“Is he alive?” came my father’s hoarse voice from the doorway.
I stared at his body, my mind disorganized and fuzzy, until at last I saw his chest move. Encouraged, I put my fingers to his throat and let out a slow breath. His heart was beating.
“He’s alive.”
Vellacott said nothing, but crossed to the fireplace while I carefully touched Dominic’s head, trying to discern his injuries. There were scratches on his face but no other obvious wounds. His eyes flickered.
“Dominic,” I said. “Dominic, wake up.”
He jerked up, almost slamming his head into mine. I sat back.
“The professor!” he cried. “It was like you said, Thea! He’s gone mad!”
“I know,” I said. I wished fleetingly that I could get Dominic away from Bentivoglio before he saw it—and then he did.
His shoulders collapsed and he seized his head, rocking back and forth.
“Oh no, no, no,” he moaned. “Oh God, no, please no.”
I reached my hand out toward his shoulder, but he shrugged it off.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“He was so strong,” said Dominic into his hands. “I was only trying to get away.”
“I know,” I said.
And I did know. My throat was closing from the memory, from the thought of how easily I could have ended up like this, with my mother’s brains and blood on my hands. I struggled for breath, my shoulders heaving as Dominic sobbed. I was no help, no use at all. I looked up at my father in mute appeal. He looked down at us from across the room. In the dark, I couldn’t make out his expression.
“What happened, Dominic?” asked my father in a quiet voice.
“What I told you would happen!” I sat back and glared up at him. “Professore Bentivoglio went mad and attacked him, just like my mother did! Why didn’t you listen to me?”
“I asked Dominic, Thea.”
Dominic stopped rocking but didn’t raise his head.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t know how it happened. But it was like Thea said—he went mad—like an animal—”
“He went mad,” repeated my father. “And so you killed him?”
“I didn’t mean to do it!” cried Dominic, lifting his head at last. His face was streaked with blood and tears, and his nose was running. His eyes were wells of misery. I wanted to throw my arms around him and comfort him, but my father clearly did not. He looked at his apprentice with angry appraisal.
“He was twice your size,” said my father. “And I’m supposed to believe you killed him to defend yourself? No. No, you could only have done this by taking him by surprise.”
“What? No—sir—why would I?”
“You were angry with him,” said my father. “After the incident with Thea. Don’t deny it.”
Dominic’s red eyes widened as he began to understand what I had already concluded. His mouth dropped open, and he shook his head. I stood up and took his arm, pulling him to his feet.
“Let’s go,” I said quietly. “We have to go.”
“You may go, Thea, but Dominic may not,” my father said. “Dominic will wait here until the constable arrives. There has been a murder. A great man was killed.”
“This is your fault,” I hissed at my father. “You could have stopped this if you had listened to me. I warned you, but you didn’t listen—even after Bentivoglio attacked me—”
“Go home, Thea,” said my father. “You were not a part of this. Go to my rooms at the inn. You can stay with me as long as you need to.”
Now he offered that. Now, when there was no chance I would take it.
“I will not leave you to tell lies about Dominic!” I snapped.
Vellacott took a deliberate step toward us. He looked down at the mess that had been his colleague, then up at Dominic, his face full of revulsion.
“I am not the liar here,” he said.
I met his eyes, unable to tell if he really believed the story he was spinning. Could he really believe Dominic had killed Bentivoglio in a quarrel over me, when he had known me for such a short time? It was an absurd idea, and yet it might sound more likely to the law than my story, about an alchemist’s curse that caused violent madness. The despair in Dominic’s eyes showed he was thinking the same thing.
“Sir—” Dominic’s voice quavered. “I wouldn’t—you must know I wouldn’t—”
“I am going to get the constable.” Vellacott went to the door, and looked back at us from the step. “I expect you to wait here, Dominic, so that you can explain to them what happened to the professor. His family will demand that at the least.” His voice broke, and he looked down at the dead man with actual tears in his eyes. “Thea—”
I glared at him, and he inclined his head slightly. “You must do what you think is best. But I strongly suggest you go to the inn. You are overexcited, and making very little sense.”
My father left, and I went to the fire. The composition was there, gray and curling around the edges. It was just about time to add the red transmuting agent. I couldn’t simply leave it here. I glanced around. Bentivoglio had stolen the vial from my pocket. I only had to consider whether I was willing to go through his clothes to look for it for a moment, before I luckily saw it on the floor. It had not shattered when it had been thrown. I picked it up, tipped the correct number of minims of the liquid into the brazier, and then poured the whole composition into another, larger vial.
It was possible that this transfer of the substance would destroy it, but I preferred that to leaving it to my father. I put the vials in my pocket.
Dominic watched me with empty eyes, seeing nothing. I pulled him out of the laboratory into the sunlight, where he looked even more ghastly.
“He was a lord,
