Page 27 of Alchemy of Souls

She shakes out her slender hands and rolls her neck, and the moment she starts casting, she hums. It’s a sad song, like her worry over Maggie is seeping through her magic. But it’s not only sadness I scent, it’s resolve—determination.

She pulls a box from the floor like she did for her exam, but when she’s finished there’s no sign of the Key.

“Again,” she says before I can comment.

She casts her spell over and over, throwing the failed boxes in the fireplace.

“The song isn’t the same,” I say. “It’s not how you sang it in the auditorium.”

“You keep saying that,” she replies. “But it’s not a planned thing. There aren’t specific words or melodies. My tune just follows a… feeling. It follows the magic.”

I consider her. “More anger might help,” I suggest, leaning back on the couch.

“Believe me, I’m frustrated beyond belief,” she replies.

“You could try adding embarrassment,” I say, and she narrows those big eyes at me. “You told my uncle you were both angryandembarrassed when you called the Key.”

She presses her heart-shaped lips together.

“You could think about Naomi,” I offer, and her look turns hostile. I give her a wink for extra motivation.

Without answering, she casts again, and this time her spell feels different—more hurricane than fresh breeze. I sit up, momentarily hopeful, but there’s no Key. There is, however, a coffin-shaped box with a pop-up middle finger pointed in my direction.

I smirk.

So, we go again.

She casts until her breath quickens and her fingers shake, until she’s wiping the back of her hand on her forehead.

“I can tamp down the heat from the fireplace if you’re too hot,” I offer.

She chugs water. “The fireplace reminds me of home. I need that right now.”

I lift my eyebrow like a question.

“My gran keeps a fire lit all year round, okay?” she says in a huff.

She’s overworking her magic and it’s not yielding results, but if I say that she’ll probably just give me the finger and cast again. So instead, I push the plate of cake toward her. “Why all year?”

She eyes me with suspicion and I can tell she wants to refuse on principle. But I give her my most innocent smile and she relents, plopping into the armchair and scooping up the cake.

“Gran lights it for warmth in the winter, and then outside in our stone firepit during the summer. My little sister loves to roast marshmallows.” It’s a simple explanation, but I can hear in her voice how much her family means to her and for a spark of a second, I envy her for that.

“What’s your sister’s name?” I find myself asking before I can consider it.

“Delilah,” she says with a small smile, but I’m not prepared when she follows up with: “Do you have any siblings?”

“I don’t,” I say, hesitating. But that answer feels wrong, cheap. So I add, “Not anymore.” And then immediately regret it. I never talk about Liam. With anyone.

Her large eyes get even bigger and she puts down her cake. “I’m sorry,” she says quietly, and it takes all I have not to flinch. “I can’t imagine how hard it would be to lose a sibling.”

“It is what it is,” I say without meeting her eyes, wondering why I brought it up in the first place.

Eloise

The way Grayson looks down at his hands and his shoulders slump breaks my heart. I know in my gut that relationship must have meant a great deal to him. “What was your—”

But that’s where the conversation ends. “There’s a different quality to your spells when your emotions shift,” he says, completely changing the topic. “After watching you cast, I’m thinking there’s some connection between your emotions and how you called the Key.”