Page 144 of At the Mercy of Midnight
Amelia had perched herself on the arm of a worn chair, hair tied hastily away from her face as she traced her finger along an old rune sequence that matched the patterns of the Midnight Rite. The shellwork was maddeningly intricate, a layered spiral pattern that looked almost floral in design when laid out across the page, and seemed dangerously unstable if it were cited incorrectly during the ceremony.
So much, too much, room for error.
Her brain buzzed as it tried to absorb everything, learn everything.
“Don’t let it close there,” Amelia murmured quietly to herself, finger moving along the spell’s pattern. “If the closing of the spell goes wrong, it will fail. If we seal it here, it will work.”
Brinkley crouched nearby with a piece of charcoal between two fingers, sketching a schematic onto the wooden floorboards, uncaring of the mess he was making in his own cottage. His lips were pursed as he leaned back, looking down at his handiwork. “If you invert this rune,” Brinkley said over his shoulder, “the flow of the spell changes direction from inwards to outwards…that would destabilise the bonding altogether. I don’t think this part of the original spell can be changed at all. This section is too steadfast in its intent for sacrificial bonding.”
Aurora glanced up from her text, eyes tired and heavy. She looked at Brinkley with an air of not comprehending a single word coming from his mouth. She blinked for a moment, and then yawned before looking back to her own text.
Fabian held up a section of parchment he had torn in two after making his own notes. “This,” he said in a low voice to Brinkley, “is the soul-binding rune, very similar to that one you’ve drawn. We could attempt to remove and replace. Thatcould help divert the ritual from the sacrifice to a marriage ceremony with mirroring vows. If we embed this rune into the incantation instead…could work.”
Silas looked up. “Mirrored vows?”
Fabian glanced at him before nodding. “You each speak with absolute intention, with promise. The magic will then flow with perfect equality, harmony. You bind yourselves…not one into the other as the original ritual requires, but bind together, as equal partners.”
Amelia straightened. “Which fits our working theory,” she said, reaching for Fabian’s notes, which he handed over. She scanned over them quickly, heart racing as that flower of hope within her grew with a little more vigour. “It follows the same logic as traditional pair bonding but is more…of a voluntary nature. Like rewriting a contract at the last moment.”
Halpert grunted, standing behind her chair with his arms crossed as he, too, looked down at Fabian’s theory. “You’re trying to outwit a ritual older than the Spire itself,” he said. “You must realise how easily this could backfire.”
Amelia’s heart sank as she looked back to her old mentor. His face was grave and serious, mouth pulled into a frown. He caught her eye and leaned away, clearly attempting to school his expression. He held up a placating hand.
“I’m just trying to add some levity to the situation. There’s a lot at stake.”
“I understand,” Amelia answered softly. “But if we don’t try, someone dies.”
The room fell quiet again, and even the wind outside and the fire in the hearth seemed to dull into a hush at the reminder.
Halpert gave her an understanding smile and nodded.
“Then let’s get back to it,” Brinkley said finally, kneeling back down to focus on his drawings.
They returned to their work, with ongoing murmuring, sketching, and writing. Aurora moved around the table, lighting fresh candles, and removing the stubs of burnt-out ones.
They continued late into the night, until eyes grew heavier and early morning chill pressed in at the windows of the cottage. Parchment littered the floor and lay across Aurora’s chest who was asleep on the couch. There was a hum floating through the room, Fabian sitting cross-legged in the middle of the area, eyes shut as he murmured a soft spell, the magic vibrating around them while he concentrated.
Amelia’s voice broke through the quiet. With a weary sigh, she said, “we’re close. It’s not perfect, but it’s looking doable.”
Silas looked at her, eyes rimmed with exhaustion.
She sent him a tired smile. “I think it might actually work,” Amelia whispered.
He reached for her hand, giving her fingers a light squeeze. “Then we try.”
Halpert smiled faintly from his spot by the embers in the hearth. Brinkley raised his mug of coffee in a silent toast. Fabian only cracked an eye open to glance at them briefly before returning to his concentrated murmuring of whatever spell he was trying.
“Let’s get some rest,” Silas said to agreements around the room, including a rather loud snore from his sister.
And for the first time in weeks, hope didn’t feel so foolish.
Amelia sat on the edge of her bed, head jerking up when Silas finally entered the room after bathing and changing. He came to sit beside her, silent for a moment.
“So, what’s the tally?” he asked lightly. “At this point, who’s saved who more times?”
Amelia huffed a soft laugh, turning to face him. “For once, the competition doesn’t matter to me. As long as we both survive.”
“You only say that because you know I’ll catch up eventually.” His tone was light, a small smirk on his face, but she could sense his unease beneath it. Silas had always been good at hiding himself, but she knew him better now.
