Chantress Alchemy by Amy Butler Greenfield

surprised. “They’ve cut off our access to it. They don’t want anyone escaping that way.”
    “A window, then, as close to it as possible.”
    “Come with me.”
    His grip was warm and reassuring, but the palace seemed more of a maze than ever. At last we halted in a long room, dark except for a sliver of pale, gray light between two draperies. When Nat twitched them back, I saw the Thames.
    But only saw. I heard no music.
    My heart thudded again.
    “We should be safe enough here for a while,” Nat said.
    “Can we open the window?” I asked.
    “I think so. But why?”
    I hated to say it out loud, but it had to be done. “Something’s wrong with my magic.” Swiftly I went over what had happened last night.
    In the faint light from the windows, I saw his jaw tense. Before I was done speaking, he was pushing back the latch. “Try that.”
    I leaned out. Fifteen feet away, the wide River Thames rolled past, dark and deep and mysterious in the sullen not-quite-sunrise.I closed my eyes and listened to the murky waves, lapping and gurgling against the brick palace walls.
    This close, the river’s music ought to have overwhelmed me. Strain as I might, however, I couldn’t hear more than a few muted, dissonant notes.
    “It’s no use,” I said at last—and then a faint melody, high and tremulous, emerged from the discord.
    I went still. The song did not peter out, but instead swelled louder, spilling itself out before me: Wild Magic, a true song-spell. And not only that, but a song-spell I could understand, one for calling up mist. It reminded me of the song-spell I’d sung when the King’s men had come, though of course there were differences. This was the Thames, after all, not an ocean; the songs couldn’t be exactly the same.
    “Do you hear something?” Nat whispered behind me.
    “A song for mist. Shh . . .” I barely breathed the words, so afraid was I of losing the music.
    Closing my eyes to concentrate, I gathered the song to me. Then I let it spin out again, my lips and tongue relishing every blessed note.
    Even without opening my eyes, I knew the magic was working. The very air was changing; I could feel it thickening around me. Soon mist clung to my bare hands and face; it dampened my hair. Elated, I kept singing, following the line of the song even as it slid into odd cadences and strange rhythms. Half dreaming, I felt as if I were rising up into the mist myself, becoming part of the river, part of the air . . .
    “Lucy!” Nat jerked me back from the window.
    Furious that he’d broken my beautiful song, I opened my eyes. A second later I was staring at myself, horrified.
    The air around me had not changed. All that was different was me: I was half-dissolved, more wraith than girl. When I tried to touch my hands together, they passed through each other like vapor.
    Don’t panic. Don’t panic.
    I put my hands to my cheeks and felt nothing.
    Nat slammed the window shut, cutting off the music.
    “My face.” Even my voice sounded thin and far away. “Is it gone?”
    “ You were almost gone.” Nat was beside himself. “One moment you were there, and the next you were thinning out into nothing. If I hadn’t grabbed you when I did—”
    “My face?” I asked again. “Nat, do I have a face?”
    Nat made a visible effort to get hold of himself. “Yes,” he said. “You have a face. Very ghostlike, but it’s there. And the color’s coming back to it.”
    Maybe it wasn’t a permanent magic, then? I glanced down at my wispy hands again. They looked more substantial this time; they had the right shape. I touched my fingers together. This time they steepled properly; I felt the pads pressing against each other.
    “That’s better.” My voice was almost normal now. I hoped the rest of me was too.
    “What exactly did you think you were singing?” Nat said.
    “A song to bring mist up from the river.” I looked through the glass at the murky water below. What in heaven’s name was