Beginner Magick

The library was larger than any of the others Reagan had visited. It cast a shadow onto the buildings across from it, imposing its presence on the rest of the street. The blinds were drawn, giving him no chance to peek inside before opening the door.

He stopped in the doorway, looking back to bid Elisa farewell as she headed off to explore the town. As soon as she had disappeared between two stores, he walked in and let the heavy wooden door creak shut behind him.

Floor to ceiling shelves lined every wall, with more creating a labyrinthian path through the first floor. They were crammed with tomes of all shapes, sizes, and colors. Between two rows of shelves, he could make out a set of stairs leading to the second floor, where he assumed there were even more books. Dust saturated the heavy air, settling into the worn carpet beneath Reagan’s feet.

“Can I help you?” asked a voice Reagan couldn’t identify. It floated over to him from his right, and, as he looked closer between the rows of books, he saw a face looking out at him from the other side of the backless bookshelf. The woman who emerged from that section was a little shorter than Elisa, with dark hair pulled back into a ponytail and tired brown eyes.

“I-I was wondering if you had any books about magic,” Reagan said. The intensity of her gaze made him squirm, and he almost expected her to look behind him at Liam.

“Those will be upstairs, on the right, second shelf from the back,” she said before placing a book on the shelf between herself and Reagan, effectively ending the conversation.

Reagan offered a thank you anyway before following her instructions. The second floor was sparser than the first, making it easier to navigate. He found the aforementioned bookshelf with ease, but his excitement dwindled when he saw the lonely set of books lining the bottom shelf.

The first few detailed the history of magic and its origins. The last one, titled Beginner Magick, claimed to be a comprehensive manual.

It wasn’t as dusty as the others Reagan had picked up, and he felt a slight warmth beneath his fingertips as he ran his hand along the cover and spine of the book.

It opened to a beginner’s manual of casting spells, covering pronunciation and common syllables, before detailing a few simple spells, most of which he already knew. He memorized the unfamiliar incantations: one used for small-scale destruction such as clearing rubble or fallen trees from a caravan’s path, and one for transforming objects, though at the cost of making the objects more brittle, before moving to the next section regarding the theory of magic.

Reagan’s breath hitched. “Magic is passed down through generations through the blood, and gradually tapers off as the magic-user ages and their blood weakens,” he read. “It cannot be regained once lost through age, nor can it be transferred through objects or spells.” If it can’t be transferred to objects, how in the world do those amulets work?

Reading over Reagan’s shoulder, Liam stepped back, drawing Reagan’s attention to him. His mouth was pulled into a thin line, and his brows were drawn together. He looked like he was about to be sick as he clutched at his chest, gripping the red fabric of his vest tightly in one fist.

“What’s wrong?” Reagan asked, looking around for any sign of the librarian or other patrons before he spoke in a soft voice.

“Now I know what was so familiar about those amulets,” he said.

“I thought Agatha…” Reagan trailed off when Liam shook his head.

“It’s not that. I should’ve pieced it together when Lili described the dagger Dietfried used…” He pressed his hand tighter against his chest and grimaced. “Reagan, I think those amulets are fashioned from the daggers that killed me and your family.”

A cold sensation washed over Reagan. He gripped the book until his knuckles went white, because he didn’t trust himself to hold onto it. “What?” he asked.

“Lili said that it looked like the daggers had absorbed the blood… I-I remember feeling a really weird sensation in my chest, right before I died… I think those daggers were meant to absorb a mage’s blood and make those amulets Aislinn told us about, the ones Ulick and Alan use.”

Reagan’s head spun. He tried to think of an argument, a better reason for the death of his family, but he couldn’t. Liam’s words made sense, and they made him sick. My parents… Liam… The Meier family… They were all killed to steal their magic?

“So all this time,” he said, fighting to keep his voice low. “Ulick and Alan and who knows how many others have been using your blood and the blood of my family -- the blood of those they slaughtered -- to power their spells.” Anger coursed through his body. It buzzed in his veins like a swarm of bees. He dug his fingers into the soft leather cover of the book in his hand, trying with all his strength to crush it.

The tension made his arm throb, and he looked down at the bandage peeking through the hole in his coat. The physician had one of those amulets. He used someone else’s blood to heal me. The thought made him retch, and it took all he had to keep his breakfast down.

Then, catching the pained expression on Liam’s face, Reagan said, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” and he leaned into the bookshelf as his anger dissipated, leaving exhaustion in its wake.

Liam shook his head, and he tried his best to smile, but it never reached his eyes. He looked away as he spoke. “At least now we know. You’ll never be safe… If anyone sees you cast a spell without one of those…”

“They’ll kill me for my magic, too,” Reagan said. Like they should’ve a decade ago. He looked down at the book in his hand, then at the others on the shelf and said, “None of these are going to be of any use. A spell for necromancy isn’t going to be found in a beginner’s manual, and it doesn’t seem to be mentioned anywhere in the other history books, either.” He deflated at the lack of results.

“Maybe there are other books, but they’re being borrowed?” Liam suggested. His expression had returned to neutral, and though his voice shook a little, he did his best to keep his tone light and cheerful.

“It’s worth a try,” Reagan said, and he gave his best attempt at an encouraging smile. It felt tight on his face, and he dropped it a second later.

Downstairs, the librarian had moved to another set of shelves. She was pulling books with broken spines off the shelves and placing them gently into a box at her feet, all while noting them in a leather-bound ledger. As Reagan approached, she replaced her quill pen into its ink bottle and regarded him with one eyebrow raised.

“Did you find the books you sought?” she asked.

“We-I found the section, yes,” he said. “But there were so few books there, I was wondering if perhaps some may have been taken out by other patrons? Or may have been sent out to be rebound?” He looked down at the books at her feet as he spoke, trying to keep the small spark of hope from burning too brightly in his chest.

“Those are all the books we carry,” she said with finality. “If you’re looking for something more advanced, you’ll need clearance for the royal archives in Omstadt. We’re fortunate enough to have the books we do on such a subject, young man.” She looked him up and down, frowning.

Disappointment dropped a weight into the pit of Reagan’s stomach. “I understand, thank you.” He turned away briskly, his heart pounding hard in his chest. I shouldn’t have asked, he thought, and he prayed she wouldn’t speak to him again as he rushed between the shelves and exited the library. If she grows suspicious of me…

As though marking his exit from the establishment, the second Reagan opened the door, a low hum echoed through the town. He froze, hardly daring to let go of the door. For a second, he swore his heart had stopped in his chest, and he forgot how to breathe.

Wide-eyed, panicked, he looked around, scanning the faces passing by. Who he was looking for, he couldn’t tell. Any second now, he expected someone to reach for him, to materialize out of the shadows.

Any second now, he expected a dagger to be plunged into his chest. Only one thought broke through the haze in his mind: I’ve been found.