Page 148 of The Alchemists

July 16, 1737

I, Cornelius Windermere, certify this as my last true will and testament. The discovery of this will shall supersede any directives from previous documents.

Upon the confirmation of the following, all holdings in my estate shall pass to my heir, the last magical bloodline of my biological son, Jean van Bergen.

In accordance with augury and the Hermetic Calendar, these terms shall be completed three hundred years hence, in the form of an Elumnara meant to prove the worthiness of the heir.

Only an individual from the bloodline of both myself and Selene van Bergen, in possession of adequate magical ability, will be able to open the tomb beneath the Windermere Library. The opening of the room and retrieval of the Chalice shall prove confirmation of their identity. Further confirmation may be obtained through blood magic.

Nothing shall stand in the way of my heir’s entitlement once these terms are confirmed.

The will was signed in blood, stamped, and notarized. Lily stared at it, reading it over and over again. She almost laughed because the joke was so delicious. Lily was nobody’s heir; her grandparents had made sure of that. Even if she was by some ridiculous error, Cornelius Windermere was entrusting his estate to someone with two months to live.

“Lily?” Seb was looking at her. He took the parchment from her very carefully.

She looked back at him, but his expression was unreadable. She turned to the adults.

“This is a mistake. My father was mundane. Jean van Bergen was a Magician. He attended Windermere.”

Chant held up his hand, silencing Dean Meade. “I believe you’ll find answers in the rest of your belongings.”

Your belongings. He said it as if these priceless antiques of their school’s founder were rightfully hers. She glanced at the papers, the journal, the locket somehow still bright after three hundred years. Three hundred years.

“I understand your shock, Lily. This is a lot to process. A bloodline spell is very simple. We can do it now, if you like. Professor Chant has brought the necessary preparations.”

Lily swallowed. Part of her wanted to get it over with, have the truth. Rip it off like a bandage. But part of her wanted to bask in the possibilities of this error for just a little longer.

“Sure, fine.”

Dean Meade sighed in relief, and Chant withdrew a small ebony case. It held three stoppered vials inside its velvet lining. One was filled with silver powder, the second held a golden liquid, and the third was empty.

“Can you open that locket, Lily?” Chant asked.

Inside was a small braid of hair. Lily had assumed it must be Selene’s, but as she withdrew it, feeling a bit gross, she realized that it was two people’s hair braided together. Some of it was reddish brown, much like her own, and some of it was a faded blond, almost gray. She handed it to Chant, and, using tweezers, he carefully withdrew one hair of each, dropping them into the vial.

“One of yours as well.” His voice was apologetic.

As Chant added her strand of hair, it wasn’t lost on anyone in the room how closely it matched the darker one already in the vial. He added the other contents and stoppered it. The elements hissed and fizzed as they collided.

Chant began to cast. Luminous threads of Æther spun out from his fingers, whispering through the air, and wrapped in a slowly rotating sphere around the vial before dissolving into smoke. When the air around the glass cleared, the vial’s contents had coagulated into a blood-bright liquid.

* Fraudulent Counsel is a powerful Metapsychosis spell named for those who used their intellect to manipulate others in Dante’s Inferno, including Ulysses/Odysseus and Diomedes. (Canto XXVI, Circle VIII, Pouch VIII)

* Fraudulent Counsel falls under the Thought Transference branch of Metapsychosis. Due to the power and sensitive nature of Metapsychosis magic, it is the most strictly regulated branch of Ætheric magic. Many of the spells in this branch of magic require additional authorization to perform at will, which a Certification Year student would not have been cleared for.

SEB

Windermere.

Lily Windermere.

It was a beautiful name. It fit her, he thought, as he gazed at her in the soft glow of the nighttime lighting, so much better than Perkins. They were alone now, for a little while at least, before the nurse came to shoo her away, if she dared. No one could shoo her anywhere on campus now. All of it was hers.

He‘d asked Dean Meade all of the questions he would have if he were Lily. All the ones she was too shocked, or too unconcerned, with. He didn’t blame her. What was the point of all this, with the time she had left? But Seb was going to do it. He would weave time out of straw for her, if he had to. He asked about the board, endowments, and earnings. It was the first time in days that he felt present in his own body. It was so good to have something to think about other than himself, his pain, his trauma.

“I’m sorry,” she had said, when they were finally alone.

“For what?” he’d asked.