The Collector of Dying Breaths

Chapter 16

“Would you like a glass of wine?” Serge asked when they returned to the château.

Much to Jac’s relief, it had been a leisurely walk without anymore disturbing occurrences. Her experience at the mouth of the cave had been unnerving to say the least.

She said that would be perfect.

“Feel like experimenting? I was thinking of visiting the cellar and picking something unusual.”

Remembering the first time she’d seen the cellar and smelled its provocative and curious scent, she asked if she could accompany him.

“I’d be happy for the company,” he said.

They went down the narrow marble staircase that led from the kitchen to the underground rooms. As they approached the wine cellar, Jac could smell it. Inside the musty ancient room, she inhaled, trying to pinpoint the direction of the scent. The odor was emanating from a section of shelves to the right of center against the back wall.

As Jac walked toward the shelves, her mind flashed on Griffin. But why here? Why now? And then she felt the cold pinpricks of a hallucination coming on. What was down here that triggered them?

The closer she got to the wall, the stronger the sensations. They were pulling her like a magnet to metal. Her curiosity was an actual force. She needed to know what was just hovering on the edges of her mind… a story… tantalizing her… a past that demanded to be discovered. And for only the second time in her life, she didn’t fight but invited the images.

Then she saw a familiar man standing just where Serge was now. Like the two other glimpses she’d had of him, he was once again dressed in dark pantaloons and a tunic shot with gold thread. He smelled like no one Jac had ever smelled. So alluring… so seductive… a scent that embraced her… pulled her closer… that made her want just to stand here forever inhaling him.

But when the man reached out toward one of the bottles, his hand went in between spaces. He manipulated something, and the whole shelf of bottles swung out like a door. And inside was…

Jac blinked as the room around her came back into focus.

“Are you all right?” Serge asked.

From similar experiences that she’d had since childhood, Jac knew that in reality almost no time had passed. While she felt as if she’d lost minutes-sometimes hours or even days-only seconds had ticked by. In the past she’d asked those around her-her brother, Malachai and Griffin-what they saw when she entered into her fugue states. All they reported was that she’d had a faraway look in her eye and seemed distracted, not always hearing them when they spoke to her.

“Yes, I’m fine.” She didn’t know him well enough to explain, so she just said, “I had an odd kind of déjà vu.”

He nodded. “Your brother told me about that.”

Jac was startled. Robbie had talked to Serge about this too?

“You’re surprised? I’m sorry. Robbie told me in the context of how difficult it had been for him to watch you suffer and how frustrated he was that he couldn’t help you find relief. He was so pleased that you finally seemed to be coming to terms with your abilities. He told me that he hoped one day you’d see it as a real gift-and even pursue it.”

In the forest, she had been angry at Robbie for talking about her to someone she didn’t even know. But now it was more like being given a gift of flowers. She was hearing Robbie say those words to her from across time and distance.

Jac cleared her throat. “Thank you for telling me,” she said.

“He was very special.”

She nodded.

Serge was silent for a few seconds. Jac almost reached out for him, so palpable was his sorrow. But then the moment was over. He gestured to the many shelves and extended his hand.

“Reds here, whites here. Champagnes there. What’s your pleasure?”

But Jac gravitated to a section he hadn’t pointed out. She walked over to the stack of shelves where the very old wines were, and then it was as if someone else took over her hand. She was reaching past the bottles. Stretching behind them to the back wall, where she searched for… and felt… yes… she felt it… a knot in the wood. Ordinary. Nothing you’d notice unless you knew that if you… Jac gripped it. Twisted. Nothing happened. She exerted more strength. Twisted it… and finally felt the first bit of give. She took her hand out, shook away the pain, and then tried again using all her might. It turned with a loud creak, and she felt the release of the mechanism. Then, with almost no effort, she was able to swing that whole section of the shelves out.

“Incredible. You just discovered a fully functional door!” Serge said.

As she opened it, the faint scent that she’d smelled came pouring out. Light from the cellar illuminated what lay beyond. What appeared to be a Renaissance perfumer’s laboratory came into view. As Jac took in the alembics and infusion devices, bottles of essences and measuring tools, she felt a surge of excitement.

The room was perhaps seven feet long and about five feet wide. A narrow closet tucked hidden and locked away from prying eyes.

Behind her Serge exclaimed, “How amazing. Jac, how did you know it was there?”

She shrugged. How to explain? She couldn’t. Not really.

“I honestly don’t know.”

“Can you tell from the tools how old all this is?”

Jac walked into the room, careful not to touch anything. Layers of dust covered everything. She’d seen pristine finds before, and this appeared to be one of them. It had been hundreds of years since anyone had been in here.

“I’d guess sixteenth century. Partially from the tools, but also because it’s hidden away. Alchemy and perfume and the poisoner’s arts were dangerous occupations in the 1500s,” she said. “In the Louvre, René le Florentin had a laboratory that connected to the queen’s chambers via a secret staircase. It’s well documented. But it’s curious he’d have one in his own house. Why would he have to be so cautious here?”

She sat down at the perfumer’s organ, with its scarred and worn wood, and felt a presence all around her. Not Robbie, not this time. It was the stranger she’d seen opening the door a few minutes ago. Her guide to this place. A wave of sadness and loss overwhelmed her. Then, just as quickly, scents rose up and soothed her as they engulfed her in their familiarity.

“I’ve seen drawings of alchemical laboratories like this in a book my grandfather had. Alchemy was at the very crossroads of where magic and science met, the main effort of learned men-and some women-who believed if they could come up with a formula to turn base metals to gold, they could also find the formula for the secret of life… for immortality. Many other major discoveries were made while they searched for their holy grail. They found formulas for lifesaving and healthful waters, lotions, elixirs.”

Jac examined the floor-to-ceiling shelves at one end of the room. The man who had worked in this laboratory had been a highly evolved perfumer and student of alchemical arts. All the accoutrements were here, alembics in marvelous amoebic shapes, burners, funnels, plates, bottles, tools. Everything in its place as if René le Florentin had just left moments ago.

Jac leaned forward, inspecting a row of bottles, their ingredients written in Latin in a very florid hand.

“How did I not notice this place?” Serge was examining the doorway. “When we were doing the renovation, we inspected the foundations and found them in such good condition we didn’t have to do any shoring up. We verified the shelves’ reliability by removing wine bottles from random sections. There wasn’t any rot at all. Everything checked, and so we went on. So much of the château required work, why create more where none was needed? There was nothing to suggest that there was a false wall on this side.”

Jac was only half aware of what he was saying. She’d found a leather-bound book. Worn, cracked and covered with a thick layer of dust. On the cover, in gold leaf, was a complex insignia with flourishes and curlicues, but as she stared at it, the initials “RB” revealed themselves among the decorative coils.

Very carefully, she lifted the cover. Jac was staring at notes written by René Bianco, also know as René le Florentin. She was looking down at words, numbers and symbols that no one had gazed upon for almost five hundred years.