The Alchemy of Forever (15 page)

“Close the books, please,” says Cyrus. “They are of no use to you today.”

The students exchange curious glances with one another, but do as he asks. He clears his throat and approaches the whiteboard, where there’s a detailed illustration of the brain, skillfully shaded and textured. “Cerebral cortex,” he says, pointing to the board. “Hypothalamus. Cerebellum. Frontal lobe.”

He walks away from the board. “You might think of this as a road map to the brain. But, like most road maps, it doesn’t
really
tell you anything. You can memorize the names of the places and what they’re famous for, but it’s nothing like being there. No matter what those textbooks say, the brain is only partially understood. Some say space is the final frontier. But what about consciousness?”

He pauses, holding his chin in a cupped hand. “This may sound philosophical, but biology is the study of life. And where, in this mess of cells, does your consciousness reside? Is it a chemical reaction?”

I can’t pay attention any longer, but I can tell by the expressions on my fellow students’ faces that they’re fascinated. I find it hard to believe this is happening, but I’ve been on this Earth long enough to know the difference between waking and dreaming.

What gave me away? I must have made a mistake, somewhere. I probably made a million mistakes. It was a mistake to go into that bar. It was a mistake to talk to Taryn. It was a mistake to leave the bag behind. It was a mistake to try to save Kailey—then try to live as her. And, I realize with a sinking heart, it was probably a huge mistake to report the car missing. What if the police called the man I’d bought it from? What if I didn’t properly clear my browser history and Cyrus saw that I’d bought it in the first place?

How had I ever thought, for even a second, that Cyrus might not find me? He always gets what he wants. Always.

I’ll find out soon enough if he knows it’s me. I don’t have any illusions about it—I betrayed him, and I will have to pay. I doubt he will kill me. After the note I left him, he knows that I don’t want to be with him. He’d probably just lock me away, force me to swap bodies with innocents, and live with him for all eternity. Cyrus has always enjoyed meting out his particular brand of torture.

In all the years I’ve known him, Cyrus only had one true friend. Nathaniel joined our coven in the nineteenth century, when we lived in New York. Nathaniel was just as exuberant as Cyrus for the subjects of science, metaphysics, the chemistry of spirituality. But then one night Nathaniel told me he had fallen in love with a human.

“Ada,” he replied. “She’s so beautiful.” His eyes were so serious. “I haven’t told Cyrus yet, but I’m going to marry that girl, I swear.”

I chuckled. Marriage took on a new meaning for an Incarnate. “Till death do us part”—we understood the solemnity of that like few mortals ever could.

Later that night, I overheard Cyrus and Nathaniel arguing in the library.

“She’s mortal! She’ll grow old before your eyes. And it won’t be long till you need a new body. What will you tell her then? You can’t even give her children,” Cyrus boomed.

“It doesn’t matter,” answered Nathaniel. “I will love her when she’s old.”

Nathaniel was gone the next morning. Cyrus didn’t worry much at first. “He’ll be back,” he promised us assuredly. But the days turned into weeks and the first snows blanketed the city streets. Cyrus searched the whole island of Manhattan, combing the Five Points area, sure he’d find Nathaniel dead or hurt. But one day Cyrus finally admitted that Nathaniel was gone.

He was despondent. He sat for days in his library, reading books or just staring out the window, snapping at servants who brought him food. He dragged me out into the night with him, to gambling dens and bars, to smoky places where men fiddled frantic songs of love. One snowy night on our way home, we noticed a familiar man in front of us.

“Nathaniel!” Cyrus grabbed my hand and pulled me into the shadows, then forward, trailing the man for blocks and blocks.

“Cyrus,” I whispered, “let’s go home.”

“No!” he hissed. “I just . . . want to talk to him. I miss him, Sera.”

I obliged, keeping silent pace with him till the moment he stepped out from the shadows and confronted his old friend.

“Nathaniel.” Cyrus sounded strong, certain.

Nathaniel whipped around. When he saw us, fear crossed his face. He took several steps backward. “What do you want?” he asked.

“Want?” Cyrus laughed bitterly. “Aren’t we friends?”

“Cy—” Nathaniel began.

“How’s the wife? Did you tell her what you are?” Cyrus took a step closer to Nathaniel. “Did you tell her about us?” Another step, and another.

