They arranged themselves alongside the monolith and, wrapping their arms around it, hauled it up to waist height.
“Bloody hell,” Algernon groaned. “I thought you said ‘light as a feather.’ ”
“I meant a mammoth eagle feather,” Professor Jackson said.
“The lady shouldn’t be part of this work,” Mumbers spoke up nobly. “She might get hurt.”
“For God’s sake,” Elodie muttered. She looked to Gabriel. “Which direction?”
“West,” he suggested. “Send it out to sea.”
Shuffling awkwardly, they angled the monolith as directed, but an invisible force dragged against their efforts.
“It’s trying to align to the fey line,” Elodie realized.
“Ow, that was my foot you just stepped on!” Mumbers cried out.
“Was it? My apologies,” Gabriel said, his voice as stiff as the rock itself.
“Never mind feet!” Professor Jackson shouted. “No one will care about their feet if the university’s original volume of theMalleus Mephitidaeexplodes!”
“The Hammer of the Stink Badgers?” Elodie translated bemusedly.
“Exactly!”
“I can’t hold on much longer,” Algernon panted.
“Think of me, I’ve only just recovered from pleurisy!” Mumbers told him. “ ‘Mortality weighs heavily on me like unwilling sleep.’ ”
“Keep turning west,” Gabriel grumbled.
“So do the badgers have the hammer, or…?”
“West!”
“Ow! You stepped on my foot again!”
“The rock’s getting heavier!”
“Don’t drop it!”
“Surely they don’t expect people to hit badgers with a hammer? That’s not—”
CRACK!
Suddenly, the very air seemed to shatter. Elodie found herself flying backward. She smacked against the ground, painshocking through her. One second later, Gabriel was atop her body, sheltering her as shards of sword-colored magic rained down. Wind screamed in pain. The ground buckled. All of existence strained to hold itself together.
And then, suddenly—quiet.
Elodie stared up at Gabriel. His eyes behind a fall of hair were so dark, magic would have lost itself for a thousand years in their depths. His breath was barely there. Elodie felt the same exhilaration she had when, years ago, he’d unexpectedly walked between lectures with her, discussing cartography agendas. And she felt comforted too, like the time she’d sat opposite him in the Bodleian, silently studying the teachings of Eratosthenes until the librarians evicted them at the end of the day. And it was lovely, lovely, like the slow drift of light and shadow through a small, quiet church as she watched him slide a gold ring onto her finger.
“Amazing,” Gabriel said huskily.
“Incredible,” she agreed, the word not much more than a sigh.
“The subjective alchemic transformation was remarkably specific.”
“And the voltage!” she added. “Such force from a relatively small lode!”
