Unlike Rome, the Vatican seemed impeccably maintained. The whole city was owned by the Catholic Church and so they must have used church funds for its upkeep. It was quite beautiful, and Oliver felt humbled to be walking the ancient, famous streets.

  Before long, they drew up outside the Sistine Chapel.

  It was breathtaking to see in the flesh. Oliver had only ever seen it in textbooks or on television. But the real thing was so much more. It was enormous, and the sheer size made him feel so humble to be here, experiencing something few people ever would.

  They went up the stone steps, their hurried footsteps echoing through the empty piazza. When they reached the door, David and Gianni had to work together to heave it open.

  A gust of cold air hit Oliver. He shivered. Churches always felt cold to him, with all the stone and little insulation. He rubbed his arms as he took a cautious step inside. It smelled of dust.

  The others followed, hovering behind him as he paced across the ornate marble floor tiles toward the center.

  “Isn’t there supposed to be a painting?” Walter asked Hazel, looking up.

  “I guess it’s not been completed yet,” she told him. “Michelangelo starts to paint it in 1508, so we must have landed some time earlier than that.”

  Oliver was vaguely aware of his friends’ conversation taking place behind him, but his main focus was on exploring the church, looking for the spot from his memories.

  Suddenly he stopped and stood frozen.

  “This is it,” he announced, feeling the overwhelming sense of déjà vu. “This is the place in my memory.”

  He turned to look at his friends behind him. But then suddenly, Oliver felt a blast of heat coming from above him.

  In unison, David, Hazel, Walter, and Gianni gasped, their expressions turning to surprise.

  Oliver’s face snapped up. A large jet of light was shining down from the ceiling on to him like a spotlight. It was warm and the warmth seeped into his skin. Little flecks of gold twinkled down in the shard.

  “What’s happening?” Oliver stammered.

  Suddenly, he felt a rippling sensation all through his body like fire racing through his veins. But it did not hurt in the way the electrical impulses from Mistress Moretti’s brain had. It was more like a soothing balm. Like chicken soup when sick. Like hot chocolate on a rainy day. The hug of a loving mother.

  Oliver fell to his knees as the light bathed him, soothed him, comforted him. The little flecks of gold settled on his flesh and then seemed to be absorbed into it. And as his body took in more and more of the shimmery gold his sense of peace and calm grew ever stronger.

  Finally, the light shut out. Shadows crowded in. Silence fell.

  “Oliver?” Hazel asked. “Are you okay?”

  Oliver paused for a moment. Then, slowly, he brought his head up and met his friends’ eyes. They all looked worried. He didn’t blame them. It must have looked very alarming from where they were standing. But Oliver didn’t feel scared at all. He felt at complete peace.

  “Could you bring my father’s notebook to me?” he asked, hearing the strange lilting in his voice he’d not had before, as if some of Mistress Lucia’s affectations had become his own.

  Hazel pulled it from her satchel and hurried over, handing it to him.

  Oliver began to scan it, reading the formula which had once appeared nonsensical with a new comprehension.

  “Yes, I see…” he began to mutter, as he started to decipher the code.

  “Ollie,” Walter said, coming up to him as well. “Maybe you should slow down a bit?”

  “Slow down?” Oliver replied with curiosity in his voice. “Why?”

  “Why? Because a huge shard of white light just came out of nowhere and you absorbed a load of weird gold flakes into your skin.”

  Oliver paused to look up at Walter and then Hazel. Behind them he could see Gianni and David standing awkwardly. They all looked concerned. But Oliver felt serene.

  “I’m fine,” he replied.

  “Are you sure about that?” Hazel queried. “I mean we have no idea what just happened to you. Or why.”

  “Celestial power,” Oliver said, the word coming from a recess of his mind he’d never had access to before.

  “Huh?” Walter asked, raising an eyebrow. “I’ve never heard of it.”

  “Neither have I,” Oliver confessed. “Yet I know that’s what it is.” He turned his attention back to Teddy’s formula. “Now hush. I need to work.”

