The air prickled with energy, alive with the swirling of ancient forces as he summoned the power of all the wizards who’d carried this staff before him. Already he smelled the acrid, almost electric tang of magic from the eye of the storm, a crisp, pungent odor that tingled his nose like cracked pepper.
He gripped the family staff tighter and whispered a spell he’d spent months crafting. It hissed from his lips, quickly joined by ancestral voices that echoed from the family grimoire he carried in the messenger bag underneath his cloak. He just needed to get the words right.
Brant was descended from House Trenerry, one of the five great houses of wizardry that had settled in Seattle’s sleepy streets nearly two hundred years ago. They lived quietly alongside mundanes who couldn’t see or hear the trappings of this magical world.
He’d spent his whole life studying magic, schooled in the Arts before preschool and throughout his time in public schools. He’d lettered in all three schools of magic and passed all of his MHAATs. A senior at Seattle’s College for the Performance of Magical Arts, he had a 3.8 average in Calefaction magic and a 4.0 in both Camber and Compulsion minors.
After committing the important spells of House Trenerry’s grimoires to memory, he scoured Seattle’s streets for a familiar, like all wizards-to-be. Just last month, he’d enticed a winged, tortoiseshell cat named Zipestra into the role. She’d been following him since his twentieth birthday, but it took him nearly a year to convince her to accept him as her wizard. Originally, he’d nicknamed her pest for short, but the claw marks on his arm convinced him to choose Zip instead. Cats.
Now, on his twenty-first birthday, with his focus in place, he’d chosen a place of power to perform the spell. After the incantation, he’d inherit his house’s power, becoming a full wizard in the eyes of the five great houses and Seattle’s magical community.
If he completed the spell correctly.
All he had to do was say it.
He winced as he remembered his childhood struggle with stuttering. He’d grown out of it, but sometimes, when he was tired—or nervous—he stuttered.
Brant’s staff glowed molten purple now, steaming in the mist-laden air, thrumming with pent-up forces ready for release. Carved out of myrtlewood on the steps of Glastonbury Abbey, honed with generations of Trenerry blood, sweat, and incantations, this staff had weathered continents and centuries. An only child, he was the seventh generation to carry it—which worried his parents.
Lightning fractured the sky, casting a neon yellow flash against Kerry Park’s tall, steel sculpture. Changing Form, by Doris Totten Chase, consisted of two boxes with spherical cutouts that framed the skyline like a portal. For Brant, it was the most powerful place in Seattle.
Touched by the Puget Sound, Kerry Park carried elemental powers of earth, wind, and water. It pulsed with the constant energies of thousands of people who walked these worn red bricks every day. The walkways writhed with the hopes and dreams of tourists snapping countless photographs through the sculpture’s circle. Each time, the world changed; storing bits and pieces of its magic into moments scattered throughout the Internet, framed on walls, and printed in the media—touching everything and everyone.
It just needed a spark. An element of fire to focus all the power he was about to summon.
Thunder roiled around him as he chanted the spell louder. The wind rose, strafing his face with rain. He stumbled over a word, then carefully spoke it again.
Brant’s familiar fluttered around him, channeling his newfound energies into the staff, combining them into a single force. A task that familiars had performed for thousands of years.
The staff grew hot in his hand as lightning flashed overhead, crackling like pebbles against a tin roof. He shouted the spell’s final line and slammed the end of the staff into the ground.
A massive fireball burst from the staff like a comet, shooting across the black, churning sky and exploding in a shower of sparks that rained down like fireworks. A jagged bolt of lightning tore across the horizon, thundering in a sharp, piercing clap.
Fire reigned from the clouds as a bright ring of flames rushed across the park, rolling over Seattle.
I’m free! It was Zip, his familiar’s voice.
Brant turned, staring into the cat’s deep copper eyes.
“Free?” he cried, shaking ashes out of his dark hair. “But ... you’re b-bound to me.”
The winged cat rolled over in mid-air and stretched cream-speckled paws, arching her back as she clawed at the air.
