Those two glistening shells sat between us the whole way home. Sometimes they would click together and that was the only sound. Emma didn’t gun it like I thought she might. Just the opposite, in fact. She barely topped out at the speed limit most of the time.
One hand was on the wheel, her other hand kept her head aloft, perched on the window frame. I wasn’t much good at stealing glances, so mostly I didn’t bother. But occasionally I just had to see her, see that she was still breathing. Still frowning slightly.
It was her moment and I let her have it. But, in classic Quinn manner, I couldn’t stop thinking about the step I took. The step away from her back on the shoreline.
I had betrayed her. True enough. But what did it say about me? About how I felt about her?
Emma was still Emma. Nothing had changed. This was the same girl who hated Tapioca and put spiders outside instead of stomping them with her shoe. The girl who had kept me floating three inches off the ground since I met her.
But now she was Emma the Alchemist. It was this title that clung to her, defining her, etching her in shadows and smoke.
I thought instantly of the island. No, let’s be honest, I hadn’t stopped. That silhouette was still there. And Emma’s words echoed against the stone like the waves.
Alchemists did this.
In my mind, however, it wasn’t a question.
When we were nearly to the turnoff to the resort, the brakes creaked, responding against Emma’s sudden loop. She whipped the van around in the opposite direction and parked it just off the highway.
“Do you want to see something?” Emma said lightly.
“Now?” I answered automatically.
“No, next week,” she said, rolling her eyes.
I looked out my window at the thick patch of forest. I couldn’t see Superior through the boughs like I could everywhere else. “What is it?”
Her answer was a quick opening and shutting of the door. I watched her walk out in front of the van, crossing the front end, and strolling towards the ditch. “You coming?”
My words jumbled. “I—is—what about the van?”
“Are you coming or not?” she asked again, all business.
Few cars were on the road, but I was still nervous. Not so much to follow Emma, but to leave the company van. It was well-worn and—lacking any AHL signage—could easily be mistaken for an abandoned vehicle when not in motion. Way too easily.
While I hesitated, Emma gave a small shake of her head and headed into the treeline. Did I know where she was going? No. But it was my chance to not step away from her, and I was blowing it every second I stayed in that van.
So I sucked it up and followed Emma into the part of the woods where the lake disappeared.
Passed the prickled gate of pine trees and the ashy pillars of birch, a barely perceptible trail emerged. Groomed it was not, and walking side-by-side was impossible, but there was something there. Something that had been traveled at least once before.
And it went up. Straight up. My least favorite direction.
“Come on,” Emma pushed eagerly. Her excitement stoked the fire already burning in my muscles and I chased her up the steep, shady path as it meandered back and forth like the trail of a desert snake. The going was rocky, like we were climbing a mountain—which, given where we were, was not unlikely.
My legs continued fighting the ascent. Also joining the battle were thick braids of green vines that fell across the path, and gnarled tree roots that plunged in and out of the earth, stretching like lightning from every clearing. I was about to tell Emma we had to rest—just a quick break before we reached the stratosphere—when we broke through the leaves into sunlight.
I found where Superior was hiding. I hadn’t been to the ocean, but I couldn’t picture it any bigger than that lake. Wisps of steam clung to the surface like clouds. I lost track of what was sky and what was water.
I had also missed out on the fact that we were standing at the edge of a hundred-foot drop down to some jagged rocks. Below—way below—water lapped at pointy spires jutting from beneath the lake’s surface. I pulled the toe of my sneaker back cautiously, my leg feeling even more like Jell-O.
We climbed this high?
“Where are we?” I asked.
“Paladin’s Face,” Emma answered.
So matter-of-factly. So unenthusiastic.
“This is Paladin’s Face?” I squeaked. Emma just nodded as she stared out, eyes matching the water.
I wasn’t sure what to feel. Surprised? Excited? Disappointed? I mean, Paladin’s Face was legendary. A myth. A place that nobody knew the location of, let alone whether or not it actually existed. I wasn’t supposed to be standing there.
The Warrior Wizard of Paladin’s Face.
And me without my jewel-encrusted dagger.
