Spellbreaker полностью

He sat in Master Hill’s private parlor, which, while small, was elaborately decorated almost to the point of untidiness. The wallpaper was roses and red stripes of varying sizes, accented by hibiscus; the carpet was cream; the furniture covered with baubles and books, Russian eggs, and Brazilian ceramics. Either Master Hill was very well traveled or she kept well-traveled merchants very rich.

He was capable of writing the Latin for the spell himself—he was capable of so much now that the life wasn’t being siphoned out of him—but he did not protest when Master Hill took the brush to his arm, a vial of blue ink held delicately between her aging fingers. Bacchus had rolled up his sleeves for the purpose, and Master Hill’s brushstrokes were professional and small. Not once did she make a mistake, and she paused just briefly to tuck a stray piece of graying blonde hair behind her ear. Bacchus read each word as she traced it down his arm, memorizing the incantation. After he absorbed the spell, he would no longer need the words to perform the magic, but he might want to teach it to another aspector or perhaps keep a record of how the spell was achieved. It was generous of her to let him watch; it was not unheard of for spellmakers to be blindfolded when receiving a new master spell in order to keep it valuable.

When Master Hill finished and most of the ink had dried, she handed him so many drops he could barely hold them all. Drops he’d paid for himself, but that didn’t matter. He’d been prepared to spend much, much more on the ambulation spell he no longer needed. They glowed vibrantly, brighter than candles. Bacchus still remembered being nine and having his father, who was not a spellmaker, place a single drop in his hand out of sheer curiosity. It had lit the room, and within the year, he’d been registered with the London Physical Atheneum.

Master Hill then held out an old book to him so he could read the spell aloud, but he didn’t need it. He had already committed the words to memory.

“Versandus naturam. Mutandus viam. Natura versat. Via mutat. Ultimum finemque. Per et intus. Supra et sine. Ultimum. Finem. Audi potentiam meam. Flecte voluntatem meam.

“Muti.”

The drops in his hands glittered and vanished, leaving him with an empty fist. Simultaneously, the ink absorbed into his skin like it had never been there at all. A surge of warmth coursed through him as the spell wrote itself into his internal opus, forever a part of him. Even in death.

“Thank you.” Bacchus lowered his arm and let out a stiff breath.

“You’ve earned it, Master Kelsey.” Master Hill had a knowing grin on her face. “I am glad you returned to us.”

Master Kelsey. That had a pleasant ring to it. Bacchus stood, feeling a little taller. Feeling . . . indestructible. He rubbed his hands where the drops had been. No trace of them remained. Even after all these years, he still thought it odd how the universe simply claimed its payment in exchange for sorcery.

“Here.”

He glanced up. Master Hill held out a candle. It was nearly used up, enough for a quarter hour’s worth of light, perhaps. White wax and a burnt wick.

He accepted it. “Is the morning light not to your liking?”

Ignoring his question, she strode to the nearest window and opened it, then bid him to follow. “You show great restraint. Most of my pupils jump to use their new magic the second the ink is absorbed.”

He smirked. Glanced at the candle. Tightened his grip on it.

“If you would hold your hand outside,” Master Hill continued with an amused tilt to her mouth. “Ice to steam is one thing, but most solid matter becomes rather . . . animated when forced into a gaseous form. And we must always account for temperature.”

Bacchus nodded. Physics was one of the required courses aspectors of the physical discipline had to study. Leaning out the window, Bacchus outstretched his arm. He noted that Master Hill took several steps back.

Thought moved so much faster than speech. A person could think a hundred things in the time it took for him to utter a single word. With time, Bacchus would be able to think this spell even faster than he already did.

The candle exploded in his hands, sending a flash of searing heat through his hand and up his arm. Enough for him to yelp and drop the inch of wick still clasped in his fingers. He’d admittedly pictured the candle simply puffing away. Saying the magic was “animated” was a vast understatement.

He also understood why Master Hill had insisted he try out the ability on something so small. The candle’s scent lingered in the air as its molecules drifted away. Rose petals and lavender.

It smelled a little bit like Elsie.

Master Hill switched places with him and pulled the panes closed. “How does it feel?”