“Have you ever heard of the Vuillard substance?” asked Isabelle.

  It was the start of a new morning in the alchemy lab. Isabelle was smiling. Beth wondered how concerned she should be. “No,” she said cautiously. “What is it?”

  “It shouldn’t be a surprise, really. The knowledge is highly restricted even within the Alchemists’ Guild.”

  Beth nodded and traced a finger across her lips to show she got the message. She’d long since learnt how to keep a secret.

  “It’s a translucent, extremely viscous liquid. It can be moulded a little when it’s freshly brewed, but once it fixes a shape it’s near-impossible to deform. But the properties that make it important to us are that it has extremely high resistance to magic to the point where the interior of a shell of it is effectively under an anti-magic ward, and it dissolves when exposed to human saliva.”

  Beth blinked. Those both sounded like very useful properties, but she couldn’t quite fit them together to find the use Isabelle doubtless had in mind. “Okay…” she said. “So… you’re saying you can use it as… a sort of container?”

  Isabelle nodded.

  “You put something magical inside a shell of it, and then because of the anti-magic it doesn’t dissipate or activate it until you put it in your mouth?”

  “Exactly.”

  “How is that useful?”

  “Oh, Beth.” Isabelle laughed. “That is the secret to a certain plan of mine.”

  She meant – the plan. The escape plan. Finally. Stars.

  “Tell me,” Isabelle said. “How does a potion of teleportation work?”

  “It’s a potion that’s effectively imbued with the intent of a spell. You brew it, and then a magician casts a more limited version of the teleport spell to key it to the location you want to teleport to, and then you drink it and teleport.”

  Isabelle nodded, but didn’t speak. She seemed to want Beth to keep talking.

  “The problem with it is that it activates within a few seconds of being keyed, so it’s not that much better than just the teleport spell in most circumstances – unless – is that what you want to put inside the shell of V-Vuillard substance?” Beth fumbled the pronunciation, but Isabelle didn’t seem to mind.

  “Yup!” Isabelle smiled.

  Beth wished Isabelle would just spell the plan out instead of making her do all the work of trying to understand it. “Okay, I can believe that that’s a viable means of delayed-action teleportation,” she said. “But I don’t see how it would get around the anti-teleportation wards…”

  She was fishing for at least a hint of some sort, and Isabelle obliged. “Have you heard of the Garnett loophole?”

  Beth shook her head. The name was vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it.

  “It’s the fact that nearly all anti-teleportation wards prevent the keying rather than the activation of teleportation. With a normal teleportation spell that’s irrelevant because the two stages can’t be separated. With a potion, on the other hand…”

  “…they can. But wouldn’t that mean we’d have to key the potions outside of the wards, which we don’t have a way of doing?”

  “That,” replied Isabelle, smiling again, “or inside a shell of a highly magic-resistant substance.”

  Beth blinked, taking that in. Then she blinked again. “Is this actually going to work?”

  “I think so. The finishing stage would be very difficult to time correctly: you’d have to mould the Vuillard substance into a container, pour the potion in, key the potion in such a way that it doesn’t trigger the anti-teleportation wards, and seal the container before it has time to activate. But in theory? It will work.”

  “This is… you know the consequences it would have for magical security everywhere?”

  Isabelle nodded.

  “That – “ Beth glanced around, even though she was certain no-one was listening – “people would kill to get their hands on something like this?”

  “Oh, I am very aware of that, don’t worry.”

  That part made sense, and Beth almost regretted bringing it up. “Then… why has no-one thought of it before?”

  “Two reasons,” Isabelle replied. “First: specialisation. Barely any magician pays alchemy serious attention, and the number of them who know about the Vuillard substance could probably be counted on the fingers of one hand – including the people in this room. And most alchemists don’t know enough magical theory to be aware of the Garnett loophole. I didn’t, until I researched the theory of anti-teleportation wards for these purposes.”

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  “The journals you had Morel get you,” Beth realised.

  “Precisely.”

  “What’s the second reason?”

  “The Vuillard substance is exceptionally difficult to produce. The amount of precision required is extraordinary, and the consequences of the tiniest mistake… severe.”

  Beth winced. She’d seen explosions and toxic substances as the consequences of alchemical mistakes before. Isabelle hadn’t referred to any of those as severe. “…how severe are we talking?”

  “Let’s just say one of the reasons it’s so heavily restricted within the Guild is the death toll amongst those who’ve attempted to brew it.”

  “…this is a bad plan,” Beth said.

  “It’s also the only plan we’ve got. Besides, I know what I’m doing.”

  If anyone other than Isabelle had said that, Beth would have laughed in their face. But there was something about Isabelle’s particular kind of madness… her crazy ideas worked. “Do you? Have you made this before?”

  Isabelle nodded. “I was thirteen.”

  “…okay, who on earth decided it was a good idea for a thirteen-year-old to try and make something that could kill you if you get it wrong?”

  “I, uh, may or may not have broken into my grandfather’s lab while he was away at a conference to do it. In hindsight it might have been a little reckless.”

  Beth laughed. “Correction, then: why did you think it was a good idea to try that?”

  “Because I was an arrogant little brat who thought she was the stars’ gift to alchemy and the warnings were for other people who weren’t as good as she was. Also because I wanted to prove myself to my grandfather so he’d stop trying to teach me basics I’d picked up years ago.”