Not anymore, Zip purred. You spent so much time perfecting diction and crafting the spell, little wizard. You forgot about the words.
“What are you talking about?” He glared at Zip as she licked her front paw. “I crafted my spell from the exact words in the Trenerry grimoire. And I didn’t stutter!”
The pit of his stomach dropped into his feet. What had he missed?
Zip sighed. That’s the problem, little wizard. You forgot the first rule of magic: update all spells.
He cringed, bristling at the smug, little furball. He wouldn’t be lectured about magic by a flying cat.
A thousand years ago, each magical word was precise and had one meaning, Zip continued, rubbing against his elbow, her throaty purr soothing. Today, those words have many meanings.
He sighed and rubbed his forehead. “So what did I cast?”
You didn’t call House Trenerry’s magic into your staff, said Zip, you set free every familiar in Seattle.
Brant’s eyes widened and he cursed under his breath. “I what? Oh, Gods, my father’s gonna kill me! I’ve gotta fix this!”
He cast a Compulsion spell, transporting him to the one place that could help him, before anyone found out, The Seattle Library of the Hidden Arts.
***
Willa Rosewarren pulled her lavender cloak tight, head down, auburn hair tucked behind her ears as she shuffled through the angry crowd of wizards gathered at the steps of The Seattle Library of the Hidden Arts. Thunder rumbled in the distance. She smiled, hoping the storm would clear out these protestors.
Luna, the white dove on her shoulder, cooed in soothing warbles. The familiar scrubbed the impurities from Willa’s magic until her Calefaction burned a pure, white flame. The five houses had mastered all three schools of magic, but only House Rosewarren exclusively practiced Calefaction, the manipulation of heat and light. Their wizards were the best at it, too—not that Willa liked to brag.
Willa loved practicing magic, but she preferred managing the library’s collections, assisting researchers, and gathering rare, magical artifacts for her Seattle patrons. As the newest librarian, two weeks today, she’d volunteered for the evening shift, hoping to learn about the evening crowd’s needs. She’d expected it to be busy, but she never dreamed there’d be protests.
Willa glanced at the two stone griffins perched on either side of the winding granite staircase that curved toward the library’s oak doors, but the glowing slashes of blue, green, and orange runes obscured her view.
She groaned. Wizard graffiti.
The air smelled like melted plastic as she read the symbols flashing in the evening air.
Tomes Belong in Libraries. Grimoires Shouldn’t be Digitized! Barcodes are Bad Magic!
Willa sighed, brushing away the runes. They turned to dust and floated away. Wizards. She rolled her eyes. Perfecting the magical arts for thousands of years, yet show them a barcode and they start a witch-hunt. Five great houses competing against each other since the Bronze Age, but mention digitizing family grimoires and they all band together.
Lightning flickered to the west as she swerved past two wizards, a man with black hair and a sable-haired, dark-skinned woman. They wore the royal blue robes of House Negus as they burned runes into the air, chanting, “Barcodes ruin grimoires!” as Willa reached the staircase. One had a shaggy brown dog that panted and wagged its tail. The other had a red squirrel perched on her shoulder, happily shelling an acorn. Willa loved seeing all the fam
iliars.
House Rosewarren built this white two-story, gothic revival in the 1850s. At times, the black mansard roof with its wrought-iron widow’s walk looked forbidding, but the spandreled portico softened its harsh appearance. It sat in stark contrast to the modern curves of the Seattle Art Museum, just a few blocks from Elliot Bay. Mundanes couldn’t see the building due to the extensive Camber magic that curved and refracted space around it.
A white-haired wizard dressed in a brown cloak and the yellow silk robes of House Kestell stepped in front of Willa. His familiar, a black stag, fidgeted beside him, rubbing its antlers against the granite stairs. The wizard smelled like stale smoke and decaying silk, his teeth clicking when he talked.
“This is an outrage!” he shouted. His features were sharp and hawk-like, small, dark eyes glaring. A goatee framed his angry pout as he shook a finger at her. “Just you wait until all the houses hear about what you’ve done here! It’s desecration!”
