Page 119 of The Alchemists

He put his head in his hands, trying to calm himself. “When I was reading the Vallensberg you sent me, I thought the idea of a planted curse was metaphorical in nature, à la Blake.”

“Ah, ‘A Poison Tree’?”

“Exactly. You’re saying it’s literal?”

“I’d say if Hawthorn Bellarius has a crooked plant in his conservatory, it might be worth exploring.”

Seb considered. “Plant, paper, blood.”

“A trinity.”

“But how does any of this help me?” He wanted to throw Chant’s old book through his old windows.

“Sebastian, you can’t possibly tell me you’ve learned nothing in your five years at this school, in your entire lifetime of magic.”

“What do you mean?”

“Think about it alchemically; think about the Ætheric laws.”

Seb thought. “In all casting, find its undoing?” Chant nodded. “You think I should work it backward?”

“I think it’s your only option. You’re looking for obvious solutions, safe solutions, but there are none.”

“I feel like I’m as likely to blow myself up as save her.”

“Spoken like a true alchemist.” Chant sighed, proud and depressed. “You’re standing where all the great material philosophers that have gone before you stood—staring clear-eyed at the impossible and diving in anyway. This is the Work, Sebastian. This is your Work.” He could hear the capitalization in Chant’s voice. When he said “work,” he meant Opus.

An invisible mantle settled around his shoulders, so heavy he thought he might collapse under its weight.

LILY

She was going to be sick. She was going to be sick in the suite bathroom, or she was going to be sick in Seb’s car, or most probably, she was going to be sick on her grandparents’ shoes. Tori had given Lily one of her anxiety pills, but it had only blunted her senses and slowed her brain.

Desperately, she’d hoped that there was some sort of proximal curse keeping her from setting foot on the Bellarius grounds, but all she needed was the invitation and her society mark, and she had both. They knew she was coming. She wouldn’t even have the element of surprise.

“Stop twitching.” Tori gripped Lily’s chin with viselike fingers so that she could blend her eyeshadow.

In preparation for the party, Tori had subjected her to pampering, which she normally would have relished. Lily was used to doing her makeup for performances, but that was a different skill, and one she executed passably at best. She worried that Tori was overdoing it, but when she saw the results, the anxiety melted away, and a flutter of excitement joined the squiggling nerves in her stomach. It was still her face in the mirror, but she was smoky-eyed and glossy-lipped, Lily-plus; Lily wrought in Tori’s image.

“Wow.” She licked her lips, and her winter-berry red lipstick didn’t smudge.

“Indeed.” Tori glanced in the mirror to check her work. “Anyone who thinks makeup isn’t an art form can get fucked. Here.” She nestled a golden pin, shaped like branching leaves and set with diamonds, into Lily’s hair, sweeping the curls on one side of her face away from her ear. Lily had long ago given up on trying to get her hair to curl, but with skill, and magic, and half a can of hairspray, Tori had accomplished the impossible.

A few minutes later, Lily was in nothing but her underwear, arms up like a diver, as Tori carefully guided a dress over her head. The dress was dusty golden silk, so light and insubstantial that Lily could have packed it down into a walnut shell. Suspended on her shoulders by thin straps, the bodice billowed down in a V and cut low enough under her armpits that if she had a chest to speak of, she’d be looking at a disastrous evening. The back plunged, and the bias-cut skirt clung to her hips before sweeping into a flare. She looked like she belonged with someone like Sebastian Allsaires, which meant she didn’t really look like herself.

For all its lack of substance, the dress felt like armor. She felt sleek and unstoppable; her stilettos could put a hole through someone’s foot.

When the boys returned from the bathroom down the hall where they’d been getting ready, Seb had barely any time to properly gape at her before Tori dragged them downstairs to take pictures.

“You okay?”

They sat in the circular drive, in front of the imperial, stone staircase that would lead them up the terraced walk to the house. A valet in white gloves studiously pretended not to notice them not getting out of the car.

“Not really,” Lily said, picking at her fingers.

He reached over, stilling her hands. “You don’t owe them anything. All you need to do is walk in there and have a good time with me. Anytime you feel like you’re imploding, just look at me, and I’ll be there.”

“Okay.”