  His friends fell silent, but he could feel the concern crackling off of them like an electrical charge. They were so tense, so on edge, when he felt suddenly extremely focused and calm.

  Suddenly, Oliver realized where his father had gone wrong and what was missing from the formula.

  “There is an ingredient missing,” Oliver said. “But I don’t know what it would be.”

  Just then, a figure emerged from the shadows. Everyone flinched. David drew his weapon.

  “Who are you?” he demanded, scepter raised.

  The man held his hands up defensively. “Please. I’m not here to hurt you.” His voice was very timid. “I think… I think I can help you.”

  David stepped closer with his scepter. “How can you help? What did you see?”

  The man cowered a little under David’s aggression. Oliver wanted to tell his bodyguard to cool it a bit but then he remembered that David was only doing what he’d vowed to; keep Oliver safe.

  “I’m an apothecary,” the man stammered. “I saw the light… You’re seers, aren’t you?”

  Oliver’s ears pricked up with curiosity. Seers were supposed to be a tightly guarded secret. If this man knew of them, he must be important.

  Oliver stood from where he’d been kneeling on the floor and walked over to the man.

  “What do you know about seers?” he asked.

  “I know that you’re one,” the apothecary said. “And that I am supposed to guide one. I believe you’re the one I am destined to help.”

  Oliver remembered how seers were often paired with a human guide, someone brilliant who could help them on their journey into the unbelievable. But Oliver already had a guide—Armando Illstrom.

  “You’re not my guide,” Oliver told him. “But perhaps there is some other reason we were destined to meet.”

  Even if he wasn’t Oliver’s guide specifically, the man was clearly important if he’d been deemed exceptional enough to know about the existence of seers.

  But the man seemed insistent. “I am supposed to guide the boy with the golden skin,” he said. “The boy in search of the Elixir.”

  Hearing the word “elixir” was like being struck with lightning. Oliver felt it with the force of a punch. His heart began to race. For the first time, he felt like he was really on the right path now, that all the pieces were coming together.

  “That’s me,” Oliver told him, nodding. “But like I said, I have a guide. I am not the seer you will guide. But I do believe you are destined to help me. Who are you?”

  “I’m just a humble apothecary,” the man said. “I have a workshop in Rome. I’ve been coming here day after day for a decade now, waiting for you, for the boy bathed in gold who will complete the Elixir.”

  Oliver knew he should feel stunned, or amazed, or awestruck. But he did not. The celestial powers he’d absorbed made him feel only serene.

  “Then take me to your workshop,” he said calmly. “We have a lot of work to do.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Esther felt her eyelids fluttering. Daylight streamed in through them, searing her retinas. She tried to sit up but found her body completely immobile. Panic took hold of her.

  “Shh, shh, I’m here,” a voice came from beside her. “It’s okay.”

  Memories began to come back to her. She was sick. No, dying. She was in the hospital wing. And Oliver was there! He’d held her hand and told her he was going to cure her.

  “Oliver?” she stammered, her heart fluttering.

  She forced her eyes open and craned her head toward the voice. But to her disappointment, it wasn’t Oliver sitting beside her. It was Edmund.

  She grimaced and let out a heavy, resigned sigh.

  “Oliver’s gone,” Edmund said in an icy tone. “He’s run off in your time of need. I’m the one here taking care of you.”

  Esther’s throat felt dry. The effort to speak felt suddenly too much. “Why?” was all she managed.

  She felt Edmund’s hand tighten around her own. His thumb stroked her skin over and over, making a sensation of spider legs creep up her spine.

  “Why what, my love?” Edmund murmured.

  Esther gritted her teeth. “Why. Are. You. Here?” Each word felt like climbing a mountain.

  “I’m here because I love you, silly,” Edmund replied, chuckling. “I’m here to take care of you. Because I love you. See, you think Oliver does but he doesn’t. I’m the one for you.”

  Esther tasted bile at the back of her throat. She hated Edmund. Hated everything he stood for. He was a mean bully. He possessed none of the qualities that made her love Oliver. In fact, Edmund couldn’t be further from him!

