We check the bodies—alive, merely asleep. To conserve magic, Lander and Dayna secure them with plastic ties.
“Is this one of those paperweights?” Riker asks, nudging an object in the corner with his boot.
I lean in. “Yes, that is one.” Old magic. Meredith has not made new paperweights; she is drawing from a hidden cache.
“I’ll do the honours, then.”
We have already agreed they are best destroyed the old-fashioned way. Riker unclips a club hammer from his pack and steps forward, then without hesitation, he smashes the glass to shards.
The magic sizzles as it burns away; for a moment it prickles across my skin like static.
“Thank you.”
“No bother,” Riker replies. “Any time.”
“Still can’t use your magic?” Lander murmurs as we move on.
“No.”
We reach the main ward—a visible dome, embedded deep in the ground, that shimmers, far more complex than I expected. George rolls his shoulders, kneels, and hovers his palm mere millimetres above the surface. I watch, entranced.
His magic glows gold—nearly the colour of his eyes—and spills into the ward like liquid light, eroding it from within. I have never seen this technique before, and I doubt the others can see what I see. I lean closer, spellbound.
The magic carves out an opening just large enough for us to slip through. The slicing technique keeps the ward intact, and any built-in alarm stays quiet. George deadens the edges, weaving safety into the seams so no one is burned or sliced if they brush against them.
Then he picks up a nearby stone and marks a smaller square on the ground before the gap.
“This is your doorway,” he says, glancing up. “Keep low, stay small.” He looks at Riker. “Sorry, fella.”
Riker grins. “That’s all right. I’m a big lad, but I’m flexible.”
The next building is the library. It rises above the neighbouring structures, its arched windows capped with carved stone lintels. The building exudes a quiet grandeur, nothing ostentatious, merely built to endure.
It, too, is warded, but George steps forward again. He draws a tiny black pebble from his pocket, inscribed with a spiral, and presses it to the door. It pulses twice, and the ward peels away.
“I want one of those,” I whisper.
“Only if you engineer us an epic paper grenade,” Jill whispers back with a grin.
I laugh softly and shake my head.
What I do not want is George turning up to any property I am in on official business. After watching him work twice, once with his bare hand and once with the pebble as a focus, I have several ideas for stopping him. When I return to the chapel, I will tweak my wards so that George, and ward mages like him, cannot gain entry.
He is frighteningly powerful. Yet sweat beads on his pale face. The breaking wards while sustaining the personal shields is clearly taxing.
I pull a small bottle from my pack and toss it to him. “Drink this,” I say. “Recharge tonic—think magical electrolytes.”
The liquid glows faintly, a silvery blue that swirls when shaken. It tastes of citrus and salt, with a sharp herbal note beneath. Not pleasant, but effective.
“I formulated it for magical depletion,” I add as he uncaps it. “It restores the body’s natural magic flow, stabilises casting fatigue, and stops your muscles from locking up. I have a couple more in the bag, if anyone else needs one.”
“Thanks.”
Lander smiles softly at me as Snack Thief beats his wings once and slips through the doorway: scout, snack thief, spy. He’s more useful than I will ever admit aloud.
Lander’s eyes glow solid white as he channels his magic. I move closer, guarding his back while he is vulnerable. Dayna mirrors me on the other side.
“I could’ve sent a drone in,” Jill mutters.
