The Fake Eye (Time Alchemist)

  The Fake Eye

  Book Two in the Time Alchemist Series

  By Allice Revelle

  Copyright 2013 © Allice Revelle

  Book Cover Art © Dmytro Konstantynov (Dreamstime.com) This book is a work of fiction. Characters, places and events are either the product of the author ’s imagination or represented fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons or locations is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved.

  This book may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

  DEDICATION

  To all my family, for sticking with me and believing in me, even when I didn’t believe in myself.

  LUMI.

  CHAPTER 1

  It’s not every day you can claim an alchemist is trying to kill you.

  Clang!

  A slender sword in a deep, piercing black slammed against my own, sending bubbles of tiny sparks—like monochromic fireflies—to sizzle and fade off the surfaces. My bones literally vibrated from the sudden impact, threatening to split open like wet toothpicks, and I almost dropped my weapon.

  But that was Leon’s first rule of fighting: Never let go of your weapon. Ever.

  Even if the hilt felt hot, like I was holding liquid fire.

  This was, however, not the first time that this boy, Leon Raysburg had tried to attack me with a sword. The only difference between today and seven months ago is that now, I had level footing on the playing field (kind of).

  But, then again, the very first time Leon aimed at me with a sword is when he killed me back in September. By complete accident, no less.

  It wasn’t as if he had purposely killed me. Heck, he didn’t really mean to kill anyone. I had just popped out behind some large oak tree like some crazy, prep school Jack-in-the-Box and BAM; his sword had ripped right through my chest.

  Directly through my beating heart.

  But…that’s a story for some other time. I kinda had to focus on trying to stay in one piece right now, okay? Not to mention that he wasn’t my enemy anymore—he was my ally. My friend. And right now, he was seriously kicking my butt in today’s morning practice.

  Barely a beat had passed and he already came at me again, swinging to the left. I barely got my own weapon up to block it before my sneakers slipped on the dew covered grass, narrowly missing the sharp, pointy tip of his blade as it sliced through the air, grazing the fabric of my dirt covered tee by a

  thread.

  Leon’s face was flushed a bright red; a sheen of sweat thick on his brow that matted down his messy, dark brown locks. Even when his hair was greasy and dirty (probably just as horrendous looking as my own), it still looked soft as fur, and I would have given anything in that one split second to be able to run my hand through his coffee colored tresses and—

  “Rule Three, Emery! Focus!” His voice slapped me out of my fantasies, and I saw a cocky half-smirk play on his lips. Get a grip, Emery! Now is so not the time to be having silly daydreams about your sparring partner—who is seriously kicking your ass!

  “I am!” I huffed back, fighting back my own grin. I readjusted my grip on the handle, wincing at how the slick surface rubbed against the many blisters that had formed on my palms in the past few months.

  “Ready to give up?”

  “Not on your life!” I retorted, bracing myself. Although my words came out confident, there were no backbone to them. My limbs felt as fragile and weak as limp noodles; my upper arms were shaking so badly just from trying to block Leon’s attacks. Who knew a sword made out of a wrought iron fence could be so heavy?

  I’ve only been training like this for less than two months, but I had barely made a dent in my work. And no amount of rolling, screaming, kicking, or bleeding could change that; it all depended solely on me. Not Leon, not anyone else. Heck, even magic wouldn’t help. I had calluses as thick as the skin of oranges on my palms and fingers, blistered that stung when they popped and numerous cuts and bruises littered over every inch of skin, but I kept going. I pushed forward.

  Because Emery Miller doesn’t give up—I’ve always had a pretty nasty stubborn streak, but after a couple of months it seemed to have grown, etching tighter in my chest, my heart, forcing me to go beyond my limits. I’ve faced a heck of a lot worse during my first semester at St. Mary’s Academy. I’ve been

  accidentally killed (once), brought back to life (once), and faced death (approximately four times) all in the span of three months. I think I could manage a measly half hour practice in the morning.

