“So, all on your own out here, huh?” Pierce said through a mouthful of eggs, trying to make conversation.
“Ugh,” she said. “I don’t have to answer that. You two buttholes better know I’m only tolerating you because of the potential reward.”
“Thank you for tolerating my butthole,” Pierce said earnestly.
Crystal scoffed. “Whatever. Besides, I’ve got questions of my own.”
I blinked, raising an eyebrow as I chewed on a piece of toast. “Such as?”
“Why is there a large pile of empty suitcases on my front lawn?”
“Ah,” I said. “That.”
“Quill’s books,” Pierce said, slurping noisily on his orange juice. I could have kicked him in the shins. What was up with both Pierce and Dantaleon spilling all of our secrets? Next thing I knew, Mr. Wrinkles was going to start yammering, too.
Crystal leaned her elbows on the table, mockingly cupping her chin in her hands. “Your books, eh? Tell me more.”
Pierce gave an apologetic shrug when I fixed him with a death glare, but what the hell was I supposed to say? That we were traveling encyclopedia salesmen? I rolled my eyes. I groaned.
“Yeah, my books. Magus, remember? Those suitcases and trunks were supposed to have my collection in them, but there was a problem with – let’s say, transportation.”
She gazed past my shoulder out into the field. “Yeah, I dunno about all that. But if you’re willing to part with those suitcases, they should be worth at least something second hand.”
I waved my hand. “Sure, why not? We can sell them.”
Crystal pushed her fork around her plate, her eyes still locked on my face in a way that I felt was meant to deliberately make me uncomfortable. “Shame. Would’ve loved to see some of your collection.”
I narrowed my eyes at her. “You seem to be pretty curious about magical foci. And familiars, for that matter. You were wondering about my cat last night, and let’s not forget you picking up my book – er, Dantaleon – without my permission.”
She rolled her eyes, spearing a bit of egg, then letting her fork clatter onto her plate. “Oh, come on. No harm done. He didn’t burn me to death, and your kitty’s harmless.” She bent down to scratch Mr. Wrinkles on the belly. He reciprocated with an ingratiating meow. Traitor. “I’m just the kind of witch who doesn’t mind getting a little outside help. That’s all. It’s how it is with the craft, working with tools and whatnot.”
I stiffened, my body and mind automatically snapping back to what Dantaleon had drilled into my very core over the years: that a mage, ultimately, should strive for freedom from all implements. A true master practitioner of the art can call storms with the blink of an eye, kill with a thought, shatter reality with a single breath.
“But that’s all they are,” I said, hardening my voice, pushing away my uncertainty. “Tools are just that, a temporary means of building up your own strength.” I couldn’t believe I’d said that with a straight face, considering how I felt so very, very naked without direct access to any of my precious books.
“Yeah, what he said. Tools.” Pierce nodded sagely. “It’s like gym equipment. Or training wheels.”
Crystal frowned and threw her hands up. “But you’re a magus. Your whole thing is books, isn’t it? Like, my whole life, I’ve been looking for the right artifact to bolster my magic. Who would say no to the right focus, the right fetish? A wand, for example. A crystal ball. How can you be so blasé about not having your tomes with you when they’re the things that make you so powerful?”
It was bothering me, how it almost felt like she was reading my mind, how she was targeting my own insecurities about magic so accurately. And she didn’t even know about Inscription yet. I was far happier imagining that she wouldn’t find out about it, ever. But that was the exact frustration. Dantaleon, hell, even Mother always said that I needed to wean myself of dependence on my books, which never made sense given how much flexibility and raw arcane might they gave me.
And here I was, stuck penniless and functionally homeless out in some meadow, cut off from the very source of my power.
“I don’t need the books,” I said, my fingers digging into the surface of the table. “Don’t need them. Don’t need anyone. Don’t need anything.” I couldn’t help myself. My muscles were straining to contain my anger, but my nails were still drawing slender grooves into the wood. Pierce, I noticed, had gone dead quiet. But Crystal clearly had more to say.
“Hold up,” she said. “I don’t even know if we’re talking about magical tools anymore. All I’m saying is that I’m the kind of girl who’ll take help where I can get it. I had one artifact within my grasp – just, it was right there.” She clasped her hands around an invisible object, reaching for it with clawed fingers, then exhaled in disappointment. “But it just vanished. The one that got away. I’m not afraid to admit I can use a little magical boost here and there. Couldn’t the same be said for you?” She tilted her head, squinting. “What is this really about?”
“None of your concern,” I snapped. But was she right? Was this really about Asmodeus, the Repository, about everything and nothing?
She held her hands up, palms out, whistling. “Okay. Clearly touched a nerve there. I’ll stop pressing.”
I shook my head slowly, to clear it. I knew that it wasn’t in our best interest to have our host simmering with resentment the entire time we stayed, plotting our murder, but I couldn’t help myself. Who
