Darius would visit her many times, each with an excuse that he was on some business in the area from the King. He and Amelie would walk in the peach orchards, and she’d make him eat a peach though he could not taste it, and he’d put blossoms in her hair. He bought her gifts - a warm fox-fur shawl, a new shovel for her father, a cauldron for her mother. Finally, Darius bought a ring, and asked the court carver to chisel Amelie’s likeness into it. Eventually, word got out at the court the alchemist had a sweetheart, and the hearts of many noble girls were broken, not that their mothers would’ve let them marry a handsome non-royal to begin with. But the rumors broke a particularly dangerous heart - that of the wealthy merchant Amelie had been promised to.
He came to her farmhouse with a sword.
Darius found the bodies - the mother splayed in the mud, cleaved from neck to navel, a spilled basket of still-warm chicken eggs beside her. The father was struck down as he turned the horse’s hay from behind, a strike only cowards used. And Amelie…
His heart had been taken from him the night Nicholas Flamel turned an orphaned blacksmith’s boy into a homunculi. But it only broke when he saw Amelie’s body on the floor eighty years later. Her dress was hiked up, her virtue ruined. Her head had been cleaved from her neck afterwards - blood and spinal threads splayed across the floor. The merchant had taken everything - in death she did not smile, and in death her love for life was gone. Darius’ one and only light was gone.
He would not let it die so easily.
He visited the merchant in the dead of night, and repayed him twice over, with all the power and pain alchemy could possibly give him. His screams were never heard in the castle dungeons.
Darius had kept Amelie’s body cool and preserved with the best alchemy he could muster. Finally, when the merchant had suffered beyond all imagining and had drawn his last breath, Darius took Amelie’s body and fled into the countryside.
If they could not live together as humans, they would live together as monsters.
***
Present Day
For the second time in a row I wake up in Darius’ mansion. But this time, it’s not in the giant ostentatious bed with too many pillows - it’s on a divan in his workshop, his warm, clove-scented suit jacket better than any fancy silk comforter. And just like last time, I don’t wake up alone.
The boy staring at me is my age - college, lanky, with a smirk only youthful arrogance can craft. He’s sitting in an armchair opposite me, his short, fire-engine red hair and green eyes giving him an almost feral look, like a voracious tiger. His nails are painted blue to match his shirt.
“You don’t look like her,” He says, smirk growing wider.
“Excuse me?” I sit up, rubbing sleep from my eyes.
“Amelie. You look nothing like what Darius describes her as. Which is weird, because Darius is really only nice to girls who look like her.”
“I wasn’t aware Darius was capable of ‘nice’.” I airquote, and stand. “Where’s the bathroom in this place?”
“Right under the stairs,” The boy motions. I nod a thank you and walk towards it, but his footsteps follow me. I turn and glare.
“Is there something you wanted?”
The boy smiles and shoves his hands in his pockets, rocking on his feet like a little kid. “Nope.”
I glare for a second longer, then start walking again. I slam the bathroom door and lock it. I’ve had enough weirdos harassing me these past few days - the last thing I need is one my age. The bathroom is small but serviceable, with clean towels and a shower that’s well-used but spotless. I strip my clothes off and turn the water on just as I hear the knock on the door. I silently count to ten to keep from exploding, then sigh.
“What is it?” I shout.
“Open the door, will you?”
“I’m going to take a shower.”
“Naked! Even better.” He starts whistling a cheery tune and it pierces through the walls and it’s that second I realize he’s not going to leave me to shower in peace until I talk to him. I wrap a towel around myself and crack the door open.
“What the hell do you want?” I hiss. The boy hefts off the wall and his whistle-song changes to a whistle-appreciation.
“Damn. Darius didn’t say you were stacked. He never tells me the good bits. I’m Lake, by the way.”
“Mia. Charmed.” I sneer, then slam the door and lock it again. I hear him laugh as he leaves, and I relish the hot water in peace. I’m toweling off when another knock comes at the door.
“Oy! It’s me again. Open up.”
