Lucian walked with Leon, Jonas, and Judith down the golden bridge toward the Twirl Post, amongst other Novices who’d come out as well—free for the day—drifting about in little knots and talking lively amongst themselves.

  ‘I’d love to have seen Father’s face when the Archsage entered the Atrium with his Luxleo. He’d have soiled his breeches.’ Jonas grinned at Judith, as if he could see it plain as a sketch.

  ‘His heart would’ve stopped, that’s for sure,’ Judith said, laughing. She wore a look of calm—almost easy in it—yet her eyes stayed sharp, marking every face that passed.

  ‘Does your father know?’ Lucian asked, careful. ‘About you—where you are now?’

  ‘He knows about me being , as he put it, mind.’ Jonas rolled his eyes. ‘Locked me in the cellar three nights—can you believe it? God be praised Sage Li came and broke me out. I was near starved.’

  ‘Why?’ Lucian asked—Jonas had lived out one of Lucian’s deepest fears.

  ‘One morning I were meant to bake the dough by the hearth, but I couldn’t keep the fire going to save my life. Kept trying I did, till I got angry—burnt the whole batch and the workboard with a blaze coming out of my hands. He saw all of it.’ Jonas shrugged. ‘I don’t care—he weren’t decent. Half the time full of ale, and I’ve bruises to prove it. Auntie’s my family now.’

  ‘Aye. That’s true enough—and I couldn’t be prouder,’ Judith said.

  Leon leaned in. ‘What happened to him?’

  Jonas shrugged again, harder this time, like it was nothing worth telling. ‘Not the faintest.’

  Lucian’s mind slid, unbidden, to Lewis’s quick jabs and shoves whenever he could get away with it. Lucian had never understood why, not truly. And Lewis’s last comments still churned—Lewis reckoned Lucian had put Mother through misery, as if it were a certain thing. But how could he have? One day, Lucian told himself, he’d muster the courage to face Lewis about it—soon as he could hold his tricks without them spilling wild.

  They reached the Twirl Post. Other Novices waited in line for the Twirls to arrive—some with their parents, some with friends, and some with great beasts at their heels—dogs or cats by the look of them. A large bird, owl-like at first glance, sat quiet on a lass’s shoulder, but its four wings marked it for anything but ordinary. The place felt lively and clean besides—none of Leeds’s press about it, none of the stale sweat, the jostling elbows, or the sharp cries of ‘Gardy-loo!’ and ‘Haud yer hand!’ that carried through the town streets.

  Leon glanced back at Jonas and Judith. ‘Sure it’s all right if we come along?’

  ‘Sure it is,’ Jonas said.

  Judith tipped her head. ‘Aye. I’d love the company. I’m very sure Winifreda’ll be pleased too. You lads have the whole day to explore, besides.’

  Lucian frowned, the picture in his head not matching what he’d marked earlier.

  ‘But everything was closed and empty, weren’t it?—why then?’

  Jonas and Judith exchanged a quick look—yet before either could answer, someone called Jonas’s name and they all turned.

  Merrick came along the bridge with the same lads Lucian had seen last time. One moved stiffly enough to put Lucian in mind of a string puppet—tall, thin and brown-skinned. The other wore his magus attire fitted so close, like he’d been born with it—skin pale as milk with drooping eyelids as he looked them over.

  ‘I’d like a word, if you please,’ Merrick said. His eyes flicked to Lucian and Leon like they were dirt on his boot.

  ‘All right,’ Jonas replied, cheeks flushed under his freckles, and went with Merrick toward the rails of the bridge. Merrick’s friends stayed back, set like sentinels, watching as if Jonas might run.

  Leon made a strange grimace at that. ‘What’s that all about?’

  Lucian could only shrug. His gaze slid past them, down the bridge.

  Alan walked there—alone—eyes gone distant, set on the sky as if he were watching something no one else could see.

  Behind him, the girls—Eliza and Mair—came together, talking lively, like sparrows that could not sit still.

  The sadness and loneliness coming off Alan hit Lucian so hard his eyes stung, and his throat tightened as if he’d swallowed smoke. Before Lucian quite knew he meant to move, his feet carried him forward.

  ‘Hi, Alan,’ he said, trying to sound at ease. ‘We’re heading to the Spirelight alehouse. Do you want to join us?’

