Gray Magic
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Magic in the world was not just a science; it was also an art.
In this respect, magic and alchemy were very similar indeed: Both required exact measurements of ingredients and procedures, and both used complex formulas to create something from nothing or to transform something into something else… but that’s where the similarities ended.
Magic was much more about intuition, instinct, and the ability to read patterns—a trait often attributed to being psychic, though many people believed such skills were only possible because the magician possessed the rare gift of precognition.
But no matter how you looked at it, most magicians preferred to work with things they could touch rather than simply think their way through problems. They liked working on physical objects because it allowed them to see their handiwork for themselves; when you had a magical talent, it meant you didn’t have to trust your imagination as much as other magicians did.
You got tangible proof that magic worked when you performed it correctly—not something like “mysterious forces.” The best magicians would be able to do a lot with simple items found around town… but the very best of them would be able to produce miracles out of thin air using only one of two ingredients: salt and iron.
“Salt and iron,” I repeated slowly, remembering.
The first thing we encountered had been a big block of salt: It came as a surprise even knowing what we should have seen coming. But I hadn’t realized until later that it was actually a block of sodium chloride made of pure elemental sulfur, which we called “sulfur.”
We’d taken that block of salt home with us, and since then, I’d used it every day to practice my craft. Now the stuff was sitting in my kitchen cupboard right beside a bottle of red wine… and there was another block of it waiting to be cut down for my next project.
I turned my attention back to the letter. I wasn’t sure if he was talking about our little salt problem or the strange iron block we still had waiting to be worked with. Maybe both.
As soon as I finished reading his message, I set the paper aside and grabbed the box containing my supplies. This was a good time to make some real progress; it had been ages since we’d last talked, so I wanted to get ahead before the mail came again. I opened the wooden box and sorted out all of the bits and pieces that might come in handy. Then I sat down at the dining table.
“So,” I mused aloud as I stared at my new block of sulfur. “We’re not going to try anything today? Is the magic too complicated?”
“Nope!” Gray said instantly. “Just go slow and don’t take any stupid chances!”
“Don’t worry; I always follow directions.”
Gray chuckled. “Well, maybe you’ll get lucky. But you know how the old saying goes: ‘You never really understand how something works until it breaks.'” He paused, then added, “And now that you’ve gone and started a fight with him, he probably won’t be giving you as many chances as you need to find your feet.”
Oh God. I hadn’t thought beyond this point. If it had taken me three days to figure out how to use our iron block, would three weeks make it impossible for me to figure out how to work with the salt block? Or would my luck just keep turning against us? I needed to ask him, but it wouldn’t change anything either way.
“All right,” I grumbled as I pulled out my notebook, “we’re not doing anything yet.” As I jotted down everything I knew so far about the salt block—or, more accurately, as much of it as I could remember, which was not as much as I wished it was—Gray took a seat across from me and began to write his own notes.
It took several hours before I finally felt comfortable enough to begin making changes to the block. When it was ready, I held my breath. My hands trembled slightly as I took hold of the edge of the thing… but as I ran my fingers along the rough surface, I didn’t feel any difference.
The block was exactly like the one we’d gotten yesterday. Nothing happened when we touched it. So what was up with that weird iron block?
I closed my eyes and pictured the salt block. In my head, it looked much like an ordinary block of salt. And in my mind’s eye, I saw how the thing worked.
When a magician cast a spell, she or he had to be careful not to use too much power at once; that was why the best magicians worked slowly and carefully over time, testing each step to be sure there were no unintended consequences.
If they didn’t do that, then it was possible that a powerful piece of magic could have an unwanted effect. Like blowing a hole through a wall. Or destroying half a city. There had already been a couple of cases where something as simple as a bad choice of words had caused people to die in a fiery blaze.
That was why, when casting a new spell, most magicians spent days, months, or even years learning and preparing it first. They tested small elements of it, then built the rest of the whole spell up slowly.
Only after they were absolutely certain they understood every single part and could predict every possible outcome did they add more pieces into place. Until one day, it was ready and could work without further interference from the magicians.
I had no such luxury. Because I wasn’t a trained magician, I had only one shot—one chance to mess up and blow myself to kingdom come. And if I messed up now, we’d lose this precious block of salt forever.
If we had it to start with…
The thought hung heavily on my shoulders as I stared at the blank page in my book, trying to force my brain to focus. What was I missing?
I let out a deep breath as I realized it. The salt block couldn’t be the same as the iron block, because we hadn’t used the salt block. We’d just taken it home with us as a souvenir.
So what had changed?
What else was different now than three weeks ago? One word kept repeating inside my head:
Iron.
The iron block we’d gotten yesterday contained a piece of metal that we hadn’t seen before, although we didn’t have a close enough look at it to tell what it was. But it definitely wasn’t iron. It was some other alloy, perhaps steel or bronze.
That might explain how it had resisted being dissolved by our iron block. But whatever metal it was, it hadn’t affected the block’s magic—because we hadn’t tried to work any spells using it.
Now that we had a chance to test it…
There was a faint glow coming from my left hand, a tiny bit of light in the darkness. At least I hoped it was from me. I was still holding on to the iron block with both hands, staring at the blank page in my book. I’d forgotten how to read and write; there was no way I remembered how to actually draw the symbols correctly. So I had to guess at them.
But I guessed wrong!
A horrible grinding noise filled the room as the chalk slipped through my fingers and tumbled onto my notebook. A thick red line covered my entire page, marking where I’d made a mistake.
Damn.
