Unreal Alchemy

by Tansy Rayner Roberts

  One of the worst thoughts Viola ever entertained was that her mother’s butterflies and bright-coloured magic might have vanished even if she had survived her illness. If she had lived, Lifen would have had fifteen more years of being married to Victor Vale, and that was enough to turn anyone cold and grey.

  When Viola was most brutally honest with herself, she knew that if her mother had lived past the age of thirty, she would have transformed into a creature indistinguishable from Irene Nightshade and Mereen Chauvelin, stone-faced witches who lunched with other stone-faced witches and wore designer clothing and knocked back beauty everlasting charms like they were going out of style. Lifen would have become a woman whose greatest achievement in the world was savaging her best friends with subtle, elegant witticisms.

  (Perhaps she was that kind of woman already, when her daughter wasn’t around.)

  Jules’ mother was at least entertaining at the theatre, and inclined to share celebrity gossip whenever she collected it. Viola almost liked Irene, most of the time. But Mereen, Chauv’s mother, never quite forgave Viola from the prank that brought her garden statuary to life, and the resulting war between the dragons and the gnomes, which resulted in the destruction of an antique samovar.

  Their interactions since then had been frostily polite, when Mereen had not completely ignored her existence.

  So last year, when Viola and Jules arrived at the hex-recovery ward, only to be swept up in a hug — a genuine hug — by the mother of their best friend, they knew the worst had happened.

  “Is he dead?” Jules blurted out.

  “Worse,” said Mereen Chauvelin, and burst into tears on Viola’s shoulder.

  Viola’s mother Lifen taught her how to use hexes as weapons. She taught her how to use a sword. She taught her how to dazzle her opponent with enchantments and hallucinations, how to get the upper hand.

  But it was Ferdinand Chauvelin who taught Viola how to throw a punch, how to shrug and kick her way out of the grip of an attacker, and how anything around you could be a weapon, if you thought quickly enough. His sister had once been kidnapped for ransom by a family enemy, who hired nulls in magic-repelling armour to grab her. After that, Chauv dedicated himself to ensuring that the people he cared about were able to protect themselves whether they had magic at their fingertips or not.

  Jules, on the other hand, had taught Viola how to walk away from a confrontation looking unflappable, like nothing had happened. It was his speciality. Once during his first year, he delivered a prepared talk on the mechanics of raw enchantment while bleeding copiously into a handkerchief, after a recent ex responded to the most sarcastic break up speech of all time by punching him in the nose.

  Sage McClaren could leave Jules in the dust. He swaggered back on stage and sat at his drum set like a hero victorious, offering the audience a shit-eating grin despite his bruised knuckles and black eye.

  Did he need to enjoy himself quite so much?

  Viola sat back at the table, knowing that her hair was a lost cause. If she was sitting, no one would stare at the tear in the hem of her little black dress, or the hex-burn she received from friendly fire, when her final blast at the attacking troll in the alleyway intersected with a near-identical blast from Sage.

  She was right all along. Their magic was as incompatible as their personalities. They would never be friends.

  Viola sipped at the remains of her drink, now room temperature. As the band started up with one of their noise pollution ditties (“We haven’t sung this one in public before. This is a love letter to my sister, and the crazy world she lives in.”) — a new song, like that was going to be any better than any of their old material - she realised that Jules, Chauv and Hebe were all staring at her.

  I love you so much that I care your favourite show got cancelled

  Again

  “Did you…” said Jules, and then shut his mouth, knowing the inherent risks of mentioning Sage McClaren’s name in Viola’s company. She was the only one who knew about his crush, and she would throw him under the pegasus if it became a) necessary to curb his ego or b) funnier to say something than to not say something.

  I care that they whitewashed the casting,

  And queerbaited the fans

  Hebe Hallow had no such concerns. “Did you get into a fight with Sage?” she hissed, as if she couldn’t quite believe it.

