by Gina LaManna
I accepted the slim, brightly illustrated paperback that nearly crumbled in my hand with age. “What is this one?”
“It’s a children’s story,” Ainsley interrupted, leaning over my shoulder. “My mom read me this one. Masters and Magic. It’s almost like a, oh, I don’t know, a comic book for magic. It’s got his origin story and all that. It’s a story about the man who saved magic as we know it, and how he continues to this day to provide balance in the world. It hints at the destruction that will follow should the balance go awry.”
I clutched the book closer to my chest, then surveyed the pile of massive manuscripts Millie had prepared, including a collection of books on Greek, Roman, and Norse mythology. There was even a book with Russian lettering on the cover. “Thank you. This is an incredible start; I think I’ll need some time to look through all these.”
“You can take them home,” Millie suggested. “But I recommend spending an hour here flipping through them and finding which ones you need. If you tell me which ones you like, I can find others more in depth on specific subjects.”
“Which would you suggest I start with? Anything that might hint to where the Master lives?”
Millie’s eyes flashed again. “Let me be clear: You are not going to find information on how to locate the Master of Magic in these books. It’s simply impossible.”
“If I can’t find him,” I shot back, “then what in the world should I be looking for? I refuse to sit here and do nothing.”
“You’re not doing nothing,” Millie said with a curious smile. “You’re doing quite the opposite.”
I crossed my arms, not in the mood for games. “What’s that?”
“You’re not looking for him,” she said lightly. “You’re preparing to be found.”
Chapter 11
PREPARING TO BE FOUND was more difficult than expected.
I pulled Millie’s quickly-scribbled list of suggestions toward me and reviewed it yet again as I closed the book on Norse mythology and scratched my head. Nothing. Not a thing in the book except information on Norse mythology and gods—information that Millie had said would be important when I was found. If I was found. If I were chosen to be led before the Master of Magic.
While I read, Ainsley had been studying, too. She’d been in charge of covering various biographies of people who claimed to have met the ancient gods. While reading, she’d jotted down a list of etiquette she’d gathered from the books.
I pulled the list toward me and read, in Ainsley’s sloppy handwriting, her suggested etiquette:
Etiquette around gods:
1. Don’t give any of the gods a reason to punish you.
2. Let them teach you their ways.
3. If you have the opportunity to meet a god, don’t.
4. Repeat.
It didn’t exactly inspire confidence, I thought.
“Millie,” I called, flagging Ainsley’s friend from where she shelved returns with a surprising gentleness. “Do you know what Ainsley meant about this punishment bit? I think she’s off getting a snack.”
“Oh, that? Well, gods are notoriously fickle entities. In their day and age, punishment meant eating babies and tearing apart limbs.” She sighed heavily. “They have tried to progress with the times but, you know, old habits die hard.”
“Oh. Right.” I returned my eyes to the page and pointed toward the next rule. “What about this teaching part?”
“Oh, that’s easier.” Millie grinned. “Gods love to talk. They love to impart their wisdom and stories on people—how do you think the myths began? For example, if you ran into Aphrodite, she’d want to redo your love life. If you meet Ares, he’ll want to go on and on about strategy and war and yada, yada. If you meet Dionysus, he’ll probably bring out the wine and talk with you for hours.”
“And this third one,” I said, deciding I was in a constant state of shock. Hearing about mythical gods as if they were real would do that to a girl. “If you have an opportunity to meet gods, don’t?”
“Refer back to one,” Millie said simply. “They’re dangerous beings, there’s no way around it. Not only have they been around the longest, but they’re vastly more powerful than the average witch or wizard.”
“Why have I not seen any? Or even heard they exist?”
“They keep to themselves, and most people are happy to leave them alone,” Millie said. “See points one through three on the list earlier. There’s a very good reason why they’re said to have their own colony—that’s why Olympus was formed a long time ago. In fact, it’s impossible to find the colony of the gods. There’s only one creature alive who has access to its location.”
