Beautiful, precise, andvile.
The sight of it makes bile rise in my throat.
It is then that I understand.
“Please... they shall kill me as well,”William had said.
His words strike like a runaway carriage. I look from the circle to the menacing shifters, to the mage with his primed wand, then back to my whimpering husband.
This is a trap.
My husband has brought me here to shield himself. They had assumed William was the paper mage. Once they learnt the truth, he handedmeover.
I accepted him and our marriage because he was easy to manage. I never considered that others might manage him too, or that he would prove a coward.
What kind of man hands over his wife?I shake my head. I will deal with him later.
If these men want a fight, they shall bloody well have one.
“Did you know paper cuts hurt more than you expect? Paper is thin yet sharp—it slices the skin without going deep, catching more nerve endings. That is why something so small hurts so badly. Have you ever had a paper cut?” My voice sinks to a sinister murmur as chaos erupts.
Loose strands of hair whip against my face as paper hurtles from my bag, in through windows and under doors—scraps, sheets, maps, and blueprints—each one summoned to me, each sharp as a razor.
They whirl about me in a slicing cyclone, cutting like a hundred knives. I laugh as the shifters scream, ducking and cursing as they dodge the flying blades to shield the moustached mage.
Behind me, almost cowering in my skirts, is my good-for-nothing husband. We must get out of here. My distraction has worked; the shifters are too busy evading the paper storm to notice us.
“We can walk to the door,” I whisper. “I will shield us.”
He sobs and, with shaking hands, picks up the hammer propped in the corner.
I hum with quiet satisfaction. He needs no weapon—I have already shielded us—but it is good that he takes this seriously. I ready myself to move, magic thrumming at my fingertips.
William strikes the back of my head.
White pain explodes. The world blinks out.
Chapter Two
One Hundred and Sixty-Two Years Ago
I do not knowwhat wakes me first: my cold, wet foot or the sticky dampness in my ear. My eyelids feel weighted, as though pinned down by iron nails. My head spins, but I force them open and blink into darkness, finding only a thin corona of light at the edges.
The light grows, and the first thing I see is an unfamiliar ceiling.
My hat and gloves are gone, and my palms sting against the rough wood. Magic binds me to the unfinished floorboards. I can just turn my head—pain screams through the wound William left, pulsing with each heartbeat.
William.I bite back a whimper. He struck me with a hammer, the monster. Blood. It must be blood that hastrickled into my ear, soaking my collar and hair; head wounds bleed prodigiously.
I am inside the chalked circle, its sigils glowing with power. A manic laugh bubbles in my chest. I feel like a specimen pinned beneath glass. This is a nightmare.
My power is… gone, locked away.
My mouth is gagged, so I cannot speak the words that would unbind me. The spell tastes bitter on my tongue, old and unpleasant, like mouldy paper.
The mage stands opposite, wand raised, his voice a metronome. Precise, rhythmic, cold. His magic is strong yet graceless; there is no artistry in it. He is already halfway through the spell, and I am running out of time.
Beyond the circle, the shifters brood, sullen and bleeding.
