“It pays.” I sigh. “I’m saving for a postgrad botany program in Osneau.”
“Osneau.” She lifts a brow. If I didn’t know better, I would think she was taking interest in my future. She crushes that thought immediately. “Pity you cannot join your sister. Gorhail takes care of all expenses.”
“It’s a pity indeed,” I mutter.
After a tense silence, Olivia taps her watch and gets up. “Mama, I am so sorry, I don’t have much time before curfew. I’ll get my book while the tea cools. Vi, will you help me?”
She doesn’t have to ask twice. I’m already out of my seat and climbing the stairs, grateful for any excuse to get out of there.
The attic door opens with a familiar creak that doubles as an alarm on the rare times Mother comes up here. Despite it being the middle of the day, the single round window toward the back of the room only lights up a few feet. I flip on the switch to the right of the entrance, and Nan’s favorite old chandelier that she picked up from a local thrift store illuminates the room, giving life to the rows of books on the walls. It may be old and stuffy up here, but it wraps me with the same comfort as Nan’s embrace.
After Olivia left for Gorhail, I spent most of my days reading the stories in Nan’s journals, glossing over intricate drawings of skeletons straight out of a horror movie. I perused thousands of handwritten notes about Gorhail’s Houses, classes, relics, and poachers who hunt mages that only strengthened my desire to stay away from that place. The only silver lining was helping my sister with her death magic homework when she was at the academy.
“They don’t have wares like Nan’s chandelier at Gorhail,” she muses, studying the ceiling. “Sometimes, I miss the mundane.”
Before I’m able to reply, she skips her way to the wall of dusty books in the far left of the room. I recently unpacked them from one of Nan’s old crates and haven’t gotten around to dusting them. I’d wanted to sell Nan’s collection to the local bookshop to save for my move. Their fascination with mage history would see them spend a hefty sum on these ancient tomes.
“Did you know Gorhail still doesn’t run on electricity?” she asks.
I have half a mind to veer the conversation back to her missing the mundane. It’s a good sign that she does; it means she’s ready to come home. But I know my sister. If I bring it up, she will avoid the discussion until she leaves.
“How many candles do they burn through in a year?” I join her, coughing as her pink sleeve turns brown from wiping the cover of a worn-out book. She frowns at it, then puts it back.
“You’re funny,” she deadpans. “They use lamps powered with magic dust,” she says, her eyes slightly widening in wonder like they do every time she talks about Gorhail.
“That sounds innovative. Unnecessary, but innovative. Do they hate nonmagi so much that they created their own form of electricity?” I jest. She once told me about Gorhail’s attempt to use more nonmagi technology, which was cut short when a fire broke out in one of their Magisters’ offices. Perhaps it’s best they keep to magic.
She laughs. “When I was at the academy, I remember learning that they were fed up with the constant power cuts.”
I can’t blame them. Albion has at least two power cuts a week, more when it rains.
Olivia reaches for a book on the top shelf, and her sweater catches on her armcuff. Muttering a curse, she unclasps it and slides the polished brass relic out of her sleeve. It looks nothing like the intricate one she wore the last time I saw her, one that looked identical to Nan’s cuff.
“Is this a new cuff?”
“It is.” My sister’s eyes snap up at me, a devious grin playing on her lips. “A real one this time—my friend broke through the magic that prevented nonmagi from wearing relics. It does nothing for me, of course. Do you want to try it on?” She hands me her cuff, but I recoil.
“If you wore yours, you’d be able to speak to ghosts instead of only hearing the dead when you touch them.” She feigns a shudder, then bursts into laughter.
“Not funny.” I frown. I am terrified of ghosts, and I have no desire to explore this curse that flows through my veins. I’m glad she doesn’t have to experience the harrowing sound in my ears if I don’t use my magic for a while, or if I take too long to solve a riddle. “It’s easy to jest when you don’t have to carry the weight of the unfulfilled dead.”
Her laugh falters, an uncomfortable yet familiar silence settling between us—whenever we talk about my magic or about Olivia leaving Gorhail.
“I asked my friend about the constant noise in a whisperer’s ears. Wearing Nan’s cuff will contain the magic so the ringing stops.” She regards me with concern. “I fear it will only worsen as you age. Mages aren’t supposed to be without their relics, Vi. At some point, the dead bodies won’t be enough.”
I shake my head. I’mthrivingwithout the relic, and I refuse to let a piece of metal dictate my life. Once I’m up in Osneau, I will find a Sealer—exiled mages who can rid any person of their magic. And I’ll finally be normal.
“And what did your friend say about nonmagi with fake relics?” I give her a pointed look, my lips tugging upward. I hope she follows my lead. “It’s been twelve years, and they still haven’t caught you. I’m impressed.”
“Why the sudden suspicion?” She clips her cuff back on, then snorts. “Do you think the relic gave me magic overnight?”
I roll my eyes. Relics store magic. The older the relic, the more magicit stores. It doesn’t grant magic, although for Olivia’s sake, I wish it did. And if it did, I’d run to my room to retrieve Nan’s cuff and give it to her.
She’s so happy at Gorhail, so I hate myself for what I’m about to say.
“Two mages turned up dead at work last week.” I hesitate. “Maybe it’s time to come home.”
The uncomfortable silence is back, but this time, I’m not letting up.