“Oh god,” I snarl, and put the towel around me before wrenching open the door. “Can you just leave me -”
A wad of clothes connects with my face, the smell of brand new fabric startling. I pull the clothes off my nose and Lake smirks at me.
“Darius said you’d want these. Gimme your old ones so I can give ‘em to Oldy McBaldy.”
“Who?”
Her jerks his thumb behind him to Reeves, who’s walking into the room with a tray of toast and tea. I give Lake my clothes and point at him threateningly.
“Don’t do anything to the underwear. It’s my favorite underwear.”
“What do I look like, a perv?” He scoffs.
“I was thinking more along the lines of ‘criminal’, but I’m pretty sure in fifty-two states they’re the same thing.” I smile, and slam the door in his face again. I hear him shuffle away grumbling under his breath, and it gives me the barest hint of satisfaction. Tearing down cocky guys like that was my livelihood in college. The clothes he gave me are beautiful, yet elegant - a black blouse and jeans. I can tell Darius tried to play to my tastes - casual - but the blouse is at least a hundred dollars, and the jeans are designer DKNY. Ellie taught me that much. The underwear - and I feel mortified he picked out underwear - is to my relief plain and simple and white, nothing grandma-y, but nothing overly sexy. Which is good, considering I don’t need to feel any more uncomfortable around that guy than I already do.
In new clothes and clean skin I feel refreshed, invigorated. But it only lasts until I spot myself in the mirror - I’m exhausted-looking. My skin is pale and my eyes have bags like I haven’t slept for a week. I gave my blood, and Darius killed homunculi with it. My exhaustion is proof of that. The bandage on my arm is proof that world is still real, still waiting for me just outside the bathroom door.
My stomach twists, then growls. Food’s waiting out there, too. Survival trumps fear, and I venture out into the cool air of the basement lab. Reeves smiles when he sees me.
“Ah, miss. I trust you slept well?”
Lake, slumped boredly in the armchair, scoffs.
“Oh yeah, she slept great. You know, in-between being informed her entire world is a lie and magic is real and lots of soulless monsters want to kill her.”
I stuff toast in my mouth and nod, spraying crumbs. “What he said.”
Reeves’ smile doesn’t wane. “That is regrettable. Let’s hope you get more rest in the coming days. Master Darius informed me he’ll be waiting for you in the drawing room when you’re ready to discuss things.”
“Which room is that?” I gulp near-scalding tea and cough. “T-The room with the fancy paintings, or the room with the fancier paintings?”
Lake chuckles, melting my icy irritation towards him a little. Reeves sighs good-naturedly.
“The one with the green walls on the first floor, miss, with the piano. I’ll have your clothes cleaned in the meantime.”
“Oh, thanks.” I say. “You, uh, you don’t have to do that -”
He makes a little bow and leaves. Lake grabs toast from the tray and breaks it in half, pointing one half at me.
“So, how’re you liking the world of palchemy? We’re all pals here, until someone gets too much money or too much Azoth.”
“It’s awful,” I say instantly.
“I agree!” He applauds. “But here I am, a Reaper for five years now, assigned to protect the most sick-ass deposit
of Azoth in probably the entire world.”
“You’re - You’re a Reaper? The ones that fight homunculi?”
“The very same, plucked from my high school at the tender age of fifteen and trained to destroy.” Lake smiles and crunches toast. “Darius called in a few favors, I’m an old friend, yadda yadda.”
“Old?” I raise an eyebrow. “You’re nineteen.”
“Twenty-one, thank you very much,” He sniffs. “I can drink with the best of them. Sometimes. If I eat a lot beforehand and pray fervently to the anti-vomit god. Anyway, I was on a mission but now that’s over and my mission is you. Not to, like, sleep with you, because that would be weird and I’m pretty sure Darius already has his sights on you because since when does he start asking other people for help -”
“Okay,” I hold up a hand. “Stop. I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that and address the real issue here; Darius asked you to protect me?”