  And they fridged three female lead characters one after the other

  That really sucks

  Viola tidied her hair slightly with her fingers. “Actually, we fought a troll together, and now we’re friends for life,” she said infusing it with enough sarcasm that they would never believe the half of the sentence that was true.

  I’m so sorry

  And something about spoilers

  Chauv snickered behind his hand. Hebe gave him a startled look. Jules attempted to not look like he was imagining Sage and Viola in some kind of catfight over his virtue, and failed dismally.

  I love that you care that your game just isn't the same without mirrors

  “Okay,” said Viola, wincing as the band played on. “I think if we’re going to rescue this evening, someone’s going to have to order shots.”

  Chapter 7

  A Long Time Ago, We Used To Be Friends

  “Well,” said Viola. “You look better than I expected. Glad I didn’t bother to source a naughty nurse’s uniform.”

  Chauv sat up in the hospital bed, wearing silk striped pyjamas. His dark curls were wild, and he looked epic hungover tired, like he’d been indulging in Nightshade-encouraged shenanigans and debauchery all week.

  Except, there had been no debauchery. He was working in the lab, like he was supposed to, when…

  “What were you expecting?” Chauvelin replied, unruffled.

  “Oh, you know. Something dramatic. Blood and scars and —” Viola mimed the various dramatic thoughts that first ran through her head when she heard the word ‘explosion,’ and if that didn’t show how worried she had been, well.

  Viola Vale didn’t mime for just anyone.

  “Sorry to disappoint,” said Chauv. “Mostly I’m sorry you didn’t bother about the nurse’s uniform.”

  “It wouldn’t have suited you,” she sniffed, and climbed on to his bed to cuddle up against his side. “Does it hurt?”

  “Not on the outside.” He gave her a squeeze. “How did you get in? The hedgewizards were firm about securing me down.”

  “I have my ways.” She wiggled her fingers at him. “A pinch of illusion, a handful of your mother causing a scene in the corridor outside, a healthy bribe to convince Jules to use his innocent face for good instead of evil — for once in his life.”

  “You’re not supposed to use magic in a hospital,” Chauv told her sternly. “It messes with the equipment.”

  “They say that about Mirrorweb too, but I caught four different nurses checking their status updates on my way in.” Viola snuggled closer. “Better to ask for forgiveness than permission.”

  “Like you’ve ever asked for forgiveness for anything in your life.” He patted her hair. “What’s it like out there?”

  “Quieter now your Dad has stopped marching up and down the corridors bellowing — he’s been ushered away to some high up office so he can threaten to sue them all with greater discretion. Your mother is — crying. A lot. On Jules, mostly.”

  “But she hates Jules even more than she hates you,” said Chauv in wonder. “I bet she wishes he was here instead of me.”

  “Yes, she told him that. To his face. He agreed with her, and now she can’t stop hugging him, it’s terrifying.”

  “Ha,” said Chauv. He wasn’t laughing.

  “It’s okay,” Viola said, burrowing her face into his neck. “It’s temporary, that’s what they’re all saying. You’ll be charged up and buzzing again in no time.”

  “Too soon to tell if it’s permanent,” Chauv corrected her gently. “That’s what they’re saying to me. They’re saying don’t get our ho
pes up.”

  That wasn’t good enough. Viola growled beneath her breath. “When won’t it be too soon? No wonder your Dad is furious. When can they give you a straight answer?”

  “No idea,” said Chauv, his voice shaky. “I don’t — what if it doesn’t come back, Vale?”

  “It will,” she promised his neck. “Of course it will.” She couldn’t imagine a world in which Ferdinand Chauvelin had no magic. “Chin up, Chauv. Everything’s going to be back to normal, before you know it.”

  Chapter 8

  Midnight, After Party

  Viola’s original agreement with Jules did not involve an after party, let alone an after party at That House where Chauv now lived with his new “magic is optional” BFFs. But the battle-fuelled adrenalin from the fight with the troll, and the shots she downed immediately afterwards, made her forget why this was a terrible idea.

