Page 26 of The Alchemists

“Probably. It seems like Sublimatio is one of the higher processes, which makes sense, from a psychological standpoint. You can only refine that which has undergone previous transformation.”

“Do you know what this tree is?” He pointed at a gnarled trunk, bearing leaves only at the very top, the rest of the branches truncated and bare.

She frowned. “No idea, but.” She leaned in and he caught the scent of her hair—clean sweat, and something soft and organic. “Oh! I wonder if it’s burned and that’s why it looks so strange?”

As he dipped his head, she pulled back, the tips of her hair brushing the book. “Brilliant! Evidence that Calcinatio has already occurred. It shows that the alchemical orders feed each other.”

They continued working through the assignment and it became clear that, like him, Lily had already done much of the work. For a moment he was insulted, but the pang of it quickly morphed into something resembling respect. As they worked, the faint noise from the main stacks slipped away. Seb caught a glimpse of his watch as he turned to the last illustration for the assignment—they’d gone for well over an hour without stopping.

“Whoa, okay.”

Together, they blinked at the image, a wash of bright red and black, melding and twisting together across the page. Most of the images had been in black and white, a few with ancient, faded color.

“Mortificatio, for sure.”

Lily nodded, the green shade of the banker’s lamp making her look a little queasy. “The blackening. Nigredo.” She squinted. “Is that extracting from the Prima Materia? What is it? A monstrosity?”

Whatever it was had a beak, wings, snakes protruding from its neck, and several sets of male genitalia.

Seb grimaced. “I don’t know what else it would be. Maybe attempting to work the Prima Materia with impure intention?”

“As good a guess as any.” She raised an eyebrow and leaned in even closer, her hair almost tickling his nose. “What are these symbols around it? Jesus.” She leaned back, rubbing fatigue from her eyes. “Chant should have given us a magnifying glass.”

“Here.”

Seb pulled the book toward him, closing his eyes, then cast an enlargement cantrip, magnifying the space between the window of his fingers. Next to him, Lily made a noise that indicated she was impressed despite herself. He hunched over the book, looking through his fingers.

As he processed what he was seeing, he froze. When he dropped the cantrip and leaned back, shaking his head, Lily’s eyes dissected him.

“What? Can you read them?”

He considered lying, but she was smart enough to see through it. “Yeah.”

She didn’t prod him the way anyone else would; she just waited for him to break. He couldn’t quite look at her; didn’t trust himself under her gaze, feeling, insensibly, as if something terrible would happen if he met her eyes.

“They’re curse symbols. I think.”

Lily had been still before, but now she turned statuesque. When she said “oh,” it sounded as though it had gone through a mile-long train tunnel to get to him. After long, silent moments in which the ticking of his watch felt unbearably loud, she deflated into the uncomfortable embrace of her straight-backed chair. It was only then that Seb found he could look at her.

“What is it?” he said, finally, glancing at her.

“What’s what?” The edge returned to her voice, and it was only then that he realized it had been missing.

“Your curse, if you don’t mind me asking.”

She folded her arms across her chest. “It’s not contagious.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

All the warmth sapped from her brown eyes as she turned to him and said, “I’ll tell you my curse if you tell me what happened between you and Conrad Hawleyhurst.”

It landed with a blow. It startled him that this stranger had deduced his business and thrown it carelessly onto the table between them. That was the price that he had paid, he realized, to be seen, and thus to be presumed known.

He understood then just how sharp an opponent he was dealing with in the black-auraed girl sitting next to him. He could feel it again, sudden static against his skin. It took everything he had not to move his chair away. Seb had asked her the most personal question that anyone could possibly ask her, and she had responded exactly in kind. The difference was that she’d had to read between the lines, a lot of lines, to ask her question. He’d bumbled into hers like a drunken bulldozer.

“I’m sorry.”

“You keep apologizing, but I’m not exactly sure what you’re apologizing for.” Her voice was as soft as concertina wire.