“This is…incredible,” I marvel at a copper - no, what did he call it? Prima materia. It’s a pipe of coppery prima materia standing up in the floor, emitting some kind of thick smoke. I lean towards it and suck in a breath all at once - it isn’t smoke, it’s liquid fire. No, plasma. Dark, purple-red plasma. He’s somehow contained it around the pipe so it doesn’t escape. It seethes and undulates, but it doesn’t evaporate. The heat coming off it is incredible.
“Don’t touch that,” Darius snaps. He rummages in the chemical cabinet and pulls away with an armful of prima materia ingots and bottles of clear liquid. He piles them on the counter. “In fact, don’t even stand near it. I haven’t run any tests on your Azoth’s reactivity yet. It’s best if you refrain from blowing us all sky high.”
“Yeah, but it looks awesome. What is it?”
“A dark matter condenser, miss,” Reeves says as he walks in and hands me a kevlar vest with a smile. His own kevlar vest is bulky, and overlaid with two crisscrossing ammo belts. “May I interest you in a pistol? Perhaps an SMG?”
I eye the hunting rifle strapped to his back as I put on the vest. “Um. No thank you.”
“Don’t like guns?” Darius grunts.
“Guns are some of my favorite things in the world. Along with, you know, cockroaches and speeding tickets.”
Darius quirks a brow, and I swear his mouth quirks in a smile, too. I clear my throat.
“Anyway, I don’t want to shoot anybody, even if it’s a homunculus.”
Reeves’ smile gets bigger. “You’re mistaken, miss. The guns are for the Mutus alchemists. Bullets don’t harm homunculi. Only an Azoth-infused blade can.”
“Reeves, did you set up the perimeter?” Darius barks, pouring out two colorless solutions into beakers. He moves quickly and with masterful elegance, like he’s made whatever this is a hundred times before.
“Of course, sir. Avalanche informed me she would be joining us shortly.”
“Good. I won’t detonate until she’s here, then. Hold the stairwell.”
“As you wish, sir.” Reeves bows and pulls his hunting rifle out, checking the ammo and striding up the stairs, his cheery hum echoing all the while.
“You,” Darius says to me. “Come here. I need your Azoth.”
I walk over warily and sit on a counter. He instantly glowers.
“I just cleaned that.”
“And if we die, you’ll never have to clean it again,” I lilt. “You’re welcome.”
He sighs and pulls out a needle. “I’ll need to take your blood. Quite a bit of it.”
“What’re you gonna do with it?”
“There’s little time to explain. Your arm, if you would.”
He holds out his hand, and I slowly put my elbow in his palm. The instant his skin touches mine, I feel warm, safe - like nothing can ever hurt me while he’s around. The needle is huge, but his hands are strangely gentle as he swipes my arm with ammonia and draws my blood. My arm goes cold, and when the vial’s full I feel woozy. He puts a cotton ball to my arm and moves to put a band-aid on, but I snatch it from him.
“I can do it myself.”
Darius nods and takes the blood back to his lab table. I barely notice his shaking hand before he turns. His face is entirely white.
“Are you okay?” I ask. “You look sick.”
“I’m fine,” He says, his voice strained. But he’s not fine. As he unseals my blood vial, his golden eyes glow with an expression I can only call lust.
And it makes me shiver.
****
Her Azoth smells of sunlight and warm honey and clean mountain water, and it stirs my hunger. No - it’s more than that. Hunger is what I feel when I deny myself an infusion. This is so much more. It’s a fevered combination of longing, ache, and need all in one. My entire being wants to possess her, to be in her and have her. Many centuries ago I inhabited the opium dens with the best of them, throwing my money and life at the pipe in a desperate attempt to end it. But this high is stronger. I try to get myself under control - the hunger could easily scare her, and if I’m not careful, possess me and make me harm her with my own hands. I know that if I let it, it would take her limb from limb, devouring every inch of her soft skin. But I won’t let it. It’s strong, strong enough to scare me. At the same time I embrace it - my reaction is proof enough her Azoth is the strength we need to fight the Mutus.