Emma had skipped away to my right while I had been lost in the moment, or at least lost in the blue void of Superior. She was striding across little plateaus and peaks, teetering along a needlessly precarious path.
I frowned. Frankly, I was a little more than worried about her. She was being very un-Emma-like. No smiles, no smalltalk. Just somber. She moved without purpose, like she was waiting for the wind to pick her up and take her.
I mimicked her exact route, hopping after her, stone after stone, without the grace and balance I’ve heard such good things about. If I fell I wouldn’t fall far.
At least that was true until Emma made a quick leap over a crevasse that ran all the way down, splitting the cliff in two. She turned to me, trying to wipe her face free of shock from the jump she’d just made.
“Can we sit down a sec?” I asked.
She nodded and crouched, swinging her legs over the edge and dipping them into the crevasse as though she was just having a seat at the kitchen table.
Not what I had in mind.
Still, I managed to fold myself down onto my hands and knees and, like a child getting into a swimming pool for the first time, I managed to mirror Emma’s pose. We sat facing each other, divided by a fault line that would literally end me if I slid forward too far.
My mind wandered to great uncle Cadence. I used to imagine he was on some quest in Death Valley, but maybe he was just taking in the view from a ledge.
Emma must have noticed me peering into the void because she spoke up. “Do you see the crystal running down the walls? That’s corundum.”
When my eyes stopped seeing only swirling black death, I found I could actually make out sparkling veins of milky white. Most of it was transparent like ice, but a few strands would offshoot into greens and reds and blues, something like a rainbow melting down the rockface.
“So it’s an element?” I asked.
Emma shrugged. “It’s basically aluminum oxide.”
“Huh.” I asked, inching forward and squinting at the veins. “I would’ve expected it to be more … metal-y? It’s strange. All those colors.”
“Those colors are impurities,” Emma said coldly. “Imperfections.”
I looked up at her. “But that’s the prettiest part.”
She rolled her eyes, sighing. “Corundum has a melting point way beyond iron. It’s invaluable in constructing a proper crucible.”
“And that’s important,” I said. “Right?”
“Some of the most powerful meta comes from melting certain elements—so a good crucible is … a staple,” Emma answered. “For you, it’d be like—I don’t know—anything. Everything.”
My eyebrows stitched. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
She shook her head. “Never mind. Sorry.”
I didn’t have trouble following orders. I glanced out at the immense lake, then back to the sparse trees, clutching the ground under my palms as if it would secure me from falling. “How do you know this is Paladin’s Face?”
“By the corundum,” Emma replied simply.
“Oh. Okay then.”
Emma let go a long, quiet breath, shutting her eyes. The harsh planes of her shoulders drooped slightly. “It’s kind of a historic place for alchemists. British traders were drawn to these bluffs by the corundum. They mined it, headed inland, mingled with the natives—the usual.”
The natives. “Is that where the name comes from? Alkamee Heights?”
Emma shrugged. “Probably.”
“I always wondered that,” I muttered. “So you knew where Paladin’s Face was the whole time?”
She nodded slowly. “Yep.”
Unbelievable. Hardly surprising, considering that this was Emma we were talking about. “So you just let me endlessly talk about it like a magical fantasy land for, what, your personal pleasure?”
“Pretty much.”
I frowned at her. “Sadist.”
“Am not,” she shot back. “And don’t joke about that.”
“Emma—” I sighed.
“You said this was pretty, right? This place?” she interrupted.
“Yeah,” I answered. “Beautiful.”
“Good,” she said. “I wanted you to see.”
“See what?”
“See that we don’t just destroy things,” Emma said flatly.
“Emma, cut it out,” I shot back. “I don’t think alchemists destroy things. And you didn’t destroy anything. That island, or whatever—”
“Quinn?”
“Yeah?”
Emma shook her head, staring into the chasm. “I really didn’t want to talk about it.”
Of course she didn’t. My blood felt hot from being shushed. I suppose if I found out my people had obliterated a bunch of houses to ruin, I wouldn’t want to talk about it either.
I bit my lip. “So, um. Did you choose a Focus yet?”
“Huh?”
“A Focus,” I said again. “I told you mine. It’s your turn.”