  Alan squinted at him, wary as a cat with its back to a corner. ‘Why?’

  ‘We don’t know much about the Wells, and you grew up in York, didn’t you? You know both worlds, and I have loads of questions. I know my brother has some too.’

  Alan watched him a moment longer, then gave a small nod.

  ‘Then we will also join you,’ a voice said from behind Alan.

  Eliza and Mair stepped nearer. ‘We know nothing about the Wells.’

  *

  After another quick journey in an overused Twirl—which seemed sorely unhappy with the loud novices, their kin, and their fera magicae—the air inside was all noise and jolts, sparks snapping about while beasts shifted and fouled the floor. At last, they arrived at Vicis-Meris Twirl Post.

  Mair—waiting by the door—was the first to climb out, a shade of green in her cheeks, and she looked glad to be clear of the horseless carriage.

  Judith guided them on through the streets. Lucian had no notion where they were—the lanes still curved, paved with bronze marble blocks—but he had the feeling it was all new. Shopfronts, alehouses, and inns sat shuttered as if they’d been closed a while, and thin little beams of light crisscrossed above their heads with low giggles, here one moment and gone the next.

  ‘What are those?’ Lucian asked, trying to see one proper, but they darted past too quick.

  ‘Sprites!’ Mair said at once.

  Eliza clapped her hands. ‘Our sage showed them to us on our last visit. They’re adorable.’

  ‘Can we see them?’ Leon said, craning his neck.

  ‘Not now, lad. Sprite Express is in Planisvicis Orientalis—not that far from my shop, to be exact, see? But best to keep moving. We ought not to linger.’ Judith kept her tone light, yet her eyes darted about all the while.

  And she was right—the Wellers who’d come with them in the Twirl didn’t hang about at all. Before Lucian and the others had even crossed the street, most of them had already slipped away and vanished from sight.

  ‘Why not?’ Leon voiced Lucian’s thoughts. ‘Why’s everything so empty and closed?’

  ‘We’ll talk soon,’ Judith said simply.

  They came round to the back entrance of the Spirelight alehouse, set a little off the main street, where clipped green and high hedges formed a neat ring that led to a greeny archway. A sign shaped like a sunburst hung from an iron bracket, and beneath it a lantern globe was etched into a slab of dark marble.

  ‘Closed to uninvited guests—’ Jonas read aloud, halting at the door. ‘Request an inside table via sprites…’

  Leon’s brows rose. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘That sign doesn’t apply to us,’ Judith said. She drew a bronze spelltag from her pocket, set it to the closed door, and tapped the tag gentle with her ring as she murmured under her breath.

  The wood didn’t swing open. Instead it began to gleam—faint at first, then brighter—like sunlight thrown back from the rushing waters of the River Aire.

  ‘In you lot. Hurry, hurry now,’ Judith urged.

  Jonas stepped forward and passed through as if the door were smoke, disappearing behind it.

  They went in a small file—Alan first, then Eliza, followed by Jonas, with Leon, Mair, and Lucian close behind. The smell of broth met Lucian the instant he crossed the threshold, and his stomach gave a loud rumble.

  He hadn’t marked he was so hungry.

  Spirelight wasn’t empty at all, not as it seemed from outside. It lived with noise—folk talking over one another, jugs and mugs going in and out by a service window—and glimmers of light flitting overhead. From a distance they looked like glow-worms on warm summer nights along the grass, only they kept swelling into clearer form—here and there—perching by tables, skimming along the counter, sometimes peering over the brim of a pointed hat.

  ‘Follow me, you lot,’ Judith said, once she’d slipped in and tucked the spelltag safe into her satchel.

  They pressed deeper into the alehouse, peering between shoulders and tables for a place to sit. Lucian ducked as one of the sprites shot towards him, close enough for him to feel the stir of air at his hair.

  It didn’t much look like a little bug. Not even close.

  The tiny winged creature looked like a big-headed, thin-limbed babe, clothed in a muddle of feathers, fur, and grassy leaves. Four greenish wings beat at its back like a dragonfly’s, and its pointed ears and fine antennae twitched as it hovered—eyes burning a pale green as if it were all mischief.

  ‘What—what’re these things for?’ Leon said, shooing a tiny one off with his hands. ‘Annoying flies, they are.’

