Elixir

By Ellen Goodlett

Elsie?ÇÖs search for her missing sister leads her to the magical underground of Elixir magic...and Vera, the alluring speakeasy owner who may be responsible.

In this Prohibition-inspired fantasy, two women from opposing sides of a ban on magic unite to solve a mystery...and end up falling into forbidden love. Elsie?ÇÖs sister Lou is missing. The only clue she has leads her to a Hush bar: one of the last remaining?Çöand illegal?Çöestablishments where people consume magical elixirs. Vera?ÇÖs family has made elixirs for generations at The Jaded Rose. With her father imprisoned, she is responsible for protecting their traditions...no matter the cost. But as Vera helps Elsie find her sister, a temptation more potent than any elixir arises: risking it all for each other.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Realm
• Release date: Mar 24, 2023
• ISBN: 9781682108567

Book preview

Table of Contents

Elixir

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Writer

Elixir

Ellen Goodlett

Table of Contents

The Shadow Files of Morgan Knox

1. The Book Collector

2. Two Dames

3. The Dead Man’s Tale

4. The Cold Burn

5. The Mark

6. Sometimes We Carry Each Other

7. Down and Out in New York City

8. The Rifleman’s Rule

9. The Woman Who Wasn’t There

10. Eppur si Muove

11. Dead Reckoning

Writer Team

Elixir © 2023 text by Realm of Possibility, Inc.

All materials, including, without limitation, the characters, names, titles, and settings, are the exclusive property of Realm of Possibility, Inc. All Rights Reserved, including the right of reproduction, in whole or in part, in any audio, electronic, mechanical, physical, or recording format. Originally published in the United States of America: 2021.

For additional information and permission requests, write to the publisher at Realm, 115 Broadway, 5th Floor, New York, NY 10006.

ISBN: 978-1-68210-856-7

This literary work is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, incidents, and events are the product of imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Written by: Ellen Goodlett

Producer: Nicole Otto

Executive Producers: Molly Barton and Julian Yap

One

LOU

From the corner of the crowded room, Lou watched a woman in a white beaded dress fly. A normal sight in this den of iniquity, where people came to imbibe the elixirs that made such magic tricks possible. Locq’s city council had banned elixirs, claiming they were too dangerous.

They underestimated how much people love danger.

Another flying woman drifted toward the ceiling. She joined hands with the woman in white. The two spun like human chandeliers. Their mouths opened wide, teeth bared. Laughing? Screaming?

Lou supposed it didn’t make much difference either way.

Her frayed nerves itched for another drink. How many had she had? She couldn’t remember. She squinted through cigarette smoke at the feathers and fringe, gold-plated costume jewelry and legs for days.

Then she saw him. In a private booth raised above the masses of the hush bar, just the way he liked it. He must have sensed her looking, because he met her gaze. Even from a distance, his expression was clear: You’re mine.

She lowered her eyes.

The nightclub swam. One more elixir couldn’t hurt. Bliss, perhaps. Or a shot of adrenaline for dancing.

She joined the line for the bar, swaying a little. A young man caught her elbow. He leaned in, way too close, but oh. He smelled good. Sweet, like honey. Her heart raced.

If he saw her speaking to another man . . .

Miss Thornleigh? the stranger asked. He was handsome. Dark hair, brown skin, amber eyes. Vaguely familiar.

And alarming. He shouldn’t know her real name. But she nodded anyway, too far gone to care.

I have a proposition for you.

Dangers be damned, Lou listened.

• • •

VERA

Would you hold the lantern steady? Vera shot an irritated look at her older cousin. Rolf was her righthand man, in both her legitimate and off-the-books ventures, but he didn’t make the best thief.

The two stood on a narrow catwalk suspended midway up the towering machinery chamber inside the Dwymer River Dam. The dam was an eyesore blighting the otherwise picturesque city of Locq, if you asked Vera. Of course, no one did.

Be a lot easier if you’d hurry up. With a huff, Rolf straightened his gas lamp to illuminate a glittering wall of quartz pipes and faucets.

Vera went to work.

Together with a bevy of her cousins, Vera Reeves ran the oldest and most famous hush bar in Locq. She’d inherited the business—plus all its inherent risks—when the city council banned the sale of elixirs and imprisoned her father.