“Uh, yes. It’s what I do, sort of. Sometimes. Most times I just go hunting, or get assigned to assassinate a Munkie that’s gotten high up the ladder - politicians, music producers; you won’t believe where the Mutus plant these guys.”
“Munkie?” I ask.
“Munkie. Short for homunculus. Nobody says the whole word anymore. Well, except Darius. And probably Reeves. And basically all the old people.”
“Darius isn’t old,” I scoff. “He’s not even thirty.”
“Boy, you’re really shitty at guessing ages. See, here’s the thing,” Lake leans in, elbows on his knees and emerald eyes shining wickedly. “Alchemists have this funny way of staying alive for a long time. They look younger for longer with lots of different, very expensive alchemies. The average middle-class alchemist lives to 150, these days. The really rich ones can afford to live past 200, maybe 250 if they’re lucky.”
I furrow my brow. “And Darius?”
“He’s kind of a special case.”
“He’s a homunculus.”
“Oh, did he tell you that already? Shit, he’s moving fast.”
“Don’t change the subject. How old is he?”
“Six hundred and twenty-three, I think, but don’t quote me on that. The Reapers keep count but I don’t because frankly he’s already a dinosaur, so what’s the point?”
I feel like the wind’s been knocked out of me. “S-Six hundred…six hundred?”
“Yup. Most Munkies only live forty or so years, because we do our jobs right and constantly. They can live forever as long as they have Azoth, so we make it a point to end them. But Darius is special. We’ve let him live.”
“Why?”
“Let’s get real, though,” Lake laughs and ignores me. “He lets us live. He could’ve crushed the Reaper order a thousand times over when it was just forming. With all the alchemy he has he could probably crush us now, too. We wouldn’t go down without a fight, though -”
“Lake!” I snap. “Why do the Reapers let him live?”
“He didn’t tell you?” Lake smiles and sits back, hands behind his head. “He’s the first. The first homunculus ever created, by Nicholas Flamel himself.”
My blood runs cold. Lake leans in again, eyes dancing.
“And you know what? He definitely won’t tell you, but he’s the one who made the rest.”
“What?”
“Darius got lonely,” he says. “And made more Munkies like him. An alchemist stole the secret, and made more. And more. And then the Mutus rose, with an army of Munkies at their beck and call. Shortly after, the Reapers formed to kill the Mutus and homunculi, who were terrorizing towns and kingdoms. Darius started it all. He made the homunculi, the Mutus, the Reapers. Everything in this messed up little world is his doing.”
My every muscle is rock-hard. I feel faint again, woozy, but I swallow the feeling and steel myself. Every dark shred of guilt in Darius’ eyes I saw suddenly makes sense now. He made the monsters that kill people for their Azoth. He’s had six hundred years to stew in that guilt. It’s a miracle he didn’t try to kill himself. Or did he? I know so little about him that these huge pieces of personal information being given to me feels like a crime against him.
I finish my toast and stand, walking up the stairs. Lake yawns and follows.
“Stalking me now?” I snap.
“It’s sort of my job,” He drawls. “Don’t worry, you won’t even notice me half the time.”
“You’re sort of hard to miss,” I gesture at his hair, and he laughs.
“We Reapers have our ways of going on the down low.”
I snort in disbelief, and get up the last stair. I turn back to say something, but he’s gone. No trace of him or his red hair is left. I look around for him behind a nearby curtain, beneath a table. He’s really, truly gone. Bewildered, I make my way to the green drawing room. Darius is on the sofa, looking much more relaxed than yesterday in a blue blazer and slacks, his long platinum ponytail perfect brushed and his hazel eyes lit by morning sun. My breath catches - he’s surreal. He can’t be real. For a second I’m almost afraid to talk to him - he’s too beautiful for me to talk to.
He’s too beautiful to be a monster.
“So,” I rock on my heels. “Did you know Lake is a ghost? He certainly disappears like one.”
Darius is quiet, staring right through me. My body is burning up from a combination of shame and curiosity and something else, something more yearning than I’d like to admit. I talk to fill the silence.