  ‘Messages, night-light, sometimes mischief,’ Jonas said loud over the chatter. ‘Depends how you pay ’em. You’ll see Wellers send one to carry a thought, or loose it in their neighbour’s garden to beg for flour.’

  Overhead, from the ceiling beams, hung what Lucian had first taken for an oil lamp—only it was more like a little birdhouse, strung up on long cords. Sprites clustered about it in a shifting crowd, each a different colour, flitting in and out as if the tiny glasshouse were their roost. Some hissed at them as they passed. Some squeaked. Some sang in high whistles as they darted by—and every so often one would swell a touch larger, then shrink again, as if it could not settle on its own size.

  ‘Glad to see you all again,’ said the same clerk from Lucian’s last visit—round cheekbones flushed, plain black hair pulled back tight.

  Judith greeted her warm as if they’d spoken yesterday, then the clerk beckoned them close. ‘Come along. Jiang’s a table for you.’

  She led them to a side chamber where the walls were marble, flanked by living wood, with ivy climbing toward the ceiling. The stone was so clear it might’ve been glass. The moment they entered the room, the chatter from the main chamber died out.

  Sage Li sat at a round, dark oak table by a large crystal window, speaking with a lad with very dark skin and hair that hung in thick, long cords—like earthworms.

  Lucian stared as half-bubbles curved over each table in the room—clear as glass, giving off a faint shimmer in the air. He couldn’t catch a single word. Mouths moved, hands shifted, yet no sound came from any of the five crowded tables—even as their occupants laughed, gestured, and chattered away behind their domes.

  Leon looked about and jabbed a finger in his ear. ‘Have I gone deaf?’

  Judith gestured to a silver spelltag set on a nearby tabletop. ‘Concealment Charms, boy. A very well sough spelltag, I’ve a bunch of them in my shop—sell like what it does.’

  ‘Concealment?’ said Eliza. ‘What do they do?’

  ‘Warmth and privacy—mostly. Touch the air—only those inside its bounds can hear what’s said, see? Now. Let’s see if we can say hello. Come along.’

  They gathered around Sage Li’s table, and she looked happy enough to see them. She beckoned them in—and the moment Lucian stepped beneath the clear dome, a strange tingling ran through him. The same one he’d felt when he went after Mother that dawn—like pushing into a high cornfield.

  He took a step back. The tingling stopped.

  He stepped forward again, and it came back.

  Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

  Lucian raised a hand to the dome. His fingers met no solid thing, only a soft pressure in the air, as if it were brushing his skin back.

  He frowned.

  So that was what had been round the woods by his estate—a magic dome. Could it’ve been a concealment charm as well?

  Nay… The sounds in the woods hadn’t been gone.

  He pressed into the dome again. The tingling fell away the moment he crossed fully in—and sound struck him at once, so sudden he halted.

  Every face at the table turned to him. Heat rushed up his neck. He glanced aside and found folk craning their necks too, watching him like he’d be a merry andrew, doing some jest worth staring at.

  Lucian hurried closer to his brother, eyes fixed on the floorboards.

  ‘What was that all about?’ Leon whispered, but Lucian only shook his head.

  Jiang broke the awkward silence. ‘Please, sit yourselves.’

  As they pulled up a chair, the round table seemed to swell until there was room for every elbow—new chairs appeared with soft little knocks, one after another.

  Were they popping up, or had they been there the whole time?

  Lucian couldn’t tell anymore.

  He took a seat near Jonas and Leon. His brother sat red as a beet beside Mair, and she kept giggling every time Leon shifted in his chair. Jonas, too, sat slightly red and stiff as a board beside the unknown lad—cheeks flushed, eyes darting to Lucian and back to the table as if he did not know where to rest them.

  Sage Li introduced the lad soon enough.

  ‘This is Ade Oladeji. He just come today. From Cape Coast Castle—Gold Coast.’ she said, smiling, her English still broken but clear enough. ‘He take this term in the Primordium, mayhap even longer.’

  Before anyone could say a word, Winifreda swept in with no less than eight plates and a long loaf floating along before her, guided by her ladle-wand. The plates settled neat on the table—each with sponge cake—and the loaf came down last, as gentle as if hands had set it there.

