Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Nineteen

“Why do you have so many magic items anyway?”

The question surprised me—partially because Brendon’s timing was terrible, and he asked it right as I had taken a large bite of the sandwich he’d made me. Since I wasn’t about to talk with my mouth full, I had to chew and swallow first, which somehow seemed to take three times as long as usual. “I like them. They’re convenient and useful.”

Brendon rolled his eyes. “Fine, let me rephrase: how do you have so many magic items? I thought that after the evil mages were kicked out, the industry died.”

I took another bite and considered how to answer while I chewed. He was right, in a way. The evil mages, when they weren’t plotting treachery and world domination, often had side-businesses selling magical objects. Everything from common household goods—knives that never dulled and sponges that washed the dishes for you—to more elaborate enchantments—horseless carriages and magic towers. No one actually knew they were the same evil mages, so when the stores all suddenly shut down, there were a few months of shopper confusion.

It started an odd domino effect. Some of the remaining mages tripled or quadrupled their prices to take advantage of the lower supply. After their profits soared, a few of them decided, ‘hey, a life of evil may be for me’ and then they became subject to the defense spell. Because of the higher prices, more people started simply doing the dishes themselves, and so demand steeply dropped. By the time I had an allowance, there was only one magical shop left within a day’s ride of the castle, and it was more novelty items than anything useful.

“Some of them I bought,” I explained, gesturing to the tower. “This was an old tourist trap.”

He stared at me for a long moment before demanding, “Do you mean people came here to be trapped in a tower for fun?”

“Sure. People would line up in costume and do silly things like throw their braid out the window for someone to climb—they wore enchanted wigs,” I explained at his horrified expression, “and there was padding on the ground in case the rescuer fell. Some couples even rented it out for their honeymoon.”

He still looked skeptical about anyone locking themselves in a tower voluntarily. Then he asked, “Have you ever been trapped in here? Aside from today.”

That depended on how he defined ‘trapped.’ Somehow, I didn’t think ‘playing house with a lover’ counted, even if it did end badly. So, I ignored his question and continued my explanation. “Other things I made myself.”

“Wait, you made them?” he asked, eyes widening in shock, and a new eagerness entered his voice. “Which ones?” Before I could answer, he snapped his fingers and declared, “The toy chest! I wondered what mage was out there making magical sex toys.”

I blushed and focused on eating my sandwich until the heat in my cheeks faded. “Yeah, those are all my own designs.”

“Rick, that’s absolutely amazing,” he said, gazing at me like it was the first time he’d really seen me.

I ducked my head, struggling to accept the full force of his praise.

“What was the first one you made?”

“The collar.”

His eyebrows shot up and he straightened to attention, his own sandwich completely forgotten by now. “Do I finally get to learn what it does?”

Sighing, I admitted, “It gives you fluffy dog ears. I made it for a masquerade costume one year.”

“And you simply … repurposed it for a sexy night in? How does that work? Do you get down on all fours—”

I covered my face with my hands and groaned. “Please stop.”

“Well, since you said please,” he replied, his voice low and rumbly with suppressed laughter.

I ignored him and picked my sandwich up again, biting it more viciously than the soft bread deserved.

My non-social cues only dissuaded him until he finished eating. “How did you learn magic?”

I wiped my face with a napkin and said, “I followed directions. Fran prefers novels, but I’ve always been more interested in things with practical applications.” I started to stand up to look for a book, then fell back onto the couch when my leg wouldn’t hold up my weight. Between the pain-numbing ointment and conversation, I’d temporarily forgotten about my recent injury.

Brendon had leapt out of his chair to catch me, but when I settled back onto the couch, he slowly sat back down. “You shouldn’t move around so much,” he scolded.

“I just wanted to grab a book to show you,” I explained, gesturing to the bookshelf. “There’s a Practical Guide to Magic that has some basics in it, and I have a few more advanced texts that help you configure the spells for personal use. Once you know where to start, it’s mostly a matter of practice and having the right materials.”

“What kind of materials do you need when creating magical binding rope?” Brendon asked skeptically.

I pursed my lips. “Trade secret.” No reason to remind him about the fairy dust. Although it could be used on humans for temporary control, its true purpose was to make inanimate objects obey the owner. That was why so many of my enchanted objects required command words.

He snorted and rolled his eyes, then pushed himself to his feet and perused the bookshelves, hands clasped behind his back. In this pose, with his sleeves rolled up, I could see the flex of his forearm muscles.

God, I needed to get laid so I would stop drooling over every little flex.

My inner voice whispered insidiously: there’s a bed upstairs.

Which was absolutely not what I meant and my brain should know that. Then again, the wizard did suggest …

“What am I looking for?” Brendon asked.

“Green and about nine inches, so it should be somewhere in the middle.”

He muttered something about ‘stupid organization system,’ yet he found it before he even finished speaking, so it couldn’t be that stupid.

I adjusted myself, placing my foot on the table and stretching my leg out, giving him room to sit next to me so we could peruse the book together. The couch cushions sank down from his weight, and his shoulder brushed mine, a slight, constant pressure as we opened the book between the two of us.

“What was the first spell you tried?” he asked, flipping idly through the pages.

I took the book from him, and he stretched his arm around the back of the couch. At first, I missed the pressure of his shoulder, but then the tips of his fingers dangled over the edge, barely grazing me.

I continued flipping pages for five minutes before I remembered that I was looking for something, then had to backtrack because I’d passed it a while ago. “This one, actually,” I said, pointing to a section entitled Lock & Key.

“Is that how you locked the tower?” he asked, leaning forward for a better look.

In this new position his fingers touched my left shoulder, his chest touched my right shoulder, and his thigh was pressed against mine. Was he doing this on purpose? I eyed him suspiciously, but he was fully intent on the page, not even sparing me a glance.

“Yeah, it keys the lock to a specific person instead of an item.”

“What happens if you die?”

“Depends on how the spell is performed. In this case, I’ve put in a second and third key—Franny and my mother. It only reverts to them in emergency cases. Some mages have reason to lock away their secrets after their death, so they don’t put in any safeties.”

“Does the tower have any other safety measures?” Brendon asked, glancing at the windows covered in vines, blocking out all light. “Like a way to call for help?”

“Not as such, but Franny knows I’m here—she sent me to get a book. She’ll come looking for me when I don’t bring it back to her.”

“What book?”

I opened my mouth, closed it, opened it again.

“You’re not saying any words if that was your goal.”

“No, I just realized—she never told me which fucking book.”