Page 62 of The Alchemists

Gemma signed something at Daphne, and Seb cast a somesthetic cantrip so that he could understand. Daphne, holding a lyre, tipped her head and smiled at him.

“Terpsichore?” he asked, remembering that she could read lips to some extent.

She smiled wider and turned away from her sister.

“Do you dance?”

“I wish,” she signed, and Seb marveled at the things magic could do as the understanding slotted into his brain. Lily knew sign language; apparently, that was how she and Daphne had met. He pressed his eyes closed.

“Right now, I mean. Do you want to dance?”

Daphne beamed beneath her crown of laurel and peonies and thrust her golden lyre at her sister, whose nostrils flared. Seb offered his elbow and led her into the center of the floor. She looked lovely. Her soft peach-pink robes complemented her honey-colored hair and brought out the creaminess of her skin. As he guided her in a simple step, her lavender eyes sparkled with pleasure.

It was hard to believe, as they danced, that she and Gemma were sisters. Place them side by side and it was obvious enough, but Daphne was spun of softer stuff. Beneath Gemma’s pliable curves was a core of willful steel.

“You’re a very good dancer.” Daphne paused momentarily, the movement of her hands thoughtful.

“Thanks.” Then, “How do you say ‘thanks?’”

Daphne showed him. He returned the sign. She smiled.

Gemma cut in, shoving Daphne’s lyre at her. The sisters glared at each other for several long moments, and Gemma seemed to win the match as Daphne slunk off toward one of the refreshment tables.

“I thought you were going to dance with her all night,” Gemma groaned, pressing herself against him.

“She doesn’t have a date.”

“That’s her problem.”

Seb rotated them, looking for a new way out, looking for someone he knew he wouldn’t find. Across the dance floor he saw Asher talking with his evocation professor and subtly maneuvered Gemma in their direction. Almost an hour they’d been here, and he had yet to see any sign of Conrad. Maybe he wasn’t coming. A slight weight lifted from his chest.

“Does she date much?”

Gemma snorted. “What do you think?”

He fell quiet as movement caught his eye near the far entrance and resolved itself into Professor Chant, not in costume. He wore trendy black-framed glasses and a searching look, his body filled with coiled tension. Seb frowned. He thought again of Lily. Every time they turned, he thought he saw her, off in the crowd, just out of reach.

“Hello? Sebastian?”

He blinked as Gemma waved her hand in front of his face. For a second, in his daze, he’d thought the silver being in his arms was Lily.

“Did you even hear me?”

“What?”

Gemma rolled her eyes. “About brunch.”

Seb stared at her, through her, and then he broke.

“I’m sorry⁠—”

“You should be.” She grinned slyly. “I’ll have to⁠—”

“No.” He released her. “I’m sorry—I can’t do this.”

“Do what?”

“It’s over.” He swallowed. A sail snapped free, catching the breeze. “Between us. Whatever it was.”