In her opinion, the city council members were the real criminals.

But technically she was in the process of robbing them, so maybe she couldn’t talk.

Almost got it. Vera fitted an empty flower vase under a faucet. It was the best she could do on short notice. She opened the tap just enough to let out a trickle of water. Any more and she risked tripping the alarms.

Beside her, Rolf shifted uneasily. You realize that guard didn’t go to the pleasure house for a sleepover, right? If he comes back—

Give me two minutes.

Probably what he said.

Vera rolled her eyes.

Every drop she could squeeze from this tap counted. Dwymer water was the active ingredient in the elixirs she distilled. The city council had dammed the Dwymer River for the same reason they’d banned elixirs—because they believed the water was cursed.

With magic.

At least, that was what the gentry called it. Vera loathed the term. Elixirs were no more magic than Vera’s ability to subvert the law. They required knowledge, scientific study, and careful preparation, that was all.

Yes, if you drank an elixir, you might temporarily see visions of the future, alter your appearance at will, even fly. But such outcomes only seemed magical to the superstitious.

Vera rubbed her nose on one olive-toned shoulder, irritated. Normally when she robbed the dam, she was better prepared. She’d have the ironshoe guards’ schedules, a team of cousins to assist, and big vats to fill with Dwymer water. She hated rushing in here last minute.

But lately the council had been wising up. Rotating the guard schedules, adding new security measures. Tightening the proverbial locks on their literal dam.

The light behind her drooped again.

Vera glared at her cousin. Two pairs of matching brown eyes with the same narrow noses, jagged chins, and skin that browned in summer, yet paled a few shades come winter. Only their mouths differed—Vera got hers from her mother, incongruously soft against the rest of her features. Honestly. What use are all those pull-ups you do on the bar mantle every morning if you can’t hold one measly lantern?

The vase grew heavier. She touched it with a fingertip and felt the water inside surge in response.

Rolf tapped her leg. I hear something.

She held her breath for a moment. I don’t hear anything, you old coot.

But then . . .

A wooden creak sounded, faint and high above. Followed by a metallic thud. And another.

Footsteps.

Kill the light, she whispered.

Darkness enveloped them. She turned off the tap, hefted the vase. Half full. It would only distill a dozen elixirs at most—enough to serve one round of patrons.

She’d have to make do.

From higher up in the machinery chamber, someone began to whistle. It was a cheery tune, completely at odds with the pounding of Vera’s heart.

She tapped Rolf’s wrist, and he seized her hand. Bent double, they tiptoed back the way they’d come in, across the rickety wooden catwalk. They were a dozen stories above the ground floor of the machinery chamber. Down there, great iron plates neutralized the Dwymer water, then spat it into the lake on which Locq was situated.

Vera was glad the darkness hid the drop. Heights had always made her queasy. Just thinking about it made her walk faster, and—

The catwalk groaned. She froze, mentally cursing herself.

The cheery whistling stopped.

Hurriedly, Vera reached under the collar of her blouse. Her fingertips grazed the necklace there, a slim rose quartz vial with a matching stopper. On its back were letters in an alphabet that few in Locq could read anymore.

She heard the telltale hiss of a match striking.

Vera took a sip from the vial and passed it to Rolf. The tiny mouthful wouldn’t last more than a few minutes. But minutes were all they needed.

A pleasant warmth suffused her body as the elixir slid down her throat. It expanded all the way to her fingertips and toes, making them throb in tune to the beat of her heart.

Lantern light flared above. In its halo, she spotted an ironshoe leaning over a higher catwalk, near the top of the machinery chamber.

He stared right at Vera. Her breath caught.

But a moment later, his gaze slid away. He scanned the neighboring walkways, above and below.

He hadn’t seen them. Because the elixir had turned her and Rolf invisible.

Temporarily. And it was more like camouflage than strict invisibility. When Rolf crept toward the exit once more, Vera could see a ripple, the elixir mimicking his surroundings like a chameleon.

She followed, not daring to speak or breathe. Not until they shoved through the exit into the fresh night air. Only there did she gasp with relief.

Just in time. A moment after they hit moonlight, Rolf’s body shimmered, reappearing. A heartbeat later, so did Vera’s—hands first, holding the half-filled vase. Then her toes, winding up her knee-high calfskin boots to her black slacks and, finally, the rest of her.