Nathaniel shook his head sadly. “I didn’t tell her anything. Cyrus, I’m sorry I left you. It was the only way.”

The snow was falling so softly, thick upon the ground. It was white, then orange, under the dim light of the gaslights. I buried my nose in the fur stole, shivering.

“I loved you like a brother.” Cyrus’s voice snarled. “And you betrayed me.”

His hand darted down to his boot, the boot where he always carried a very sharp knife, and in one swift movement he stabbed Nathaniel. I don’t know where, probably his heart. I screamed as Nathaniel fell backward into the snow, his blood seeping outward in the pure white until it was just one big pool of red. His body evaporated into dust.

I’m pulled from memory by the realization that everyone in the classroom is staring at me, waiting for something. Cyrus must have called on me to answer a question, but I have no idea what it is. I swallow, then open my mouth. But before I can make an utter fool of myself, the bell rings.

Mercifully, the silence dissolves into the sounds of backpacks being unzipped, notebooks closing, and stools being shoved backward. I am halfway to the door when I hear my name.

“Kailey, right?” says Cyrus, peering at the seating chart. “Please stay a moment.”

Caught.
The word echoes in my head till it dissolves into nonsense. I glance down at Kailey’s pretty white dress and worry, irrationally, about it being ruined when Cyrus begins punishing me. White dress, white snow, red blood.

I approach his desk. For a long minute he doesn’t speak. He stares at my wrists. I cross my arms over my chest, willing him to say what he has to say. His gaze follows my hands. “Mr. Shaw?” I prompt, playing along with his game. I have no other choice.

“Right, sorry. I was just thinking.” He smiles that brilliant, icy smile, revealing perfect white teeth. “Kailey, what did you think of class today?”

Class?
He’s playing with me, like a cat with its prey. “I . . . thought it was interesting.”

“Did you? Because you didn’t appear to be paying attention.” His tone is stern. “And if you don’t find the material interesting, I’m not doing my job.”

I take a deep breath. “I’m sorry, I—”

“No need to apologize. Truly, it’s my fault. I promise that future classes will be far more engaging. But this isn’t why I asked you to stay.” He leans back in his chair and holds his hands together in his lap. His expression softens.

“The school administrators mentioned to me that there was a female student who had been in a terrible car accident recently. And naturally, I’m very concerned.” His eyes—ice blue—watch me carefully for any reaction.

He’s lying.
I’m certain no one at the school knows about the accident. “Who was it?” I ask, my voice stronger now.

He sighs. “They didn’t tell me. It’s infuriating, really. Post-traumatic stress, even brain damage, can show up weeks after an event like that. I need to know who it is so I can be sure to watch out for signs of trouble.” This strikes me as a strange thing for a teacher to say. But any other student would probably accept it at face value, would think he was perfectly caring and concerned. But I know him, and I sense the quivering rage lying just beneath the surface of his words.

But he really, truly doesn’t know who was in the crash. This gives me strength. “I haven’t heard about any car accidents,” I lie smoothly.

“No? Perhaps the girl hasn’t told her friends. I want you to think hard. Anyone been acting strange lately? Done things that are out of character?” He leans forward, watching, always watching.

I will my face to remain composed. I look up at the window, pretend to think. “Well, Nicole’s been very sensitive lately. But I don’t think she was in an accident.”

“Nicole?” he asks, studying the seating chart.

“Nicole Harrison.” I point out her name. “Long dark hair? Sits right behind me?”

“Long dark hair,” he repeats. His expression brightens. “Yes, I remember her. Thank you, Kailey. You’ve done the right thing by telling me. It may be nothing, but I couldn’t live with myself if I missed the chance to help a student.” I feel a flash of guilt about offering up her name, but Cyrus will learn soon enough that she’s just a regular high schooler. But it’ll distract him, and what I need now is time—and to throw him off my track.

I glance at the clock on the wall behind him, but the time is all wrong. I pull out Kailey’s iPhone to check the time. “I’m sorry, I’ve got to go,” I say, smiling apologetically. “I’m late for English.”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment. He’s looking at my phone. He chuckles. “Isn’t it funny how we tell time with those things? No one wears watches anymore. Although it seems that you usually do?”