  Leon’s smirk widened as he jumped back, hopping from one foot to the next like this was all some silly race—like he was the smug hare waiting for me, the tortoise, the catch up. But I knew what he was up to. This was a tactic he used every day in practice—he was trying to push me into attacking first. And it almost worked. Irritation flashed through my skin, giving me an extra pulse of strength. I resisted the urge to wipe away the stray reddish-brown hairs that had come loose from my sloppy pony tail, clinging to my face and nearly obscuring my vision.

  Realizing I wasn’t going to attack anytime soon (I would like to go one day without a bump the size of Texas on my head, thank you very much), Leon lifted his own sword—a mirror copy of my own—and with his right hand he covered the blade. The large, chunky metal bands that he wore on his wrists jangled a little, as if pushed by a blast of wind.

  And then they, along with the iron sword, glowed with a faint, gray light. In seconds his sleek blade morphed its shape, like putty being stretched out and played with, until it curved into a heavier, curved design.

  Leon’s sword had just transformed into an axe blade. Great. Little bright sparkles of silver dust twinkled out in the thin morning light, vanishing as he swung it around to test its weight.

  “No fair, changing your weapon like that!” I protested. Because this was a first for Leon. He always stuck to the same weapons every day. I gripped the handle of my non-axe weapon even tighter, twisting it in my sweaty hands.

  “You know I can’t do that!”

  If it was even possible, his grin stretched even wider. There was a hint of something that flashed in his mixed green eyes; a color so mesmerizing, even ten feet away. It was a dark color so deep it felt as if I were peering into the swirls of the ocean.

  “You really believe every bad guy’s gonna come at you with a sword swinging?”

  I opened my mouth to protest—“No, I would be lucky if they even came at me face to face!”—and Leon took that opportunity to pounce. I only had a heartbeat to bring my own sword up just as the curve of his blade came lashing down on me. His thrust was ten times more powerful than it had been minutes ago, so much so that I felt the thin blade begin to crack underneath the weight of Leon’s strength.

  I feigned left, and then bounced back a couple of steps, breathing so heavily I could have won a match against the Big Bad Wolf himself.

  “What’s the matter?” Leon called out, swinging his axe around in a lazy windmill pattern, as if this was just a typical morning stroll through the outside gates of St. Mary’s. “Are you scared? Ready to give up?”

  Oh, so that’s how he wants to play, huh? Fine!

  I took a deep breath, ignoring the pain in my lungs and arms and legs, not once looking away from Leon’s eyes. “Rule Number Two,” he had said ,

  “Never break eye contact.” I concentrated on the faint, pulsing warmth in my heart, and with a tiny, mental tug, I pulled at this swelling power locked inside of me. A power I had awakened that night long ago in December. A power that could have ended my life—but didn’t.

  My whole body tingled, easily soothing away the sores and burns. It was as if a million microscopic spiders were crawling over my skin,
but even though it was a very disturbing way to explain it, it felt good. Like I was being rejuvenated in a high end deluxe spa resort. Then, just as before, thin wisps of pure gold danced in the air around us, like incredibly long, luxurious strands of Rapunzel’s hair. Occasionally, some sparkled like a soft fire cracker. Some were so thin that they easily vanished, like golden spider webs, flashing in and out of the air between waves.

  With a smirk playing on my own face, and still not breaking my stance or eye contact with Leon, I zeroed in on the strands that floated around him,

  and in my mind…gently grasped them, like I was hooking a finger into a knot, ready to pull just at the right moment. And then he ran for me again.

  Slow down…slow down…slow…slow…

  This time, I was ready. On my own terms. The moment Leon took his first step, I tugged at the threads around him, willing him to slow down. It was just like looking in a room filled with clear, liquid maple syrup. Leon ran as if I had hit the Slow Down button on his personal remote control. His limbs were blurred as he raised his battle axe in the air, preparing himself for the final blow. I raised my own weapon, and then with another mental flick, I released the gold bands around him. They vanished instantly and then—

  CLANG!

  His black axe was knocked out of his hands.