That was too close. Rolf glared.

"I guess, for once, they’ve hired an ironshoe who gives a damn." She smiled at her pun.

Rolf narrowed his eyes, unmoved.

She sighed and led the way back to the carriage, which they’d hidden a few hundred yards off, beside an outcropping of rock. Rounding it, Locq came into view, spread at their feet.

Even though Vera had lived here her entire life, the sight still stole her breath away.

Built atop a glacial lake in the valley between five mountain peaks, Locq by night reminded Vera of a coupe glass. Its thousands of streetlights—gas lamps in the poorer districts and newfangled electric in the wealthier ones—sparkled like elixir bubbles, reflected double off the dark lake.

Once upon a time, Locq would’ve bustled at this hour. It had been a destination for travelers from around the world who came to experience the magic of elixirs firsthand. And no elixirs had a better reputation than those distilled by her family, the famous Reeves Apothekers.

Vera’s profession—and this city—had been respected. Revered, even.

But then Duke and Duchess Thornleigh, prominent gentry members with a seat on the city council, had convinced everyone that elixirs were immoral and dangerous. Now Locq paid the price: less tourism, more crime, no elixir revenue . . .

Not to mention, Vera couldn’t carry on her family’s legacy without becoming a criminal.

Rolf trudged up to her. Is that really enough to justify opening tonight? He pointed at the half-filled vase.

"If turnout’s anything like last week, we’ll have plenty for all four of our patrons."

We can’t keep taking these risks. Did you hear Mak took a buyout a couple weeks ago? He got enough capital to buy a shop on the ridge. We could— He stopped short at her murderous expression.

"No. We are Reeves. Our ancestors were Apothekers before Locq was even built. This is our legacy. Vera stormed toward the carriage. Besides, my father would never sell. Especially not to the type of buyers offering right now."

Not to be an asshole, but your father is in prison, cuz. Rolf winced as he said it, which was the only reason Vera didn’t kick him in the shin. Look, I know Harlowe is bad news. But his money spends just as well as anybody else’s. We take it, and we start over fresh.

For a moment, they glared at each other.

When she spoke again, it came out rough. "I would rather let the Thornleighs chain me up beside my father than sell my bar to that untrained, elixir-tampering grifter. Are we clear?"

A muscle at her cousin’s temple pulsed. Concern, or maybe frustration. But after a breath, Rolf shut his eyes. Crystal.

She grinned, hoping to lighten the mood. Besides, risk is the name of the game. Unless you want to abandon your post and let me run the whole show myself?

You wouldn’t last a single day, cuz. Rolf tousled her dark, chin-length bob.

She groaned. He knew how much effort it took to make her hair lie flat. Just for that, you’re driving. Before he could argue, Vera hopped into the carriage and out of the icy wind.

• • •

ELSIE

Elsie rooted through her oversized evening bag. Change of clothes, coin purse . . . There. Gently, she extricated a long-stemmed pink rosebud. Tied to it was a calling card that read:

The Jaded Rose

Floriculture & Botanical Specialists

This was the place, all right.

Someone jostled her elbow. Elsie clutched the purse tighter. She’d never been to this part of town, much less alone and at night. Papa was always talking about the horrors Docksiders would inflict on a nice gentry gal, given half a chance.

Tonight, she had no choice.

Elsie checked both ways before she crossed the street. Most shops were closed, iron grills drawn. But a gas lamp above The Jaded Rose flickered cheerily, and the store’s broad windows were lit from within.

A group of people bustled past, laughing. Some wore business attire, others tight beaded dresses like the one Elsie had pilfered from her older sister’s closet.

She steeled herself. She needed to do this. For Lou.

Elsie ducked into the shop.

Buckets of roses in every color dangled from the ceiling. Gardenias and lilies spilled over the central tables. At the rear, more blooms waited inside glass boxes, chilled by ice trays.

A display of delicate glass vases in every color imaginable took up the left-hand wall. Elsie reached out to brush one with a fingertip. No, not glass. The vase was quartz.

All the kings in all the courts, hold less power than a sip from quartz. The old nursery rhyme about Dwymer magic came to her mind.

Can I help you, miss? a voice called from the back of the shop.

Elsie bumped the vase. It teetered, before she caught it in both arms.

