Table Of ContentPraise for the writing of Ciar Cullen
The Biggest Kahuna
Ciar Cullen has done an excellent job of bringing together fantasy and drama in a tale that is
sure to go on the keeper shelf.
-- Angel, Romance Junkies
This book made me laugh, cry, and fall in love, all at one time! This book MUST be
experienced!
-- Annie, Euro Reviews
Ms Cullen has fashioned a very intricate novel that combines modern day with ancient
Hawaii history. This story was fascinating and very fun to read. Once I started reading it I
had to finish it!
-- Teresa, Fallen Angel Reviews
This is a sweet captivating romance that will grab on to you and hold on through out the
book. Ms. Cullen crafts characters that are not only believable, but endearing. You'll fall for
Kal and Nikkie hard and fast.
-- Astraea, Enchanted Ramblings
Anyone looking for some good summer reading (or winter reading for that matter) should
pick this up. Without a doubt this excellently engaging book deserves a Gold Star.
-- Sakura Kai, Just Erotic Romance Reviews
The Biggest Kahuna is now available from Loose Id.
LOVE’S ALCHEMY
Ciar Cullen
www.loose-id.com
Warning
This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered
offensive to some readers. Loose Id e-books are for sale to adults ONLY, as defined by the
laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where
they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.
* * * * *
This book contains explicit sexual content and graphic language.
Love’s Alchemy
Ciar Cullen
This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or
existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the
author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or
dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Published by
Loose Id LLC
1802 N Carson Street, Suite 212-2924
Carson City NV 89701-1215
www.loose-id.com
Copyright © October 2006 by Ciar Cullen
All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of
this e-book may be reproduced or shared in any form, including, but not limited to printing,
photocopying, faxing, or emailing without prior written permission from Loose Id LLC.
ISBN 978-1-59632-342-1
Available in Adobe PDF, HTML, MobiPocket, and MS Reader
Printed in the United States of America
Editor: Lorri-Lynne Brown
Cover Artist: Christine M. Griffin
Acknowledgments
Many thanks to my friend and editor, Lorri-Lynne Brown, for her heroic support. This
story is dedicated to my extraordinary brothers, Bob and Tom.
One disclaimer: while the description of Sir Isaac Newton’s scientific accomplishments
is loosely accurate, and it is well documented that he experimented in the alchemical arts,
the events described here, as well as the sketch of the great man’s personality, are solely the
product of the author’s imagination.
Prologue
Cambridge, England 1668
Isaac brushed back his hair and stripped off his shirt, lest the sparks from the furnace
set either aflame.
“More heat, I must have more heat,” he snapped to his young assistant, heart pounding
in excitement. Everything is perfect; I know it!
“Master, we are sorely low on fuel. The substance churns and bubbles -- is that not
sufficient?”
“You little fool!”
Isaac turned on him and the youth backed up in horror. Blazes, man, stay calm. You
need the boy.
Isaac labored to soften his expression, unwilling to have the lad abandon him in fear
again. It was difficult to find a closed-mouth assistant, no matter the pay. The executioner’s
noose had recently snapped many a sorcerer’s neck, and Isaac did not intend to be the next
victim.
He squatted and clutched the boy’s thin shoulders tightly, taking in a deep breath to
calm himself. The child’s mouth quivered in fear, and his eyes grew huge.
“Marcus, I beg of you, do as I say. The time is at hand. Trust that my cause is noble,
that my devotion is to a divine purpose beyond your wildest imaginings! Damnation, boy,
fetch more fuel!”
Marcus stood still for a moment, frozen in indecision, then nodded fervently and
scurried up the steps to the street with the coin Isaac pressed into his palm.
2 Ciar Cullen
“Calcination, dissolution, separation, conjunction, fermentation, distillation,
coagulation.” Isaac muttered the formula of the Emerald Tablet under his breath as he
worked the heavy iron tongs, turning the large urn within the furnace. The heat scorched his
face, but he ignored the pain, biting at his lip.
Thank you, God, for this reminder of the great inferno that awaits all heretics.
“Separate thou ye earth from ye fire, ye subtle from the gross sweetly with great
industry,” he quoted the ancient text as the molten alloy frothed. “Where is the brat!”
