Recitation is Millie’s education tool of choice.
“A spellseeker identifies the presence of magic in the world.”
“To what end?”
“To sanction just practice and eradicate the malicious.”
Millie smiles at me. “Very good.”
“So how do we eradicate anyway?” I ask, not waiting for the next prompt. “I would like to get to the eradicating ASAP.”
With a brief, chiding glance, she circles the table, continuing the lesson and letting my question vanish in the air like the steam from my cup.
“What are the spellseekers’ tools?” she asks.
I manage not to groan. “Knowledge, patience, and will.”
“And how does one gain knowledge?”
“Through study and observation.” I look at the cobwebs linking the top shelf of thick tomes to the ceiling, thick enough to mimic lace. “When was the last time you studied?” I point at the dust-covered books.
Millie’s hands fly to her hips and I’m surprised that she almost looks ferocious. “Young lady, must you waste our time with this selfish, rude behavior?”
“I’m not the one who’s wasting time,” I mutter.
Her fingers whip out before I can move, and she’s grasping my chin. “Elizabeth, I am deadly serious. The time we spend in these sessions is precious, and if you want to help your friend, you must take me seriously. This is the way it is done. The way it’s always been done.”
I jerk my face away from her. My eyes burn, and I blink as quickly as I can. Her words haven’t provoked tears; my frustration has. No matter how many years of experience or how much tradition Millie brings to the table, it doesn’t sway me. I can’t sit here anymore. Not with Arbus out there, plotting who knows what. Why can’t Millie understand that?
Millie pulls a chair close, sitting beside me. I resist the urge to flinch when she pats my hair, knowing she means well.
“There, there, dear,” she says. “I know this must be difficult. I’m simply trying to protect you.”
I stiffen. “I’m not the one who needs protecting, Millie. Stephen—”
Before I can go on, a ruckus erupts above our heads. I hear a muffled shout and the rapid beat of shoes on floorboards, immediately followed by the clomping of heavy boots. A door bangs open out of sight. The flurry of footsteps grows louder as they descend the stairs.
Stephen flings himself into the room. I’ve never seen him like this. His hair sticks to his forehead. He’s out of breath but obviously desperate to speak.
I stand up when he says, “Elizabeth.” Hidden in the way he’s said my name is a story that I’m afraid to hear.
“Why are you here?” Millie asks the general space from which Stephen’s voice came.
From the sound that erupts out of the stairwell I expect a boulder to appear, but it’s Saul. He’s wielding a crowbar.
“Where is he?” Saul menaces the room.
Catching sight of the crowbar, Stephen wisely remains silent. Still, I edge my way between him and Saul.
Millie wags her finger at the huge man. “Put that down. It’s just the boy.”
“No one comes in without being cleared by me!” Saul shouts. The veins in his neck are bulging. “I don’t care who it is. Them’s the rules!”
As if she’s speaking to a raging beast, Millie coos, “It’s fine, Saul. There’s no danger. Stephen didn’t know any better.”
She glances at me for help.
“Something’s happened,” I say quickly. “Hasn’t it?”
Making sure he’s out of striking distance, Stephen speaks. “The park.”
He begins to cough, a violent racking through his limbs, and I realize he’s dry heaving.
“Is he ill?” Millie asks me, squinting at the rough sounds coming from Stephen’s throat.
“I don’t know.” Fear leaves a raw tang in my mouth. “Stephen . . .”
“I’m okay.” He rights himself, but his face has been robbed of its color.
Saul leans in Stephen’s direction. “You listen to me, boy—”
“Shut up!” I snap at Saul. “If you could see him . . .”
I approach Stephen carefully, lifting my hands to touch his cheeks with my fingertips. He lays his palms over my fingers. His skin is cold.
“Tell me.” I look directly into his eyes, hoping that our connection will help him get through whatever this is.
Without breaking our gaze, Stephen nods. “He was there, Elizabeth, after you left. I couldn’t see him. But he was there.”
“Your grandfather?” Horror snatches my breath, and the phrase comes out in a whisper. This isn’t how it was supposed to happen. I was going to keep Arbus away from Stephen. I’m the spellseeker. I’m the one who can save Stephen. But Arbus got there first. I’ve failed before I began.
Stephen is still talking, his words fevered. “He unleashed curses. Not just one. People all around me.”
“Multiple curses?” I turn to Millie. “Can he do that?”
Millie doesn’t answer me, instead asking Stephen, “What curses?”
He shudders. “Curses meant to kill. Kill horribly. A man . . . set himself on fire.”
I’ve stopped breathing. Nothing I’ve seen—what I’ve thought to be the worst kind of torment in curses—nothing comes close to that.
But it isn’t over. “He made a woman eat dirt. And another woman . . . she was going to claw her own eyes out.”
I must have gasped because Stephen says, “People stopped her. But she was still fighting them, trying to tear her own skin off.”
Millie puts her hands over her mouth, but her eyes have moved from Stephen to Saul. I follow her gaze quickly enough to catch the twitching of his face. A spasm within the cluster of muscles in which an eyeball used to nest.
Still trapped in his memories, Stephen doesn’t see it. “I couldn’t do anything to stop it.” He pauses, drawing a ragged breath. “And I felt like he was able to do it because of me.”
“What are you talking about?” I move my hands from his face to grip his shoulders.
“When the curses manifested, I didn’t just see what they did. Something physical happened. Like he was siphoning power from me.”