And the worst part? The damn symbol didn’t even look right. I knew there should be another horizontal line below the vertical lines, but I couldn’t even picture it in my head anymore. How could I possibly get this to work when I’d lost all ability to visualize it?
This is going nowhere fast…
“Dammit!” I slammed my pen down on the table, sending ink flying everywhere.
I stood up so suddenly that it knocked my chair over. I turned toward the door to yell for someone to bring me a bucket of water when I heard a loud bang behind me.
An arrow stuck out of the stone block in front of the fireplace.
***
I froze, looking around wildly. Then my gaze landed back on the iron block, which lay on its side beside the fireplace. My heart sank. Had I really blown it that badly? Did it have the same fatal flaw?
My gaze shifted to the wall opposite the fireplace and found the culprit lying slumped against it, barely visible under the folds of a gray cloak. The bow that had shot the arrow lay next to his feet. He wore a black mask over his face, and a dark hood hid everything but a short, scraggly goatee.
His clothes consisted of a heavy leather duster and black boots. And, oddly enough, he was also wearing a belt with what appeared to be an enormous knife hanging from it.
As my gaze followed the tip of the weapon, I saw what looked like a long piece of wood attached to the hilt.
What the hell?
Had the killer been hiding under the cloak all along? Or was this some new trick? If so, why would he need a blade attached to his dagger? Was it meant to be thrown? To use as a club?
All questions I desperately wanted to be answered, because whoever had just snuck up on me certainly had better stealth skills than I did. Not surprising, given their profession.
I slowly walked forward and lifted the edge of the cloak covering him. When I peered at his face again, I saw his eyes were closed and he had a nasty bruise across his forehead. It looked like he’d bumped it on something during the sneak attack. I carefully pulled back more of his hood, and he let out a sigh.
Oh boy. This guy wasn’t happy.
In fact, if looks could kill, he would’ve killed me by now.
He took off his black mask. “It’s not fair,” he rasped in a deep, angry voice. “They make it so fucking easy to kill them.”
Okay, so this wasn’t one of the good guys. No surprise there.
“Who are you?” I demanded. I grabbed the top of the cloak and lifted it completely up, trying to see more of him. As soon as my fingers touched his shoulder, though, he whipped around so quickly that the movement sent a jolt of pain straight into my wrist.
His eyes bulged and I gasped.
Holy crap. They were red!
The color reminded me of the demon’s fire.
But the eyes weren’t glowing. And they definitely didn’t have the heat radiating from the other creatures, despite the angry glint in them. But still, the blood-red irises gave me chills. Especially since this was the first time I’d ever seen someone without normal human eyes.
“Get your filthy hands off of me!” the man snarled.
At least, I think it was a man. His hair was brown. And his skin was pale. And he had a beard! That might be the clue that made me decide he was male. Most people these days didn’t shave or clean their faces enough to get away with growing a full beard.
And then there was that huge knife dangling from his belt. It made a lot more sense now.
“I’m sorry,” I said, releasing the cloak. “But can you tell me who you are? Who did that to you?”
He shook his head and spat at my feet, sending a glob of phlegm sailing toward my toes. It splattered all over my ankle. I grimaced.
“You’re lucky we don’t get you here and now,” he snapped, turning to glare at me with blazing eyes. “That hurt!”
“I know…but I didn’t mean to. You were hidden under the cloak, and—”
He lunged for me again, reaching behind me for my throat. Instinctively, I threw myself backward to dodge him, and he crashed against the wall beside the fireplace, landing flat on his back.
“Damn it,” he muttered, pushing himself up. “Now where am I going to get a damn drink?”
“Hey…” I tried to stand and stumbled to the left, tripping over the fallen chair and hitting the floor hard.
Pain shot through my hip and thigh. I rolled onto my stomach and crawled across the room to retrieve a small vial of oil from where I’d dropped it earlier, but the moment I got my hand near the edge of the desk, the man snatched up the bottle and tossed it onto the desk, spilling its contents everywhere.
Oil was a good lubricant for knives. Good thing I hadn’t picked it up yet.
“Shit,” he snarled and kicked it aside. “Can’t find a goddamn drop of it anywhere.”
I groaned when I saw how bad the mess was. I had to wipe most of it up before I could even begin to search for clues, but I had no choice now. My job was to catch a murderer, not mop up oil.
So I grabbed an old towel I found lying near the sink and mopped it as quickly as possible. While doing so, I kept looking around for something else to help me identify the person behind the attacks. Then, suddenly, I realized I couldn’t see any signs of his clothing. The clothes must’ve gotten caught in the flames or buried somewhere in the pile of papers.
I glanced at the man, who was now rummaging through a drawer looking for more booze. Maybe he drank while he worked too? If so, it seemed to work pretty well. He’d managed to stay sober long enough to do some serious damage to whoever he’d tried to ambush.
After cleaning up the worst of it, I sat down again. There wasn’t much I could do about the stained carpet or broken furniture until I figured out who the culprit was. At least now I knew he’d been injured when attacking me. Otherwise, there wasn’t a single clue pointing in his direction.
My eyes fell on his hands.
There was blood on his knuckles!
The man was strong, and his grip was tight, so it had probably been done during combat. Which meant he was either fighting demons and monsters or humans like me. Either way, he’d had a bloody fight with someone. Probably me. But which one of us was this?
When he turned to look at me again, I jumped up and backed toward the desk, ready to run. Only a few steps later, however, I remembered I’d left my phone in the bathroom. The guy might grab for it next if I took too long…
The End