An ouroboros. A symbol for wholeness. Or infinity.
The ring—the bracelet—was rigid and intricately molded, each individual scale distinctly visible. The snake’s head was flared, its tail narrow where it fit between delicate metal fangs. The snake’s eyes were tiny red jewels, shining like rubies in the bright white flame from the torch.
Stunned, I slid the bracelet onto my left wrist. It was warm against my skin and loose enough that it would clank against any work surface when I moved. And yet…I didn’t want to take it off. Even though it didn’t belong to me, and I’d vandalized yet more Alchemary property in order to find it.
The point was that Ihadfound it.I’dfound it. But the building had shown me how.
The building, and Past Amber.
And all I could think, as I closed the plaque and returned to Desmond’s lab to seal up what was left in the beaker, was that therehadto be a reason.
“Amber!”
As I stepped out of the Conservatory into the quadrangle, a familiar voice smashed through my triumphant haze like an adze through firewood, sending my splintered thoughts flying.
I looked up to find Professor Edmiston standing beneath the broad front portico of the Seminary, as if she’d just stepped out of the building. She looked both relieved and surprised to see me.
“Amber Fallbrook!” she repeated. “May I please have a few moments of your time?” Her voice lifted on the end of the question, implying that I actually had a choice in the matter, but her expression did not support that sentiment.
I nodded and began winding my way down the stone path, around topiary animals, past students who watched me with open curiosity. As I walked, I subtly pulled the ouroboros bracelet from my wrist and slid it into a pocket concealed in the folds of my cloak.
“What a delightful coincidence.” Professor Edmiston looked back at me with every other step as I followed her up the front stairs of the Seminary. “I was just on my way to your Dormitory chamber to look for you, after failing to find you in the student laboratory.” Though her smile held steady, her voice took on a censuring tone. “Most of your classmates have been hard at work at their stations all day.”
“I had a late night,” I mumbled.
She nodded as she pulled open the front door and held it for me, using her free hand to push back a poofy clump of silver curls. “So we’ve all heard.”
“We?”
“This way.”
I followed Professor Edmiston down the central corridor to the right, past torches flickering with a deep golden light, which lent the space a very formal and somewhat tense atmosphere.
We turned into another, narrower corridor on the left, between two of the larger lecture halls. A door at the end of the corridor stood open, and a jumble of whispered conversation leaked from it, the voices too muddled for me to identify or understand.
“Just through here.” Professor Edmiston indicated the open door.
I stepped into a conference room dominated by a long, heavy table. Sunlight streamed through three tall windows, but a series of lanterns had been lit in a line down the center of the table as well, giving the room a surprisingly functional blend of only slightly flickering flame and strong, clean daylight.
Only a few of the heavy wooden chairs were occupied, but I caught merely an impression of several dark robes with distinctive collars, indicating both professors and staff researchers, before a familiar and unexpected form stationed near the door captured my full attention.
Cressa Baxter stood poised and silent with her wax tablet at the ready, and though she nodded at me, she did not offer an encouraging smile. And ifshewas in attendance…
I redirected my gaze toward the end of the table, and indeed, there was the Bluehelm, sliding her chair back so she could stand, her dark eyes piercing above pale, gaunt cheeks.
“Amber. Thank you for joining us,” she said as Cressa closed the door.
I murmured a vague acknowledgment, despite my racing pulse.
Professor Edmiston took a seat, and as my gaze slid from her, the face to the Bluehelm’s left came into focus.
Desmond.
No wonder he hadn’t been in his lab; he’d been here, evidently discussing my future at the Alchemary, in my absence.
Across from him sat Professor Bollinger, who stared at me over the round frames of his spectacles. Next to the professor sat Dr. Winhoof, whose fine white hair looked virtually translucent in the bright daylight streaming into the room.
“It’s our understanding that there was an incident last night in the third-floor student laboratory,” the Bluehelm began.