I raised my eyebrows.
“He—or she, I suppose—is called the Keeper.” Millie answered my unasked question. “Only the Keeper can grant another creature the knowledge of the gods’ location. It’s magic as old as time. As long as the gods have lived in secret colonies, they’ve had a Keeper.”
“How does one find this Keeper?”
“Again, one doesn’t. He finds you.” Millie shrugged at my look of disappointment. “I know it’s not what you want to hear, but it’s the truth. The Keeper has arguably the most important job in the universe in protecting the Master of Magic.”
“And how do the gods play into it?”
“Wherever the gods choose to live is the safest place on earth,” Millie said. “It’s believed—though not confirmed—that the Master of Magic resides in the modern version of Olympus, wherever that may be.”
“Let me get this straight. The ancient gods have their own colony that nobody can get to unless the Keeper invites them in,” I said. “It’s there that the Master is housed for safety.”
“So we think.”
“Yet there’s no way to look for the Keeper. One must simply wait to be found.”
Millie’s eyes glittered. “Now you’ve got it. Do you see why I couldn’t promise to help you find the Master of Magic? It’s impossible!”
“Great,” I muttered. “Everything is crystal clear.”
“I figured you’d understand it,” Millie said easily. “I mean, you’re sort of like them after all.”
“Like who?”
“The gods!” She gave a knowing laugh. “It’s almost as if they’re a separate breed of paranormals than us. Their magic is different than ours: it’s more innate, less manufactured. It’s simply who they are.”
I shifted my weight from one foot to the next as Millie scratched her nose, then continued her explanation.
“Most of us, we learn spells and potions, and we practice magic, and hopefully over time, we get better at it.” Millie raised a hand and sent a few books flying back to the shelves with a short incantation to prove her point. “But you, you’re the Mixologist. That’s different. According to legend, you’re simply born with certain magical tendencies and powers that nobody else will ever possess.”
“I had to spend a lot of time learning,” I said. “It wasn’t all natural.”
“Sure. But no matter how much I want to be the Mixologist, I’ll never be able to look at a potion and see it the way you do. Tell me if I’m wrong, but you are rumored to be able to sense what’s needed next in a potion, to smell, taste, touch, and simply do—to create magic in a way that we can’t. I can never fully understand what it is you do, or even who you are. Because it is a part of you, Lily, it’s part of your very spirit.”
I didn’t have a good answer to this, so I took a moment to think. My mind wandered, flipping through the stages I’d gone through since learning of my true nature. The denial, the anger, the realization, the grudging acceptance, and then, finally, the wonderful sensation of true understanding.
Millie watched me with curiosity.
“Sorry, I was trying to think of a way to explain it to you, but...” I hesitated. “It’s hard to put into words.”
“I’d think it would be,” she said cheerfully. “As a matter of fact, I’ve always wondered if the Mixology family tree cont
ained mythical bloodlines. It really is uncanny the similarities between you and the other ancient deities.”
To my relief, Ainsley reappeared then and clapped me on the shoulder. “Find anything yet in those books?”
“Mostly random bits of history.” I turned to Millie on a sudden impulse. “Actually, that reminds me of something Ainsley said this morning.”
“What’d I say?” Ainsley asked. “I hope it was smart.”
“You said that historically, every time the Master of Magic is out of commission, odd things start to happen in the world.”
Millie nodded. “Of course. If the balance is off, there’s no saying what might happen.”
“If nobody can find him, how can that happen? How can he be hurt?”
Millie and Ainsley exchanged a look. “I might have mentioned World War II,” Ainsley admitted. “I told Lily I’d heard stories that the Master had been injured, and his duties were neglected while he was out of commission.”
“Oh, that’s not a story.” Millie reached behind her ear for the pencil she’d stashed there, retrieved it, and tapped it against her palm. “I have a newspaper somewhere that explains it. I’ll pull it for you, Lily.”
