My late-night chat with Rachel only leaves me with more questions and I’m barely able to sleep. The next day I attempt to participate in the new assignment in metal smithing and fall back on the sketches I made the night before. They’re all gods or demigods of some sort; what if I craft another ornament and attempt to summon a different one for answers?
The brief this time isn’t a piece of jewelry, but a multi-media, cross-studio endeavor. We’re tasked with designing a flacon for perfume, then spending half our time in the alchemy lab creating a special scent for it to hold.
Before our instructor, a broad-shouldered ursa named Steven, even finishes explaining the brief, I’ve started sketching, the design drawn from the architectural elements of the one sketch of the man Rachel thinks is Tartarus in the flesh. Maybe if I do this right, I can summon him to me.
When the other students pull out their metal-smithing tools, I retrieve several small shards of the void glass from my satchel and lay them out on my workbench. I glance around, feeling somewhat conspicuous because I’m using neither the same materials, nor tools as the other students. My idea includes a silver filigree cage that wraps around the bottle. I’d start with that, if I didn’t need the finished bottle as a template.
I fashion four of the shards into flat trapezoids, and snap off a piece of another and form it into small, flat square. I’ve never tried to build something out of this material. With my last project, it was more like sculpting clay into one solid shape. This time it’s more like slab-work, except the pieces don’t leave behind any residue and don’t need moisture to be malleable the way clay does. They remain solid and hard as diamonds unless I’m touching them with the intent of shaping them. Every time I touch the material, it gives me a thrill when it obeys my will, and I still can’t quite believe it’s actually working.
Steven is making rounds to each student’s bench, offering critiques and pointers. When he comes to mine, he crosses his arms and simply watches me work. Heat creeps up my neck and I fumble, trying to hold all five of the pieces together to fuse them into one small, angular vessel. The work is tedious, especially because the design is meant to hold only about twenty-five milliliters of liquid, so it’s rather small.
“Try working from a solid piece. See if you can use some glassblowing techniques to create the vessel.”
I nod and try again, stacking the pieces together and pressing tight. My chest warms, followed by the faint tingling of power flowing down my arm, fusing the pieces together. Then I mold them into a narrower version of the shape I want and use an awl to create the start of an opening where the stopper will go. Next I hold the small, solid blob of void glass between my fingers, seal my lips around the opening, and blow.
It takes all my lung power, and I nearly run out of breath before I finally feel it give. The shape inflates the tiniest bit.
It’s working! Elated, I take a big breath and smile at Steven in gratitude. But he’s frowning at my hands and the object gripped between my fingers.
“You used the same type of stone for your last project, didn’t you? I meant to ask where you found it.”
“Yeah… um. It’s kind of all over the beach. I… I’m not sure exactly what it is, but it responds to my touch.” I brace myself, expecting more questions, but he keeps staring at my partially inflated flacon, then looks at me.
“May I?” he asks, pointing at the bottle. I hold it out to him.
He gingerly grips it between both thumbs and forefingers, squeezing until his knuckles turn white.
“What are you doing?” I blurt, standing up and reaching for my project before he crushes it and I have to start over.
He presses his mouth into a tight line, continuing to squeeze, but nothing happens. My heart is pounding, and I stare at him in shock. The lights overhead flicker.
“What the fuck? Why would you try to break what I just made?”
He shakes his head and hands it back. “I wouldn’t have tried if I thought I would succeed. I just needed to satisfy my own curiosity. This is power unlike anything I’ve seen, Nemea. Does this mean you finally got the answers you were after last week?”
I scowl at him and sit back down, both hands cupped protectively around my piece. “Not exactly, but I don’t feel as lost as I did. I thought I’d try again. See if I can summon someone again who actually has answers for me.”
He nods. “Scent can be a powerful tool of magic. Just be careful with it, okay? We’re protected here on the island, but fate magic can work in strange ways.”
The lights continue to flicker, and he glances up at them in concern, but when I redirect my focus back to my project, the flickering stops. I tell myself the same lie again: it has nothing to do with me. But ever since learning about the higher races’ existence, I’ve come to understand that there is no such thing as a coincidence.
It takes the rest of the afternoon to complete the small vial. When it’s finished, it resembles a shining black bubble enclosed within a silver cage. The filigree resembles the eight arms of an octopus wrapped around the outside, which I carefully cut out of a thin silver sheet and etched with textured markings before affixing it to the surface of the vial.
I crafted the stopper out of another piece of the glass and fitted it into the opening, then attached a hinged silver latch that keeps it closed. Finally, I added a loop and jump ring at the very top and threaded a silver chain through it so it can be worn as a pendant. Tomorrow our class is scheduled to spend the day in the alchemy lab under the supervision of a nymph named Clio, who is going to walk us through the process of creating the custom scents our bottles will contain.
But I already know exactly which scent belongs in my bottle and where to find it. With the flacon dangling between my breasts, after supper I head back to the cabin on a mission, but unsure exactly how I’ll accomplish my task.
It’s a clear evening for once, but a chilly breeze blows through, making me wish I’d stopped back at my dorm for a sweater. But the hike warms me, and by the time I reach the ruined structure, I’m warmed through.
I stop beside the little hutch over the sofa and crouch, peering in at the mouse nest. Mama Mouse stares back at me, nose and whiskers twitching.
“You already smell what I brought for you, don’t you?” I smile at her and retrieve the paper napkin wrapped around the chunk of blackberry cobbler I pilfered from tonight’s dessert. It’s a sticky mess, but she doesn’t care, eagerly climbing up to nosh on the purple goo and crumbled biscuit underneath it.
I stand and wipe my hands on my pants, then turn toward what’s left of the bedroom. Despite my doubts, I’m operating on the assumption that Rachel is right and that someone—a god—actually showed up and had his way with me, then made me forget the encounter. I try to ignore the feelings of betrayal and abandonment rising with me, despite the fact that I don’t know whether that’s what actually happened. For the record, I’d have kept it a secret, if he’d only asked.
All the more reason to get answers, though, and real ones this time. I don’t want to be left with only a vague impression of something happening, and the very real powers I’m developing with no clue how they’re supposed to work.
The bed is the only area clear of rubble. It’s as if something protected me from the roof crashing in and the walls collapsing around me while … whatever happened, happened. The dip in the center is where I stood to dress the day before, and the corner of the sheet draped across the pillow is the one I cleaned myself up with, but that isn’t what I’m after.
I crawl onto the bed and pull the blankets back. I was lying with my head on the pillow, so if I was fucked, the wet spot would have been somewhere a few feet lower. If he was here, that means some of his essence, as the dragons like to call it, is still here too. After all, I lay here for almost an entire day, and I doubt it all stayed inside me.
“Where’s a fucking blacklight when you need one,” I mutter, and then a thought occurs to me. I reach into the bag and pull out one of the shards. It glows purple when I stroke it, and I hold it over the sheet, pushing some of my newfound power into it until the glow brightens considerably.
“Hell yes! It’s working.” I sweep the light over the sheet until the dull glow of plain fabric brightens to a more vibrant ultraviolet. The spot is right in the center, and when I drop a hand to brush my fingertips over it, it’s definitely stiffer than the fabric around it.
I pull out my multitool and cut the section out, stick it in a baggie like I just collected evidence from a crime scene, then head back to campus.