Fallen Magic

The levitation spell works about as well as I could have expected. I make it back to the office without experiencing any pain in my shoulders. Not that I stick around for long. I already told Tara I would probably go straight home afterwards rather than disturbing her any more – or risking another encounter with Mr Gregor – so all I do is tell Jamie to let my dad know where I've gone.

I'm a little uneasy as I walk back home. I don't like the idea of relying on someone who so clearly hates me. But since that first day, he's at least managed to remain professional, and I don't think he'd cross his employers out of sheer spite.

I make it home safely, despite flinching every time I see someone who looks even slightly like Lauren. I was able to distract myself with books for a little while, but I'm still badly rattled by that encounter by the time I collapse onto my bed. What are you?

A person. A magician. Malaina. A girl who wasn't supposed to Fall, or be best friends with a Blackthorn, or be anything other than a moderately successful lawyer.

Something anomalous. Something I don't understand.

It has to be the anomaly, doesn't it? Amara knew something. Now Lauren knows something. What am I?

And – whatever Lauren knows – what will she do with that knowledge? She was part of the scheming, that night I delivered Omar's note. About something big. Would my anomaly fit into that plan? Would she want people to know?

Except… the way she left. I don't think she and the man who dragged her away are completely on the same side. I don't know if she'll tell him.

I don't know anything, really, and that is terrifying.

I suppose I'll have to keep distracting myself with books, then. The only alternatives are to investigate myself – which seems incredibly foolish – or tell Lord Blackthorn. And I couldn't do that to Lauren.

Even if the schemes were treasonous? The conversation I heard wasn't overtly so, but I wouldn't exactly be shocked if it turned out to be.

And if I report it, I've ruined the lives of everyone there for a guess that could very well be wrong. Not to mention that I'd have to find an explanation for being there that doesn't put Omar, Amara and their people at risk as well. No; that's not an option.

I sigh and drag the magical theory textbook I borrowed earlier out of my bag.

By the time my dad gets home, I'm missing Edward more than ever. Or any decent teacher. Really just anyone who could make sense of the stream of words and symbols that fills the pages of the textbook. I understand each one individually, but as soon as I try to put them together it becomes incomprehensible. And the book is titled An Introduction to the General Principles and Foundational Concepts of Magical Theory. You'd think introductions would be fairly accessible to beginners, but this one certainly is not.

Jamie did in fact inform my dad that I'd gone, so he just pokes his head into my room to check that I'm there. I feel a little bad for not making a start on dinner instead of bashing my head against a metaphorical wall for a couple of hours. Preparing food would have been far more useful. Instead we cook and eat together.

We don't talk much. I'm okay with that, though, having grown used to my dad's company enough that our silences feel comfortable. It's just time spent quietly and methodically, which does a lot to undo the frustration of the last hour.

The textbook is still lying on my bed when I return to my room. I just about have the self-discipline to shut it and bury it back in my bag. I'll go back to it at some point, but I'll need a slower and more systematic approach if I want to make it beyond the first chapter. I should spare myself that for tonight.

I feel a little disappointed in myself for that decision, but it is reasonable. I'll have all of tomorrow to work on it; I can rest for this evening. Well, for a definition of rest that involves reading history books instead of magical theory ones.

I somehow find that relaxing, and thanks to my dad checking in before he goes to sleep even manage to tear myself away from an account of the role of the Temple in the Civil Wars to change and go to bed.

I'm restless the next day. I didn't realise how quickly I'd adapt to the routine of going to the office with my dad, but it already feels strange watching him leave after breakfast while I remain at home. I should get on with the magical theory, but I'm reluctant. I'll have it hanging over me all day until I finally do it, though, so at nine and five after midnight I set up my desk.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

Quills, fresh parchment, the textbook itself, a glass of water, another glass of water after I drink the first one too quickly, I could use a trip to the bathroom… it takes me too long to realise I'm procrastinating.

I force myself to sit back down, and spend another minute writing out the textbook's title in painfully neat and clear handwriting. Then I'm all out of excuses.

Once I get started, it's actually okay. As long as I don't think about how painfully slow my progress is, at least. It takes me an hour just to make it past the first page. I remember the project Electra gave Edward: a day to read seven hundred pages that must have been far more complex than this. Sometimes it feels unfair that he's just that much better.

I remind myself, yet again, that he's a Blackthorn. He's had every possible advantage in the study of magic. He's been doing it ever since he could read. It's his passion and his purpose. Of course he's going to be better at it than someone who's only spent one term on it.

