Page 39 of Alchemy of Souls

Still the bucket swings faster. Which is when panic starts to set in, this time with a healthy fear of embarrassment. My magic isn’t strong enough to lift wood a measly ten feet into the air and grab that bucket. I can’t climb the glass, and after what just happened in Akari’s training room, I refuse to fail in front of everyone, slimed by a bucket of paint like some kids’ YouTube video.

I take a breath. Think, damn it. This is a puzzles class. It’s meant to be tricky. Which is when it dawns on me—I’m trying to get to the bucket. But what if I tried to bring the bucket to me?

My head whips up and I examine the glass hook and bucket handle. I could try to elongate them. But again, glass is brittle. Wood would take too long and—I stop, looking down at my clothes. At my boots and my shoelaces. At the metal grommets and the rubber of my soles. M said I could only use what was in this glass tube. I hadn’t even considered the things I brought in with me.

Then I laugh. Very much at myself.

I lift my hand in the air, gently and steadily pulling at the bucket with my magic until I seal the entire thing off with a glass lid. Next, I turn my magic toward my clothes, creating as much extra fabric as I can between my hands. It’s not pretty or made with finesse, basically just a big ugly pillow. But when that sealed-off glass bucket falls, I’m ready for it.

I catch it with the fabric and place it harmlessly on the floor, not a drop of paint spilled or a piece of glass broken.

And despite my aching foot, I have the absolute biggest grin on my face. Because now I’m wondering if maybe I do have what it takes to be here. If I can figure out how to call the Key, maybe the Chancellor will let me stay.

“Bueno!” M says, clasping her hands together and disappearing the glass. “A creative solution, indeed! Eloise has taught us all a very important lesson here today. Does anyone know what it is?”

“That we have whatever materials are on our bodies as well as in any given room,” Adrien replies with confidence.

“While true, it’s not the whole of it,” M says.

“That time is always a factor,” a girl says. “That we have to choose our magic accordingly. Just because something could work, doesn’t mean we have enough time to pull it off.”

“Also true,” M replies, but continues to look around the room.

“More magic doesn’t always produce the best results,” Grayson says, and I turn to look at him.

“Fascinating response, Grayson Stone,” M says. “Do explain.”

“If Eloise had used brute force, she wouldn’t have succeeded. In fact, the more magic she used, the faster the bucket swung.”

“So, what would you conclude from this?” she asks, tapping her fingers on her chin.

“That being smart and determined is better than having the strongest magic,” and even though he’s looking at our professor, I can’t help but feel like he’s talking to me. And I have no idea what to make of that.

CHAPTER 23Grayson

Naomi sips her iced tea and leans back in her chair. “I doubt you’ve read yourmessages, Grayson,” she says, referring to our text thread. “But there’s a very select group of first-years meeting in the North Star Tower tomorrow night. Apparently, there’s a lounge whose door only admits people with strong enough magic. It cuts out all the Labor riffraff.”

It’s not a mystery why Eloise hates us.

“And since you bailed last night,” Ivy continues, “we expect your stupidly handsome face to make an appearance at this one. Got it?”

Naomi’s eyes flit to me, waiting for my response.

I hesitate and Bas kicks me under the table. His message is clear—play along so Naomi tells us what she knows about that raid.

In addition to providing much-needed intel, this group is also an integral part of the image I’ve cultivated, one that keeps my uncle from suspecting me of anything worse than a hangover and an illegal cell phone.

And yet, I have zero time for this.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” I say with a smile, which seems to be the right answer because Naomi smiles back.

“Has anyone seen their parents since we arrived?” I ask.

“Mine flew in today and I’m supposed to meet up with them for lunch in town on Saturday,” Ivy says cheerily. “What about you?”

I shrug. “My uncle hasn’t said a word to me since I got here, even though he’s in the same building. And I rarely know where my mom is. She didn’t tell me if she was staying in America or flying over.”

“I’ll trade you. My mom is here but I wish she wasn’t,” Naomi says, and we make eye contact. Because this is where we have common ground.