“Keryth Malcom and Lennox Pettifog. They’re what you might call on again, off again. And they’ve been on again since they came back from the summer break. Somewhat exuberantly, based on what leaks through the top half of my dormitory wall.”
“And us?” I glanced at the doorway to make sure no one was hovering in the hallway, listening. “Are weon? Or was last night…an anomaly?”
Being with Wilder felt familiar and comfortable, and there was definitely chemistry. But the surprise from our classmates—and from Desmond—made me wonder if this shift in our relationship was recent.
His gaze held mine, but I got the distinct impression that his hesitation wasn’t simply an effort to get the phrasing right. Rather, he seemed to be trying to assess whatever he saw…in me.
Finally he smiled, his expression taking on a playfully ribald tone. “Last night was definitely…anomalous. One might even call it a deviance.”
“Is it a family trait of the Gregorys to refuse to answer a question directly, or is that specific to you and your brother?”
His smile faltered. “What did you ask Desmond?”
“I’m not answering your question until you answer mine. Are wetogether, Wilder?”
His sigh seemed to carry the weight of the world. He sank into Keryth’s chair, and when I remained standing, he took my hand. For a moment, he only stared at my fingers, running one thumb over them.
I focused on the sensation. Of the feel of his skin against mine. Trying—desperate—to remember it.
“Amber, do you recall anything about last night? Anything at all? Even just an image or an impression?”
I looked up from our hands to find him watching me with his heart in his eyes, and it hurt me to answer. But I owed him the truth, if I was going to ask him for the same.
“No. I’m sorry, but I don’t remember a thing, as badly as I’d like to.”
The sadness echoing behind his eyes gutted me.
“Was that our first time?” I asked, still trying to draw the memories out. To trigger recollection with fact. “Are we a couple? Or was that just…the human version of a chemical reaction?”
Wilder laughed, and he looked as surprised by his own amusement as I was. “A chemical reaction?”
“You know…two reactants introduced into the same space, resulting in a change of energy or yielding a product. Or a…clearly defined result.”
His smile grew. “Oh, there was aresult. And I’d call it pretty clearly defined.”
I pulled my hand from his and smacked his shoulder again, but I couldn’t resist a smile.
“If last night was a chemical reaction, it was definitely exothermic,” he continued.
My smile grew. “So…it was hot?”
“Exothermic as hell,” he confirmed with a shameless grin. But it faded quickly. “Though…that doesn’t matter. None of what happened between us before this morning matters, Amber. It…can’t.”
My frown came unbidden, the strength of my disappointment unexpected. “Why not?”
“It doesn’t matter because you don’t remember it. So, to you, it didn’t happen. And I can’t in good conscience go forward as if everything is the way it was yesterday, when you have no memory of how we got there. I…” He cleared his throat and settled his gaze firmly on mine. “Until you recover your memory, what matters is what happens going forward. There may very well be another chemical reaction, but first, we’ll have to”—he shrugged—“set up the whole experiment again. We can’t just repeat it, when you don’t understand all the ‘preparation’ that went into it in the first place.”
“When did you get so good at logic?” I demanded, finding it shockingly difficult not to pout.
Wilder laughed as he stood. “I told you. Blatantly brilliant andentirelyunderestimated.”
“Developing your own signature notation will take a lot of practice. But in the end, your effort will be worth it.”
Professor Robards roamed the lecture hall as he spoke, slowly making his way up the tiered seating and down each row, glancing in turn at each student’s slate as they painstakingly formed the same symbols over and over again using lengths of chalk carefully sharpened into points. “It is important for an alchemist who plans to make a career of research to develop their own signature notation so that their discoveries—”
And their failures, I added silently, from my little desk at the front of the lecture hall.
“—can be accurately attributed to them when they’re studied by future generations of students and scholars.”
