The Fake Heart (Time Alchemist Series) (13 page)

I shook my head.

She
tsk-tsked
me, shaking her head, “
Weren’t you ever a Girl Scout, Miller?
We’re
gonna
have to
brush you up on good
ol
’ Savannah history
! Now I bet Mr. Hogan would be
thrilled
to schedule a long overdue field trip outside St. Mary’s stuck up gates, don’t you think?”

I laughed, “So you’re really just prepping me to help you get a free ticket out of here, aren’t you?”

She winked, “You’re a sharp one, Emery Miller. I like that about you.”

We walked out of the library together, and then separated by the pond. It wasn’t until I was halfway across the lawn when I realized. Turning back, I raced back in Karin’s direction and called out to her.

“Wait!
” I said as I caught up to her.
“
I get that you’d tell me about the secret tunnels and where the
y
lead, but why even
mention all this to me
?”

She didn’t say anything as I watched the ribbon in her hair sway like a mini rainbow hammock from the warm breeze. Her eyes, a beautiful green, like a gem’s, twinkled with glee.

“You’re a sharp one, Emery Miller. I like that about you.”

Then with another wave, she floundered off, joining a group of girls gathered underneath a large oak tree. Their laughter carried all through the grounds, even when I reached
the stone steps of Moore Hall
.

She never answered my question. And I never really got a chance to
find out what she really meant. Karin Foster was as mysterious as the non-existent alchemy inside of my heart.

CHAPTER 12

September eventually ended, and the brisk, cold wind of October reminded everyone that winter was fast approaching. And if there is one thing I learned living in the South, it’s that the seasons don’t gradually change—its sweltering hot one day then bone chilling cold
the next. Even though there were
no signs of snow approaching (again, reminder of living in the South), the freezing winds made me wish I had packed a heavier coat and gloves.

Even Dove seemed to be affected by the sudden temperature changes. Her mood was constantly sour and she snapped.
A lot.
Often, our nightly sessions were cut do
wn to a mere half hour practice
since the night was brutally cold. Her tone would go from a “Try harder, Emery.” To “Stop trying so hard, you’ll exert yourself!”

Lather, rinse, repeat.

We tried every basic element there was. Earth did no good, no matter how long I envisioned making flowers pop up from the soil
or trying to make the trees dance to my own grove
.
I couldn’t throw rocks with my mind either, or make holes in the ground.
There was dirt stuck under my fingernails and I swear I smelled like manure for days.

Next was water (the worst), because the only largest water source around was the lake in front of the library. That wa
sn’t much of a success, either. We tried everything from moving the frozen-like surface of the water to seeing if I could
manipulate
the water around me when I tried to breathe underneath the inky surface.
And it didn’t help that I came tromping back to my dorm soaked to the bone nearly every day those few days.

Fire was just out of the question—even Dove said that it was impossible unless I wanted to suffer third degree burns.
That was really the only thing we
agreed on, despite our stiff and awkward meetings.
I wasn’t really a fan of fire to begin with; and I certainly didn’t want to find out if my alchemy actually was fire and accidentally burning down the woods. Dove said if all else failed we would try moving outside of St. Mary’s for a trial run.

Air was the only safest—and easiest—trial. All I did was sit in a small clearing in the woods and just…wait. But no matter how hard I concentrated, or how long I sat (long enough until my butt went numb, that’s for sure), there was no spark. No nothing.

Dove had said that every alchemist’s element is something they can feel inside of them, but me being close to the elements, I hadn’t felt a thing. Sure, a small little shove every now and then, but I think that was just my heart telling me to stop before it burst.

So I pondered about if there was any chance that my special core fell outside of the four basics—kind of like Dove’s Blood Alchemy.

I thought back to when she and Leon were fighting in the woods so long ago, and how she created her weapon—a crimson
red
weapon made out of hardened blood—that everything just made perfect sense.
The tattoos on her arms (“Runes
,” she had expla
ined, “Most alchemist have Runes
marked somewhere on their bodies or on an object to make transmuting their alchemy easier.” Just like my own tattoo. Did that mean my alchemy came from my heart?), were like her gateway to controlling her alchemy.

When I asked her, however, she wasn’t exactly in the mood to be chatty. Though she was polite and patient during these “trials” of mine, tonight, Dove happened to be a little bit on edge. It could have been the biting cold or the fact that it had been at least two months since we began training.
And had gotten nowhere.

“
Don’t worry about it
,” she huffed, “
We’re
just
going to
focusing on the
basic
elements now.
Besides, I highly doubt that your core would posses some unnatural power, seeing as how you aren’t a Blood Borne or a Self Taught alchemist to begin with.”

“‘Blood Borne’?”
I had heard the term before in the book I had borrowed and returned from Dove, but I didn’t think it was too important to remember. My legs began to tingle underneath me, and I fidgeted from my seat on the cold ground, glancing at the tall, ethereal-like girl leaning against the surface of old oak.

“A Blood Borne is an alchemist who is born from a long generation of other Blood
Borne's
,” Dove explained. “You could think of it as hereditary; if both of your parents, as well as your grandparents all had blue eyes; you would also have blue eyes, right? Blood Borne alchemists are those who are borne from ‘pure’ alchemists.