The strength we need to correct my mistake.
And now I’m going to put it to the test.
She sits on a leather divan and watches me, kicking her feet like a petulant child, reminding me just how young she really is. Too young. Far too young to be in so much danger, to be so scarred and defensive. I mix white ether with sodium crystals and dissolve them, watching the liquid turn yellow. I break a chunk of prima materia and weigh it, chipping pieces off until it weighs exactly ten ounces. It too dissolves in the liquid, turning it a dark purple. It’s ready. If I apply Azoth to it and send it through an expander -
“If you’re an alchemist, why don’t you have an Azoth living with you?” Mia interrupts.
“I told you,” I grit my teeth. “I would hurt them.”
“Why? You told me the only ones who hurt Azoth are homunculi -”
Her steely eyes go wide, and the familiar ache begins in my chest. She sees me for who I really am, now. She sees the beast.
“You’re -” Her voice is fractured, disbelieving. “Are you a -”
Avalanche’s bark precedes her as she runs in, fur on end and her tail wagging. She trots over to me and Reeves follows closely behind, his jovial face smeared in blood.
“All expanders are armed. We’re ready when you are, sir.”
“How many causalities?” I ask.
“One Mutus body we may need to clean up ourselves, sir. But the others were homunculi.”
“Good.” I nod. “Close the blast doors.”
Reeves shuts the doors to the lab with a hand wheel, the heavy metal slamming over the entrance and sealing us off. The entire room is reinforced with mithril - alchemy-immune metal - so it’s the only place in the house capable of shielding us from the impending Azoth explosion. Avalanche seems to sense Mia’s worry, even if the girl hides it well. Too well. She is far more used to hiding her emotions than a girl her age should be. The white wolf pads over to her and nuzzles her hand. Mia smiles wanly and pets her head.
“There will be a noise,” I say, adding the Azoth to the beaker. The hunger clouds my mind as the scent of it reaches me, but it quickly dissolves, leaving only the heady gunpowder scent of a very powerful Pointblank alchemy. “And perhaps a tremor.”
“’Perhaps’, sir?” Reeves asks. “Forgive me, but this is the first time I’ve heard you be unsure of the results of an experiment.”
“My Azoth is nuts,” Mia clarifies. “Real powerful, or something.”
“Ah,” Reeves smiles. “I see. In that case, let us hope this alchemy doesn’t take us with it, shall we?”
“It won’t,” I say. “Humans are immune. It will kill any homunculi within a four-mile radius, however.”
“But what about -” Mia starts, then cuts herself off. Reeves shoots her a look.
“The master is fine,” he assures her. “This room is alchemy-proof.”
I can’t look her in the eyes as I bring down an expander from the wall. Its crescent shape is engraved with sending runes, one for each expander set in the yard. The expander’s central bowl is empty and waiting. I pour the Pointblank into it, and take off my silver ring.
“Sir!” Reeves starts. “That’s Amelie’s ring. You can’t possibly mean to -”
“An explosion of this magnitude will require a great sacrifice. To protect a powerful Azoth that can help us defeat the Mutus,” I say slowly. “I will sacrifice anything.”
I can feel it, deep in my bones as every alchemist can once they’ve taken the Vow - the alchemy sees me, it sees what I need and what I am trying to do, and it feeds to me the feeling of exactly what I
need to sacrifice. I can feel its hugeness, demanding and deep, as a gravity in my very gut. Only one thing in this room will suffice. The ring.
“Sir!” Reeves protests, but Avalanche growls at him. Mia’s expression is curious. Amelie’s face is long gone to me. She lived before photos were invented. The only thing I have to remember her by is this silver ring with her likeness engraved in it. It shows her proud nose, her soft brow. She was beautiful. She was kind. She was the first and only light in my life, a light that went out long ago.
I hold the ring tight, and say a silent prayer to her.
I’m sorry, Amelie. I couldn’t save you. But I can save many, now. And I will.
