Page 7 of Alchemy of Secrets

“You’re an excellent writer,” he said sincerely.

“The Professor’s notes mention that you were briefly a Storytelling major in your undergrad, and it shows.

You pulled me in right away with your version of Natalia West’s death.

The way you connected her rapid rise to fame in the 1950s with her mysterious death was smart, and you did a clever job of drawing parallels between the strange details of her death and those of other celebrities who died under tragic or unexplainable circumstances. ”

Adam flipped through a few more pages. Holland tried not to grin.

She was still upset by everything he’d said about the Professor.

But she also couldn’t help thinking that maybe there was more nuance to Adam Bishop than she had given him credit for.

He seemed to really understand what she was doing. And he’d called her smart.

“Unfortunately”—Adam shut the folder and looked up at Holland with eyes that had lost their smile—“you can’t use any of this.”

“But—wait—” she stammered. “You just said it was good.”

“It is. Your theory that some of the most famous deaths in Hollywood were actually murders committed by the devil is extremely entertaining, for fiction.”

The word fiction hit her like a slap. For the second time since meeting Adam, she could feel her cheeks turning red. She wasn’t sure if he was doing it on purpose or if he was just a jerk, but she felt like he kept tricking her.

“You’ve been in this department since undergrad, so I don’t think I need to explain what we do here. I just need you to come up with a new topic.”

“What if I can prove I haven’t made any of this up?” Holland asked.

Adam looked at her as if this was not what he’d expected her to say. For a second, she swore he looked impressed, but, like his enigmatic smirk, the expression was there and then gone. “You want to prove the devil is real?”

“Yes.” Holland felt a terrified thrill as she said it.

It was the same way she felt whenever she worked on her thesis.

It was a dark topic—delving into old Hollywood deaths and connecting them to deals with the devil that were never paid back.

Holland struggled mentally with researching it for extended stretches of time, which is why she was behind.

If not for all the Professor’s encouragement, and for the fact that this topic meant so much to Holland personally, she would have given up on it.

“I get it,” Adam finally said. “The Professor is very convincing. But I think chasing after any of her stories is a dangerous idea. So, no. I’m not giving you the chance to prove the devil exists. I need you to submit a new potential topic to me by next Wednesday.”

“That’s not enough time,” Holland protested.

“That’s why I’ve already come up with a suggestion for you.” Adam gallantly pulled a page from the folder and held it out to Holland.

“No thank you,” she said, refusing to even touch the paper.

Shock flitted across Adam’s handsome face, as if, once again, her response was not what he’d anticipated. “Take it just in case,” he insisted.

“I don’t want your help,” she said. And she didn’t need it. Holland didn’t care what he’d just said. The Professor wasn’t a liar. Holland wasn’t naive and she was going to prove it, for her mentor and for her parents.

As soon as she left Adam Bishop’s office, Holland pulled out her phone and called the Professor.

“Hello, you have reached the voicemail of M. Madeleine Kim. I am not in the habit of returning calls, I prefer meetings in person. If you truly wish to reach me, I can be found during my office hours, or I can be reached via physical correspondence sent to my house—if you are lucky enough to have the address. You may also send letters, telegrams, or packages to my office.” Her final word was punctuated with a long slow beep.

Holland hung up and sent her a text.

During the three years Holland had known the Professor, she had never replied to a text, and truthfully she was terrible at answering her phone.

That’s when Holland remembered the business card from Manuel Vargas. She pulled it out from her messenger bag. The emerald ink shimmered in the low hall light.

Earlier, Holland had convinced herself it was all a scam. But what if it wasn’t?

In Holland’s mind, the Professor’s Folklore 517 stories were all connected.

She always imagined they lived in a world together, similar to that of the Brothers Grimm fairytales.

If she was right, then it could make sense that finding the Watch Man didn’t unlock a door just to him, but to the Professor’s entire world of myths and legends.

Holland dialed the phone number on the card.

“Good afternoon, thank you for calling the First Bank of Centennial City,” chirped an automated voice.

“If you know your party’s extension, please say it out loud or enter it now using your keypad or rotary phone.

If you do not know your party’s extension, please say the last five digits of your account number. ”

The voice continued to list selections that didn’t apply to Holland, until finally she was given the option of leaving a message.

“Hello, my name is Holland, and I’d like to make an appointment tomorrow, with Mr. Manuel Vargas,” she said. “I just found out that there is a safety deposit box in your bank that was willed to me, and I would like to open it.”