Page 56 of At the Mercy of Midnight
Silas froze.
Hovering over the pencil, his eyes widened as he stared. Slowly, he lowered his hand, taking up the pencil between his fingers. Silas glanced at Amelia, focused on her notes, before looking back to the pencil, puzzled and uncertain what had just happened.
He cleared his throat quietly, made his note, and set it aside.
His eyes lingered to her again as she leaned back to rub a hand over her face.
“You look tired,” he remarked, choosing to brush the moment aside.
Amelia exhaled through her nose, looking blandly up at him. “So do you.”
He couldn’t argue with her. Silas felt drained, and the looming midnight meant rest was still out of reach. It was wearing on them both.
Silence stretched, heavy and long.
Finally, Amelia set down her pen. “Do you think we’re making progress?”
He hesitated, gaze flicking to the two blades resting on the worktable. They looked so innocent, but they knew better. Their results had so far yielded little but a display of resilience against any material or runed objects. His confidence dimmed with each passing day that they would find a way to use them or break the bond.
Silas shook his head. “I don’t know.”
He couldn’t bring himself to speak the truth. That he was afraid there really was no breaking the bond. That only midnight waited for them, night after night…until there were no more midnights left for them.
She cleared her throat. “I was wondering if we should visit Fabian again.” Amelia shifted some papers around, avoiding his eyes.
“Were you?”
She gripped a book and looked up. “It was odd and horrible, yes. But it’s been the only solid answers we’ve had so far. I think it’s worth seeing what more we can find out.”
Silas nodded. “I agree.”
Her brows lifted. “You…agree with me?”
He smirked, fingers tapping rhythmically on the table. “It’s been known to happen.”
Amelia didn’t respond, sending the book in her hands a wide-eyed look as though disagreeing wholeheartedly. She shuffled her papers together and stood from the ground, stretching out her limbs. “We can see him in the morning, then. I’m finished for tonight.”
“I’ll just set these up, then I am too,” he said.
Amelia wandered over to help him set the copper plating, a magical shield between the blades.
He exhaled with exhaustion. “All right, let’s get out of here.”
The next morning, they walked the icy streets to experience the wonders of ‘Archmage’ Fabian Eros once more. Stepping into the alleyway that housed his shop, the twisted staircase came into view.
He felt it immediately, and knew Amelia had also, their footfalls slowing in unison. The alley leading to Fabian’s dwelling felt different, threatening.
Last time, it had smelled of incense, a cloying warmth tucked between tilted walls and the crumbling frame of a shop. Now, the air was brittle and wrong, like some great disturbance plagued the area. They moved up the staircase, silent and cautious. Silas’ boots crunched on shattered glass as they approached the crooked wooden door, which was half open, swaying gently on its hinges.
“Winslow,” he murmured, halting.
Amelia stopped behind him, her breath visible in the cold. “The door wasn’t like that before.”
“No,” he said grimly, “it wasn’t.” He moved forwards apprehensively, easing it open, the wood creaking like a groan.
Inside, Fabian’s chaotic but vibrant shop was in absolute ruin.
Shelves were toppled, books torn from their spines, arcane glasswork shattered across the floor. The incense scent was gone, replaced by the unmistakable tang of blood and burning wood. A single candle burned on at the far side of the room, flickering low, as though it were the only thing left untouched.