  It landed on the grass with a dull thump, directly across from the large, gaping hole in the black iron fence that cut off St. Mary’s from the outside world. I couldn’t help but let out a cheer as Leon rubbed his own hands, blinking in confusion as to what had happened. But when it clicked together, a flash of annoyance—overshadowed by pride—glowed on his face.

  “Cheater,” he muttered under his breath. But his smile was genuine and warm, just like mine.

  “Sore loser!” I sang back, and then tossed my own weapon near the hole, even though my muscles screamed with protest. The clock tower chimed out seven long, beautiful rings that stretched to every inch and corner of the school grounds. Practice was officially over for today. A cool April breeze drifted through the air, cooling my heated skin and rustling the Spanish moss that hung from the large trees that provided plenty of shade during the hot spring days. Winter had long ago packed its bags and moved on. The grass was bright and green, adorned with pastel colored flowers. Squirrels skittered up and down the barks of the trees and groups of small birds fluttered over head.

  That was St. Mary’s Academy for you—even in the dead of winter or the scorching heat of summer, it always looked as perfect and neat as if they

  had clipped out an article from Home and Gardens magazines.

  Yes. Everything was perfect…as long as you didn’t decide to venture into the small woods that bordered the academy and come across a large, gaping hole in the fence. But come on, we had to use something as a weapon!

  And besides, it was repairable. No harm done.

  There was nothing to worry about when you had an Iron Alchemist on your side.

  As if reading my thoughts, Leon gestured to the hole, scooping up the discarded weapons in one large hand. “Guess we should head back.”

  “Totally,” I replied, “I really, really need a shower after that workout. I probably reek of sweat!”

  “It’s not sweat; it’s the smell of development.” Leon grinned, stepping through the hole. He reached to me, and I couldn’t help but feel my cheeks burn as if my head had been stuck in an oven (but it was just from all the workout and running and fighting. Heck, it could even be the sun! Right!) as I clasped his hand tightly with my own, wondering how strange it was for one person to attack with such ferocity one minute, and be so gentle the next with those same hands…

  Then the toe of my shoe caught one of the edges of the broken bits of fence and I fell forward with a shriek, pitching us both down onto the grassy floor. I was sure I yelled so loudly that Leon’s eardrums probably burst; my head thumped hard against his surprisingly hard chest. Oh yes, I could definitely feel how tight his muscles were beneath his thin top. Rock hard. His scent of earth mixed with sweat and a hint of mint toothpaste made my senses go into overload. If I wanted to, I could easily slide my hands over his abs; feel every muscle, every scar that adorned his body.

  My heart was beating so fast, like a hummingbird trapped in a steel cage.

  I scrambled up, resting on my elbows to get some air. It felt like I was swimming in Leon, Leon, Leon and I had to breathe before I did—or said—

  something completely stupid. My arms sank into the soft earth and my heart all but stopped when I caught his eyes. His eyes were such a cool shade of green and blue, swirled with tiny specks of brown. Wow. Could such a color even exist in nature? It was just so…amazing. And comforting. Like being basked in a warm, summery day.

  That’s what Leon was like—summer.

  Our noses were touching, and I felt his hot breath brush over my lips, caressing me. This was so real, but so un real, like a dream. My lips already felt swollen and bruised, like they had been kissed a hundred times, and I wanted so badly to just lean in that one last inch…

  Something clouded over Leon’s sea-green eyes, sending a spark of electricity zipping through my veins. “S-s-sorry!” I stuttered, scrambling to get up, but my elbows and hands slipped on the wet grass and I fell forward again

  —knocking my head on Leon’s chin. He gave a grunt of pain and I finally got a grip, careful not to kick him in the process and crawled over him before backpedaling up against the nearest tree.

  My forehead throbbed, but the pain was eclipsed by the extreme pounded of blood pulsing through my eardrums.

  “I am so sorry about that!” I tried again as Leon sat up, rubbing his chin with a dirt covered hand. A smear of brown earth was present on his reddened chin and I tried (and failed) to hold back the laughter bubbling up inside of me.