  Just when Beth thought she was getting used to Isabelle… the frankness of describing her younger self as an arrogant brat was startling. “But you actually were that good, to make it work without killing yourself.”

  Isabelle’s lips curled. She hesitated, and then said, “Oh, stars, you already know enough to destroy me several times over. I may as well just tell you. It took me seventeen attempts. By all rights, I should have died. As it was, I destroyed five dresses and countless priceless alchemical ingredients, and I’m lucky I didn’t blow up the entire lab.”

  “…how did you not die, then?”

  Instead of answering, Isabelle moved over to the nearest burner and switched it on. A bright blue flame shot up out of the table. She rolled up her sleeves and took a steadying breath. Beth realised what was about to happen just too late to do anything about it, though she cried “No” and ran forwards anyway.

  Isabelle plunged her bare hand into the centre of the flame. Exactly as she’d meticulously instructed Beth not to do, with detailed warnings about its temperature and what it would do to human flesh.

  But there was no sizzling, no burning, no charred flesh. The flame danced around Isabelle’s hand as if it weren’t there. Her expression showed no sign of pain. She held her hand in the flame for a few seconds, then withdrew it and calmly turned the flame off. “That’s how,” she said.

  “…is the flame an illusion?” Beth asked. That was the only possibility that made sense.

  “I assure you, it’s quite real. You’re welcome to check.”

  Beth shook her head numbly. She knew Isabelle had a flair for the dramatic, but she didn’t think the other girl would go as far as setting up an elaborate illusion to pretend she was somehow immune to burning. “Did you somehow enchant your body to resist flame? Or – well, have a magician do it for you?”

  “No. I am a magician, though, incidentally.”

  Beth threw her hands up in despair. “Are you a walking star? Or some other kind of immortal?”

  “Not as far as I know. I’ve only averted death by burning and explosion so far. And obviously I’m not particularly inclined to test whether I can survive other things that should be fatal.”

  The pragmatic way she said that, as if it were a possibility she’d seriously considered… stars. Isabelle really was… something else. “Okay. Fine. So you think you can make Vuillard substance without blowing up the lab or killing anyone?”

  “I’m a better alchemist than I was last time round, and the safety wards here are far better. It might take a couple of attempts, but I think I can at least contain the damage. I was able to source enough ingredients for ten attempts, which should be enough. But it might be that even if we can make the substance, we’ll have problems with the final stage. This is going to be a delicate operation throughout. And I’ll need your help.”

  “Isabelle,” said Beth flatly.

  “What?”

  “I’m not – not you. If something goes wrong, I can’t survive explosions. And I don’t know how in stars’ names I’d brew this thing.”

  “I’m not expecting you to brew it. I’ll do the majority of the work. But there’s parts of the recipe that are a lot easier with two pairs of hands. The final stage in particular. And I’ll need someone to make a large batch of the teleportation potion as well. I know you might not believe in yourself, Beth, but I think you are more than capable of everything this will demand of you.”

  “All right,” said Beth. She wanted to be part of this plan. She wanted to be a good alchemist in her own right. She wanted to live up to Isabelle’s faith in her. She was still scared, but this was the only option she had. “When do we start?”

  “Right now seems as good a time as any.” Isabelle laughed at the look of horror on Beth’s face. “Well, not literally. We’ll need to set up a few extra safety precautions. First, go and find Jack. Tell him not to come into the lab for anything short of a complete emergency until one of us tells him otherwise. Then…” she looked Beth up and down. “I suppose your clothes are good enough. Come back here once you’ve done that.”

  Beth nodded and fled the room. She was trembling, she realised, barely thinking straight through a haze of stars, stars, stars, this is mad, we’re going to die, but it’s Isabelle and she might just be able to make this work, but I’m not good enough, but she thinks I am… she nearly ran into Jack.

  He was curled in a corner of their little dining room, laboriously writing something, but he jumped to his feet at once when he saw her. “What’s wrong?”

  Nothing. Everything. “I – Isabelle wanted me to tell you not to come into the lab for anything short of a complete emergency until one of us tells you otherwise.”

  “That’s… you’re working on something dangerous?”

  “Yes,” said Beth. “Very.” And then, because she couldn’t not say it, “I think this is it. The thing that might…” she left the words get us out of here unspoken, but she knew he’d understand. “If it doesn’t kill us first.”

  Jack blinked. “Well. Tell Isabelle her message has been received and understood.”

  “I will,” Beth said, and turned to go. But she felt something seize her hand before she could, and spun back around.

  It was him, of course it was. He was clinging to her hand, standing way too close and yet at the same time too far away. “Beth,” he said. “Good luck. Please don’t die. I’d miss you.”

  “I – “ said Beth, but before she could work out what to say next, he stooped down and gently kissed her hand. The feeling of his lips was soft, gentle, and yet strong enough to draw all of her attention to it.

  After a moment that felt simultaneously eternal and far too short, Jack stood and released her hand. “Go on. Mustn’t keep Isabelle waiting.”

  “Thank you,” Beth said. “I promise I won’t die.” And she left, still feeling the ghost of his kiss on her hand, her body singing a tune she didn’t know. What was happening? It didn’t matter unless she could keep her promise and not die. Unless she and Isabelle could make this madness work, and escape.