What an odd question. I look down at my bare wrist. There is a pale circle around it, visible in Kailey’s golden tan.

“I really have to go,” I repeat.

“Of course, of course. Please go to English. Thank you again for the information.”

I nod, then pick up my backpack and head for the door, feeling his eyes on my back. I wait till I’m in the safety of the quiet hallway to exhale.

I spend the rest of the day in a fog, making mistakes in trigonometry and not hearing my—Kailey’s—name called in history. After school, Noah drives me home and asks me if I want to join him on a walk through the neighborhood. I tell him no, that I’ve got to study. He tries to act like it’s no big deal, though I can tell he’s hurt. But I can’t be around him right now. I can’t be around anyone.

I go straight to Kailey’s room and close the door. Cyrus may not know who I am now, but it won’t be long before he figures it out. Either way, I’ve got to run. Tonight. I pull Kailey’s backpack out from under her bed and start packing for an escape, my hands shaking. I throw in clothes and stop. I don’t have anything I’ll need—no fake ID, no cell phone. I think about taking Kailey’s iPhone, but worry that will make me easy to track by the Morgans. I look in my wallet and count the cash I’ve made at the antique store: only $160. Kailey must have money somewhere, I figure, and start tearing apart her room. I find random twenties under her bed and hit the jackpot in a little box in the back of her closet. A bunch of birthday cards from her grandparents are stashed there, along with a roll of money—$360 in total. I wonder briefly what Kailey was saving up to buy; perhaps art supplies. Or maybe something related to why she was in Jack London Square the night she died.

It won’t last long, but it will be enough to get me away from here. On impulse I grab the framed photo of Noah and Kailey from the dresser. When I realize I’ll never see Noah again, my throat closes and my eyes grow thick with tears. I fall onto Kailey’s bed and cry, staining the green silk coverlet with darker green splotches. I let out all the tears I never let myself shed, the tears that began gathering the night I ran away from the coven, the tears of being alone, being scared, having no one in the world I can confide in. I cry for Noah, the boy who was Kailey’s good friend for years and years, who came to care for her—for me—as something more, who will lose her the next day. His family falling apart, and him with no one to talk to. No one to hold his hand.

I cry for Leyla: sunny, quirky Leyla, the girl who’s always got a snappy retort, whose best friend will disappear. What will this loss to do her? I cry for Charlotte, who I’ve already lost. And I cry for the Morgans, who have been so kind to me. Who have, unknowingly, taken in the girl who failed to save their daughter’s life and showed her what a family can be like.

The sobs grow stronger. I realize I can’t remember the last time I cried like this; it may have been hundreds of years. I cry for myself, for the fourteen-year-old who caught the alchemist’s son’s eye, then died by the river. The girl who could live forever but never grow up. I cry for all the girls I’ve taken, the lost girls, the girls whose families never saw them again.

Finally, my tears are spent. I’m dehydrated from crying, so I go to the kitchen and grab a glass, filling it with water and gulping it down at the sink. I’m halfway through refilling it for another drink when I hear a voice behind me.

“Can you think of a five-letter word for ‘giraffe relative’?” Mrs. Morgan is seated at the table in front of a crossword puzzle, tapping the eraser of a dull pencil thoughtfully against her lips. “Second letter is
K
. At least, I
think
it is.”

“Let me see it.” I glance at the puzzle. “Try ‘okapi,’” I tell her.

She raises her eyebrows. “You’re right. I don’t think I’ve ever heard that word before in my life.” She sighs, then looks up at me.

“Are you okay? Your eyes are all red.”

“Must be allergies,” I say, taking a sip of water. “You’re home early.” I change the subject.

“I know. My afternoon meetings got cancelled, so I left. I’m not sure what to do with myself. Hey, want to go shopping or something? I mean, if you have time.” She’s hopeful, but guarded.

Watching her, I realize she’s used to Kailey turning her down. I doubt “hanging out with Mom” is high on any teen’s list.

“Sure,” I reply.

“Really? Okay, art supplies or clothes. Your choice.”

I fear that I’d appear hopelessly unsure of myself at the art supply store. “Clothes,” I answer quickly. “I’ll go get my jacket.”