Page 14 of Alchemy of Secrets

Holland half expected a black business card to fall out of the folder, but there was just a small pile of pages, held together by a shiny gold paper clip. We’re civilized criminals , it seemed to say, as she flipped past the first blank page and found a photograph of herself.

Holland already had the impression that Jake’s job had something to do with her, but it was still alarming to see the photo.

It was a candid. Her blond hair was blowing across her face as she looked off into the distance.

Someone had clearly taken it when she wasn’t watching, and it appeared to be recent.

The next page was even more disturbing, full of all sorts of information about her. Date of birth, where she went to school, how much she loved movies and what her favorites were, where she liked to shop for groceries, how often she ate out, her usual jogging route, how she drank her coffee.

A part of Holland regretted opening the folder—this didn’t feel like a clue to follow, this felt like something to run from—but she couldn’t stop turning the pages. The formatting shifted on the next page, which wasn’t about her at all.

Role: Jacob Smith (Jake for short)

Jacob Smith is a graduate student studying to teach ESL. He tutors kids after school, he doesn’t eat meat, he rides his bike everywhere. He cares about the world and about others. He’s someone whom Holland St. James will believe she can trust.

Objective: Enter into a dating relationship with Holland St. James and find out everything you can about her and her family.

Her family.

Jake was an actor—it wasn’t just his name that was lie, the person she’d been dating wasn’t real, he’d tricked her, used her—all to find out information about her family. Which meant it was very likely someone in Los Angeles knew who Holland really was.

Holland wondered who? How? She had changed her name almost fifteen years ago, long before she’d moved back here.

Her head spinning, she took in the glossy black folder with the art deco border, and once more she thought about the devil’s business card. Was it possible he had hired Jake?

Her phone rang again.

Chance had been calling over and over since she hung up. She probably needed to put him out of his misery. “I’m still alive,” she answered.

“For now,” said a man who was definitely not Chance. The words were followed by a buzzing sound and a burst of static that made Holland think of a voice moving through an old radio.

“Who is this?”

“I believe you already know. You were asking for me last evening.”

There was another pop of static as a chill slid down Holland’s spine.

“Would you still like to know the time?” the Watch Man asked.

“You killed Jake!” she cried.

“I did not kill anyone,” he said, affronted.

The static paused whenever the Watch Man spoke, revealing a posh mid-Atlantic accent, which, like the static, sounded as if it had been stolen from another time.

“Contrary to what some of the stories say, people cannot make deals with me to live longer. I merely tell people the time that they will die and, when applicable, I tell them what they can do to extend their time. I often simply suggest getting a dog, exercising more, and refraining from leaving mean comments on the internet. Unfortunately, none of that advice applies to you. Although, if you do manage to get yourself some more time, I highly recommend a dog.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“I do not kid on these calls, and generally speaking, if you need to ask if it’s a joke, it’s not a very good one, which is another reason why I’m not known for joking.

” Although, for a second, it sounded as if he was joking.

The accent made him sound like a character from an old black-and-white comedy.

“I tend to frighten people,” he went on, “but I assure you, I am not the one who wants you dead.”

“Then why did you tell Jake to kill me?”

More static prickled through the phone as the Watch Man sighed. “I did not tell him to kill you. I told him killing you would prolong his life. But I didn’t say it was a wise idea.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t have said it at all!”

“He asked the time,” the Watch Man said patiently, but the static on the line was growing thicker. “It is my job to tell him what he wanted to know. And now I must tell you that you will die tomorrow, Halloween, at 11:59 p.m.”

Tomorrow . It was more time than Jake, but not by much. The puddles of water on the sidewalk were making their way toward Holland’s feet, and now she could feel the wet soaking through her skin, into her blood.

“Are you still with me?” the Watch Man asked.

Holland wanted to hang up, or scream, or hang up and scream. This couldn’t be happening.

“This might be a good time for you to ask how you can get more time,” the Watch Man prodded.

“I don’t want to kill anyone,” she managed.

“That’s good to hear. The world does not need more murderers. And it wouldn’t get you any extra time. The only way to live past tomorrow is to find the Alchemical Heart.”

Holland tried to remember if this was something the Professor had ever mentioned in her stories.

For a second, she almost thought it sounded familiar.

It made her think of an overheard conversation, something mentioned once in whispers, but she couldn’t remember when or where or why.

“What’s the Alchemical Heart?” she asked.

“I cannot tell you that—” Another chorus of static burst through the phone. “But—Holland—it is a wise idea to find the Heart—”

The other side of the phone crackled and buzzed.

The Watch Man stopped speaking.

The line crackled again.

“Hello?” Holland said. “Are you still there?”

“Please insert five cents if you would like to continue your call.” The tinny words warred with the static that had taken over the other side of the line. “Please insert five cents to continue—”

Sirens wailed in the distance, overwhelming the voice. The blares sounded far away for a second. More of an idea than an arrival.

“Please insert five—”

She hung up the phone with a whispered curse.

Quickly, she typed the words Alchemical Heart into Google, but nothing useful came up.

She found only pages about meditation or links to the novel The Alchemist .

The cry of the sirens moved closer. Someone else in the complex must have seen Jake’s body and called the police.

The wailing sounded too close to be a coincidence, and Holland just wasn’t that lucky tonight.

Her eyes darted from the body at her feet to the time on her phone. 6:59 p.m.

Twenty-nine hours left until midnight on Halloween. Or she would end up just like Jake.

Holland’s heart raced faster, cold blood pumping until it turned hot in her veins.

She knew the right thing to do would be to stay and talk to the police.

But that could take hours. More, if they saw that she was the last person Jake had called or if they found the folder in her hand, which possibly gave her motive for a heat-of-passion murder.

Holland hadn’t done anything wrong, but the cops wouldn’t know that right away. And she made a sensational suspect—that was another thing she’d learned from her research into Hollywood murders. Sometimes the most well-known suspect wasn’t the best one, just the most interesting one.

Holland had to get out of there. Her ticking clock had already started. She only had twenty-eight hours and fifty-nine minutes left to find this Alchemical Heart, and there was only one person she knew who might be able to tell her what it was.

Car doors slammed.

Voices shouted out directions.

And Holland’s feet slapped against the pavement as she fled.