A chestnut-haired sorceress wearing an orange pullover rushed out of the library, cupping blue orbs in each hand. “Have you seen my tiger?” she asked, looking upset, eyes glassy, a trail of blue sparkles trickling through her fingers and scattering down the steps.
Willa shook her head. “No, sorry.”
She moved away from Willa. “Has anyone seen my white tiger, Freyja? Anyone? Please, my familiar’s vanished! I can’t focus spells without her!”
Distraught, she shuffled past Willa who tried to sidestep the angry House Kestell wizard, but other protesters blocked her path, tossing fireballs at the stone griffins.
The griffins let out a screech, broke free of their magical tethers, and fluttered into the night, halting the protestors’ shouts.
Willa gasped, nearly falling down the stairs. The Library familiars!
She grabbed the railing as Luna took flight, following the griffins.
The deathly quiet on the stairs forced her to turn around. Every familiar was gone.
“What’s happened?” someone whispered. The wizards looked lost, staring at each other as the protest runes faded into puffs of smoke.
“Where’s my dog?”
Storm clouds broke, rain pattering against the granite steps, washing away dust and smoke. Panicked, the wizards scattered.
Willa didn’t know what happened to the familiars, but she’d start researching possible causes—and solutions. She pulled open the heavy oak door and collided with a man in a black cloak.
Everything turned dark when the young man’s cloak tangled around her head and she fell. She struggled to free herself, but the marble floor was too slick and she couldn’t get to her feet. She groaned in frustration as the man struggled up from the floor.
He pulled back the edge of his cloak. She stared up at him, studying his kind face, warm brown eyes, and wavy brown hair. He looked mesmerized, his eyes wide and unblinking. He was quite attractive, tall and slim, tousled hair just above the collar of his grey henley, and wide-set brown eyes like a distraught puppy. His cloak almost hid his faded jeans. She brushed a tangle of auburn locks away from her face and smiled, but he seemed almost frightened of her. His lips moved, but no words came out.
Instead, the young man signed a spell, copper flashes dancing across her body, lifting her from the floor. Sweat misted his face as he seemed to struggle to hold the spell until she was on her feet. She grinned. A wizard!
“Thank you,” said Willa, struggling to catch her breath.
She straightened her cloak, smoothing the Juliet sleeves of her pale mint blouse. Her black pencil skirt was hiked up, so she straightened the seam. Her rain-damp face was flushed, cheeks burning as she did her best not to stare—or make him feel more uncomfortable. After all, as a wizard of House Rosewarren, it was her duty to uphold the house’s reputation of producing helpful, compassionate wizards and good stewards of written magical knowledge.
At last, the young man returned her smile, looking calmer as he picked up his staff and bowed politely. But that distressed look returned to his face as he ducked into the east reading room.
Willa followed, hoping he needed help with his research.
“Can I help you find something?” she asked, hurrying down the long, narrow room, past wooden tables and brown leather couches. “I work here.”
He turned away from a shelf of books against the far wall, smiling. “I ... thought you were from House Rosewarren.”
Bookshelves lined every wall, the room painted a pale aqua, and stood in neat rows of three between the tables and couches. The young wizard seemed fascinated by the rows of colorful books. Frosty white orbs floated across the ceilings in a slow, circular path, lighting the room with soft white light as he rushed from shelf to shelf, a look of desperation in his eyes.
Thick tomes and loosely bound manuscripts filled the shelves, some books glowing blue. Others had pictures that flashed along their spines, others adorned with shiny jewels and fiery runes. Leather, colored cardstock, delicate silks, and vellums in frosty, crisp sheets.
He closed his eyes a moment, taking a deep breath, which seemed to calm him. Willa felt even more attracted to him now. He loved the smell of books. She was certain of it. When he opened his eyes, they had a dreamy quality, like someone who wanted to lose himself in every tome and text.
She breathed in the comforting scent of leather and old paper, knowing this man was someone she could have long conversations about magic and grimoires with over hot tea and scones. Someone who probably loved the rain and the ocean’s nearness to the city. She desperately wanted to get to know him.