  “No,” Esther said, her voice coming out like a croaking whisper. “No.”

  “No what?” Edmund asked in his disgusting, saccharine voice.

  “I. Don’t. Want. You.”

  There was a pause. Esther peered through her half-closed eyes at Edmund, trying to decipher what was going on in his mind. She felt his hand loosen around hers.

  “What?” he said.

  His tone had changed. It was no longer babying but cold and emotionless, like a switch had been flipped.

  Esther didn’t have the strength to repeat herself. “You heard,” was all she could manage.

  Edmund stood quickly, his chair screeching from the abruptness of his movement.

  “I heard, all right,” he sneered angrily. “And you’ll come to regret that.”

  She listened to the sound of his footsteps as he stormed away.

  A sense of peace overcame Esther. Edmund was gone. Good riddance.

  But without him to focus on, Esther became more aware of her own pain. Her head was pounding. She felt like she had a bad fever and could feel the sweat beneath her soaking into the bedsheets. She could hear her own pulse in her ears, beating too rapidly as if her heart was working in overdrive. It was terrifying.

  Suddenly, she felt a presence draw up beside the bed. Worried it was Edmund back to hassle her, she tried to open her eyes.

  “It’s okay, Esther,” came the soothing voice of Professor Amethyst. “Don’t overexert yourself.”

  A lump lodged in Esther’s throat. She felt so relieved to have the headmaster there by her side. It was beyond comforting.

  “Where’s Oliver?” she croaked.

  If anyone knew where her beloved was, it was Professor Amethyst.

  “He’s gone to find a cure, Esther.”

  “Gone?”

  She felt the professor squeeze her arm with reassurance.

  “But don’t worry. He can still see you. I gave him a sephora amulet. Whenever he looks into it, he can see you.”

  Esther felt a tear slide down her cheek. She was overwhelmed with relief to know that wherever Oliver was, he hadn’t really left her. He could still see her. That connection was enough to make her feel as if he was actually there. In fact, she could almost feel his hand wrapped around hers.

  Just then, she felt something cold press into her hand. It felt like glass.

  “This tincture contains a very special potion,” Professor Amethyst said. “There will come a time, in the near future, when you will need to use it. When you take the substance, you will have a burst of energy. But you must be careful not to use all of the energy it gives you. If you overextend yourself and use up every drop of energy, you will die. So use it wisely. You will know when.”

  Esther tightened her hand around the small glass vial. Then everything went black and she fell back into unconsciousness.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Rome, to Christopher, was just as drab as London had been. Gray stone buildings and more churches than could be necessary, filthy cobblestoned streets that were hard to walk along, beggars and raggedy-looking foxes, and a big old dirty river. There weren’t even any cars! Just stupid horses that made the whole place stink of manure. Chris craved a little more excitement in his life. Hopefully, once he’d killed Oliver, Mistress Obsidian would reward him by sending him to the future. He’d love to see a hover car!

  The sky was growing dark and Christopher was no closer to finding Oliver. Their travels had taken them up to the river, which was spanned by several arching stone bridges. On the other side appeared to be several extremely fussily designed churches.

  Chris scoffed. “What’s that? Some kind of church village?”

  Malcolm shot him a withering glare. “Yes. It’s the Vatican. Ever heard of it? You know, where the Pope lives.”

  Chris had not in fact heard of the Vatican, though he did know the Pope was considered a pretty big deal by a lot of people.

  “Yeah,” he mumbled gruffly. “Course I have.”

  Malcolm stifled a smirk. “Sure you have,” he replied sarcastically. Then he folded his arms and shot Christopher a weary glare. “So, Oh Mighty Leader, where are we going exactly? It’s getting dark and we haven’t found a single lead yet.”

  Chris felt irritation bubble up in his gut. Malcolm was such a pain in the butt. He desperately wished Mistress Obsidian hadn’t sent him on this mission. He’d do much better without his constant whining.

  “This is a small place,” Chris said. “Oliver will turn up eventually.”

  He heard Madeleine sigh from beside him. His head snapped to the side.