I drop the ring into the Pointblank, and the expander begins to glow, indicating it’s a powerful enough sacrifice. I set the dial and turn the arm into the ‘on’ position. The expander hums, vibrates. The Pointblank solution disappears all at once, and then comes the explosion. It’s soundless, but the ground rumbles all the same. Tomorrow they’ll report it as a minor earthquake, an everyday occurrence in the Bay Area. But the Mutus will report it to their own as a massacre. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. The heat under my skin that signals my nearby kin disappears in a flash, leaving me cold. I can hear their screams in my head as a faint, dying shriek - dozens of muffled, tortured animals crying out at once. It is not a flashy alchemy. But the ferocity and instantaneousness of it fills me with terror and pride - the power is incredible. It extends far beyond the four-mile radius - the expander’s runes glow in flashing pulses, indicating an overload.
“Did it work?” Mia asks softly.
“Any nearby alchemist house with expanders to ward off homunculi within sixteen miles just experienced a Pointblank surge,” I say.
“Sixteen miles?” Reeves marvels. “Surely that’s a miscalculation -”
I shoot him a look, and he nods.
“I apologize, sir. You never miscalculate. I’m simply awed. With this sort of Azoth, you could protect the entire city from homunculi.”
“Just clean out their ashes upstairs,” I say. “And take Avalanche with you. Get her something to eat.”
Reeves nods, and Avalanche follows him. When they’re gone, I walk over to Mia. The tension is so thick I can practically taste it. She looks up at me, and flinches.
“You’re a homunculus,” She says.
“Are you afraid of me?” I ask dully, expecting the same answer as always. It’s a ‘no’; women denying their fright in an effort to assuage me. They always pretend they’re stronger than they are to try and impress me.
“Yes,” Mia says. “Whatever you did just killed a lot of people -”
“For the last time, they aren’t people. They’re homunculi. Shadows of people. Puppets made to look like people.”
“But you’re one of them,” She fires back. “You frown and get angry and when you put that ring in the solution you looked…devastated. You have emotions. You’re as real as anyone else. So they must be, too.”
“I’m…different,” I say. “The others are no better than Azoth-obsessed monsters. Never doubt that, or you risk your own safety.”
“Why are you different?”
“That’s none of your concern,” I snap. “The Mutus sent a horde of them after you. They nearly killed you. Will you believe me now? You must submit to the Sage Council. They’ll find you an alchemist to protect you.”
“You protected me just fine.”
“You cannot be my Azoth. I can’t take that risk.”
“What risk?” She frowns. “That you’ll drain me dry?”
“That I’ll kill you,” I hiss. “Homunculi hunger has destroyed lives.”
“Did it destroy Amelie’s?”
Even after centuries, her name is a stab in my chest.
“It’s none of your business,” I snarl.
“That’s a yes, then,” Mia says evenly. “Did you kill her?”
“You,” My anger is hot and instant. “How dare you -”
“How dare I? How dare you?” She snaps. “How dare you drag me into this crap! I was fine - I was getting better. I moved here to get away from blood and shitty things like death. But you’ve brought it all back to me, and now I’ll never escape it. I’ll never be free, will I? This Sage Council will control my life and decide it for me, won’t they?”
“You can choose. They give you options.”
“But they won’t, not with me,” She says. “You said the really good alchemists are rich, right? They’ll bid on me, and the highest bidder will win. That’s how it always works. Money talks, even if you can make fire and kill a bunch of people in an instant.”
Her intuition is startling, and correct. In my excitement at finding such strong Azoth, I forgot what happens to it. People like her are scooped up by the richest alchemists - not the ones who can do the most good. Not the most talented. Genevieve’s Azoth is strong, and she was bought by the Belgian Duke of Brabrant, a rich man, but an altogether lackluster alchemist. Because the Duke offered so much, the Sage Council told her she had no say in the matter. She lives a rich life, but it’s a life with little freedom. I shudder to think which horrifically spoiled alchemist will buy Mia just for the bragging rights.
