Chapter 20

Twenty

Kyrith

N orth looks up from his grimoire so fast that the action pulls on his still-healing skin, and he grimaces.

“You guys can tell the future?”

I shake my head slowly. “Many have tried. The results have always been…murky. Divination shows one many things, but the future…”

Fixing Leo with a look, I give him a little shrug. He knows it cannot be done.

Well, not reliably, at least.

“Breaking the frontiers of magical knowledge is the purview of academia.” Defensiveness is written in his every word. “Progress is simply the art of making what was previously impossible possible.”

But it’s not about progress or academic advancement, is it? I have met many arcanists with ambitions of that sort, and Galileo isn’t one of them.

He possesses none of the joy of discovery or zeal that I’ve encountered before. He’s far too watchful, too wary in that hawkish manner of his, and a heaviness lingers about him that doesn’t exist in those with little to lose and much to prove.

Whatever reasons Galileo ó Rinn has, I bet they’re self-serving and desperate. I’ll also willingly set fire to the Clock Tower if this doesn’t have something to do with his ensorcellment.

“Humour me,” Galileo continues. “Surely, you’ve read something on it. Unless the Arcanaeum is truly as lacking in books on the subject as it appears?”

The shelves bristle. If there’s one thing the Arcanaeum can’t stand, it’s being told it’s lacking.

Its response is as predictable as it is vain, and I don’t bother trying to corral it this time. A cart rolls to a stop beside the nook, two tall stacks of books wobbling precariously atop it, along with a handful of scrolls on the shelf below and…

“Absolutely not,” I hiss, grabbing the grimoire from its unassuming place on the middle shelf.

Galileo’s icy eyes seize on it, gleaming, and he raises a brow. “Why not?”

“Texts from the Vault are not available to the public.” All of them tense, and I curse myself for mentioning the secret archive.

My deathbed aside, the Vault and its contents always felt too private to share. Those books were the lifelong companions of thousands of arcanists, now long dead, and deeply personal. The only reason I showed him the others was because they were too messed up to be of consequence.

“Whose is it?” Galileo asks, leaning back in a way that’s too casual. He’s not fooling anyone. That hawk’s gaze is fixed on the battered book in my arms, lingering on the stained cream cover.

I look down, though it’s not necessary. The Arcanaeum knows everything about this volume, and so do I.

“Ammie Talcott’s.”

There’s no mistaking the way his whole body jerks. It unnerves me so badly that I release the grimoire, and the Arcanaeum whisks it away.

“Anything you want.” That same desperation that edged his tone when I banished him is back. “Anything, Kyrith. Let me read that book and?—”

I’m backing away instinctively, but I don’t notice until Lambert kicks Leo hard under the table.

“Dude, you’re making her uncomfortable,” he interjects. “Dial it back. Remember what we talked about? You’ve got to smile at women if you want them to like you. You can’t just pressure them into stuff.”

His interjection draws Galileo’s intensity away from me for a second, giving me the presence of mind necessary to change the subject.

“You’re supposed to be focusing on your runeforms,” I remind him, nudging his books to bring his attention to them. “And Galileo has plenty of reading to be getting on with.” I roll the cart closer, putting it between us like the world’s least-subtle barricade.

North holds up his own grimoire, displaying a complete runeform, and I nod approvingly before I remember he’s an Ackland.

“Neatly done.”

It’s thin praise, but I swear the set of his shoulders relaxes slightly.

“Now cast it.”

His face scrunches up, and I grimace. “Stop, stop, stop. What are you doing?”

“He always looks like he’s trying to take a dump when he casts.” Lambert shrugs. “It’s one of his cute little liminal quirks.”

“I do not!” North rounds on his friend.

“Hey, no judgement, bro,” Lambert holds both hands up. “Whatever makes the magic flow.”

North elbows him as Galileo picks up a book from the cart, and I deem it safe enough to float closer.

“What are you visualising to draw from your well of power?” I ask North, ignoring Lambert.

There are a number of ways for young arcanists to envision their magic. The most common when I was learning was a ball of yarn that one draws from on command, then releases when done, but there are others.

“I learned with the bucket and hose,” Lambert pipes up.

North remains silent. I’ve come to learn that means he doesn’t understand what I’m talking about.

“Northcliff,” I murmur. “You have been taught how to draw power using the standard visualisations, haven’t you?”

His “no” is almost inaudible, so he clears his throat. “If I just force it hard enough, it works.”

“Can you feel the well of your power?” I don’t offer him sympathy; he doesn’t deserve it, and he doesn’t want it from me. “Try to imagine it’s a ball of yarn inside you.”

“You mean to tell me you crushed us into the ground while thinking about wool?” North asks, shoving his dark hair out of his face.

“It’s a learning device,” I correct. “Once you’re used to drawing power and familiar with the amount you need for different level spells, you won’t need to use it anymore.”

“It’s like building up muscle memory,” Lambert supplies, helpfully.

“Draw a little bit of the yarn through your chest, down your arm, and towards your palm, and then channel it into your Grimoire,” I instruct, cursing Josef silently. “Once the spell is cast, cut the yarn and let it wind itself back up.”

Those golden eyes narrow like he doesn’t believe me, but he has the good sense not to argue.

“You need to keep your intention in mind as well,” I add when nothing immediately happens. “Envision the effect of the spell. Direct it—to begin with, it’s best to look in the direction you’re casting so you don’t get muddled—then you can speak the incantation.”

“What incantation?” he blinks in confusion.

Lambert shoves the book in front of him and taps the cursive at the top of the runeform. “That one.”

“ Leaghtir ,” he says, drawing out the syllables, then glances up at Lambert to check that he got it right.

