Page 43 of Alchemy of Souls

“Maybe she’s making an example of us?” I suggest. “Unless you think it was a warning because she doesn’t trust us?”

Not having access to magic feels incomplete and unbalanced. And it shows, because on my fifth step, my boot slips a little.

Grayson offers me his hand.

“I—”

“I know you’ve got it,” Grayson says. “But I’d really like to help.”

“Okay, what gives?” I say.

“Suspicious much?” he asks with a smile.

“I’ve always been suspicious of Mage-babies,” I say.

The sound that erupts from him is half laugh and half choke. “Mage-babies?” he repeats, a little horrified.

“Yeah, kids born to powerful Mage lineages who are given everything and work for nothing?” I say with a smile of my own.

“Tell me how you really feel, Claws.”

We hit the three-quarters mark, and I let myself feel a pang of hope that we might get through this.

Speaking of which, “Can I ask you something?”

“Should I be nervous?”

I pause. “Do you know if there’s a way that I can call my family?”

“There’s no public phones inside the wards,” he says.

“Yeah, I know. But there are obviously phones here somewhere, right? Your uncle and the High Mages must have a way to communicate. Anyway, I just thought you might know of a phone I could use for a few minutes?”

“Sorry, I don’t,” he says, but the way he hesitates suggestsotherwise. And I know it shouldn’t bother me that he doesn’t want to give up information on some illegal phone, but he doesn’t need to lie, either.

Only I don’t get to say that because Grayson starts cursing.

I turn and immediately regret it, because the moment I take my eyes off my beam it starts to shake. The movement only lasts a few seconds, but that’s long enough.

As my beam stills, Grayson says, “Run,” and I don’t hesitate.

I shoot forward taking four fast steps. Grayson does the same, only his strides are longer and he winds up a couple of feet ahead of me at the end of his beam.

He reaches upward to grab the pouch. But it’s six inches above his fingertips. He doesn’t hesitate, he jumps in the air, pulling the pouch from the string and landing back on his beam.

Please let his pouch contain the potion.

He yanks it open. But his look doesn’t scream victory. He seems confused.

“A paintbrush?” he says like a question, pulling it out as I make it to the end of my own beam.

The shaking starts anew and we both fight for balance. The tremors have gotten more violent and I let out a small yelp as my foot slips. Lightning fast he reaches out for me. Only this time, I accept his hand.

And the instant our fingers touch, the tremor mysteriously stops.

But there’s no time to analyze it because I’m standing under my pouch and it’s a good foot and a half out of my reach.

“Move back,” Grayson says. “I’m coming over to your beam.”