There was silence, and I regretted my words. She turned round to face me. “You don’t love me, Victor,” she said gently. “You fool yourself.”
“Don’t tell me what I feel.”
“To you I could only be a possession, another thing to be mastered.”
“That isn’t so,” I objected. “I may not be able to pen you pretty verses. And I’ll never be as reliable and kind and graceful as Konrad. I’m not perfect. But neither are you, and I love you all the more for it. You’re willful, and you have appetites bigger than you care to admit. But you’re beautiful and intelligent, and I can’t think of anything on this entire earth I more desire.”
She was looking at me the whole time I spoke. A small swell from the lake made the dock tilt, and we both took a step closer. It was almost dark now, and I remembered how once, in total darkness, I’d tricked her into thinking I was Konrad and stolen a kiss. But right now she knew exactly who stood before her, and I was certain that if I bent my head to hers, I would not be stealing.
“I want you to be mine,” I said.
“I will be yours,” she whispered.
I knew I’d never hear four more thrilling words my whole life. My body was alight as I leaned toward her mouth.
“But first,” she said, gently drawing back, “you must make me a promise. Promise me you’ll have nothing more to do with the spirit world. Rid yourself of the spirit butterfly. And never go back, except to return with Konrad. Do that for me, Victor, and I’ll be yours.”
She stood before me, unutterably beautiful, patiently awaiting my reply.
“Why is it necessary to make such a choice?” I demanded.
“If you love me so much, it should be an easy one.”
“I can’t make that promise.”
A sigh escaped her parted lips, and she shook her head, as if rousing herself from a daydream. She laughed softly, almost ruefully.
“Victor, I believe there is something on this earth you desire more than anything, and it isn’t me.”
CHAPTER 13
A colorful butterfly rests upon my temple, a second on my hand. Knowledge flows into me in an unstoppable torrent. I am unquenchable.
In the spirit world library I sit amidst piles of books, mastering their secrets one after the other. I’ve slowed the spectral clock to an occasional meek tick. Perhaps I’ll never be a poet or lover, but here, I am an engineer, an explorer, an architect of wonders.
An intricate passage on metallurgy stops me. I read it once more, but not because I don’t understand it. Quite the opposite. I understand it perfectly, and a huge excitement builds within me. I stand abruptly, open the secret passage, and hurry down the steps to the Dark Library.
Inside I swiftly scan the shelves and find the slim green volume of alchemy by Eisenstein. It takes me only moments to locate the right page. My eyes sweep the text, my spirit heart skips a beat, and I smile.
“Victor?”
From the top of the stairs comes Konrad’s voice.
“Yes,” I call back.
“How long have you been down here?” he says when he enters the Dark Library. He looks hurt. “Why didn’t you tell me you were here?”
“I was just on my way to find you,” I say guiltily, for I realize I’ve completely forgotten about him. But almost at once I resent feeling guilty. In a matter of days he’ll live again- my doing! — and in the meantime there’s so much to learn. “There was something I needed to check.”
“Down here?” Konrad asks.
“Catch!” I toss the green book in his direction. “Recognize it?”
He glances at the spine and starts paging through it. “Didn’t you use this to make the flameless fire?”
I nod. Last summer, during one of our adventures, we’d had to descend in a perilous cave system, and this particular tome had given me a recipe for a waterproof substance that burned without fire. The flameless fire had saved our lives.
“But it contains an even more beguiling recipe,” I say. “Keep turning.”
I know from his surprised frown when he’s found the right page.
“Is this Father’s writing in the margin?”
“He tried to turn lead into gold, one of the oldest alchemical quests of all.”
“Father dabbled in alchemy,” Konrad says in amazement. “More than dabbled, by the looks of it.”
“But he didn’t succeed.”
Konrad looks up. “How do you know all this?”
“I confronted him. I thought, since he’d used alchemy, he might help us complete the Elixir of Life. I was wrong.”
“Why didn’t you ever tell me this?” Konrad asks.
“He asked me never to tell another living soul.” I can’t help smiling. “And I’m keeping my word to him. He was a young man when he did it; he was facing financial ruin. So he made a substance that resembled gold, and managed to sell it in foreign parts.”
“I wish you’d not told me this.”
“It’s the truth. You should know.”
“So why’s this little book so important, then,” he asks, “if it contains gibberish like this?”
“It is gibberish. Riddled with fancies and mistakes. But I know how to fix them. Upstairs I was reading modern metallurgy and chemistry, and look-”
I hurry to a table, take up some paper and a quill, and begin scrawling out numbers and symbols, my thoughts assembling themselves so quickly that my hand can scarcely keep up.
“If you combine alchemical aspiration with the rigor of modern science, miraculous things are possible.”
When I finish, I slide the paper down the table to Konrad. He takes it up and shakes his head in wonderment. “This makes no sense to me, Victor.”
“This formula,” I tell him, “will make us gold!”
“How can you be so sure?”
“The butterfly spirits have thrown open the treasure vaults. Things that would’ve taken me weeks or months to learn, I absorb almost instantly with their help. And not just inside the spirit world. Outside, too.”
“You’ve taken them outside?” he asks in alarm.
I nod. “They’ve healed the pain in my hand, quickened my mind, given me boundless energy. There’s one waiting for you when you return to us.”
He says nothing.
“Trust me. Once it’s on your body, you’ll have no reservations. Didn’t we always talk about having adventures? Imagine what we can do together, the places we’ll go! We’ll never fear being poor, like Father did. But gold’s just the beginning. With these spirits aiding us, we don’t need to fear even death. The entire world will be our dominion.”
“You talk as if we’re a nation going to war,” he says uneasily. “You’re too passionate for your own good sometimes.” His eyes actually meet mine and hold their gaze. “Your light’s not as bright as it used to be,” he says, and then adds wonderingly, “and your heat’s less intense too.”
I shrug. “You’re just getting used to them, maybe.”
“Are you sure you feel well?”
“Don’t worry about me,” I tell him firmly.
From the depths of the chateau comes a terrible gagging cry. Konrad’s body tenses.