  “Got something to say?” he demanded.

  Madeleine’s cheeks flushed red. “No,” she said quickly, cowering a little under Chris’s dominance. “My feet are tired. That’s all.”

  “I’m bored,” a second voice piped up.

  Christopher turned to look at Natasha, the tall girl whom Malcolm kept making goggly-eyes at. One of her legs was crooked up against the side of the bridge, and she was picking black nail polish off her thumbnail. She tipped her eyes up slowly, looking a mixture between tired and uninterested.

  “Tough,” Chris told her. “You’re only on this mission because Malcolm has a crush on you. And Malcolm’s only on this mission because Mistress Obsidian seems to think I need competition to get stuff done. Even though I don’t. I could find Oliver with my eyes closed.”

  Natasha’s eyebrows rose. “Don’t tempt me,” she said in her lazy, monotonous voice.

  Malcolm laughed nastily. “Natasha’s top of the class with biological specialism,” he said in a haughty voice. “She could turn you into a frog if you annoy her too much.”

  Chris tutted and shook his head. Of course, Malcolm hadn’t just chosen Natasha because he thought she was pretty. He’d chosen someone who could be his bodyguard, who’d protect him against Christopher. Typical. Chris should’ve known. Then he wouldn’t have wasted his pick on that stupid carrot-top Madeleine, who’d been useless so far and wasn’t particularly liked by Mistress Obsidian. He’d have to get her loyalty somehow or he could see Malcolm using this opportunity to harm him.

  “If you guys are so bored,” Christopher said, “then maybe we should do a bit of damage. Let loose a bit.”

  Natasha seemed to brighten suddenly. “Like graffiti? I bought my spray cans.” She held open her satchel, where several aluminum spray paint cans clinked together. A chemical smell wafted out.

  “I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” Malcolm said. “We might mess up the timeline.”

  “When did that ever matter to you?” Chris shot back, as he reached into Natasha’s satchel and pulled out the black paint can. “You were destroying all kinds of precious artworks when we were in Newton’s house.”

  “That was very different,” Malcolm replied fiercely. “We destroyed some paintings, sure, but we didn’t introduce technology into the environment that hadn’t been invented yet! You’ve no idea what might happen if you use that stuff! What will people think when they see it? That aliens came to visit?”

  But Chris wasn’t listening to Malcolm’s whining anymore. He shook the can, crouched down next to the stone wall of the bridge, pushed aside a shrub that was in the way, and pressed the nozzle. A jet of paint came out and coated the side of the stone bridge. He scrawled his name and then sat back, satisfied.

  “Oh look,” he said with a wry tone. “Nothing bad happened.”

  Malcolm looked flustered. “Yeah well, do I have to remind you that we failed the last mission? Maybe because our leader was making us do pointless stuff like destroy paintings!”

  But nobody was listening to Malcolm anymore.

  Natasha laughed. She ran over and began to paint her own name onto the stonework, using bright colors. She was quite the artist. Her writing looked really cool.

  Chris just rolled his eyes. “My troops need to let loose a bit. Don’t you, guys?”

  He chucked the can to Madeleine. She caught it and hurried forward to add her own name beside Chris’s.

  Malcolm just watched on looking bitter, like he’d sucked a sour lemon. Chris grinned internally. This was exactly what he was hoping for. He wanted Madeleine and Natasha to be on his team, with Malcolm stuck on the outside. Now, with their three names scrawled onto the wall and his missing, it looked like he was one step closer to achieving his goal.

  “Well, while you three were busy wasting time,” Malcolm said, “I saw something that might be of interest.”

  “Yeah? What?” Chris asked, not believing it for a second.

  Malcolm pointed toward the church steeples of the Vatican on the other side of the river. “How about a big glowing white light?”

  Madeleine was up to her feet in a second, her eyes bright with excitement. “Celestial light?”

  Malcolm nodded. “I think so.”

  Chris stood too and came up beside them. “What’s celestial light?”

  Malcolm scoffed. “I always forget how uneducated you are.” His voice had taken on its arrogant tone again.

 

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