The Alchemy of Forever

to the stars. He could join me.
    When he holds the filthy woman up to me, I rouse myself from my thoughts. He wants me to kiss her. What a ridiculous, revolting idea. Isn’t she dead? Aren’t I dead?
    No, I realize slowly, coming back to Earth. She is alive; she merely lost consciousness when she fell. I don’t know why, but I obey Cyrus. I kiss her until I taste something sweet. Then suddenly it feels as though the world has exploded. Thunder cracks, and it sounds as though an entire fleet of ships is firing its cannons. I shift, careening through space and time, and then all is still. Miraculously, the pain in my back is gone.
    “Sera. Open your eyes,” Cyrus commands.
    I obey, with great effort. The view is all wrong. I can see my body, laying on the stones, so pale and cold, blood soaking my gown.
    I am a ghost, I think wildly. It is the only explanation. Except that when I reach out, my hand makes contact with my own cheek. But it is not my hand that I reach out with—it is dirty, with ragged nails. Somehow I am now the filthy female thief.
    I jump to my feet, suddenly strong. “I don’t understand.”
    Cyrus stands in front of me. “Sera, you’re alive. And if I am correct, you’ll never have to die.”
    “But my body . . .”
    Cyrus hesitates a moment, thinking. Then he scoops it up and drops it in the Thames. It lands with a loud splash. “It’s the only one you’ll ever leave behind. Your new body is different, no longer human or attached to your soul. When you are done with it, it will break into dust.”
    Cyrus’s words wash over me, but I cannot comprehend what he is saying.
    Just then I hear my mother’s panicked voice cut through the silence of the street.
    “Seraphina Ames! Sera, where are you?”
    Cyrus turns panicked. He grabs my hand, pulling me away from the sound. “Seraphina, we must go.”
    Not knowing what else to do, I run after him.
    “Good-bye,” I whisper to my mother, but she doesn’t hear. She will never see her daughter again.

one
     

san francisco, present day
     
    The late autumn day is oddly hot for San Francisco. The morning fog has lifted and the sun’s rays reach my pale skin, but do not warm me. For the past year I’ve stayed bone white, no matter how much time I spend in the sun, and I’m freezing, all the time. It is always this way when death is near. I’ve put this body through hell, and it’s finally catching up with me.
    I wince as I lean back on one of the steel chaise longues scattered around the pool on the roof of my apartment building, a brash glass tower, all angles and blue tints, jutting upward over the SOMA neighborhood. The sunlight glints off the surface of the pool; it’s almost too bright for me, even behind my large sunglasses. I blink, watching a hummingbird makes his way to the roof deck, zigzagging madly between the ruby-colored morning glory blossoms spilling out from galvanized planter boxes I had bought at the local flea market. I am always amazed when birds appear here, twenty stories up in the middle of the city. How did he know there were flowers? Was it instinct that drove him upward, or blind luck?
    When I try to fly away, will I be as lucky and find what I am looking for?
    Living like this—the persistent cold, the pain radiating through my joints at a constant interval, the shortness of breath accompanying my every movement—has made my choice for me. For once my body is as weary as my soul. I’ve dragged it all over the globe for six hundred years—it’s time to let go of this life and figure out what comes next. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t terrified, but a thrill of excitement runs up my spine every time I think about it. It’s been so long since I’ve ventured into the unknown.
    “I know that look. What are you thinking about?” Charlotte, my best friend, asks as she comes through the glass door to the deck. She carries a tray of iced tea, moisture already beading like wobbly diamonds on the outside of the glasses. When I take one, the little droplets fall to the ground and immediately turn to steam.
    I push my sunglasses up into my dark hair and smile at Charlotte. “Nothing,” I lie. “Just enjoying the sun.”
    I can tell no one of my plan to die, not even Charlotte. Cyrus would never let me leave. Not without a fight, and one that I would surely lose. More than anything I want to be free of the man who controls me with his fists, his words, and his iron will—the man who made me what I