“What’s this?” She hadn’t intended to interrupt him, it just sort of happened. Jo lifted a finger, pointing at a single arrow in the quiver. Slightly taller than the rest, the feathers on its end seemed to shimmer with their own light; every time she shifted her eyes, they seemed to take on new colors in stark contrast to the pale, almost golden wood used on the shaft. “Did you make this—”
“Don’t touch it!” He grabbed her wrist and Jo felt the bones crunch. She tried not to wince, but may have failed, given how quickly Samson pulled away. He clearly didn’t know how much strength was in his hands. “Th-That was a gift. . . I think. . .” Samson had a staring contest with the arrow for a long moment as if waiting for it to confirm his suspicions, before turning and starting for the door. “We should get to work.”
“Yeah. . .” Jo mumbled, rubbing her wrist. She took one glance back at the quiver and its mysterious contents but quickly tried to put it from her mind. Judging from the way Samson acted, it must have something to do with the wish he’d made. Hadn’t Takako said that her wish now seemed hazy, too? With how long Samson had been in the Society, it would be no wonder that his recollection of the circumstances that had brought him there were faded.
Jo closed the door to his room behind her, determined to put it all far from her mind. She considered leaving briefly. But a stool had been pulled out next to where Samson was already beginning to lay out supplies. Jo accepted the unspoken invitation and settled herself down among the bits, baubles, and tools that lined the back wall. The plate of food he’d made was at her elbow (he must have set it down during her initial inspection of the place), still untouched.
Samson grabbed a work apron from a hook on the wall and gathered up tools and mismatched electronics, piling them at the center of the table. There was an air of preparation to what he was doing. His extreme focus pushed away the last of the awkwardness from the incident in his room and Jo let it fade as well. If he wasn’t letting it bother him, then she wouldn’t let it bother her. After several long minutes, Jo, intrigued, couldn’t help but get back to her feet and walk over for a closer look at what he was doing.
The man said nothing. Frankly, Jo would’ve put her money on him completely forgetting that she was even there. Samson looked over the accumulated items in front of him, hands flat on the table before him and eyes bouncing from item to item with an electric focus. When Jo got close to him, she felt it instantly—magic rolling off of him in waves. Then, with a quick breath, Samson got to work.
If she’d thought his motions had been precise in the kitchen, they were even more so now. He lifted scraps of metal, plastics, and silicones, turning them into amalgamations greater than the sum of their parts. The way he handled what had now been transformed into bits of electronics and rudimentary machinery seemed almost inhuman, robotic.
Jo couldn’t really comprehend what he was doing, tools and hands and magic working together to combine and transmute the items into something new, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away either. Magic was invisible. There was no glow, or spark, or thread tying it all together. Yet there was also a force that couldalmostbe seen in the way it all moved and shifted.
She had never seen Samson so in his element before. He looked in control, confident—emanating a breathtaking sense of purpose and passion. Watching Samson create something from pieces of nothing until familiar shapes began to form was like watching an artist paint or a musician play. Slowly, Jo could see a framework being laid out. Surprisingly, the way she saw it was not with her own sensibilities of tech, but an intuition that came with the unique magic she’d been gifted with.
“Wait.”
His hands froze at her word and Jo swallowed the instant guilt that swelled at disturbing him.
“There’s. . .” She struggled to describe what she saw. It was an understanding in a language that only she could comprehend. Trying to fabricate it into common words that would be useful to him was a struggle. Luckily, Samson was no stranger to struggling for words, and he was a more-than-patient listener. “This here. If this connection gets wobbled too violently it could break.”
“But there wouldn’t be excess movement unless—” It dawned on him the same moment Jo thought to explain it herself.
“Unless someone tried to sabotage the experiment. Or a violent earthquake hit. Or Wayne was his usual clumsy self.”
He looked down, assessing what Jo had assumed to be the possible roadmap he’d been following. “Well, then, if I connect this like that. . .”
“No, it’s still weak here.” She leaned over him to point.
“Here, then.”
Jo’s magic fizzled between her ears. Her eyes scanned the board he was working on over and over again, until. . . “Yes, that’s secure.”
Samson leaned back with a smile of triumph. Then, in a flurry of sudden movement, he grabbed her hands. Jo leaned away, not because the contact was unwelcome, but because she’d never been touched by him so intently before. “Your magic is useful to me!”
Jo couldn’t stop the burst of laughter in both amusement at his statement and in relief that she truly hadn’t put him off by inquiring about his room. “I’m glad,” she said earnestly. Perhaps he’d just invited her for the company, but Jo was pleased that her ability to break things could also be of use to their crafter in reverse-engineering for failure.
“I have so many things I want to show you. . .” His eyes scanned the room.
“Let’s focus on this for now.” There wasn’t time to be distracted. “Then, later, I can take a look at whatever you want.”
Samson gave a nod and set back to work.
Jo continued to hover over his shoulder, pointing out potential errors the second her magic picked them up. It was like a duet perfectly balanced between someone born to build and another born to destroy. Without having ever realizing it before, they were a near-ideal counterbalance to each other.
Their magics playing off each other gave her an easy sort of air with Samson that Jo had never quite felt before and that bred confidence. Except. . . that wasn’t right, was it? Something in the back of her mind told Jo that shehadfelt it before. She knew this feeling even better, truer—different, with someone else. . . But why?
“So how long have you been a part of the Society?” Jo asked by way of distraction. Unlike her other interjections regarding their (now shared) project, Samson’s shoulders tensed this time, though his hands never stopped moving, fingers shifting elegantly over one of his tools. When he didn’t respond for a while, Jo frowned. “You don’t have to answer. I was just curious—you’d mentioned the Age of Magic before and I don’t quite understand all the timelines, not really. . . Sorry,” Jo mumbled, feeling guilty for prying yet again.
“I don’t mind,” Samson said, though his voice was tight and his eyes stayed pinned to his work. “It’s simply a. . . difficult question.”
Before Jo could tell him to ignore the question entirely, he went on.
“I was born in 1333, before the Age of Magic ended. As I said, I was a fletcher at the employ of a local duke. I made my wish when. . . well, I’ve been with the Society since the year 1354.”
“That’s. . . a long time,” Jo whispered lamely, mind rebelling against the possibility. Samson just chuckled, his hands coming to a momentary stop. He kept his eyes on his project, but they looked far away, witnessing a distant memory, maybe.