  She was not going to let Jules bloody Nightshade win the medal for Most Supportive Friend. If that meant going to a party, then goblindamn it, Viola Vale was going to a party.

  It all made some kind of sense at ten minutes past midnight, in a haze of dragon’s blood shots with gin-and-rosemary chasers.

  Chauvelin and Sage-the-drummer lived on the top floor of a terraced house that they and their friends referred to charmingly (please impose as much sarcasm as humanly possible over any use of the word ‘charming’) as the Manic Pixie Dream House.

  Viola didn’t get the joke, but she had learned to arch an eyebrow at the sign of any joke she didn’t understand, with this crowd who had somehow dragged Chauvelin into their low rent cult.

  With Jules’ arm wound around her waist, and Chauv pressed warmly against her other side, Viola stepped into the kitchen of the upstairs flat, to be faced with a large, nearly life-size terracotta statue of Medusa, complete with snakes, covered in a creamy turquoise glaze.

  Viola glared at Medusa. Medusa glared back with an identical tilt of the jaw.

  “Oh,” said Sage, with a shit-eating grin. “That’s where I’ve seen you recently.”

  A tiny Japanese girl in enormous glasses jumped out from somewhere (how many people lived in this house, again?) and peered at Viola. “You’re the angry gorgon girl!” she declared.

  Sage nodded. “This explains so much.”

  “I thought I was imagining it,” blurted Chauv. “But it really does look like you, Vale.”

  Viola arched her eyebrow so hard it should have made a dent in their ceiling. “I have no idea what any of you are talking about.”

  Jules leaned in, and oh no, once he got a teasing topic between his teeth, he would never let go, she didn’t like these people enough to let them make fun of her. She was going to have to set fire to someone. Or the house. Probably someone.

  “Nightshade, heads up,” said Sage suddenly, and tossed Jules a beer from the fridge.

  The combination of being given a drink, and shock that Sage McClaren spoke to him directly (wow, that crush was still going strong, then) made for a very effective distraction. The flatmates grabbed their own drinks, Jules made a snarky comment to Sage about one of their shared classes, and the moment was lost.

  Viola avoided Sage’s face after that, because she was worried she might display gratitude, and that would be embarrassing for both of them.

  Fifteen minutes later, more of their friends rolled in the door, and it turned out that yes, Sage and Chauv’s third flatmate was D, the warm-eyed sculptor Viola had hooked up with the day of the accident. She had regained enough of her cool by then to pretend she’d never met him before.

  Hebe brought Viola a glass of wine and didn’t attempt to make friendly conversation, which made Viola warm up to her a lot. This was the most relaxed that Viola had been at a party for ages — usually she was in the centre of things, dancing or preening, teaming up with Jules (and Chauv, until recently) to dazzle the crowd with their wit and snark.

  It had never occurred to her how exhausting all that was. Here, no one expected her to say a word — in fact, given her behaviour earlier, they would probably prefer she did not.

  Hebe’s rock star sister glared at Viola from across the room. The artist flatmate kept looking like her like he wished he had his sketchbook handy. Chauv was mostly wrapped up in a conversation with Hebe and her friend Mei (the one with the enormous glasses), but he kept glancing over at Viola too, as if surprised she was still here.

  Welcome to the club, Chauv.

  On the other side of the room, Sage and Jules traded barbs, getting more and more competitive as they tried to prove which of them was smarter or sharper or more dominant. Jules practically vibrated with energy as their magic sparked against each other.

  Ex-hausting.

  Sage’s bedroom door was open, within Viola’s line of sight. He had more books piled on and around his bed than she did. She amused herself for a while, recognising the magical texts by their spines and bindings from a distance. Then she stilled. “Is that a copy of Brahmin’s Thermotaugic Compendium? They never let you take that out of the library! There are four forms to even get to look at it for fifteen minutes, and that’s if you pledge not to breathe on the pages.”