She still stared downward. “I thought about Focusing in science.”
“So, like, alchemistry?”
Emma shook her head. “No. Like non-metaphysikal science.”
“Oh,” I said, thinking about it. Then I looked at her and gave a half-frown. “Oh.”
“What?”
“No, nothing,” I said defensively. “Just didn’t get what you meant. Non-metaphysikal science. You’d be working with, uh, you know—”
Emma watched my lips scornfully. “With other human beings, yes.”
I bit my lip again and tugged at a tuft of grass that grew between a crack in the rock. With inepts.
Emma hated that word.
“That’s cool.” I guess. “When did you decide?”
“Just last semester,” Emma replied. “I don’t know. I’ve just always been interested why some people can feel meta and others can’t. There has to be a reason, you know? Some connection they’re missing.”
“Or a chromosome,” I suggested.
Emma pursed her lips. “Maybe. Maybe it’s something fixable.”
“Fixable?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay,” I said, looking off in the distance.
“You don’t think so?”
I shook my head. “It’s not that. It’s just—if you fixed that, you know—wouldn’t everyone be a mage or magus?”
“Or an alchemist,” Emma said, turning her eyes up at me sharply. “Would that be so bad?”
My eyes darted away, only for a second.
“Or would it?” she asked quietly. “Would more alchemists in the world bother you, Quinn?”
“Croatoan, Emma,” I hissed. “That isn’t it at all.”
“Well, what then?” she pressed.
“Do I really need to say it?” I asked. “Do I really need to explain to you what’s wrong with making everyone—”
“The same?” Emma broke in. “Giving everyone a fair shot at life? Heaven forbid that someone born without an advantage might gain one.”
“Someone like Ethan—”
“Someone like me!” Emma cried, gripping the edges of her jean jacket.
I squinted at her. “What do you mean? Someone like you?”
“I mean … just … okay. What if I wasn’t an alchemist, Quinn? Just regular inept Emma! No meta. No abilities. Would you hate me for it?”
“No,” I told her. “Of course not. No way.”
“Then why do you hate Ethan so much?”
“Uh, because he’s rich. Smug,” I said, ticking off on my fingers. “Dangerous, and—”
“Dangerous? Ethan’s not dangerous. Alchemists are dangerous,” Emma said. “You saw that today, didn’t you?”
“I don’t know what I saw today!” I cried across the rift. “And neither do you! So stop acting like—I don’t even know—like you just hit somebody with your car! You’re still Emma. You’re still the girl—”
It was like her eyes stabbed through my throat and pinched the words in my windpipe. Like Vader using the Force to choke out some admiral that screwed up.
“Still who, Quinn?”
I swallowed drily. “We’re still friends. At least I think we are.”
Emma didn’t answer one way or the other. Her eyes found the lake again.
“Is that why you’re so interested in him though?” I asked after a moment. “Because he can’t touch meta?”
“I’m not—” she started quickly. She thought about her next words, lips pursed. “Ethan’s not a bad guy, Quinn. I don’t understand why you two are always butting heads.”
I snorted. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
I didn’t bother answering her. If it wasn’t obvious to her that Ethan Webb was a complete asshole, then it would probably be even harder for her to grasp how I felt about her. Usually I kept it pretty well under wraps. But the words were there, at the back of my throat, closest they’ve ever been to reaching her ears.
“I mean, is that why you’re so interested in him, Quinn?” Emma pushed. “Because he can’t do a magic trick?”
“There’s not a single thing interesting about Ethan Webb,” I answered. “But no. I don’t like Tristan either—he’s a magus.”
Emma shook her head. For a second, she looked like she might storm off angry back to the van. An exhausted sigh escaped her lips.
“You are so frustrating,” she whispered. “Do you know that? How frustrating you are?”
“Sorry.”
“Yeah, I bet,” she replied. She stared at me for a second. Her gaze kept drilling deeper. “You shouldn’t keep everyone at bay, Quinn. They have a lot to offer, mage or not.”
“That’s probably good advice,” I said.
“Probably,” she mimicked. She stood, wiping away at her bare knees. “We should head back.”