“What do you make of this?” He was right about there being something, what I had sensed at dinner a few weeks back. Remembering the very thoughts I’d had after our dinner weeks ago, I glanced from face to face. Pierce shrugged. Islington waited. It was Hawkes who gave voice. “Alchemy.” I shivered. That mythical pursuit that turns disparate elements to gold. None of us questioned the veracity of his statement.
