Page 28 of Girl, Unseen

Police had found Marcus Thornton’s body, and that little fact ruined an otherwise perfect morning.

The Alchemist measured sodium pentobarbital into a glass vial while Channel 4 showed helicopter footage of the quarry. Point-three milliliters too much. Start over. The news anchor's voice had the fake-serious tone they used for tragedies, talking about ‘suspicious circumstances’ and ‘ongoing investigation.’

No one was supposed to find Marcus, not yet. The quarry should have kept him safe until the Work was complete. The reservoir would do a better job with Sarah Chen. Water had better ways of keeping secrets than earth.

Channel 4 had the best coverage, it seemed. Their helicopter shots showed all those neat terraced levels stepping down into darkness. No pictures of the symbols though. That was good. The patterns needed to stay pure, untainted by CNN graphics and Twitter memes. Let them speculate about ‘strange markings.’ The symbols weren't meant for public consumption.

No point crying over spilled mercury, anyway. Adaptation was part of the Work. The ancients taught that.

The second measurement came out perfect. The liquid caught the morning light, clear as thought. Three more components to add, then it would be ready. Each step had to be precise. No room for error when you were working with air.

The geometry on the wall had taken three days to perfect. Circles containing triangles containing more circles, each line exactly where it needed to be. Red threads connected everything in patterns that would look random to anyone else. But there was order here. The ancients had understood that - how everything connected, how each element flowed into the next.

Transformation was never easy. The books scattered across the desk proved that - hundreds of pages about the purification of elements, the refinement of base matter into higher forms. The old alchemists had been trying to turn lead into gold, which was pretty funny when you thought about it. They'd had the right idea but the wrong materials.

The TV switched to a press conference. Some detective in a bad suit telling everyone to stay calm, that they had leads, that the investigation was progressing. Total nonsense, but that's what they had to say. Can't have the public thinking there's a killer out there turning people into elements.

Because that would sound crazy.

Marcus had been earth, right down to his bones, and his transformation had been perfect until they found him. The marine biologist too - a creature of water through and through. The papers hadn't found her yet. Maybe they wouldn't.

But air. Air was tricky. You couldn't just grab anyone who worked with gases or weather. The vessel had to understand air's true nature, had to live it, breathe it, know it in their cells. The ancient texts were very clear on that point, even if they did take twenty pages to say it.

The sodium pentobarbital went into a specially prepared container, followed by the other components. Everything is measured to the microgram. The old alchemists would have appreciated that kind of precision, even if their own measurements had run more toward 'pinches' and 'drams.'

Getting the books had been the hard part. Universities kept the really good ones locked up tight, available only to 'serious researchers' with the right credentials. As if four years of grad school made you more worthy to read them. But there were ways around that. There were always ways if you wanted something badly enough.

The news had moved on to sports. The Alchemist turned it off. Enough distraction. The vessel was out there somewhere, probably at work already, doing whatever people who embodied air did on Wednesday afternoons. Unaware that they were about to become part of something vast and eternal.

The vessel had been chosen carefully. Took weeks of observation, of checking and double-checking against the texts' criteria. Had to be someone who understood air's dual nature - both invisible and essential. Someone who lived between earth and sky. Air was different from the others. You couldn't just transform it through force or submersion. Air needed... persuasion. The texts talked about this, too - about how each element required its own approach. Earth accepted. Water embraced. Air had to be convinced.

That's what the sodium pentobarbital was for. Modern solutions to ancient problems.

The photo lay face-down on the desk. Best not to look at it too much. Getting attached to vessels defeated the purpose. They weren't people anymore once they were chosen - just vehicles for transformation. Like test tubes or crucibles.

Three different newspapers spread across the floor, all with the same story about Marcus. Words like ‘brutal’ and ‘savage’ kept showing up. They didn't understand. Nothing brutal about it. The measurements had been exact, the symbols precise. Even the hole - 36 inches in diameter, 60 feet deep. Perfect numbers. Sacred geometry.

The lab equipment looked out of place next to the ancient texts. Modern glass and steel alongside leather-bound books and hand-drawn charts. But that was the point, wasn't it? Combining old wisdom with new methods. The ancients would have killed for a digital scale that measured to the microgram.

Time to focus. The transformation of air wasn't just about the physical process - it required mental preparation too. The symbols had to be perfect. The timing had to be exact. One mistake and the whole Work would be compromised.

Not that anyone else would understand. They'd call it murder, because that's all they could comprehend. They'd look for motives, for psychological patterns, for childhood trauma or repressed rage. They'd never grasp that death was just a side effect. A necessary step in the process, like separating reagents or filtering precipitates.

This wasn't about killing. This was about transformation. About completing something that had begun centuries ago, when the first alchemists realized that the elements weren't just physical things - they were states of being, phases of existence, steps on a ladder that led to somewhere far beyond.

Well. Best not to think about the final stage yet. One element at a time.

Then everything would make sense.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Ancient symbols shouldn't hurt to look at, but these did. Ella had been staring at the precinct whiteboard for an hour, and the five patterns had started doing strange things in her peripheral vision. Like they were trying to rearrange themselves when she wasn't paying attention.

At least Edis was finally on board. He'd called earlier to check in, and Ella had convinced him that they were dealing with a serial case. Edis had taken her word and said he’d process the paperwork to make it an official investigation today, meaning the Bureau's resources were officially at her disposal.

She'd gone through fourteen tabs of research on her laptop, each one leading down another rabbit hole. She'd found similar designs in a dozen places - Babylonian seals, Greek pottery, Sanskrit texts - but nothing exact. Close matches that turned out to be linguistic markers or astronomical signs. Agricultural symbols. Religious icons. But not these specific configurations.

Her theory about elements felt right, but proving it was like nailing smoke to a wall.

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