  Winifreda looked a little dishevelled, hair not quite right, apron pulled askew—yet happy enough for all that.

  ‘The day started early for you lot, didn’t it?’ she said, looking from face to face. ‘Saw it straight away. Thought you’d need something sweet after all the morning commotion.’

  A chorus of ‘thank you’ rose up at once.

  ‘They be elected tonight, Wini,’ Sage Li said, standing. ‘I must prepare. You take care of them, yes?’

  ‘Aye, aye. Not a problem.’

  Sage Li gave a little bow and left the room.

  ‘Who’s hungry?’ Winifreda said.

  Leon and Jonas lifted their hands straight off, and a low, unsure murmur came from the rest.

  ‘A hot meal before you lot go choosing your fons,’ Judith said, pushing back her chair. ‘I’ll help Wini. You lot enjoy your cakes.’

  She hooked her arm through Winifreda’s, and they headed out together, already gossiping.

  ‘That fellow yesterday handed me flowers…’

  ‘Did he, really?’

  Their voices drifted away, and what was left behind at the table was a long, awkward silence.

  Leon pulled two of the plates close and took a great bite of cake, mouth full and grinning. The others followed, forks scraping soft against plates.

  Ade was the first to break the silence. ‘Sage Li say something about “Electio Fontium”. What is that?’

  ‘It’s a proving,’ Jonas blurted, going pink as a berry again.

  ‘Proving?’ Eliza asked, squinting. ‘What kind of proving?’

  ‘I don’t know, really,’ Jonas said, shifting in his chair. ‘They say you must pass it, though. Every new novice gets a plain white travelling cloak—enchanted, see? Somehow it changes into the colour of your fons.’

  ‘That’s why the older novices all wore those cloaks, aye?’ Lucian said. ‘A colourful bunch they were.’

  Jonas turned his head.

  ‘Alan—you’re a Wayfarer Magus, not? D’you know what we must do in this proving thing?’

  Alan shook his head.

  ‘They don’t tell us, in case we find a way to use false means,’ he said plainly. ‘Folk say it’s a magical proving.’

  ‘I reckon mine’ll stay blank,’ Leon said, bitter beside Lucian.

  Mair’s hand settled on his shoulder. ‘Why’d you reckon that?’

  Leon’s face went near the colour of a cherry, his eyes dropping to his lap. He gave a small shrug. ‘Never done my magic.’

  ‘Never?’ Mair frowned, as if she couldn’t make the notion fit in her head at all.

  ‘Nay… it doesn’t work for me.’

  Eliza leaned forward, quick to fill the space.

  ‘My very first spell was cleaning rags and sheets—loads of ’em. Our family owns an inn, we do, and I hated scullery work something cruel. One day I was so fed up I threw the basket of linen on the floor, but the rags never fell—folded themselves in a neat heap.’ She snapped her fingers. ‘Clean and dry as new. I near fainted—so did the scullery mistress. She left and never came back. Couldn’t explain it. Worst weeks after…’

  Mair giggled again.

  ‘Uncle kept asking what you’d done to the poor woman… but she kept her mouth shut, she did. Still, that was the worst of it for you—my mother near sent me to the priests.’

  ‘Really?’ Leon blinked at her. ‘Why?’

  ‘Rain,’ Mair said simply. ‘Anytime I cried, or got in a proper temper, it came—only where I stood, mind.’ She looked at Leon again, still frowning. ‘I don’t understand why you’ve not done anything up till now. I’ve been making it rain for over a year. True enough Iza’s only done the one linen spell, but still…’

  ‘Don’t make me feel worse about it, will you?’ Leon muttered. He ran a finger along the seam of his magus robe, staring down at the oak.

  If Lucian could, he’d give all his magic to Leon in a blink—not to rid himself of the trouble his untamed power caused, but because he knew his brother would make better use of it than Lucian ever had. Leon had never so much as made a candle flicker—though he kept trying and never did give up.

  It came so easy to Lucian, and the unfairness of it sat heavy in his gut.

  How could Leon belong here? What if Mr Barlow had been mistaken?

  Jonas leaned in.

  ‘Better to have nothing happen than destroy things by fire—or burn folk. My father caught me at it. Gave me a right thrashing after—locked me up, he did. Said I’d burn the house down, though it was only half the kitchen what got scorched. My arms still have the flame-marks. Fire comes too easy to me.’

