A Forbidden Alchemy (The Artisan Trilogy)

by Stacey McEwan

that it was the wanting that consumed a person, not the object they sought.

But the fact remains that at some point, our leaders thought it better that power be meted out only to those who could be trusted with it.” I wondered how they decided who that should be. By what criteria were we judged?

It was a cascading line of falling bricks that built the brink.

And then I was swallowed, too, buried in the marble and sandstone.

collapse.

I wanted and wanted and wanted but had learned to ignore it. Hiding was safe.

“The glare is just the same, though. About as dangerous as a loaded fuckin’ pistol.”

It struck me anew with each glance. A sharp, vicious beauty. The destructive kind. By day’s end, I’d be peppered through with shot.

“Well,” Donny muttered, stubbing out his own smoke against a wooden post. “God rest his soul and all that.”

“And what does your word count for, exactly?” He gave me a piercing look. “That’s the question, isn’t it, Scurry girl? Exactly how much can we trust each other?”

“It isn’t your business to know who I love.” But I said it to the ground, where there was no brilliant blue. Beneath my skin, blood raced. Silence. Sounds suffocated on the hot air. Patrick waited an interminable moment, until it was impossible not to look at him again. “If it’s all the same to you,” he said, low and exact, “I’m inclined to make it my business.”

all.” I could almost smell the burning ash on the air, hear the pounding fists on the inside of the glass as two boys in the street watched monsters take the shape of men.

“Sometimes I can’t tell if he’s as good as he is bad.”

“Trust me, darlin’, he’s always lookin’ at you, even when you think he’s not.”