That makes me feel like it's not my fault, at least, but it doesn't really help with the frustration. Because it's not something I can change, either.

Realistically, unless I'm planning on becoming a professional spellcrafter or wardsmith, I probably don't need anywhere near as detailed an understanding of this stuff as Edward says I do. You can learn to cast more or less any spell – and cast it well – without needing to know the theory behind it.

That makes me take a step back and question why I'm actually doing this. This particular book isn't a textbook we're using in class; I just saw the word introduction and thought it would be good background reading and fairly comprehensible. But since it has not turned out to be that… is there a reason I'm still doing this, beyond sheer stubbornness?

"Probably not," I say to myself, and snap the book shut.

I fetch the other magical theory book, which is on the recommended reading list. It focuses specifically on the theory of enchantments, which is why I started with the other one. But we are going to spend at least a couple of weeks on enchantment theory in class at some point, so this will nevertheless be more useful than something I can't even understand.

It's still not great, but it's much better than before. I'm still having to break each sentence down once or twice before I understand it, and the book doesn't provide the intuition or examples that a human teacher would. But it does, slowly, begin to make sense.

And by the end of the day – with a short break for lunch that I nearly forgot to take – I understand the first two chapters. Properly, not just reading them with my eyes glazed over by the end. I'm surprisingly happy with my day's progress.

My dad, I soon discover, is not so happy with his day's work. A difficult case went against him, is all he says. I'm curious, and I want to help, but I know when he doesn't want me asking questions by this point. So I give him the simplest summary I can of what I've been working on today. He seems genuinely interested, to my surprise. Maybe he's just desperately clutching at the distraction I'm offering, but he asks a few clarifying questions and tentatively suggests examples. I can practically see the gears turning in his mind as he tries to get to grips with the concepts.

Once he tires of that, we make dinner and discuss the next week. Holy Days.

My grandmother is arriving on Sunday. It's almost sacrilegious to travel during Holy Days themselves, and she wants to avoid the crowds of people on the Monday. And have a day to settle in before the celebrations and rituals begin.

That means we have tomorrow to clean the apartment from top to bottom and obtain enough groceries to provide for three. My dad asks hopefully whether I know any cleaning spells that would make that easier. I don't know any spells specialised for cleaning, but I'm sure the General Animation Spell could be adapted to push a broom or mop or duster more easily than by hand.

And my grandmother is apparently devoutly religious. My dad and I haven't even been attending weekly services recently. But then again, everyone is devoutly religious for Holy Days. He's tracked down the nearest temple, and he wants to go to a service tonight just to get an idea of what the congregation are like and make sure they're not one of the more objectionable sects. Those are largely based in the far east of the country, though, and not in big cities. Thinking of Crelt as a big city feels strange after living in Ryk. But by the standards of Rasin as a whole, it is exactly that.

I decline to go to the service with him. I know I'll have a whole week of services and ceremonies to look forward to, so the idea of adding another doesn't particularly appeal. It does get me thinking about the stars, though.

Are they really watching over me? Do I matter to them? Do they know who – and what – I'm becoming? The speculation is meaningless, really, but I like the idea that someone, somewhere, knows what's going on. Because I certainly do not.

I'm left with a quiet evening in on my own. I consider doing more Magical Theory, but my brain already hurts from what I've done so far. Best to just curl up with a history book and let the time slip away.

That's exactly what happens. It seems like no time at all before my dad returns. The temple passed whatever test he had in mind, apparently, though failure was never particularly likely. He liked the priest, and he was quite moved by the sermon on forgiveness. I'm still half-buried in the pages of my book, but I'm able to at least nod politely.

He thankfully leaves me alone after only a short conversation, and I'm able to return to my book until suddenly it's bedtime. I don't feel like I've read enough to fill that much time, but I suppose the pages are quite large and the font quite small. So maybe it's more than it looks like.

I finish my chapter and successfully resist the temptation to start the next one tonight. It takes me a long time to fall asleep. I'm not sure why; just too many stray thoughts chasing each other around my mind. And when sleep does come it's uneasy at best, filled with ominous fragments of dream that I can't quite remember when I wake.

I realise finally at three and ten after midnight what's wrong. I'm scared about my grandmother's impending visit. She's a stranger, and I'm – well, myself. And even if everything goes as well as it could, it'll still change the dynamic between me and my dad just as I've accepted the way things are now.

Naming the problem helps it feel a little less scary, and I sleep undisturbed for the rest of the night.