  ‘Really?’ Ade turned to Jonas, his deep green eyes widening. His hair fell in thick cords, dark and heavy, and when he moved those cords shifted with him. ‘You can truly make flame—or you just boast?’

  Jonas went scarlet again, but he held out a hand all the same. He spread his fingers—

  —and bright little flames sparked just above his palm, licking at the air without touching his skin.

  ‘You brilliant,’ Ade said, astonished.

  Jonas’s grin came sharp, proud and nervous all at once. ‘Aye—so are you— I mean… what can you do?’

  Ade’s grin turned crooked. ‘Nothing. I’m a bit like this boy here, this Leon.’

  Lucian’s head snapped up. ‘Really?’

  ‘Aye. But I do hear the animals,’ Ade said, and the deep roll of his voice—his strange way of putting words together—near made Lucian smile, though he held it back. ‘Rats mostly. Birds too, when they feel like it—sea-gulls are daft… truly. Always screaming, wanting food. “My, my, my, my,” they go. You can’t hold a piece of bread near them. They near made me go mad. ’ He shook his head, still grinning.

  So, Lucian thought. Ade could hear creatures too—animals, though. Not monsters or dangerous beings like he did. The hound, the boggart. Still, it eased something in Lucian’s chest.

  ‘You shouldn’t share that with other folk, though,’ Jonas said, his voice going sombre and Lucian stared.

  Ade’s brow furrowed deep. ‘Why not?’

  ‘Wellers don’t have a heap of superstitions, but they’ve got their ways.’ Jonas glanced round the room, quick as if he feared someone might be listening even through the bubble. ‘Certain norms, like. Seeing things you ought not. Hearing things you ought not. And going about bare-handed.’

  ‘You’re barking.’ Ade gave a short scoff and looked round. ‘None of us are wearing gloves, and no one’s said a word. They do keep looking at me, though…’

  ‘Nay—mind,’ Jonas said, leaning in. ‘Most folk won’t call it out to your face. They’ll just mark it and talk after. Besides, we’re too young to bear the sort of mark that makes them truly fret.’

  ‘Mark?’ Mair asked.

  Jonas nodded. ‘Aye. A visible one—black or blue fingertips. Folk started tying it to bone-and-blood corruption, see? Even though it’s not always that. Certain high-force spells—overcasting—can bruise the same way—at least that’s what I overheard folk telling Auntie in the shop. Once folk get it into their heads, that’s that. One can’t unsee it.’

  Alan nodded along.

  ‘Jonas is right enough. Wellers are tighter about these things. They live in fear—of being discovered, of being persecuted. If there’s even a hint of forbidden doings, you might be cast out. The Wells are for those who follow rules.’

  He gave a small, humourless shrug.

  ‘Father—and any Wayfarer magi—are seen as daft enough to mingle among Nullkins. Besides, we don’t wear gloves.’ He lifted his hands, palms up, showing his fingers plain. ‘We don’t mind the marks, and it makes Wellers nervous enough. But here, soon as a novice gets their bearings, they take to gloves. They’re as common as breeches when you go out for flour, they are.’

  ‘That’s strange. Very.’ Ade didn’t look convinced. ‘Still. What’s so bad about hearing animals?’

  ‘Because hearing voices—’ said Alan, ‘Or seeing things one ought not—gets called “influence of the enemy”. Nullkin’s habit I know, but even inside the Wells—that’s what folk still think.’

  ‘Bad luck at best, that is. Corruption at worst or forbidden doings.’ Jonas lowered his voice. ‘Some say it were the chief skill Rayslend ever boasted about—speaking with, and seeing, things not of this world.’

  ‘Rayslend?’ Ade said, and his grin faded. ‘I know that name. The rats whispered of him when they got to know where I was heading.’

  ‘What?’ Lucian said. Every face at the table turned to Ade, brows drawn.

  Ade blinked at them. ‘Well—I were on a ship coming to England, weren’t I? The rats kept me company. Told me things. They said they don’t like this country. Said a man—this Rayslend—used their blood, or bones, for dark rites. Still… the rats talked more sense than half the boys from my own land.’

