the Great Work. It’s glorious, isn’t it? I’ve built my empire on this talent, on the pursuit of immortality and the power it provides over mortal men, particularly over mortal men of power. Together, we will take the work to heights never before imagined.”

“So that’s the real service you offer at Elixir.” Zayan said this as a statement, not a question.

“Smart lad. Gold opens many doors, but an offer of more life ensures they stay open.”

Finishing his lunch, Bluebeard rose and continued, “I think our dear Beatrice deserves some peace, since she has completed her essential role.”

As he unlocked the shackles and hefted her body off the slab, Bluebeard couldn’t help but grin as Zayan kept his eyes averted, locked tightly on the sublimation vessels. So squeamish, but he’d soon get over that when he finally understood the true magnitude of what they were doing. Bluebeard carried her to the preservation coffin and busied himself with desiccants and herbs. Perhaps Zayan could manage this menial task himself with the next wife. Time would tell.

“How is it going?” he asked as he retrieved his keyring from the door.

“Still sizzling, so we have a while to go.”

Should he give his apprentice control of the Key? He would be the first to have that privilege, apart from himself and his faithful steward. Perhaps not yet. He hadn’t yet proven he could be trusted, or had the fortitude to continue to the next level. Maybe after he made his own sacrifice, stepping from apprentice to mage. Bluebeard set those thoughts aside, pulling out bottles of mineral acids and soothing essential oils, getting to work with a soft cloth, cleaning the stain of blood marring the gold surface.

“How does it work?” Zayan asked.

“The Key? It’s linked to me, enspelled to act when a vow is broken.”

“And the blood? The wound?”

“It cannot be reversed or stanched.”

“And how does it relate to the, um, Great Work?”

And so they came to the central triumph of his life, the reason that he still lived while all his colleagues had perished. He explained, “It is the key to separating loyalty from treachery. One cannot exist without the other. As with the many who came before her, my wife’s treachery is the shadow of her loyalty, her honesty, her vital spark. Look into yourself now and examine how you feel about me, and you will see the same admixture of loyalty and treachery wrestling for primacy. The Key isolates one sharp moment of treachery, staining its purity with the blood of dishonor. We capture this moment in the Great Work, using this critical moment to liberate the vitality from its shadow.”

His apprentice asked, with hope in the words, “Couldn’t you use cows or sheep?”

So disappointing. His apprentice had obviously not caught the concept of it, the need for one to isolate the other. He would learn. Instead of trying to make him understand, Bluebeard simply answered the mundane question. “Would that I could, but the fire burns less brightly in dumb animals. No, this is the only way, and the act of treachery is an essential element.”

Zayan lapsed into silence with this, and Bluebeard turned his full attention to his precious Key. It was always a delicate matter, negotiating with it to release its prize of treacherous blood. He lost track of time as he stroked the surface with the purifying spirits, instilling the promise that it would taste treacherous blood once again, that he would continue to feed its eternal hunger.

“Master,” Zayan said, breaking him from his reverie. “I think the sublimation is complete.”

Bluebeard concurred, and they each transferred their vessels to the table.

“Carefully,” he warned his apprentice. “The flowers of vitality are more delicate than in elemental transmutation.”

Zayan showed a bright spark of engagement as they lifted the lids of their two vessels, caught up with the wonder of it. Good lad. He seemed to be getting past his foolish reservations. Bluebeard, however, tried to hide his disappointment on seeing the woefully sparse plates of crystalline vitality, each deeply stained ochre with impure thoughts. The tar of treachery filled the basin of both of their vessels, exuding a nauseating wave of malaise, completely overpowering the gentle joy of the crystals.