The wizard walked toward the large, glass summoning spheres in the corner that bobbed in the air at eye level. They were the size of large melons and had more facets than a diamond.
“What are you searching for?” Willa asked, startling him. He reached toward the spheres and pictures danced across the clear glass. With a flick of his index finger, and a bit of Compulsion magic glowing lavender at his fingertips, he tried to use the spheres. He was probably new to the Library’s new catalog system.
“Just say what you’re looking for and the spheres will show you images from our collection.”
“Familiars,” he snapped.
Willa’s eyes grew wide. No wonder he was distressed and struggling with his magic. He’d probably lost his familiar!
“Did you lose yours, too?” she asked.
The young man looked mortified now, his face pinching, mouth twisting into a grimace, eyes smashed closed.
Finally, he nodded and glanced at the shelves and the tomes, still looking for something. Why didn’t he just tell her what he needed? She couldn’t help him if he wouldn’t talk to her.
“I lost my familiar, too, so I know how you feel,” she said, touching his sleeve. He didn’t pull away. “I’m here to help though. Just tell me what you’re researching and I’ll point you to the appropriate resources.”
He stared at her in silence, a battle warring behind his eyes.
“I’m Willa,” she said, extending her hand.
He pursed his lips. “Brant,” he replied, his voice clipped. He smiled at her now.
“You’re from House Trenerry, aren’t you?” she said as she approached the glass spheres. “I recognize the staff.”
He nodded.
“There are volumes written on familiars, Brant,” she said, returning his smile. “Our new online system should help narrow down our choices.”
She chanted a Calefaction spell, a force that controlled heat and light, and focused it on the books.
Across the room, two massive tomes floated off the shelves, scattering dust and sparks as they moved toward her. They hung in the air to her right. One had glowing orange runes on the cover and the other had blurry images rushing across its face.
“Here are two volumes on the subject,” she said. “They haven’t been digitized yet.” She smiled, pointing to three small runes that sparkled red on the spine. “But I’ve barcoded them so the new system can find and retrieve them.�
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“That’s n-n-nice,” said Brant. Embarrassment flushed his face and he turned away, gripping his staff.
“What’s wrong, Brant?”
He pitched the staff at the leather couch. It bounced off and hung in the air for a moment. Then it clattered against the marble floor.
“It’s m-my f-fault!” His face burned with shame. “The f-f-familiars.” He squeezed his eyes closed, balling his hands into fists. “I—I bungled the spell. I would have ... been a full-fledged House Trenerry wizard. But that w-won’t happen n-now.”
Willa winced at his comments, feeling terrible for him. Tonight was the poor man’s birthday! All wizards received their full power on their twenty-first birthday, but something had gone wrong for him. She laid a hand against his arm.
“Tonight was your twenty-first birthday, wasn’t it?” she asked. “You were summoning your power, weren’t you?”
He nodded, gritting his teeth. “I didn’t u-update the spell. My fault.” He let out a frustrated growl.
“Is that what happened?” Willa asked, turning him around to face her. “You crafted your spell using the original House spell?”
He cringed, nodding again.
“Do you have your family’s grimoire with you?” she asked. “The one containing both spells?” She needed to see the whole text, including the spell he’d crafted.
“Y-yes,” he answered in a quiet voice as he lifted the heavy tome out of his satchel.
The cover had a frosty sheen, inlaid with aquamarines and polished silver. It sparkled as he handed it to Willa who cradled the book in her arms.
She took his hand, flushing at the touch of his fingers against hers as she led him to the summoning spheres.
“I’ll digitize the contents,” said Willa. “Then we’ll compare it to all known spells dealing with familiars.”
She laid the book on a nearby table and summoned a crystal sphere. She pressed her fingers against its smooth surface, reciting a Calefaction spell that lit Brant’s grimoire. The spell illuminated every page, every pen stroke, every indentation as the sphere shifted colors and hummed with energy. Words and symbols burned images into the air as they traveled out of the book and into the sphere, turning and spinning.
Fiction River: Hex in the City Page 3