  ‘Where are you from?’ Lucian asked, his mind already scrabbling for the few scraps he’d ever heard of places beyond Yorkshire.

  ‘Gold Coast. Cape Coast Castle. My father’s people are called Yoruba—he told me the name. We moved along the coast for his work.’

  Jonas gawped at him, mouth half open. ‘Why’re you here, then? D’you come alone?’

  ‘Just me and Father,’ Ade said. ‘Mother stayed—she’s Nullkin. Father’s a man for curses. Came to help with the trouble in York.’

  Every head turned to Alan.

  Alan looked away at once—eyes glistening—his mouth tightening as if he were holding something back that hurt to swallow. His cake lay half-eaten on the plate.

  ‘What? What’s the matter?’ Ade frowned, startled by it. ‘I can’t help it if rats talk to me...’

  ‘Nay—it’s not that.’ Alan said, wiping a silent tear from his cheek. ‘My mother was taken by the curse, and these lot know. Our home in York was one of the attacked ones. The wolf— It—it seemed to be targeting magical households. Like mine.’

  Alan’s fists clenched tight on the tabletop.

  ‘All of them attacked by a single brute of a Wolffiend—biting and wrecking, that was all it did that night. My mother never hurt a soul—she was a healer for the Nullkins, a Nymbranis sage. But she was taken anyway by the praetors—loads of them. Took near a dozen to bring the creature down. But it was near daybreak by then and it turned back to human form.’ His voice caught.

  ‘What’s a Wolffiend?’ Mair said in a whisper.

  ‘Folk also call them werewolves,’ Ade said. ‘Magi cursed—a bone-curse. They turned into a wolf-like beast—but only during the fullmoon. Very old curse too. There are stages and different forms of Wolffiends. If your mother been bitten—then… I’m very sorry.’

  ‘I know… Mother—she…’ Alan’s voice caught, and he swallowed hard. ‘If this is the usual Wolffiend’s curse, by the next full moon Mother’ll be a full-fledged monster. By the second she’ll lose her magic. By the third she’ll lose her mind.’ His mouth worked, like he was trying to keep himself steady. ‘She’s as good as dead. Gone—forever cursed.’

  Eliza leaned in and took Alan’s hand. Silence fell like a stone round the group.

  Lucian’s gut twisted, and he shared a look with his twin.

  ‘It wasn’t the shuck, then,’ Leon said.

  Lucian’s head snapped to him, eyes widening.

  ‘The shuck?!’ Jonas echoed, too loud. ‘The Black Shuck from them east-coast tales? What’s a black dog got to do with anything?’

  Lucian shot Leon a glare. It was plain enough his brother had let it slip. Leon ought to think first, not fling every thought out like a stone. No taking it back now. Lucian didn’t want to share talk of the shuck with folk he didn’t know—less still what they’d seen by the river, or what they’d begun to fear it might be. So Lucian took the reins before Leon could ride them straight into a wall.

  ‘Well,’ Lucian began, careful. ‘The attack in York. The Wolffiend took a family’s friend—Nullkins they were. The Birches.’ He drew Mr Birch’s sketch from his pouch and laid it on the table, making sure it looked like new news, not a confession. ‘They’d been seeing this dog for ages—Mr Birch drew it—and now they’re dead. The whole family is.’

  The paper passed from hand to hand.

  Jonas’s mouth fell open, and even his freckles seemed to bleach pale. Ade leaned in, squinting, and still didn’t look half as shaken as Lucian expected. Alan’s eyes went wide—so wide Lucian thought he might faint. Eliza let go of Alan’s hand and bent over the drawing with Mair, whispering quick between them.

  Then Alan said hoarsely, ‘Did they see that hound in the house?’

  ‘We don’t know,’ Lucian said.

  ‘Bad omen, that,’ Mair murmured. ‘Uncle always said— “Shuck seen by Humber-side, then somebody’s for the clay.”’

  ‘Aye. I—My… my mother saw it too… weeks before the attack…’

  ‘She did?’ Jonas said.

  Alan nodded once. ‘And… so did I.’

  ‘Not good, that.’ Eliza leaned away from him. ‘Don’t go telling folk that.’