  “Professor Medeous lent me her copy,” said Sage, only looking slightly ashamed.

  “I knew you were her favourite!” Jules complained.

  Smug, Sage didn’t deny it. He waved Viola towards his room. “If you’d rather hang out with the books, be my guest.”

  She hesitated, but only for a moment. “I can tell you’re being mostly sarcastic, but I am taking you up on that offer.”

  Sage ushered her on.

  Viola frowned at him. “If you’re not careful,” she said as she got to her feet. “You’re going to end up my favourite.”

  Jules let out a small whine of protest, but then Sage laughed, and apparently watching that miracle of nature was more interesting.

  Viola rolled her eyes at them both, and marched into Sage’s room, letting the door fall mostly closed behind her.

  Wine and conversation were all very well, but books were books were books.

  Chapter 9

  1am, Regrettable Things You Shouldn’t Have Said

  Viola had never been allowed more than fifteen minutes in the company of Brahmin’s Thermotaugic Compendium, and she wasn’t going to waste this opportunity. If being in Sage McClaren’s bedroom also lessened the possibility that he was going to hook up with her last remaining best friend tonight, then hey, she was a cauldron half-full kind of witch.

  She ignored the Kraken t-shirt she found on the floor, because if Sage turned out to share her taste in music, she might actually have to throw him out a window.

  Viola had already read what Brahmin had to say about Prometheus and Hesiod, which was how she knew the library regulations on this book inside out, but this was her chance to absorb the entry on Pandora.

  She sat on the carpet, leaning half against a stack of Loeb Classical Editions, and half against the bed, reading until her eyeballs felt sore.

  Finally the door shifted open to let someone in, and she glanced up to see Chauvelin in the doorway. Perfect. This was perfect.

  “Vale,” he teased. “You know it’s not good for your brain to let it eat books after midnight, that’s how curtains get set on fire in rooms that aren’t even yours…”

  “This could be the answer,” she said, stabbing at the book with her pencil, but turning it aside in the last instant, because students who marked up Professor Medeous’s private book collection were likely to disappear without trace.

  “For your thesis? Are you still letting Hesiod rule your life?”

  “The answer for you,” she told him, flapping her hands at the book. “I mean, yes my thesis, I just collected three very important new footnotes, but I think your Dad is going about it all wrong, Chauv. All those medical tests and the hedgewizardry and measuring your core levels, they were about your ability to produce new magic, but none of that addressed where your magic went in the first place!”
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  “Vale,” he said quietly.

  “I knew something about Pandora had been scratching at my brain — did you know that fourteen different cultures claim that monsters like trolls and gargoyles and dragons came into existence because of some kind of gods-stealing-magic myth? Pandora’s jar, the evils in the world, they were the by-products of Zeus removing magic. There are several historically verified cases where magic being lost or removed by force or accident caused some kind of creature or magically charged item — like the grail, and that whole talking sword business in Belgium. Has there been any investigation into what happened to your magic when you—”

  “VALE,” he said, and there was nothing quiet or kind in his voice now.

  Viola looked up, and saw thunder in Chauv’s face.

  “Have you been — are you another person trying to fix me?” he demanded.

  “Well, not full time or anything, but it’s been on my mind,” she said, startled at his reaction. “You can’t — I mean, if there was a solution, you’d want it, wouldn’t you?”

  “This,” he growled. “This is why I couldn’t talk to you. This is why I couldn’t be around you and Nightshade. You’re always going to see me as broken. Missing something. Beneath you.”

  That stung. “We don’t think you’re beneath us,” Viola protested. “Chauv, you were the best of us —”

  “You think I’m less than I used to be.”

  She almost stopped breathing, because obviously — but that was the wrong answer — and she couldn’t lie to him, not about this, she could never lie to him about anything, it was annoying how much he —

  Saying nothing turned out almost as bad as saying everything in her head.