Page 89 of The Alchemists

She broke then, and her mother was there to catch her as she collapsed.

CONJUNCTIO

Ah, the Conjunctio, that alchemical marriage of Sol and Luna. A singular process wherein two opposing entities mix and become one to produce the third which is not given.

Alaric Ruksa

Ætheric Harmony

SEB

Despite it being the last day of the semester, a surprisingly festive mood permeated the alchemy lab. Chant had scheduled them for class despite having already administered a written final followed by a practical exam over the preceding two classes, promising that he would make it up to them today.

Even for those who were upset at having to stay all the way to the last possible class of the year, the grumbling had ceased when they’d walked into lab and been greeted by holiday décor and mulled cider and wine simmering away on Chant’s desk. He’d very pointedly not noticed Seb getting two mugs of mulled wine and depositing one in front of Lily.

Chant passed around plates of exquisitely iced holiday cookies, which he seemed to have baked himself, before getting started on teaching them how to turn water into wine.

“Lest you get too excited about the level of irresponsibility I’m displaying in teaching a gaggle of twenty-somethings how to get drunk for free, rest assured that this transmutation is more difficult than it’s worth, requires ingredients that I keep under lock and key, and that the quality of the wine is rather lacking.”

At the last, Asher had sighed in deep disappointment.

The second surprise had been their first lesson on turning lead into gold. They were only completing the first of thirteen steps today, because it was a lengthy process requiring that the results of the day sit untouched in the crucible for a full lunar cycle.

Next to him, pressed hip to hip, Lily leaned on her elbows, munching the tips off an iced snowflake, watching as their lead melted behind an enchanted glass bell that siphoned off hazardous fumes. Seb craned over her shoulder, and she held up her cookie. He took a bite, a silver sugar ball crunching under his molars.

“I think it’s almost ready to add the tincture.”

“I’ll get it.” Lily swept crumbs onto the floor.

At the front of the classroom, Asher was deep in discussion with Chant about how to better improve the transmuted wine and a debate on the merits of cardamom in mulling spices.

“The whole function of the tongue is taste!” Asher shook his head. “It doesn’t make sense to include an element that numbs your tasting organ.” He took another sip of the mulled wine, despite its apparent inclusion of cardamom.

Chant tried to keep a straight face. “I’ll take it under advisement.”

Seb’s gaze slid past them to the normally locked supply case, where Lily was picking up their tincture. Gemma was there, back to Lily, and Seb understood what was happening a moment before it actually occurred, but too late for him to do anything about it. Lily collected their stoppered bottle, and Gemma turned, bumping her. Something spilled from Gemma’s hands—something that hissed and smoked as soon as it made contact with the air.

Lily looked up, making wide-eyed contact with Gemma. Her gaze followed the spill from Gemma’s beaker. Seb lunged, shouting her name, knocking over a stool, but still the compound splashed over her arm, belching out a great gout of acrid smoke as it ate through her sweater before moving on to her skin and muscle.

Gemma shrieked. Lily stared, gasping silently, at the place where skin and muscle had once covered her bone, too shocked to scream. Chant turned at Gemma’s screech, immediately abandoning his cider and shoving past Asher into the warded pantry. Seb vaulted the fallen stool, threading between desks, moving faster than he’d ever done in any bout.

He caught Lily as she staggered backward, clutching the remains of her wrist and dragging in ragged, hyperventilating breaths. Where she still had skin, it bubbled up into enormous, translucent blisters. Between her feet, there was a smoking hole chewed through the wood. Gemma turned, vomiting on her own shoes.

“Everybody back!” Chant shouted as he emerged from the closet, wearing spelled gloves that encased his arm to the elbow, and slamming an expanding toolbox onto his desk. “Sebastian! Careful!”

He looked down, narrowly avoiding stepping in one of the splashes, as he dragged Lily backward into a chair, placing her ruined arm on a desk. The color had drained from Gemma’s normally rosy cheeks, and she shook silently. If he hadn’t been holding onto Lily, he was fairly certain he would have slammed Gemma’s head through the glass door of the cabinet.

“Lily, I need you to let go of your wrist,” Chant coaxed, sinking into a desk facing her and spreading his supplies on its surface. “It will be better soon, but I need you to do this.”

Lily, her eyes still unblinking and white all the way around, staring at nothing, didn’t move. Her teeth chattered, and Seb could see every single muscle and tendon in her neck, each of them popping tight as a winch.

“She’s in shock,” Chant said, glancing briefly to Seb. “Help me out, Sebastian.”

He slid around behind her to kneel on her other side, reaching carefully underneath the desk for her free hand.

“Here, Lily, hold my hand.” He worked his fingers into hers. “You can do it. Just look at me, don’t look at your arm.” Her whole body spasmed. “Just breathe. Just ten deep breaths.”

He pressed his forehead into her trembling shoulder and inhaled. Her fingers—slick with sweat and other things he didn’t want to think about—slipped into his.