  ‘Aye. Better keep close. And I’m sorry, Alan,’ Jonas drew in, lowering his voice, and everyone leaned in to listen. ‘And it’s true enough. The black shuck tale is bad enough, but the Wolffiend curse’s worse. Wellers are afraid half to death. Folk have been saying it were gone—hundreds of years, not a single case. Now it’s back, and it’s struck four magi no less—in one night. No wonder folk reckon the Shuck’s involved.’

  ‘The Shuck’s appearing because of the Wolffiend?’ Lucian said. ‘How come?’

  ‘Well—’ Leon started, but Alan cut in at once.

  ‘The Shuck were a common sight once,’ Alan said. ‘Before the Wells existed—when blood and bone started spreading across the country. Magi would see it and hang next. If the shuck, the wolffiend curse and corrupt magi returned. That’s bad.’

  Jonas nodded hard. ‘Aye. Wellers are worried enough that the old ways are coming back. Only the wards stand between the Wells and corrupt magi.’ He flicked a glance round the room. ‘That’s why the Praetors are taking watch every night round Planisvicis—all four quarters. It’s the outer ring—more exposed, see?’

  ‘What are Praetors?’ Lucian said.

  ‘They’re defensor magi—ward-keepers and fighters,’ Jonas said in a hurry. ‘Combat magic, mostly… dangerous work. They fight in Nullkin wars too, if other magi are involved. Elderwell’s Praetors—led by Wellsage Mwando—put a stop to it in the Civil War, they did. Barlow was amongst them.’

  Lucian’s anger sparked at the name. Barlow—and his secrecy. If it mattered so much to him, then surely the return of them corrupt magi, these feared curses, and even the sightings of the Shuck meant exposure for the hidden world he claimed to guard. Yet he went on playing pretend—the Clerk of Signet—daft enough—as if it were all parchment and seals, and not lives.

  What a jest he were.

  ‘So why’s Barlow not doing anything to stop this curse?’ Lucian blurted out, sharp. ‘If they’re keeping the cursed magi secure, then just break it.’

  Alan’s voice dropped, painful low. ‘There’s no breaking it.’

  ‘Right enough,’ Jonas muttered. ‘One of the everlasting curses. Forbidden, that.’

  Lucian clenched his jaw. ‘Barlow must do something—put an end to it.’

  ‘He won’t,’ Alan said, bitter. His eyes stayed down, fixed on the table’s dark grain. ‘Barlow’s the one spreading fear amongst the Wellers. Ordered the Praetors to take us all in—to be examined. Father reckons he wants it to happen. Fear puts folk in line, he says.’

  Leon blinked, thrown.

  ‘I don’t understand. Sage Hewitt said the Wells are heavily warded against corrupt magi. How could cursed magi enter the Wells?’

  ‘They can’t,’ Alan said. ‘The Praetors who came in York during the attack, had to take all bitten magi to another place—a prison of sorts. Heavily enchanted.’

  ‘Sick, that.’ Mair pushed her plate away. ‘Is the Wolffiend curse

  Ade nodded, his face gone sombre.

  ‘Father says it comes from old gods.’ He leaned in a touch, and without meaning to, Lucian did too, and so did the rest of them. ‘Goddess Ahumano—Father calls her the nightmare-mother—she make beasts forged on blood and bone curses.’

  Leon frowned. ‘I’ve never heard of her.’

  ‘You wouldn’t have,’ Ade said, quiet. ‘Not if you’re Nullkin-born—or from this country. Very old legend, see?’ His voice lowered further. ‘First blood-drinker—magus cursed to feed on blood—old folk call them vampires. First werewolf—magus cursed to feed on flesh—old curse too. It spreads every full moon, quick as rabbits. First shape-changer—magus cursed to feed on broken bones… and loads more. Ahumano was the creator of everlasting curses—she was… vicious and mad.’

  Lucian’s gut twisted again, worse than before. He looked at Alan—the agony coming from him was tangible. Lucian couldn’t stop seeing Alan’s face—how he must have stood there and watched his mother get bitten by a creature Lucian could hardly make sense of. But evil all the same.

  Aurevir’s words hit him.

  And Lucian knew very well what evil looked like. It came to his mind as if he was living it all over again.

  It had eyes like burning coals…

  sharp ragged black teeth…

  and fur so dark…

  it seemed to melt into the shadows of the trees…

  until you couldn’t tell where…

  the beast ended…

  and night began.