The Masquerading Magician by Gigi Pandian

climb to retrieve.”
    â€œAbout your library,” I said, “I have a question for you.” I paused and chose my words carefully. “Have you ever encountered an old alchemy book that smelled sweet, compared to the more typical moldy smell?”
    He chuckled. “Once, at the Klementinum, a patron was banned for sprinkling a rosewater perfume on a foul-smelling book.”
    â€œWhat about the scent of honey?”
    â€œHoney?” Ivan hesitated, and when he resumed, there was a change in his voice that caused my skin to prickle. “It’s curious that you mention honey. I think I may have something that would interest you.”
    I gripped the phone. “You have a book like that?”
    â€œI remember it because of the unnerving nature of the woodcut illustration.” He paused, and I could picture him shuddering. “I hadn’t thought of it until you mentioned honey, but now I see it clearly in my mind.” As he spoke, the tone of his voice changed from casual to agitated. “Perhaps it’s best to leave it alone.”
    â€œWhy?” I asked, the tenor of my own voice reacting to his worry.
    â€œIt’s an image I don’t know that I will ever forget, Zoe,” Ivan said hesitantly. “I don’t know if you want to see this.”

Seven
    I assured Ivan that I could handle looking at a disturbing image. He told me he was at Blue Sky Teas and had his research with him on his laptop, so I told him I’d be right there.
    The teashop was on Hawthorne, walking distance from my house. My mind always calmed down several notches as I walked through the door beneath the sign that read “ There is no trouble so great or grave that cannot be diminished by a nice cup of tea —Bernard-Paul Heroux.” Inside, a weeping fig tree stretched up to the high ceiling, casting peaceful shadows across the redwood tree-ring tabletops.
    A woman in her late twenties rushed out from behind the counter so quickly her blond braids whipped around her head.
    â€œZoe!” Brixton’s mom stood on the balls of her bare feet and threw her arms around me. “You really outdid yourself with today’s treats. Can I double my order for weekend mornings? I’m nearly out of these oatmeal cakes. Who knew so many people would think vegan food was so tasty?”
    â€œDefinitely,” I said, looking around at the long line of patrons. Dorian would be thrilled.
    Blue Sky Teas was started by our mutual friend Blue, who’d been cleared of a murder charge but was currently serving a short jail sentence for a previous crime. During Blue’s absence, Brixton’s young mom, Heather, was keeping Blue Sky Teas open for limited hours, which helped both women. Heather was trying to become a professional painter. She had the talent to pull it off, but she hadn’t made much money at it yet. I was surprised Brixton wasn’t helping her today. It was midmorning on a Saturday, so maybe he was still asleep. When I was young, there was no way a fourteen-year-old kid would be allowed to sleep in. Then again, when I was young, fourteen-year-old’s weren’t thought of as kids.
    Brixton and Heather used to live only a few blocks away, but they were now living temporarily at Blue’s cottage in a field on the outskirts of Portland. At the cottage, Heather had more space for her painting. The recent floods that had swept through Portland inspired her to create a new series of paintings featuring water, and the cottage was strewn with painted canvasses in various stages of completion. Brixton had a stepdad, too, who he adored, but I hadn’t met the man. Abel was out of town for work most of the time. The nature of his work hadn’t been volunteered, so I hadn’t enquired.
    Heather retreated behind the counter, and I joined Ivan at a table near the window. A quart-size mason jar filled with yellow daffodils and white trillium declared that spring had