Page 12

Chapter 12

Tully

S haking slightly, I tuck my wand into my belt. Damn it.

Argos goes to the mark the magic left on the wall. His big, tan fingers trace a spray of black residue beside a line of dark red. “What are your findings?”

“This mirror was made by a witch who lived in this area before Leafshire Cove was founded. She was in love with a pixie, who wanted magic so badly that the witch was moved to break her coven’s rules and create this for her.”

“What did the pixie use it for?”

“For illusions.” I raise an eyebrow at him.

“So the damage in the town square is at least partially my illusion’s fault because this also works with illusions? Is the magic in my khymeia and this mirror clashing?”

I fist my free hand and rub my knuckle over my bottom lip. “Something like that. The witch wouldn’t have realized it at the time, but she accidentally created a chaos artifact.”

“I’ve never heard that term,” he says.

“They’re bespelled physical objects that increase the power of a spell. They don’t work the way the original creators wanted. Not only do they ramp up a magic’s power, they fracture and twist its intent and then you have it.”

“Chaos.”

“Yep.”

“So now what?” he asks. He opens his notebook, dips his quill in the blue inkwell at the desk, and jots down a few lines.

I shrug. “Do your scratch test.”

“Really?”

“Do it. We need to see if it’s made of the same stuff as the khymeia. I have an idea. Go ahead. I’ll be here in case things go awry.”

“But your wand is sheathed.”

“I’m fast.”

A slow smile spreads over his handsome mouth. “I bet.”

Before I can bark something at him, he has a knife out and is scraping some of the black material. A wave of power pours from the chaos artifact and he freezes.

“Damn. What was that?” He pulls his knife back and studies the residue he’s collected on the sharp edge.

“Defensive spell that’s built-in. We won’t be able to blast it apart.”

He is in his notebook again, flipping pages and muttering to himself. Cursing quietly, he opens a small drawer and pulls out a pair of spectacles. He puts them on and glances at me from behind a fallen lock of wavy hair. Why do his glasses make my thighs clench? I swallow and he looks back to his notes.

Rubbing the residue between his fingers, he murmurs nonsense about minerals.

“You’re muttering like an old woman.”

“What?” The notebook has him completely hooked.

I huff a laugh. “Blessed Stones, but you are a proper nerd, aren’t you?”

He isn’t listening though; he’s back to giving that black residue all his attention.

“Should I leave you two alone for a while?” I ask.

“I’m sorry?” He doesn’t even look up from his notes.

“Wow. This is incredible. I bet your last lover had to ink formulas onto her breasts just to get your attention.”

The scribbling in the notebook starts up again and my fantastic insult is wasted. “Please tell me what you discovered.” I am tapping my foot on the floor and about ready to pinch his arse to make him spill it out.

He whirls, and I fall back a step.

“Caught you enjoying the view again, did I?” He winks, and heat shoots to my core.

“Dammit. Just tell me your stupid results!”

“No need to shout, lovely scary witch. Ooo, your nostrils are flaring. How would you like to punish me for making you wait?”

I tug at my neckline. “Keep dreaming, Minotaur.”

“The residue has the same exact properties as the khymeia.”

“I love being right.”

He smiles and lifts his notebook so I can see a graph. His writing is neat but has a rushed quality to it. Like he’s always too excited about findings to take his time recording them.

“That graph makes no sense to me. I’ll just have to trust you.”

He shrugs and sets the notebook on his desk. “So what is your idea?”

“Since the khymeia’s magic works by draining the environment, we cast a spell with them and use the action to drain the mirror of power.”

Blinking, he studies my face. “That’s genius. But how do we manage to control it like that?”

“We need a place to work the spell where the only thing the khymeia can possibly pull from is the mirror,” I say.

“But we’ll have to be with the mirror in whatever place we set up, right? Won’t the khymeia attempt to drain us?”

“I don’t think so. They pull from inanimate objects. Organic, yes, but not from creatures.”

“You’re sure?” he asks. “Because if you’re not, then maybe we should try some other ideas first? Or can one of us cast with the khymeia from behind a wall?”

“It’s possible we could build a structure of stone that doesn’t hold much energy.”

“Right.” He is pacing now, walking back and forth between the door and the end of the bed. “No granite, of course. No soapstone since that tends to gather the sun’s heat…”

“No basalt,” I say.

“Oh, because of the white hydrogen often hidden inside.” He shakes his finger at me and smiles over his glasses. Gods, why are the glasses so hot? “Yes. Good one.”

He rattles off a few types of stone that could work—mainly ditchite, a worthless material I have heard of, but know little about.

“There is a quarry of the stuff near my hometown,” he says.

“Where are you from?”

His gaze cuts to me and his eyes narrow. “If I tell you, will you keep it to yourself?”

“Why don’t you want anyone to know? Did you get kicked out because you were overcharging for your pretend illusions?”

“They aren’t simply images of my imagination, you know. The khymeia accesses my memory when it creates those images. I use a memory spell to cast those.”

I frown and cross my arms. “I did notice a memory type rune on them. Do you combine the memory spell with a will to share?”

“I think so? It’s one of the open spells.”

I nod. It’s smart, to use those together. Awkward and bumbling for certain, but since he wasn’t born with magic, it’s a smart way to dazzle a crowd. Open spells are spells available to anyone who cares to pick up the Veiled Kingdom Grimoire . It’s a basic book that anyone can get at a library or a bookshop.

“You look less like you think I’m an idiot,” he says.

“I have to admit your spell combination is pretty smart. And you know a ton about rocks.”

He chuckles. “Thanks.”

“Finish your story, Minotaur. What is this secret background of yours?”

“I’m from Mytilene.”

“Isn’t that a noble’s domain?” Last I heard, Mytilene wasn’t a chartered town, but more of a sprawling estate. Granted here in Leafshire Cove, we have Rustion as our noble in charge, but that is more a succession of coincidences and his plentiful money and less about title and land handed down through generations.

“It was. The king owns it now.”

“What happened to the duke?”

“You don’t pay attention to local heralds much, do you?” There is an odd look on his face.

“I don’t. No. I like staying focused on my here and now.”

Nodding, he bites his lower lip. Part of me wants to bite it for him. I shake my head slightly as he opens his mouth to continue talking.

“The duke died suddenly at the end of summer.”

“Finally angered a tenant farmer too much and ended up with a pitchfork in his back?”

He breathes out slow and long. “I understand why you would feel that way, but no. A fever took him.”

“Sickness can strike high as well as low. The true equalizer.”

“So you truly hate nobles?”

“I don’t like fiefdoms. They’re set up to serve the nobles instead of building an environment that encourages a happy life for all inhabitants.”

“I agree. But I’m a hypocrite saying that. You see, I’m the duke’s son.”

My mouth falls open. “You’re a duke?”