I place my other hand in his and stumble to my feet when my knees wobble. A drip of cold clenches my gut. Why am I so weak? All I used was a small zap of magic. Nowhere near enough to drain my stamina this much. For the love of the Weave, I’m the daughter of the Archweaver. I’ve wielded magic that others merely dream of.
Could it be a symptom of my frequent dark magic use? No, this can’t be magical. This stems from my basic mortal needs not being met. I only overslept because I tossed and turned all night. Which is why I skipped lunch in the first place. I’d taken a longer-than-usual break when Nora stopped by with a bag of potion supplies and her best restful slumber tea from her apothecary. Naturally, we had to catch up. We’ve been so busy running our businesses that we haven’t seen each other for a few weeks. Or has it been months? Regardless, it’s a waste of energy to worry about something that will clear up with some good sleep and regular meals.
The boy is steadily turning a ripe tomato red and his fingers twitch in my tight hold. I release his hands and cover the quick movement by straightening my cuffs and brushing down my slacks in efficient swipes.
He ducks his head and kicks at the floor, “So, um, do you?—”
I cut him off, “Your book should be right over here.”
I turn on my heel and strut down the stacks. If I don’t find this book soon, I’m going to have a new besotted magician hanging around and Lucas will traumatize the hell out of the poor boy when he returns next week.
The boy clears his throat and follows me with his hands in his pockets and shoulders up around his pink ears. “I appreciate you staying open late to help me. My master will wring my neck if I don’t pass this next round of exams.” He cringes. “You’re the only shop I could get to. They closed down all of East Street to replace the crystals with new light bulbs.”
The boy leans against the stacks and picks at where his fingers have cracked from hours of potion brewing. “My master thinks it’s the best decision that the Magistrate has ever made. She cheered and talked the ear off of anyone who’d listen about how it’s about time that the Prime Minister cracked down on those damn weaver bluebloods—no offense.”
I snort. “None taken.”
The boy relaxes with a heavy sigh. “Sorry. I know you’re one of them, so I wasn’t sure if—you know…”
When he trails off, I finish for him, “I’d care that the Astrum Order is being shoved out by innovation? No. I am not involved in the Order. Free agent and all that.”
Last time I poked my head out of the shop, only half of the streetlights still housed the traditional crystals imported from the Astrum Forest, their soft, wondrous light dancing in the mist like an old friend. The other streetlights held newly produced glass bulbs, the bright, harsh light fighting off the darkness with the power of electricity.
I would’ve loved to witness the Astrum Order’s reactions when they heard of the shift to technology. The Archweaver probably raged like a child at the disrespect, taking his anger out on the Council of Weavers members. There’s a thrill to witnessing that anger being unleashed on others when it was directed towards me all my life. Unfortunately, being in hiding restricts that sort of eavesdropping.
I slide my fingers along the book spines on the nearest shelf. “You’d think people would be more concerned about retaliation from the Order for using such magicless innovation on a large scale.”
The boy sighs, “That’s what I’ve been saying, but people are excited about those power plants. They pay good and both of my brothers landed jobs there when they didn’t place in their exams for a token, like I did. But it feels like we’re begging for trouble. Isn’t it better to keep the weavers happy so they don’t slither out of their forest and slaughter us in the night? I know the crystals were going out?—”
I blink and turn to the boy. “What did you say?”
“The weavers?”
“No. The crystals. What about the crystals?”
Magicians enchant charms, but weavers forge crystals. Both do the same magic, but crystals are far more potent. An enchantment wears off, but the forging is birthed from the weaver’s soul that links directly with the Tapestry of Magic.
The boy frowns and eyes my too-pale skin before saying slowly, “The crystals around town have been flickering and going out. It’s leaving whole sections of the city unlit.”
Something dark and wicked unfurls within my chest, growing as I draw in breath. I turn away from the boy so he can’t see the grin that twists my face, “Sounds like the Order is struggling.”
I hook my finger around the spine of a book and withdraw it. My face aches as I shift my expression back to my pleasant shopkeeper one. “Here’s your treatise.”
The boy’s shoulders sag with relief. “You are a lifesaver. Thank you.”
I take his offered coins, “Of course. Good luck on those exams.”
I lead the way to the front of my shop. The maze of stacks opens up to the foyer, my front counter and a silk curtain leading to my back room to the left, and the three steps leading down to my forest green door to the right. There are no windows within my shop and I use the space along the front where they usually would be to display various small items for sale, like notebooks and pens.
I stand on the top of the steps and wave the boy off. It’s rude not to walk him to the door, but I can’t help it. The moment he opens the front door to reveal the darkness beyond, my stomach twists with a sickening cramp that tugs at my shoulders. It’s so late, and the electrical bulbs’ cold light does little to ease the oppression of it. The darkness shifts, an indecent swirl full of sinister intentions. I swallow, hands clenching behind my backas a familiar crawling sensation creeps along my spine, like a spider on the hunt.
The apprentice doesn’t notice and struts out to join the others on the sidewalk. Not even Lucas is bothered by the night. Somehow, within six months, the night has changed in my eyes to this stalking beast set to swallow me whole. Minding these instincts has served me well all my life, and I would no sooner pet a snapping, feral dog than I would step out at this hour.
The click of the latch as the front door shuts has my breath releasing so hard that I slump. I weakly wave towards it and my fingers tingle with magic. The sign out front flips to ‘closed,’ and I drag myself to my register.
I check the large clock on the wall, the traditional numbers mixing with the cycles of the moon and the star charts that wink silver in a dark blue face. I don’t have much time before my new mystery buyer is scheduled to arrive. I need to nail this deal. The letter of inquiry I received a few days ago housed the promise of a rather lucrative sale of one of my trickier grimoires. The Amur Guild’s protection tithe is due this month and any extra funds are much welcomed.
I release the top button of my shirt’s too-tight collar with a sharp jerk. I should’ve turned the apprentice away when he showed up at closing, but the easy sale was too tempting. I quickly pull out my ledger and fumble the coins as I deposit them in the register.
