The Accidental Alchemist by Gigi Pandian Page A

explained to a detective on a Portland street corner. More complicated than could be explained in any way Max would understand, for that matter.
    Ever since I was a small child, I’ve had more of an affinity to plants than most people. People with my gift were called “simplers.” I’ve always been sensitive to the elements that make up plants. Their smell, texture, taste, healing properties—and their poisonous properties, too. It never seemed magical to me as a child. I still don’t think of it as magic. Natural magic, perhaps, but not a sorcery type of magic. I wasn’t born with unexplained knowledge. I merely let myself be open to my natural sensitivities, then studied to learn what the sensations I was experiencing meant.
    When I was forced to flee my home with my little brother because my talents were equated with witchcraft, it was the alchemists who took me in. They were the ones who shaped my knowledge of plants, turning my natural aptitude into a skill to practice alchemy. I hadn’t even heard of alchemy before an alchem ist found me—or, I should say, before the alchemist found my brother Thomas. We were selling the healing tinctures I made, and the strange man assumed it was Thomas who had the aptitude for transforming plants. Thomas was more amused than I was.
    “The foul smell,” I said, choosing my words carefully. I was tempted to say more, but I knew it wasn’t a good idea. Saying less was almost always better. I’d learned that the hard way.
    “Why did your mind jump to poison, though? Did you recognize it as something specific?”
    “No, not really.”
    “Then why didn’t you think it was garbage nearby? Why did your mind jump to poison if it wasn’t something you could identify.”
    It was a good question. But it wasn’t odd that I hadn’t identified the exact poison. There are many different ways plant essences can be manipulated, causing toxicity in different ways.
    I glanced into the teashop. Olivia wasn’t attempting to hide her interest in watching us. When she saw me look at her, she gave a little wave. The sleeve of her blouse fell to her elbow, revealing scars on her forearm. Ivan’s face was hidden behind a newspaper.
    “As I told you before,” I said, “I work with plants. Scents fall into different general categories. I didn’t know with absolute certainty it was a poisoning, but I thought I smelled a foul herbal odor. The type of thing that’s suggestive of poison. Since there was a man lying at an unnatural angle who wasn’t breathing, I jumped to that conclusion. Since you’re asking me about it, I’m guessing I was right that he was poisoned in addition to being stabbed.”
    “I can’t comment on an ongoing investigation.”
    “Then what exactly are you asking me?”
    “If you happened to have ideas about the type of poison we might be dealing with …”
    “Is the lab having trouble identifying the specific poison?” Though modern toxicology had come a long way, I knew it was far easier to detect damage to internal organs than it was to determine the cause.
    He took a sip of his tea but didn’t speak. Instead his face contorted into a pained expression .
    “Are you all right?” I asked.
    “It’s nothing.” He rubbed his lower back with his free hand, again wincing in pain. “I got hurt chasing a suspect last month. It’ s the stupidest thing, really. I fell through a trap door. They say you never see it coming, but that I truly couldn’t have seen coming.”
    Max’s cell phone beeped. He read something on the screen and put it back in his pocket. “We’re done with your house. You’re free to go back inside.”
    “Before you go, there’s something I forgot.” I held up my cell phone showing a picture of the cover of Dorian’s book. “I have a photograph of one of the books missing from my house.”
    Was it just my imagination, or did Max Liu’s breath catch when I showed him the photograph of Not Untrue Alchemy ?

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    Even if my