A beam of great light suddenly pierced the night, cut through the dark empty streets of
Cambridge, slicing through from the heavens to focus directly into Isaac’s dwelling. Isaac’s
heart soared in hope and shock. Have I truly accomplished my task? Is this the sign from
above?
A thunderclap slapped him to his knees and sent him skidding across the floor, the
breath knocked out of him. He cowered in the corner of the room, covering his eyes against
the blinding prism of dazzling colors that twinkled in the dark room like so many gemstones.
The beam narrowed and sought its prize. The furnace flashed in brilliance. Isaac’s heart
missed several beats, and he fancied for a moment that he had miscalculated God’s will for
him and that his sin marked him for death.
However, after what seemed like an eternity, but must have only been seconds, the
light retreated and the furnace calmed. With shaking hands and trembling limbs, Isaac
crawled to the glowing opening of the furnace. Shielding his face with one hand, he reached
tentatively into the crucible, and then pulled back in shock at the icy cold emanating from
the opening. He peered in the furnace to see the outside of the urn speckled in ice crystals
and watched in amazement as the crystals expanded to cover the whole surface. This defies
all the laws of Nature! It must be the work of God.
Muttering a prayer for success, Isaac quickly snatched the small object left in the base
of the urn. The cold burnt his palm, and he released the object into his lap. A glow within
the stone gradually subsided, and with one last twinkle, flickered out.
Isaac fell prone on the floor, sobbing, clutching the emerald-colored gift from the
Universe. Could it be the Philosopher’s Stone, the source of all holy and noble cures for the
ills of the body and spirit?
A sudden terror shook him from his ruminations and he ran to the door and bolted it,
lest Marcus return at this most inopportune time. Still shaking, Isaac studied the stone
carefully, rolling it between his fingers before a candle. Am I victorious where all have
failed?
A bang at the door jarred his nerves and he backed into the shadow lest the boy see
him. Let Marcus think he had abandoned his work for the night.
“Master Newton, let me in! Master Newton! I have the fuel! Are you about?”
Isaac held his breath until he heard the boy retreat.
Love’s Alchemy 3
“Tomorrow, my Maker, I vow to test this Stone against the greatest of human foes.” He
would visit the morgue, pay the keeper for silence and solitude, and breathe new life, God’s
life, into a lifeless body.
4 Ciar Cullen
Chapter One
Sidra glanced at her watch for the tenth time, wondering how long one should wait for
a shot at redemption. You’re an idiot, Sidra. Go home. He’s not showing; he probably never
intended to. I’ll give the son of a bitch ten more minutes.
Laughter erupted from a trio of men across the bar. Sidra wondered idly what SLIman
looked like -- certainly not like those guys. Hip, handsome, they fit the bar perfectly,
everything about them screaming money and sophistication. All three wore shades of
designer grey and black. Manhattan’s finest, quintessential SoHo artsy types. I would hate
them if they weren’t so hot. I hate them anyway.
Sidra had met the likes of them too often -- vain, egocentric, and certainly not
interested in anything more than a one-night stand. She’d taken a few men up on their offers
of quick sex since Patrick dumped her, pretending she didn’t know or care that they’d never
call. Those nights left her feeling emptier, dirtier, and more hurt over the break-up. Sidra
sighed and pushed down the familiar pangs of grief that surfaced every time she thought of
Patrick, vowing again to put all her energy into her research and forget about men.
The bartender smiled sympathetically at Sidra as he vigorously shook a drink. She
grimaced and looked away in annoyance. Simply fucking fantastic. He’s pegged me as a loser.
It’s not a goddamned date!
She shielded her face by propping her chin in her hand, reassuring herself that the
bartender didn’t matter, SLIman didn’t matter, nothing mattered but finding help. She never
had to come in this bar or see these people again.
Her mother’s nagging circled through her brain. “Why do you care, Sidra? Don’t ever
let others define you, especially men.” Sidra wondered for what seemed like the millionth
time how you made yourself stop caring about something. Weren’t you supposed to care?
Wasn’t that part of being human, of living life to its fullest?