Here, she paused, lifting her arms to shove the sleeves of her black sweater. “You see these Runes?”

I nodded, entranced by how beautiful the blood-colored swirls on her arms seem to look in the pale glows of the moon.

“A Blood Borne alchemist will always, in some shape or way, have their Runes etched on their own skin. In some cases, it can be there since birth. But in others—like
myself
, for example—they appear gradually over time; depending on how well your training is going. I got these when I was only eight years old.

“A Self Taught alchemist is one who isn’t born from a lineage of alchemist, but is more acutely aware of their alchemic core. But because they aren’t Blood Borne, they have to work just as hard to unlock their core; at times, it could take
them
years to just master it.” Here, Dove paused, tilting her head just slightly so that the light blonde wisps of hair framed her face like a picture. “That may be why you haven’t progressed any at all these past few months. Perhaps we should try creating some Runes for you…if only we knew which element you connected with the most!”

Unconsciously, I placed a fist over my heart, feeling the gently thrumming of my fake heart swell beneath my breast bone. I wanted to open my mouth and ask Dove all these questions that had just piled up, but something stopped me. If I was a Blood Borne like her…did that make my Dad
—

No. No way. He wasn’t an alchemist. For one, I would have totally known if there were Runes on his body. I mean, when I was a kid we always went to the public pool together, so I knew for a fact he didn’t have any special Runes on his arms like Dove had. Thinking about my Mom was definitely out of the question.
If she couldn’t handle being part of a family
, I thought acidly,
she couldn’t handle being some alchemist
.

I held my tongue. There would be other times I could tell Dove about the yellow Rune over my heart.
Maybe.

◊◊◊◊◊

A
fter the 43
rd
unsuccessful night, I hiked back to the dorms, sweaty, dirty, and disappointed. It was
pitch
black out, save for the small circle of light from my flashlight as I reached the back doors. The spare key
to the back door (a key every girl was issued that worked for the front and back doors—doors that were locked up tight right at ten every night by the “House Mother” of our dorm)
felt cold against my sweaty hands and I almost dropped it trying to fit it into the lock. With a soft click I entered, embracing the cool air.

The grandfather clock in the hallway chimed four low rings—it was already 4 in the morning
. It wasn’t too often I stayed out so late (the normal time was 1-2 am), but tonight I had been unusually stubborn, refusing to give up on learning “air alchemy” that I had lost track of time. This was going to affect my studies so badly
.

Not a soul was around as I padded up the stairs as quietly as I could. Except for a slim ray of light shining under one of the closed doors (p
robably someone
studying
,
or
they
just fell asleep with the lights on), no one seemed awake except for me.

It was a little
too
early, but I might as well grab this rare moment of utter peace all to myself. I made my way back to my roo
m, shed off my dirty jacket,
kicked off my mud caked shoes and grabbed my small plastic bin with my soaps, shampoos and toiletries.

Even though the large bathrooms
in the basement
had lockers where we could put our stuff, I never chanced leaving my things there—with the exception of a bathrobe and a spare change of clothes, because the lockers didn’t come with locks (insane, right?). The lockers were the one place all the girls stored their jewelries and iPods and
iPhones
when they showered, and there had been a number of occasions where stuff went missing. I figured nobody would want my scratchy old bathrobe from home and the clothes I had stored in there.

The bathrooms were
empty and spacious as I flicked on the lights
. The bright lights nearly blinded me as I stumbled towards the locker and undressed.

But in mere minutes it was like all of the stress and worries were being washed away as the hot spray of the showerhead ran over my aching body. All of those angry thoughts went
spiraling
down the drain as I scrubbed hard at my dirt matted hair, lathering it with my favorite grapefruit scented shampoo.

Everything had been so unfair. A whi
ny, immature
way to put the situation, but it was true. If I hadn’t stupidly gone into the woods the first day of orientation, I wouldn’t have been killed. I wouldn’t have been saved with alchemy (which I was still grateful for, but then it all went back to my first point). I wouldn’t have a stupid fake heart that could break at any minute. And I wouldn’t have to train to become an alchemist when, quite frankly, it wasn’t turning out so well at all.

I should be doing normal, teenage girl stuff, like putting all of my attention into my studies (which were not doing well at all
. I could feel my perfect
A
average sliding down to a B
), making friends with people like Karin and going to sporting events and flirting with Jack.

Normal, safe and boring stuff.

A heavy sigh escaped my lips. Normal. It just suddenly occurred to me that I wasn’t “normal” anymore. I was just some girl who snuck out every night to practice some ancient magic with a stranger who has been nothing but short and snappy with me. I was practically a loner at school, save for the people in Humanities Club. I kept to myself in class, just too tired to try and converse with anybody. I headed straight to the library after school to try and catch up on
the mountains
of homework, and when I
headed back to the dorm I kept
myself in my room and did more studying. I don’t think any of the girls here really knew I existed. And it didn’t help that every night felt like a torturous, endless workout that, to be honest, I just didn’t need.

Just thinking about Dove’s attitude earlier that night sent a flash of hot anger over my body. It wasn’t my fault that I had no idea what I was doing! How do you just tell someone
to
“create alchemy” with the snap of your fingers and expect someone to just go along with it like it’s a piece of cake?