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“Besides, it’s not illegal to drain one’s magic.Forcinga sorcerer to drain—for any other reason than self-defense—and trafficking reserves of magic? Certainly. But we can do whatever we want with our own energy.”

I sighed, wishing that were true for me. “Maybe. But if we have to drain too often, we’re considered dangerous, and end up on a list of watched, controlled people. You wouldn’t believe the sort of things they can do without any notice to individuals considered dangerous. Enter our houses, search them, look into our finances, lock us up for nothing more thansuspicionof selling too much magical reserves.”

He frowned, titling his head. “Are you registered as dangerous?”

I bit my lower lip.

I should have been. If I’d been honest about just how much I needed to drain myself, I absolutely would have been. “Not technically.”

He seemed to understand me perfectly. “Ah. Well, help yourself to the pool any time you need it. I’ll show you later. In the meantime…” Lucian lifted the first book on top of the neat pile at the center of the table, surrounded by glowing runes.

Immediately, one of the runes hovered at another shelf, and the pile rose a few inches, to allow for a tenth book to slide to the bottom of it.

The tin of my own baked goods arrived, and landed on the side table next to Zazel.

24

LUCIAN

While I had mostly been joking about letting Kleos do all the work, there was no denying that she was a considerable asset when it came to research.

It wasn’t the first time I was looking into something in company, but typically, people—erm, Ronan, Lucky, Gideon—had a tendency to get in the way, or at best, didn’t hinder me. Kleos helped. No, Kleos did as much as me. We finished books at the same pace. She took notes just as pointedly efficient and organized as mine.

She asked questions occasionally, to herself more than me.

“Could it be several rituals put together, to confuse us?” she muttered under her breath.

I pretended she was asking me. “Perhaps, but that’s unlikely; strong magic can go incredibly wrong when mixed up. Unless the person found compatible rituals…but they would have tried this before…”

As the words escaped me, I realized that this was a strong possibility. People didn’t wake up one day and just decide to curse a powerful witch—doing so efficiently. They must have practiced.

I wrote the word practice with a question mark at the corner of my notes.

These little interludes were welcome, often bringing something to my attention, and I took to asking her questions, too. Because Kleos was smart and knowledgeable, too. Inrunic. Who even liked runes? Other than me.

I had an excuse. Growing up, I didn’t have much company, given the fact that I was at risk of murdering everyone who came in contact with me. The one exception was Ronan, only because his own power made him almost as dangerous as me. Our respective parents figured out that if I messed up, Ronan would, in turn, make me live my worst nightmare, like a good little fury spawn, which would stop me from murdering him. Even then, our visits were limited. So, I read.

I was fluent in ancient Greek by age ten—because that was my grandfather’s mother tongue. Next, he taught me Latin, which made Italian, Spanish, and French a walk in the park. My family spoke English, like most of Highvale, but I learned Viennese German for the opera my mother loved to attend on her birthday. That was my norm. Books were a source of warmth and comfort.

Runes were fascinating because they were complex, a single line able to completely tweak the meaning of an entire spell, which was certainly not boring. They challenged me. Nothing much did.

Runes were no challenge to Kleos. She spoke them with ease—which was a mindfuck in itself.

My mind kept returning to what she told me about the book, the runes marked into her as a kid, and the old man. I was certain it related to the current predicament.

“Would you be up for a short trip?” I asked out loud.

Kleos lifted those ocean blue eyes up. “Hm?”

“A trip,” I repeated. “Perhaps a useless one, but it doesn’t have to take more than half a day. It could prove enlightening.”

“Sure,” she agreed quickly. “Where to?”

“Delphi, actually. Or very near it. There’s a portal leading straight where I want to go in the temple of Apollo, so we won’t have to fly or drive.” I hesitated. “I think your specific situation might potentially get us an answer.”

“…fromDelphi? As in from theOracleof Delphi?” She blinked several times. “I mean, is there even one right now?”

I shook my head. “Not as such, but the Pythia was just the mouth who spoke the prophecies of Apollo. Technically, the actual convergence of magic still exists there. If what I read is true, Apollo sent the serpent Python all the way to Tartarus from that very spot; that means that there’s a disturbance linking the worlds right there. The gods don’t give a damn about this planet as a whole, so it wouldn’t help a random tourist. But given everything that’s happened to you, it might be worth half a day.”