Page 38 of Alchemy of Souls

“That was one hell of a fight today,” Adrien says, and whistles. “Pierce was a beast of an opponent. It was smart the way you fought him.”

I exhale. “I doubt Akari agrees with you.”

“What? Because of Grayson?” Adrien shakes his head. “That’s on him, not you. You shouldn’t have been punished for a decision he made.”

I meet his eyes, relieved he thinks so, hopeful other people do, too. But when I catch sight of Grayson across the room, his arms are crossed over his chest and his eyebrows are pushed together. He stares menacingly at Adrien.

Adrien lowers his voice. “Can I ask—what’s the deal with you two, anyway?”

I hesitate. “We’re roommates.”

“Just roommates?” he replies.

“Absolutely nothing more,” I say.

Adrien smiles. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

My cheeks heat, but I don’t get to respond before the door opens.

“Make way, Alchemy students!” an older woman announces dramatically as she enters. “We have puzzles to solve and riddles to create.” She has curly gray hair that is only partially contained by a scrunchie on the top of her head. “My name is Maria Martinez, but you can call me M. I’m the head of the Alchemy department. You’re lucky to have me.” She laughs at her own joke and the students glance at each other. But I like her immediately—she reminds me of my mom.

“I do love a room full of new faces,” she says. “Make no mistake, I plan on learning every one of them. And nothing’s better for that than an icebreaker. Any volunteers?”

Without hesitation, Adrien says, “I’ll go.”

M whips around to face us, her long skirt swishing around her ankles. “Ah, Adrien Aster, my Gifted student. While I do agree that you’d make a lovely guinea pig, I must decline. Instead, I think”—her eyes flit to me—“I’ll take you, Eloise.”

She knows my name.

It’s definitely not a coincidence that I’ve now been chosen first in not one, but two classes. Are they following the Chancellor’s orders? Or are they just curious, having heard rumors that I called the Key?

“Step into the center of the room, if you will. Everyone else, give her space.”

The students spread out along the rounded walls as I position myself in the middle. M’s hands make intricate movements in the air. As her fingers dance, a glass tube forms around me about five feet in diameter, stretching from the floor to the ceiling.

“You will notice,” M says. “There’s a glass bucket hanging from a glass hook on the ceiling above you filled with neon paint.” We all look up. “It’s swaying lightly now. But as the seconds pass, that motion will increase, until it tips and you become a living work of art.”

I chew on my cheek, and I swear Grayson notices even that small tick.

“Your job, Eloise, is to stop that from happening.” M pauses. “Using only the materials contained within the glass. No shields allowed.”

There are a couple of whispers around the room. It’s no easy task. She’s left me almost nothing to work with. Glass is a great medium if you’re trying to make something delicate and beautiful, but not if you’re trying to climb.

“Begin,” M says.

I immediately yank at the floorboards below me with my magic, pulling the wood up into a single rough stair. My brow furrows and I yank harder. One stair becomes two and then three as a bead of sweat drips down my temple.

I glance above me at the glass bucket, which is now visibly swaying. Crap. What has it been? A minute and a half? Wood is notoriously slow and stubborn and I’m now thinking there’s no way I’ll be able to shape it fast enough.

I have to change tactics. Problem is, there are no other materials. Wood and glass, that’s what she’s left me. I push against the glass with my magic to see if it’s fragile. But it doesn’t budge.

Fair enough. I walk up my three wooden steps and Alchemy a rock wall–style handhold above my head on the glass tube. I make another for my other hand and two for my feet. I test them out, and while they’re definitely slippery, they hold.

I glance up at the bucket and see its momentum is now in full swing. I have mere minutes before the paint starts slipping over the edge. I create another group of handholds as fast as I dare and climb the glass tube.

But I don’t make it four feet up before I hear a snapping noise, like ice before it breaks. And sure enough, a crack spiders out near my boot. Shit.

I let go of the wall immediately, dropping to the floor and landing in a crouch. Getting splattered with paint is one thing; breaking a fifteen-foot glass tube over my head is a whole other.