The carving of a serpentine creature, its body wrapped intricately around a twisting wand, frames the words like a silent guardian.
Liam slows, reaching for the brass handle with a quiet reverence usually reserved for sacred spaces. “This is the place Locke meant,” he murmurs, his voice dropping into a softer register. “Merrow is said to be one of the finest wandwrights still living. Welt handles the cores, they say he can hear the resonance of magic inside the wood before he even touches it.”
Trevor steps beside us, folding his hands behind his back in an almost formal gesture. “We’ll wait outside,” he says, sweeping his gaze across the storefronts opposite. “Wandwrights can become… temperamental if too many energies crowd their space. Better for you two to go alone.”
Theo nods in easy agreement. “There’s also far too much sound in a place like that for me to think straight. I’ll stay near Trevor.”
Liam gives them both a grateful nod, then turns back to the door. As his fingers brush the metal, a subtle ripple spreads outward, so faint it is more felt than seen, like the air itself releasing a sigh of acknowledgment. My breath catches, an instinctive reaction I cannot quite name. Even before the door opens, the space beyond feels aware of us.
Liam glances toward me for a final moment of silent assurance. “Are you ready?”
I want to tell him I am, yet readiness feels like a luxury I do not possess. Still, I force a steadying breath.
“Yes,” I answer, though the word trembles in my chest.
He pushesthe door open.
The shop interiorfeels as though we have stepped into another realm entirely. The space smells of old cedar, sharp sage smoke, and a metallic undertone that tingles along the edges of my senses, almost like the taste of blood. Wands fill every shelf, suspended from the ceiling, resting behind glass, or tucked into velvet-lined cases. No two look the same. Some are gnarled and ancient, their surfaces etched with runes I do not recognize. Others are sleek and glimmering, humming faintly with contained power.
A voice emerges from the deeper room before I can lift my hand to explore the nearest display.
“You carry unusual magic.”
Master Merrow steps into view with the sound of soft, measured footsteps. His hair is iron-gray, swept back neatly, and his robes are layered in fabrics dyed the color of winter pine and smoke. His steel-colored eyes find me immediately, bypassing Liam as though my brother were simply part of the scenery. The intensity of his gaze locks onto mine, lingering not with suspicion but with assessment. He looks at me as though he already knows what brought me here, long before I have the courage to name it.
Liam clears his throat politely. “Master Merrow. Professor Locke sent us. Harper needs a wand that will answer her properly.”
Merrow does not look away from me. Not once.
“Locke often oversimplifies matters of importance,” he murmurs, stepping closer. “Lift your chin.”
I do so slowly, heart thudding uncomfortably against my ribs.
His gaze sharpens, first on the line of my face, then on the unusual violet of my eyes. Something softens in his expression,though it is not ease. It is recognition. A memory he does not voice.
“I have not seen eyes like yours in decades,” he says quietly. “Magic of that color does not sleep peacefully. It demands.”
I swallow, unsure whether I should feel fear or shame or something far more dangerous...curiosity.
Before I can ask what he means, Merrow gestures toward the shelves. A wand glides forward from its resting place, a dark walnut piece with brass inlay twisting like veins around the handle. It hovers before me as if waiting.
“Try this one first,” he instructs.
My fingers tremble as I reach for it. The moment skin meets wood, a violent surge snaps through the air, like the crack of thunder against the mountainside. Blinding light bursts between my palms, forcing me backward. Liam catches me before I stumble, pulling me toward him with a startled curse under his breath.
Merrow does not look startled. He simply exhales, nodding once. “Not her match.”
The wand drops to the floor as though robbed of life.
Another floats forward, pale birch this time, crystalline patterns running down its length. This one emits a cold hum. I extend my hand again, and a shock of icy magic shoots up my arm, numbing my fingers instantly. I recoil with a hiss.
Merrow’s lips twitch into something that resembles amusement. “She is… particular.”
Liam squeezes my shoulder, grounding me. “There’s a wand here for her. Locke said so.”
Merrow tilts his head, gaze returning to my eyes. “A wand for her?” he echoes softly. “Or a wand willing to endure her?”
My pulse quickens.
