Free Dark Alchemy by Laura Bickle Page B

antique.”
    Stan reached under the counter. “I’ve got this one.” He placed a cheap Saturday night special on the glass. “Fifty bucks.”
    The piece felt cheap and flimsy in her hands. Not like the smooth, warm pearl. Her eyes slipped longingly back to the Colts. “You got ammo for those?”
    â€œHow much you want?”
    â€œTwo boxes of .44s.” She hoped to God that she wouldn’t need more.
    â€œSo . . . Seventeen hundred, then.”
    â€œUh-­uh. A thousand,” she countered. “Cash.”
    Stan smiled. He knew he had her. “Fifteen hundred.”
    Petra’s index finger circled her pile of clothes. “Fifteen hundred for everything.”
    Stan shrugged. “Cash? Deal.”
    Stan went to the back to rummage around for ammunition, and Petra continued to poke around the store. She found Stan’s jewelry case, which was a bit saddening. Old wedding rings and new engagement rings sparkled under the artificial light.
    But her attention was snagged by a piece of black jewelry at the bottom of the case. A moon was inlaid on it in gold, surrounded by four tiny bits of cut glass. The style reminded her a bit of the necklace her father had given her. She waited for Stan to come back with the ammo and asked him, “Hey, could I take a look at that?”
    Stan obligingly opened the case and handed the brooch to her. “That’s an onyx mourning brooch. Back in the 1900s, they were quite the thing.”
    Petra turned it over. The back of the brooch was black, an intricately woven texture as glossy as a raven’s wing behind glass. A gold serpent coiled around the border, swallowing its tail. “What’s this made from?”
    â€œHair. Widows would weave and braid hair of the deceased into the brooches.”
    Petra nearly dropped it, imagining fondling hundred-­year-­old hair. “Ugh.”
    â€œThey were a sentimental lot.”
    But it was pretty, in its way. Petra fiddled with it, and a spring popped open. The interior of the brooch was a locket, holding two minute tintypes that swiveled in their frames. They’d corroded severely; she could barely make out the face of a blond woman on one side. On the other was the shadow of a man, his profile nearly eaten away by time.
    Petra squinted at it. There was something strange about that profile, something familiar.
    â€œThat’s pretty much ruined. You can have it for ten bucks.”
    Petra clasped it in her fist. “Sold. By the way, I found something pretty interesting the other day. I was wondering if you could tell me about it.”
    â€œSure, I’ll take a look at it. What is it?” Stan paused in bagging up Petra’s finds and leaned forward.
    â€œSome kind of compass or sundial, I think.” Petra pulled the compass from her pants pocket. She watched Stan’s reactions carefully. He blinked when he saw it, picked it up, and turned it over.
    â€œWhere did you find this?”
    â€œI’m renting a trailer just north of town.”
    â€œThe old Airstream off Ember Ridge?”
    â€œThat’s the one. I guess. Unless there’s more than one old Airstream around here.”
    Stan smoothed his moustache with his fingertips. “That’s where Lascaris used to have his house, before it burned down. If I had to guess, I’d say it belonged to him.”
    Petra’s eyes narrowed. “What makes you say that?”
    The shopkeeper pointed to the symbols. “Those are alchemical symbols, and the markers of the cardinal directions associated with the ancient elements: earth, air, fire, and water.”
    Petra’s heart leapt into her mouth. “What about the lion and the sun?”
    â€œIn the symbolism of alchemists, the lion is tied to the sun. This is the true green lion, and his devouring of the sun symbolizes the transformation of unpurified material.”
    Petra swallowed. She’d heard that before,