CHAPTER THIRTY TWO
Fire wasn't like the other elements. Water flowed where it wanted; air drifted free; earth endured. But fire consumed and transformed. Fire turned everything it touched into versions of itself.
The Alchemist rolled up their sleeves and inspected the photographs laid out across the workbench. Clinical mugshots, the kind no one wanted taken. A geology professor staring into the lens. A marine biologist's staff ID with her bright eyes and optimism. A balloon company publicity shot, showcasing adventure and possibility.
And now this one - a craftsman at work, lost in the art of creation. The photo had been clipped from a trade magazine. The subject's face wasn't important. What mattered was the way their hands manipulated raw materials, how they understood that destruction and creation were the same force viewed from different angles.
The Alchemist had chosen carefully. Weeks of observation, of checking and double-checking against the texts' criteria. The vessel had to understand fire's dual nature - its capacity for creation and destruction. Had to live between order and chaos.
Just like the others. Marcus had spent his life studying earth's secrets. Sarah had devoted herself to water's mysteries. The air vessel had given her life to sky and wind. And tomorrow's sacrifice lived in fire's embrace.
Each one perfect in their element.
Perfect symmetry. Perfect transformation.
The Alchemist's hands shook slightly as they measured sodium pentobarbital into a glass vial. The changes had accelerated after the third transformation. Heightened senses. Moments of clarity that bordered on prescience. The body becoming something that straddled multiple states of being.
The texts had predicted this too. Physical alterations would precede the final transformation. The flesh is preparing itself for transcendence.
The Alchemist tucked the photos away. Getting attached helped no one. These weren't people anymore - they were carriers of elemental essence waiting to be released. Names didn't matter. Faces were irrelevant. Only their connection to the elements had meaning.
Still, one last check of the workspace. Glass beakers gleamed while a digital scale blinked its readiness. The mixing had to be perfect - any variation in chemical composition would compromise the entire process. Three successes so far proved the formula worked, but fire required special handling. It consumed without discrimination and turned everything to ash if given half a chance.
The meeting still buzzed in the Alchemist's mind. Eight masks in a circle, playing at understanding while real transformation happened right under their noses. Their rituals were tedious but necessary - they provided cover, created confusion, drew attention away from the real Work. Let them chant their meaningless phrases and draw their circles. Truth lived in action, not metaphor.
A siren wailed somewhere in the city. The Alchemist paused, listened, relaxed. Just an ambulance, not police. Though even discovery wouldn't matter now. Three elements had already transformed. The fourth waited like a chrysalis, ready to split. And after that, only one vessel remained before completion.
The workbench needed organizing. Everything in its place, every tool arranged by purpose. This wasn't about ritual or ceremony - it was about precision. Efficiency. The mixing had to happen on-site tomorrow, which meant transporting components separately. No room for error when dealing with accelerants.
But something else demanded attention first. The Alchemist retrieved a leather-bound notebook. Inside, observations filled pages in precise handwriting. Details about vessels, timing, environmental conditions. The scientific method applied to transformation.
Tonight's entry would be different. The Alchemist's hand moved across the page:
Subject exhibits slight height difference. Altered gait. Occasional accent variations suggesting New England origin rather than New Jersey native. Muscle mass and shoulder width indicate regular physical training.
The police had finally caught up. That was fine. Expected, even. They would waste time chasing metaphysical connections while the real Work continued. Let them study symbols and interview witnesses. By the time they understood, it would be far too late.
The Alchemist smiled and added one final note:
Impostor proved skilled at deception but betrayed themselves through subtle tells. Training suggests law enforcement background. Identity unconfirmed but irrelevant to completion of current phase.
The pen scratched a period onto the page. Tomorrow would bring fire, and fire changed everything. But tonight had brought its own revelation, because the person wearing Brother Nine's mask tonight certainly wasn't Felix Blackwood.