Tully
Shaking slightly, I tuck my wand into my belt. Damn it.
Argos goes to the mark the magic left on the wall. His big, tan fingers trace a spray of black residue beside a line of dark red. “What are your findings?”
“This mirror was made by a witch who lived in this area before Leafshire Cove was founded. She was in love with a pixie, who wanted magic so badly that the witch was moved to break her coven’s rules and create this for her.”
“What did the pixie use it for?”
“For illusions.” I raise an eyebrow at him.
“So the damage in the town square is at least partially my illusion’s fault because this also works with illusions? Is the magic in my khymeia and this mirror clashing?”
I fist my free hand and rub my knuckle over my bottom lip. “Something like that. The witch wouldn’t have realized it at the time, but she accidentally created a chaos artifact.”
“I’ve never heard that term,” he says.
“They’re bespelled physical objects that increase the power of a spell. They don’t work the way the original creators wanted. Not only do they ramp up a magic’s power, they fracture and twist its intent and then you have it.”
“Chaos.”
“Yep.”
“So now what?” he asks. He opens his notebook, dips his quill in the blue inkwell at the desk, and jots down a few lines.
I shrug. “Do your scratch test.”
“Really?”
“Do it. We need to see if it’s made of the same stuff as the khymeia. I have an idea. Go ahead. I’ll be here in case things go awry.”
“But your wand is sheathed.”
“I’m fast.”
A slow smile spreads over his handsome mouth. “I bet.”
Before I can bark something at him, he has a knife out and is scraping some of the black material. A wave of power pours from the chaos artifact and he freezes.
“Damn. What was that?” He pulls his knife back and studies the residue he’s collected on the sharp edge.
“Defensive spell that’s built-in. We won’t be able to blast it apart.”
He is in his notebook again, flipping pages and muttering to himself. Cursing quietly, he opens a small drawer and pulls out a pair of spectacles. He puts them on and glances at me from behind a fallen lock of wavy hair. Why do his glasses make my thighs clench? I swallow and he looks back to his notes.
Rubbing the residue between his fingers, he murmurs nonsense about minerals.
“You’re muttering like an old woman.”
“What?” The notebook has him completely hooked.
I huff a laugh. “Blessed Stones, but youarea proper nerd, aren’t you?”
He isn’t listening though; he’s back to giving that black residue all his attention.
“Should I leave you two alone for a while?” I ask.
“I’m sorry?” He doesn’t even look up from his notes.