So, of course, the Winthrop heir immediately breaks out in fits of giggles.

“Hey!” he gasps between convulsions. “No fair!” Cackle. “Just wait…”

“ Ripiel ,” I utter the simple nullification spell with a sigh, and Lambert collapses, red-cheeked and still grinning, a second later. “Very good, but use the mirror next time.”

North stares at his friend like he’s trying to come to terms with his arcanist identity all over again, and I roll my eyes, moving away to leave them both to it. Lambert, in turn, looks like he might be plotting his revenge.

“Kyrith,” Galileo says, already several pages into the first book from the cart. “If I could just study one page, just one .”

“Oh shit, dude, is it about the curse?” Lambert’s eyes widen. “Have you tried puppy dog eyes?”

“You know about his ensorcellment?” I can’t help my frown, because it seems like the sort of information that one simply wouldn’t trust Lambert with.

“I mean, yeah?” Lambert shoots a confused glance between us. “Everyone knows about the ó Rinn family curse. It’s kinda famous.”

It is? My eyes flash to Galileo, brow rising. “Oh, really?”

“Lambert.” Leo shakes his head once.

The blond pouts. “But I know something Kyrith doesn’t know! Do you get how rare that is?”

“Not as rare as you’d think,” I mutter under my breath. “I haven’t left this building in five hundred years. I’ve never even seen a magiball game.”

The shock and horror on Lambert’s face is almost comical, but at least it silences him, leaving Galileo and me to stare each other down in silence. It’s hard to admit when I’ve been outplayed, but I really should congratulate him for it.

Bargaining with information anyone else would already know takes balls. His gesture of trust was a farce. At least I didn’t do something stupid like confess everything.

It’s a bitter pleasure to inform him, “Grimoires in the Vault are not available to patrons.”

The way his eyes narrow speaks of talons and death. “That didn’t seem to be a rule in your office.”

“That was different.”

“Why? Because it served you?”

“Because they were illegible.”

“Guys, guys.” Lambert stands and squeezes past North to place himself physically between us. “Come on. We’re here to help North learn to laugh, not argue. Besides, we have bigger problems now.”

Both of us turn our stony gazes on him, but he’s immune.

“What. Problems?” Leo grinds out.

“Kyrith’s never seen a magiball game.” He spreads his hands like it should be obvious. “That means we have to set her up to watch the first game of the season! She can watch me play! And if the boss wants to decorate again, I think the Arcanaeum would look amazing in UAA colours.”

Oh magic, no. He’s giving the building ideas. I would rather hug North and end it all than suffer the indignity of finding the Rotunda hung with magiball bunting.

“Next you’ll be suggesting the Librarian wear your merchandise,” Leo comments, the aggressiveness barely fading from his tone and posture, but of course, it makes Lambert’s eyes light up.

“No. Absolutely not. I can’t wear clothes.” I’ve been wearing the same borrowed dress for my entire undead tenure, and it simply would not work with modern clothing.

“You can hold books.” Lambert beams. “You could float one of the jackets around your shoulders.”

“I would rather?—”

“Just let him set up the screen,” North mutters. “So we can get on with this stupid giggling lesson.”

“I’ll even score for you, boss.” Lambert tosses his hair over his shoulder and shoots me a practised wink.

“Does that honestly work on women?” I ask, grimacing as I remember the way the girls in their class fawn over him. “Actually, don’t answer that. You’re clearly somehow proficient at courtship.”

“Hey! Don’t slut shame me.”

But he makes it so hard not to. “Fine, the screen only. No jackets. No decorations.”

Perhaps Dakari and Jasper will appreciate the entertainment, if nothing else.

Unfortunately, despite Lambert’s distraction, I doubt the matter is really closed between Leo and me. Silently, I ponder the odds that he’ll try to break into the Vault himself.

He’s vastly better equipped for a break-in than the Ackland heir. He might actually succeed. Which means I need to play his game. Give him hope and string him along. I might even feel bad about it if he hadn’t played me so well already.

“If you find anything about Ackland’s grimoire, I’ll consider changing my mind,” I eventually concede in his direction. “Now, keep practising. I have something else to attend to.”

Or rather, some one else. Dakari is spying on us from around the corner. Magic save me from these insufferable heirs. I disappear and reappear behind him, clearing my throat expectantly.

To his credit, he doesn’t whirl, or try to pretend he wasn’t listening in.

“You could simply sit with us,” I offer. “Jasper, too, when he’s well enough. They aren’t a threat.”

Dakari snorts. “You say that like ó Rinn wasn’t just promising you his family fortune while plotting to take what he wants the moment your back’s turned.”

I want to be surprised that our assessments of the situation are so similar, but I’m not.

“I can handle him.”

“No doubt,” he says, as laughter erupts from the study nook. “But it’s not just him you have to worry about. ó Rinns tend to get desperate fast when they feel the first stirrings of the curse. If you’re not careful, he’ll join forces with the Carltons.”

Somehow…I doubt that. I don’t know Galileo well, but I don’t get the impression that he’s a fan of Pierce or his sister. Still, the idea is worrisome.

Dakari looks at me, really looks at me, and whatever he sees makes his face fall. “Kyrith?—”

“My dealings with Leo are none of your concern,” I reply as evenly as I can. “It won’t affect your Sanctuary.”

“That wasn’t?—”

“Does Mr McKinley need anything?” I cut him off. “Or were you simply lurking for entertainment?”

Dakari levels me with a dark, unimpressed look that makes it clear what he thinks of my less-than-subtle evasion. “Don’t trust the ó Rinn, Kyrith. And don’t get close to him either.”

“I had no plans to. Now, are you interested in magiball? It appears the Arcanaeum is about to host its first showing.”