“When I was fifteen, my mom came back for me.”
Darius’ eyes flicker, lashes long and dark against his cheekbones. I sit on one of the expensive leather armchairs and pick at it nervously.
“She left when I was four. Left me with Dad in a trailer park. He drank a lot. So I tried not to be around him. I spent a lot of time in the woods around the park, playing fairy princess, or something. When I got older I used to go out there to smoke. Sometimes I’d take my sleeping bag out there and spend the night when I was too scared to sleep in the same trailer as Dad. It was the only quiet place. I did my homework out there. I filled out my college applications on a stump, with a raccoon watching me..”
I laugh, but it’s so quiet I can barely hear it myself.
“Anyway, she came back for me in my sophomore year. At least, that’s what I thought. I thought she was going to finally rescue me from Dad. But she only stayed for a day. We went to the mall. She got me a dress. We ate ice cream. She pretended not to see my bruises, or how underfed I was. Dad used the food stamp money for booze, mostly.”
I can’t look Darius in the eyes. I can barely look anyone in the eyes, anymore. Ellie knows this because she was there for it, but I’ve never told anyone this. Actually told, with words and oxygen, making it a real and concrete thing.
“I think it was her way of offering me closure,” I say. “Knowing her, it was a way of easing her guilt. It was her being selfish, trying to convince herself one day of doing something fun with me would make up for my lost childhood. It was her way of saying; ‘sorry for ditching you with him, but I have to go away forever again and I’m not going to take you with me this time, either, but here’s a cute dress and some ice cream to remember me by’.”
I take a deep breath, and let it out slowly.
“Life is really fucked up, is all. I know that. So it’s okay if you’re a homunculus, or whatever. It’s okay if you have to protect yourself from them. But you don’t have to protect me. I want to protect myself. I’ve done it for a long time. And I see now that my old tactics aren’t going to cut it anymore. So. So I want you to teach me.”
Outside the window behind his broad shoulder I can see Avalanche running around on the lawn, snapping at a dragonfly playfully. Darius raises one eyebrow.
“Teach?”
“Alchemy. I want to learn alchemy.”
“Absolutely not,” Darius frowns. “Your Azoth is too strong. You’d react with anything and everything in a lab, becoming a constant catalyst. You could hurt yourself.”
“I??
?ve already hurt myself,” I laugh. “Lots.”
His eyes flicker to my scar, and I tilt my hair so it covers everything.
“You could die,” He clarifies. “And we would lose you.”
“You’d lose my Azoth, you mean,” I smirk. “That’s all you care about.”
His eyes flash. “What would you know of what I care about?”
“It’s obvious. My Azoth would do awesome things in the hands of the right alchemist. If I died, it would be a great ‘loss for science’, or whatever. I’m just like a big oil deposit.”
Darius flinches, and I stand up.
“Here’s the deal,” I smile. “I’ll do it. Lake can follow me around, your Sage Council can auction me off, I’ll become a good, obedient Azoth. I can’t be an alchemist, fine. But I want you to make me something I can defend myself with. Something that gives me power over this new life of mine. Something that makes me feel safe. If you do that, I’ll go quietly.”
Darius stands so fast I don’t even have time to blink. He backs me up against the grand piano, the smooth wood digging into my spine. His cedar and ash smell is everywhere, his eyes burning into me. My body starts shaking - he’s a homunculus. He could and would kill me, if he wanted to. He’d eat me, consume every last drop of me. And a sick part of me wants him to. A sick part of me wants to be one with him, to be his wholly and completely.
“You’ll never be truly safe,” He hisses. “Even with a weapon. We’ve lost Azoth to them with much more protection than you’ve had. Lake is good, one of the best, and that’s the only reason I asked him to protect you. You need Reapers, not a weapon.”
“I need to protect myself,” I force the words out, setting my jaw defiantly. “Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that no one else is going to do it for me. In the end, you’re always alone, protecting yourself.”