ears hum. My moth shuddered against the back of my hand.
Alchemistry.
There were a dozen different vials in the basket. The arts were complicated little alchemical things, not something I was familiar with. Objects full of magic broke down as quick as bodies.
It was the channeling that killed artists. We had to channel the magic through us to make it do our bidding, but the longer it was in us or the more that went through us, the more damage it did.
I picked up a small jar of honey infused with dandelions for protection, lavender for sleep, and a speck of magic to make all the ingredients last. I’d never met a real alchemist. They weren’t as rare as artists but mostly worked in larger cities with physicians, surgeons, and apothecaries.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” a lilting voice said. “Mademoiselle Gardinier should’ve told you that.”
I put the vial back. “Sorry. I didn’t—well, the moth, and then these were interesting and…”
I trailed off, blushing, and shook my head.
Let the sky swallow me up, Mistress. Please.
“That’s new,” said a chef dusted in flour. She grinned, tongue between her crooked front teeth, and bowed her head to me. “I’m Yvonne.”
I swallowed. It was the twin in purple, the one who’d been selling sage water the day Emilie and I had swapped places. She couldn’t have been older than eighteen but walked like she owned the place. She might’ve for all I knew, and I stayed near the doorway, glancing round at the pot bubbling on the stove, and still-fresh greens scattered about the counters and cutting boards, and nets hanging from the rafters. Yvonne busied herself with the pot, brown sleeves of her blouse rolled up to her elbows, and brushed one broad smear of something from her skirts. The warm, black skin of her forearms was peppered with dark little oil-burn scars. Cooking wasn’t the only thing happening here. The basket was hers.
“You’re an alchemist,” I said. “A proper one.”
Alchemists could gather magic and store it in objects—using that power to extend the life of herbs, improve a coughing syrup, or bolster the powers of a poison—but not channel magic to use the arts. Most sold their creations in apothecaries or worked for physicians and surgeons. I’d never met one. Their wares cost too much.
“Yes, though that’s the first time someone’s called me a proper one.” She cleared her throat, and I realized she’d been waiting for me to share my name.
I bowed back and smiled. “I’m sorry—Emilie.”
“Well, you better come in and shut the door, Sorry-Emilie. I need the heat to stay the same.” Yvonne beckoned me inside and froze. “You’re Madame Emilie des Marais.”
“No. Well, yes,” I said. “But you don’t have to call me ‘Madame’ or anything. You can just call me Emilie.”
“Of course.” She bowed her head again, shoulders stiff. “As you like.”
I did not like this odd, new wall between me and maybe the only person who’d grown up like I had.
“May I ask what the magic you stored in these is for?” I gestured to the basket of vials, and the moth hopped from me to one of the vials, my blood staining its white wings spider-lily pink. “I can see the magic, but I’ve never been good at alchemistry.”
There was nothing worse than being sick enough to take medicine but not sick enough to have lost your sense of smell.
“You can see the magic in this?” Yvonne reared back slightly, eyes widening and lips pulling into a grin. She pointed at the basket. “You can tell I’ve put magic in it?”
I nodded. “It’s like looking at heated iron. Looks the same but the air around it’s different. You can always tell.”
“You know most people can’t always tell, don’t you? Not after the art’s been worked?” she asked. “It took me an hour to convince the apothecary in Bosquet this was actually alchemical and I wasn’t scamming him.”
“Apothecary’s a fool, then.” I peeked at the other little vials. “They’ve all got a bit of the midnight power in them. Not a lot and not doing anything. Have you ever used a hack? If you did once, maybe they could prove it for you?”
She glanced at me over her shoulder, wide eyes a bright amber in the light. “I have not. I wouldn’t even know how to go about hiring one. Mademoiselle Gardinier is very particular about hers, and they’re not allowed to work with anyone but her students to limit the damage.”