“Our society has degraded,” I agree. “You’re right. Alchemists are more concerned with status and power than doing what’s correct, and for that, I apologize.”
“Why? You’re not one of them.” She shrugs.
“I could have been, if not for Amelie. And now you’re entangled in it all, because of me.”
Guilt sears me, hot and strong. I didn’t want to bring an innocent into our fold, but I did. I have. And there’s no going back. I can see it in her hazy, exhausted eyes. She knows it too. Her face is white.
“I forgot,” I say. “You donated Azoth - you must replenish it. You need something to eat, and a warm drink -”
“I just…I just need to rest my eyes for a second…” She trails off, eyes fluttering. She falls forward, and I barely catch her. Her body is soft, every curve pressed against me. The scar on her jaw stands out against her pale skin. Her smell of honey is subdued, mulled; like sweet mead on a summer’s night, and she’s asleep faster than I can say a word. The way her body shapes itself in my arms feels correct - like it’s meant to be here and only here. But those are foolish thoughts. She is meant to be with someone who will never harm her.
I lay her on the divan, and cover her with my jacket.
“Forgive me, firebird.”
PART SEVEN
SEVEN
Chapter 7
SEVEN
1493 France - Reign of Charles the VIII
Darius Montclaire reigned his horse’s gallop to a trot. The handsome red was a gift from King Charles for Darius’ work on the Queen’s birthday present; a stunning row of silver priory beads, alchemized with a ward against pox and plague. The pregnant queen needed all the health she could get - with her husband shuttling her between castles, Darius feared she would miscarry. He wasn’t fond of many women, but Queen Anne was both intelligent and a caring mother, with a fresh, direct common sense he found so lacking in many of the women at the French court.
The horse came to a languid trot on the dirt road. Darius watched the farmers cull the early harvest - pearl onions, radishes, and sweet peas. The winter blight had killed everything, but still the farmers managed to scrape a living from the soil as they had for so many years. Power struggles and petty gossip meant little to them, and for that Darius was in awe. The house he arrived at was a thatched one-level farmhouse, the type soldered with hay and a prayer to keep the cold out. Darius tied his horse and made his way through the thick mud to the front door. He knocked, and it opened, the warmth and smell of bubbling pork broth a welcome change from the frigid air.
The girl at the door had hair like spun gold, tied beneath a plain cap. Her eyes were blue, the sort of deep smoky blue periwinkles took on in the late spring. She smiled, meeting his eyes only briefly before the flush of her che
eks gave her away. He’d seen many supposed beauties at court, but she was far superior in every way - a true painting, not a copy. He expected her to be dull as the rest of them, but her beauty still made it hard to speak.
“Hello,” Darius managed. “I’m Darius Montclaire, the court alchemist. I have a delivery for your father.”
“Haven’t you heard?” She giggled. “It’s for me, not him.”
“I deduced as much, milady. Few married men ask for marriage charms.”
“I’m sure some man sometime will ask it of you. Beware of him. Only demons enjoy being twice married and twice miserable.”
Darius laughed, and she smiled and let him in to sit by the fire as they waited for her father to return from gathering chestnuts. Her mother was in town buying cloth. He shed his heavy fur cloak and she offered him warm cider, which he took with gratitude. They spoke freely and with great joy on everything from making fun of nobles to the war in Italy to how pathetically desperate some farmboys seemed to acquaint themselves with the female form. Her name, she revealed, was Amelie. Darius felt himself coming alive with each passing second - her wit was sharp and her eyes danced with a mirth he’d never seen in his eighty years of homunculus living. Her love of life, each mundane moment, ensured she always smiled - every instance was too precious to waste with bitterness or anger.
When her father did return, Darius casually asked for whom the marriage charm was to be used on - the man revealed a wealthy merchant from the next township over had expressed interest, and he was praying it would go through. The dowry money would be enough to keep the man’s farm running and the taxes well-paid. He seemed not to have a second thought of how Amelie felt about marrying the merchant, and the girl herself kept her eyes down and her mouth silent.