He stamped out his cigarette with his foot and crossed his arms. “No idea. A few years back, a biergarten tried to set up shop. Would’ve been perfect, but heard they couldn’t get permits. It’s hard to see from here, but there’s actually a service door over there—” He pointed at the left end of the clearing, where a few bushes stood taller than me. “Probably just leads to a subcellar or something. Guess the folks who own the building want to keep this area clear in case they ever need to get in there.” A buzzing noise suddenly came from his pocket, and he withdrew a small walkie-talkie. “That’s me,” he said. “Always a pipe to install or fix.”

So he was a plumber. “Well, thanks for the info,” I said.

“No worries.” He waved while walking away, and I listened closely to the steady sound of his footsteps as they faded out of earshot.

I turned back to the gate. Using a dislodged stone on one of the pillars, I pulled myself up a few inches to get a better look over it. I directed my gaze to the left side of the clearing, where the plumber had pointed. From this higher vantage point, I squinted, trying to see past the branches.

Behind one shrub, I could make out what appeared to be a large piece of wood set into the aged brick building; the base of the wood piece was partially hidden amid tall, thick weeds. A rustle of breeze moved the branches ever so slightly, and then I caught the crumbling, reddish protrusion of something halfway down the wood. A rusty door handle.

I gasped, nearly losing my footing on the stone pillar. It was most definitely a door. And by the looks of it, it had not been opened in a very, very long time.

13

Nella

February 8, 1791

As I opened the door for the woman whose arrival I’d been dreading, shadows threw her figure into silhouette, and her features were masked behind a sheer veil. I could make out only the width of her skirts and the delicate lace trimming around her collar. Then she took a hesitant step forward into the shop, a breeze of lavender floating behind her, and candlelight illuminated her form.

I covered a gasp; for the second time in a week, before me stood a customer unlike any that had been in my shop. First it had been a child, but now it was a grown woman who, by mere appearances, seemed more suited to the airy parlors of Kensington than my lowly, concealed shop. Her gown, a deep green edged with golden embroidered lilies, seized nearly a quarter of the space, and I feared a single turn may send half my vials to the floor.