Careful! Two salesmen—salesboys, really—darted forward. One snatched the expensive vase from her, and the other set it high out of reach.

Elsie blushed. I’m so sorry. I startle easy; my sister’s always teasing me for it.

The boys must have been brothers. They looked almost exactly alike: tan with wide-set features and black moplike hair. Maybe that was the style these days. Elsie suddenly felt old for her twenty-five years.

One boy beamed. The other glared like she’d just kicked his cat.

Can we help you? the scowly one repeated.

Yes. I . . . Elsie’s gaze darted around. She didn’t know much about elixirs, but she grasped the basic concept of a hush bar. There would be a front business for show, then a secret passageway into the real party. I was actually hoping to stay a while. Enjoy some . . . refreshments. She turned on the sunny smile that never failed to fill her dance card at the gentry balls.

Scowly’s scowl deepened. Don’t know what you mean.

His brother elbowed him. Forgive his manners, miss. We have a wide selection of . . . products. Perhaps one in particular catches your fancy? He glanced at the vases. Clearly, he expected some kind of signal.

Damn. She probably needed a code word.

She tried to think what her mother would advise. Mama had been a down-and-out merchant’s daughter before she’d married Papa in the coup of that year’s social season. One of her sayings came to mind now: "Act like you belong, and soon enough, you will."

Elsie affected a bright laugh. You play your parts admirably, boys. Now, let’s see . . . She unclasped her purse. How much would it take to bribe her way inside?

Scowly tugged his brother over to a spot he probably thought would be out of earshot. But Elsie had been eavesdropping since before these two were born. What are you doing?

C’mon, Benji. It’s dead in there. Vera can’t afford to be turning gentry away.

Elsie made as much noise as possible rifling through her bag, to keep the boys talking.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Benji shake his head. No pass, no entry, Art. That’s the rule.

Pass. Her fingers grazed the rosebud. She’d found it in her sister’s ransacked bedroom this morning. The Jaded Rose calling card attached to it was Elsie’s only clue to where her sister might have gone.

To what had scared Lou so badly.

Elsie withdrew the flower, studying the sympathetic brother—Art?

Relief flooded his face. See, I knew it. She’s no snoop. Art nudged his brother, then nodded at the vases. Pick any one you want, miss.

Elsie picked the prettiest: purple and green shot through with flecks of golden mica. She slid the rosebud’s stem down its neck.

Here goes nothing.

The instant the stem touched a thin layer of water at the bottom, the bud’s petals unfurled into a pink rose. At the same time, the wall sprang forward. Elsie barely jumped out of its path in time.

Behind the door, candles flared to life, as if by magic. A golden spiral staircase appeared to lead down into a black void.

But piano music and a hum of voices drifted from beyond said void.

Elsie shivered. This was it. A hush bar. Home of Locq’s biggest threat—according to her parents, anyway.

Enjoy your evening, miss, Art called. Benji continued to glower.

Oh, I intend to. She blew a kiss. Art’s eyes bulged. Benji scoffed. Smiling, she skipped down the stairs into darkness.

Elsie expected a seedy basement. Instead, on the other side of that darkness—which she couldn’t figure out; was it a simple trick of the light, or something more?—she found herself standing near the top of a room that would rival Locq’s opera hall.

Cathedral ceilings arched over black marble walls with sharp gold accents. Red velvet drapes and plush booths softened the austerity. A stage took up one wall, and on it a woman waded through a slow song on a grand piano. Fireplaces roared in the corners; candles flickered on every table.

But it was the bar that drew Elsie’s gaze. Shelves all the way to the ceiling, lined with multicolored bottles. Elixirs.

Elsie’s breath caught. She watched a woman swing off a ladder, black bob swirling against her razor cheekbones. She poured something into a glass, slid it to an old man.

He drank. Even from here, Elsie could see his white hair change to jet black. Wrinkles faded from his dark brown cheeks, and he returned to his table with a new spring in his step.

She’s an Apotheker, Elsie realized. What am I getting myself into?

This was Locq’s underworld. For all Elsie knew, this could be the very same hush bar where her sister Lou had become hopelessly addicted to elixirs. Now Lou had vanished, leaving Elsie frantic with worry. Her sister could be in danger, or sick, or . . .

No. Lou would be all right. Elsie just needed to find her.