When she vanished, I questioned Ainsley. “You know more than you’re telling me, don’t you?”
Ainsley hesitated. “It’s a dangerous assumption. I think we should wait for Millie to explain. I’ve only heard theories.”
Millie returned, oblivious to the uneasy silence and flashed the article before us. “Okay, ladies. Here you go. The text speculates that a demigod—a person born with both mortal and immortal bloodlines—can track down the location of the gods because they are part deity. Therefore, it’s assumed that whoever attacked the Master of Magic around the time of the second world war was a demigod—specifically, a descendent of Ares.”
“One who inherited his penchant for war,” Ainsley said, wrinkling her nose. “He didn’t manage to wipe out the Master, but he came close.”
“I pulled another article from last month,” Millie said, adding it to the stack. “There are rumors circling that the current Master of Magic’s time is coming to an end.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked. “He’s not immortal?”
“Oh, no,” Millie said. “He’s not a god—he’s a wizard, much like yourself.”
“There’s been talk at MAGIC, Inc. that supports that theory,” Ainsley agreed. “The Master of Magic ages like we do, Lily. Well, not exactly. They have long, long life spans, but we all age. Eventually, one Master is replaced with a new one. It’s very possible the new Master of Magic has been born already and is waiting for his calling to emerge. He’s probably some normal little boy running around and playing Hex Marks the Spot—completely oblivious that his powers will be manifesting shortly.”
“Well, that’s a lot to digest.” I shifted under Ainsley’s piercing gaze. I added the articles to my stack and faced Millie. “How do I check these out?”
“Let me handle that,” Millie said, shifting the books with a spell and carrying them alongside her toward the door. “Browse for a few minutes, and I’ll call you when they’re ready.”
Ainsley dipped her nose back into the book she’d been reading while I let my feet pull me toward the shelves and wander. My mind wandered right along with my feet, churning through the pile of information I’d received this morning in a frenzied struggle to digest it all.
I can’t find the gods, but I can prepare to be found. It frustrated me that the only solution was to wait around some more. The whole purpose of me coming here was to move forward with my investigation. If I could guarantee one thing, it was that The Faction wasn’t sitting around waiting for things to happen.
A sudden thought sent my nerves into a tizzy. Maybe they weren’t waiting for a lightning strike—maybe The Faction had found a work-around.
Maybe, they’d found a demigod.
“Millie!” I called out, only to be shushed by a nearby librarian with a tight bun in her light brown hair. “Sorry,” I muttered, surprised to find myself lost in a stack of books. I’d wandered deeper into the library than I’d realized.
Before I found my friends, however, the most curious thing happened. My necklace awakened with a glow—bright blue and searing hot. Burning, boiling hot. So hot it nearly crippled me as I bent in half and struggled to breathe.
I tore at my neck, trying to remove the chain before it swallowed me whole, but I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t unclasp the lock. It was as if it’d melded together, seared into one by its molten temperature.
Through sheer survival instincts, I stumbled backward, trying to pull away from the metal. Just as suddenly as it’d begun, the heat retreated. Still breathing heavily, I forced myself to a standing position, holding the charm away from my skin. A lingering burn in the shape of a heart was still imprinted against my chest.
“What is wrong with you?” I muttered to the necklace. “I thought you were supposed to protect me.”
Taking another step forward, I held the heart as far away from my chest as possible. The burn mark began to fade. However, only two steps later, the pain was worse than ever.
Searing, burning, boiling.
My mother’s face flashed into my mind as delirium set in, a wildness that pulled on my survival instincts and threaded the strings into messy chaos. A hand—my hand?—reached out, stroked the mirror in my memories. I touched her face, my own face...
When I finally opened my eyes, I was surprised to discover that I was on the floor. A cold sweat had swept my body and left me chilled and weak. I must have collapsed, fainted maybe. The images flashing through my mind had to be that of a nightmare.
