A Golden Fury

he said quietly. “For yesterday. For how I handled things.”
I waited. An apology alone was not enough. He had apologized yesterday, as well, and still kept my papers, still turned me out.
“I hardly slept last night, thinking about it,” he said. “I’m ashamed of myself.”
I glanced at him and found that he looked it. My small, unwilling hope grew.
“I hope you will find it in yourself to accept my apology and come back to the Tackley.” He shook his head in disgust at himself. “I should never have asked you to leave.”
It was something. He sounded sincere.
“Will you give me my papers back?” I asked.
He hesitated a suspiciously long time before answering.
“Yes, yes, of course,” he said eventually, letting his breath out in a rush. “They’re at the inn.”
But we weren’t going to the inn. We had reached the alley where Bentivoglio attacked me. My footsteps slowed, and my pulse sped up. Whether consciously or not, our footsteps had been taking us to the laboratory. I stopped and narrowed my eyes at him.
“Why are you taking me to the laboratory?” I asked quietly.
Vellacott turned toward me, his eyes wide and innocent.
“I … I suppose I am. I don’t know.” He shrugged. “I didn’t think about where we were walking.”
He might have been telling the truth. Perhaps he truly had stayed up all night, suffering over what he had done. If so, the change had certainly been abrupt.
Or perhaps he had stayed up all night reading my mother’s notes, and failing to crack the code. Perhaps that was what had changed his mind about the wisdom of having me under his roof.
I looked away from my father, around the alley. There was still a small dark blotch where my head had met the wall. Ahead, I saw the column of smoke from the laboratory fire, still an opaque white.
“Is Bentivoglio still in the laboratory?” I asked sharply.
My father pulled a pained expression. “Thea, I know. He attacked you, and I should have defended you from him—”
Yes, he certainly should have, but that was not my concern at the moment.
“Is he still working on the White Elixir?” I demanded.
“Well—yes, he is,” said my father. “He slept well last night, and assured me that he was much more himself this morning. You know, he would never have treated you so roughly if he weren’t under such strain, Thea. Bentivoglio is a fine man, a brilliant mind—”
But even if I’d had any interest in hearing my father sing the praises of the thief who threw me into a wall and took my papers, I had no time for it now.
“I told you not to let him,” I hissed, and hurried through the alley to the laboratory.
I approached slowly, listening for voices. I heard none, so I tried the doorknob. It was locked, of course. I knocked. There was no answer.
“Thea!”
My father had caught up with me.
“Thea, I think it’s better if we don’t disturb the professor now…”
I ignored him and knocked again. This time, there was a faint groan.
“Dominic?” I called.
There was no response, no movement, no more groans. Something was very wrong.
“Give me the key, Father!” I demanded.
“Thea, I really don’t think you should disturb—”
I cried out in frustration and ran to the west side of the outbuilding, where I pulled myself up on the high windowsill. I peered into the room.
The worktable was on its side. The cabinet doors hung open. Vials and metals lay in pieces on the floor. It looked much as our laboratory in Normandy had after Mother attacked me in it. At first, it seemed to be empty. Then, behind the table, I saw a man’s leg.
I gasped and pounded on the window. The leg didn’t move, but something else did. A small, dark puddle trickled past the leg and pooled around the table’s edge. It was too dim in the room to see the color, but the liquid was thick and moved too slowly to be water. It could have been quicksilver, perhaps, but I knew it wasn’t.
My mind whirred. The door was locked from the inside. That meant whoever had done whatever had been done was still inside the laboratory. Perhaps Bentivoglio had lost his mind and taken out his violence on his surroundings and then on himself. But then, where was Dominic? Not at home. He was meant to be here, tending the fire by himself. I peered more closely at the table. There could be two bodies behind it; it was large enough to block them both. I beat against the window pane again and shouted Dominic’s name.
“Thea?”
My hand slipped on the ledge. My legs buckled under me, and I landed in an ungraceful tangle. My father came around the corner of the outbuilding. He extended a hand to help me to my feet, but I ignored it.
“What’s going on?”
“I warned you,” I said. Usually anger made me articulate, but I was having difficulty catching my breath. I pointed toward the window. “Someone is dead in there.”
“What?”
“Or else dying.”
My father went to the window. He was tall enough to look in without any undignified scrambling. He made a low noise, something between a moan and a sob, and dashed around to unlock the door. I followed, but hesitated on the doorstep.
They were both inside, Bentivoglio and Dominic, or what was left of them. I gasped and turned away, but not before I saw Bentivoglio’s head smashed in like overripe fruit. I sagged, clutching the doorframe. My empty stomach roiled. I wanted to run, but my legs scarcely had the strength to keep me upright.
My father pushed past me and retched into the hedges.
“Dominic.” I summoned my courage and looked in again.
Professore Bentivoglio was certainly dead. I tried not to look at the sloppy remains of his skull and forced myself to make my way toward my new friend. Dominic was covered in blood, collapsed at an angle to Bentivoglio’s larger body. I knelt next to him. My hands hovered over him, but I hesitated. His