Dark Alchemy Read Free

thick, sticky like caramel. Petra opened the rest of the creaky windows. She was glad to be rid of Hollander. He was a nice-­looking man, but Petra had had enough of nice-­looking men to last a lifetime. And the alpha-­male types, too. Tears blurred her vision as she set about opening her duffel bag. Her fingers clasped around the pendant that knocked against her collarbone. It was cast in the shape of a lion swallowing the sun, a gift from her father. Her fingers moved from the pendant to the scar spiraling around her wrist, a mark left by the last man who’d touched her. The puckered edges were flattening, turning white with time. She feared what would happen when it faded—­would she forget?
    But coming here was for exactly that—­for forgetting. She wanted this to be the biggest, widest oubliette in the world. Petra savagely tore through her clothes and stacked them on the futon: jeans and casual shirts, T-­shirts, tank tops, sunglasses, an olive military-­style jacket, boots stained with oil and crusted with brine. A shockproof plastic case held her tools: compass, binoculars, picks, flashlights, chisels, hand lenses, rock-­climbing gear. And six fat envelopes full of cash. She stuffed five of them behind a piece of loose plastic paneling in the wall, and put the sixth on the table next to the rent envelope. That was for a gun. And a car—­probably a truck. But those were tomorrow’s worries.
    She stretched out on the futon, watching the light drain from the day. The thin mattress smelled of tobacco smoke. The light seeped away from the field, sucking shadows toward the distant mountains. A rim of brilliant gold outlined the craggy, snow-­covered peaks until it faded like the corona of an eclipse, leaving violet sky behind. Crickets and cicadas chimed and buzzed in a soothing melody. Not like the sussurance of the waves, but a landlocked lullaby all its own.
    This place was all earth and dirt. She let the blackness of the new world fall over her as it fell over the land, hoping that it would obliterate her thoughts and grant her a dreamless sleep.
    P etra jolted upright. For a moment, she forgot where she was. Expecting a long drop from her bunk to the floor, she misstepped, turning her ankle as she scrambled out of the futon and the tangle of covers.
    Something was howling outside. She squinted through the window into the inkiness beyond, shivering. Cold had invaded the trailer.
    Was it a wolf? She’d never heard one before. This animal’s voice sounded higher pitched than the wolves she’d heard in movies, punctuated by yips and owl-­like hoots.
    A dog? It had to be a dog, she decided.
    She peered into the dark. Was it hurt? Worry gnawed at her.
    There would be no sleep while it was carrying on. She reached for her boots and a flashlight. As an afterthought, she reached for Hollander’s gun. She hoped that the dog wasn’t hurt badly enough that it would need to be put down. That would just be icing on the cake.
    Petra dragged the door open and stared out into the night. Night here was different than on the ocean. The ocean was black, capped with white waves, but the lights from the drilling platform and boats obliterated most of the stars.
    Here . . . here was different. Night held sway over everything else. The only light was the one in Petra’s hand and the glorious spill of the stars overhead. She sucked in her breath, taking in the white shadow of the Milky Way stretching from horizon to horizon.
    She stepped down, onto the ground. Her weight shifted beneath her, and she nearly tripped, craning her neck to see upward. She was too accustomed to the swell of the tides—­solid ground was screwing with her sense of balance. She spread her arms out for steadiness, staring up at the sky again.
    The Big Dipper shone overhead, and she could pick out the sickle of Leo low on the horizon. Her father had taught her about the stars when