I rose to shaky feet, gripping onto the shelves for support as I gingerly touched the charm around my neck. It hummed with a pleasant glow, luxuriously warm, but no longer scorching.
I was too afraid to move. Though the burns hadn’t left behind marks, the pain was unbearable. When I finally gathered the courage to take a step, it was with a cringe, a wince, and the crippling fear of not knowing when the pain would return.
For support, I held onto the shelves and inched my way along, nearly whimpering in anticipation of its next angry flare. To distract myself as I cautiously moved toward the front of the library, I focused on reading the titles of books around me.
Witches and Warlocks: a history of our kind.
Spells and Enchantments: Volume IV
Charmed by the Boss: A collection of paranormal office romances
Coincidence or Fate: the role of magic in our lives
“Coincidence?” I fingered my necklace once more. “Coincidence...or fate?”
The word triggered something in my memory. The last time my necklace had burned so harshly, I’d felt as if it had wanted to tell me something. As if it had wanted me to drink the Long Isle Iced Tea potion and see my mother again.
“Bogus,” I muttered. The necklace hadn’t wanted me to do anything. I’d simply wanted to drink the potion and had used the necklace as an excuse. I hadn’t even thought twice about that event until now, until it had happened again.
It must be coincidence.
As a quick test, I retraced my steps backward. I moved slowly, cautious, wincing with every breath. Eventually, I noticed the sensation between my fingers. The charm grew to a comfortable temperature once again, projecting a pure, crystalline shade of blue that radiated to the end of the aisle in either direction. It’d never glowed so brilliantly.
“What do you want me to do?” I asked of it, feeling delusional talking to a piece of jewelry. “I don’t understand.”
I kept walking back, retracing the steps I’d taken until the temperature grew to a low boil once more and discomfort set in. I stopped before it could become worse, then moved forward again.
The temperature reverted to a comfortable one, lukewarm and pleasant, the glow almost blinding. I looked up, soaking in the sights around me to find nothing but books. Lots of books.
> If, in fact, the necklace was charmed to somehow guide me in certain directions, I’d guess it was wanting me to locate a book in this section. The thought had me exhaling in exhaustion. It’d take me forever to get through just this section.
But, if I couldn’t leave this section without the book or my necklace charring me to ash, I might as well get started. I read the titles one by one, but the necklace didn’t seem happy with that choice either, judging by the growing heat. I reached out a hand to steady myself, and my finger brushed against the books.
At once, it calmed.
I ran my fingers over several more books on the shelf. Then moved to another shelf. This seemed to keep the charm satisfied, and as I worked, I couldn’t help but wonder what sort of enchantment my mother had put in place. Some sort of Seeking Spell, maybe? Could it know what I needed to find? Or was it something broader, something bigger—something unexplainable?
As I pondered this, I lost track of the titles I’d been reading. With a sigh of frustration, I let my hand slip down the current shelf, realizing I’d have to start all over. However, as my hand slid to a rest on top of a thick volume, my necklace flashed once, blindingly bright, and then extinguished.
Startled, I glanced to where my fingers landed. They rested on the spine of a book with a title so dusty, so old, I had to squint to read it. When I deciphered the lettering, it was only a word: Ceres.
I snatched the book from the shelf, clutched it to my chest, and tentatively began my journey back toward Ainsley and Millie. Along the way, I grabbed a few more books that I expected Gus would like from the Tortoise Wars era and carried them with me.
When Millie saw my additional stack, she rolled her eyes but gave me a knowing smile. “Great place, isn’t it? I could live in this library my entire life and never get bored.”
Millie warned us that the doors would be closing soon, so she rushed the three of us through another round of checkout. Soon enough, Millie, Ainsley, and I stood outside the library under the watchful eye of the Head Librarian. Mrs. Flutterbing hadn’t released our broomsticks yet, explaining we could only travel once it grew dark.
