“That one’s yours,” I tell him.
“This is so cool. ‘Go ahead, make my day,’” he says, giving a spirited but inaccurate movie impression.
The rest of the team collect their assigned guns.
“Don’t swap,” I warn, following them out with my own weapon. “They are keyed to you alone.”
“Good security,” George says with an approving nod.
“Got anywhere to test these?” Riker asks.
I picture bottles or hay bales, then remember paper targets. We cross the back meadow, untouched since I moved the ward—ideal for target practice. Beyond it lies theboundary of the Magic Sector, and any stray round will disintegrate harmlessly.
With a push of magic another ream appears, and I conjure targets that glide through the air, unfolding into human silhouettes before stabilising.
“How far do people usually shoot from?” I ask.
“About there is fine,” Lander says, indicating roughly sixty-five feet. “Will they be loud?”
“No.”
He adopts a textbook stance—clearly no stranger to firearms—and fires. The silent bullet zips away, punching dead-centre in the paper chest. He glances from gun to target, shaking his head.
“What damage do they do?”
“They will shred paper, not flesh. The spell’s tuned: a human hit goes straight to unconsciousness. No pain. Two hours on average; longer if they are small, less if they are huge. Any longer than that and it edges into dangerous territory.”
They all look at me, but I ignore them. I raise my gun. I have never fired a gun before, yet I command paper, so how hard can it be?
My first shot veers wide.Far too wide.With a flick of intent I nudge it back on course, and it plants itself in the silhouette’s forehead. I mentally fist pump.
Then groan when I realise that works only as long as I can draw on my paper magic, and I know I soon won’t have that luxury.
I close my eyes and send my filaments inward, tracing along my magic until I locate the tiny sliver of Beryl I channelled in the graveyard.
There.
I snap my eyes open, raise the gun—my stance now rock-steady—and fire. Each round finds its mark, effortless.
Thank you, Beryl.
“This is the coolest thing,” Riker says. “When we’re done, can I take it home?”
“I’m sorry, but it will disintegrate in a few days.”
He pouts. “Our Alpha Prime would love this. We’ll probably want more.”
“I’m not making more,” I say firmly. “One-off mission kit. Stick to your claws.”
Riker grins. “Worth a shot.”
Once target practice is complete and the reloads have been tested, we are already an hour behind Lander’s schedule.
Time to move.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The sea ischoppy as we skirt the headland, approaching the island from the rear rather than the quieter inland route. Even so, the boat barely notices. It cuts through the waves, but cushioning spells stitched into the hull turn each crash into a gentle rise and fall, so the ride stays almost unnaturally smooth.
