The bookshop looks closed. The lights are dim as if they’re trying to keep people away. When I enter, I understand why.
Soon as I step over the threshold, a book flies at me. I duck in time. It just misses me and hits the wall behind me with a splat.
If I had energy, I would react to that. But I’m just barely hanging in there. I stagger in and see Chelsea.
“Devlin!” Her eyes widen in concern. “Are you okay? No, obviously you’re not okay. None of us are okay. What are you doing here? Wait. Let me get you a chair.”
She finds a chair, and my legs nearly give out before I sit on it. The store is a wreck. Books lie everywhere. Some are trying to lift from the floor, limply flapping in an attempt to get airborne. Another flies in circles.
“I just talked to Mama. I can’t believe what they want to do.”
Tears swell in her eyes, and she plucks a tissue from her pocket, blows into it and shakes out her hair, pulling herself together.
“As you can see, the place isn’t suitable for customers. I’m trying to clean up, but the books are fighting me more than they are helping.”
I hand her the box that I’m holding. My words come out shaky. It’s hard to talk. If Hands saw this, he would strangle me. I went too far, he would say.
Hands would be right.
My hands tremble as I point inside. “These lamps hold my power. This isn’t permanent, but the theory is that when magic is broken, sometimes it needs a battery, if you will, and the extra charge will help it right itself.”
Her eyes light up with understanding. “You’re trying to fix this.”
I nod.
“With your own magic?
I nod again.
“Devlin, you shouldn’t have done this.”
“Just try it,” I whisper. “Open one and see.”
Her brow wrinkles and I can tell she’s trying to figure out a way to not take the gift. She even starts to push the box back into my hands, but I push it back. “No. Do it. Try.”
She sighs. “Okay. Tell me how.”
“Just open one up and the power will release. It’ll mingle with the magic here.” I point weakly to the ceiling. “If it works, the bookshop will suck up the magic”—my breathing is labored—“and it will right itself. At least temporarily.”
Her fingers tighten on the box, and I can tell she wants to—no,needsto try this.
“Do it, Chelsea.”
With a slow nod she steps behind the front counter and opens the box, dipping her hand inside.
“Ouch! It shocked me!” She yanks her hand out and sucks on her fingers.
“Secondary effect,” I tell her. “They’re charged.”
“Wish I’d been warned,” she mutters. She grabs a cleaning rag and pulls one of the lamps out, setting it atop the counter. “Do I open it? Is that all?”
“That’s all. And get out of the way.”
Using the rag like an oven mitt, she slowly pulls off the lid and steps back.
Magic explodes from the lamp, hitting Chelsea with a wave of air that makes her hair lift and her shirt flutter. Power shoots straight up to the ceiling, where the golden flame fans out aboveus. The magic is quickly sucked up by the building, soaking into the walls and ceiling before there’s a brief pause.
Her gaze darts to me. “What next?”