  He shot me a quizzical look, and I tapped my own chin. “Nice mud beard you have there.”

  Leon glanced down at his dirty hands, and I could almost hear the gears churning inside of his brain, ticking away to put two-and-two together. Then he grinned, rubbing even more dirt on his chin and cheeks and lips like it was just some everyday old soap.

  “Nothing like a mud bath to rejuvenate the senses,” he said in a bad British accent. Then, he gave a deep laugh that made my toes curl inside my mud caked sneakers. I laughed too, feeling unusually light and breathless.

  Crazy, how one person could make your heart lift high like a helium balloon. It was thrilling.

  I grabbed our bags from our spot behind a tree, turning around just in time to see Leon carefully placing the two weapons back in their proper place.

  He had already transformed them back into sturdy looking iron pipes, and I saw the familiar cool glow as he worked his magic, and in seconds the fence looked brand new. Not a scratch or crack or dent in sight.

  I leaned against the bark of a tree, watching him work and check everything was lined up just so. It was like having a backstage pass to a magician’s show, where even though they showed you the tricks and the hidden mirrors anyway, it was still awe-inspiring to watch none the less.

  But alchemy wasn’t really magic. Though it sure felt like it.

  “Good practice today, Emery,” Leon spoke as we trudged through the small woods until we came across the old brick pathway. Tiny rocks skittered along the path as I kicked them. Though my body and muscles felt achy and soar, desperately whining for a hot bath, my heart hurt from an entirely different matter. But it was a good kind of hurt, you know? A hurt that you can’t really explain.

  “I’m not really doing too well,” I sighed, “I can only block your attacks, and just barely. I still need to learn how to use a weapon in a fight.”

  Leon stopped so suddenly I almost ran into him—and I didn’t need to knock him down a second time in one morning! He turned around and I had to step back, swallowing the lump in my throat. He was so close…just his presence sent me on edge, made me forget how to function properly like a normal human being.


  “Remember the rules I told you?” he asked.

  “Of course,” I said slowly, not getting his point. “Rule one: Never let go of your weapon. Rule two: Never break eye contact. Rule three: Focus.”

  “And what about Rule four?”

  I blinked. “There’s a fourth rule?”

  “Pick and choose your battles wisely, Emery. If you can’t fight, then run. But if you can’t run…” Leon casts his eyes down, hiding his precious gem colored eyes beneath his brown hair. “If such a time comes, I’ll protect you. I will.”

  My heart tha-thumped mid beat. I laughed softly, trying to ease the sudden tension in the air. “I’m not a damsel-in-distress anymore, Leon. I can take care of myself.” I wasn’t insulted that Leon wanted to go out of his way to protect me, at all costs. No. Really, I was flattered and happy. But I knew his real reasons of making such promises, and it didn’t make me feel good.

  He looked up, his eyes catching the morning rays of the sun just so where they glistened with a fierce determination…and guilt. “I know that. I know. But still, I want to protect you. After you—”

  The guilt in his eyes was so powerful my knees felt weak, but I held my ground. I lifted my chin in emphasis, grabbing his free hand. It was so warm and big, nearly enveloping my own. I could feel every hard earned callous and scar that marked his skin, and it just gave me even more incentive and resolve.

  “I’ll tell you everyday if I have to,” I spoke loudly, “I won’t ever, ever regret what I did that day in Bonaventure. Not ever.”

  Although the pain in his eyes never faded, he squeezed my hand gently.

  So gently, as if I were made out of fragile glass that would break at the slightest touch. And then I took a bold step forward…and laced our hands together. They fit so perfectly together, like two pieces of a puzzle. He opened his mouth to say something but stopped.

  Finally, he mumbled something I couldn’t really make out, but I didn’t push. I knew something like this wouldn’t go away overnight. It wouldn’t go away in a few months either. But little by little, day by day, like peeling back a layer, Leon would come to accept it. And to push on and fight.