Page 41 of Witches of Dubious Origin
“Did you bespell this carafe?”
“Me? No, it was my mother’s. Normally, the spell would fade from the object once the witch who cast the spell passed away, but because I’m a mage and the witch was my mother, the magic is strong in this little pot.”
“Like the grimoire with me,” I said.
“Precisely.” He poured a mug and handed it to me.
“Thank you.” I added milk and sugar. “What will I be learning today?”
“We’ve covered magic as a natural force powered by the universe, like gravity or electricity,” he said. “Are you comfortable with all that?”
“I think so.” I sipped my coffee. “I mean, I can feel the magic in me and it feels—for lack of a better word—organic.”
“Good word,” Miles agreed. “Let’s move along to spell structure.”
This felt promising. I leaned forward in my seat.
“When you found yourself levitating or when you called Freya to you, what do you remember?” He leaned back in his seat and cradled his mug in his hands.
“Feeling a warmth in my core and being hyperfocused on what I was visualizing in my mind.”
“We call thatintent.” Miles sipped from his mug. “It’s the most important part of any spell. The clarity of your will shapes the outcome of the spell.”
“Which was why I found myself levitating.” I nodded. “Do you think my clarity of will isn’t that strong when I’m studying the grimoire? Is that why I can’t understand it?”
“Perhaps, but given that none of us can interpret it, I think it’s more complicated than that.”
“How can I make my intent clearer?”
“Incantations, spoken or thought, can help a witch or mage to focus. Hand gestures, like the one Olive was trying to teach you, strengthen the intent, and sometimes it helps to have a focus object.”
“Like a wand? Because that would be cool,” I said.
Miles chuckled. “They’re a bit out of fashion these days, as they appear more like a bit of cosplay and draw unwanted attention, but crystals are popular. I might suggest Olive use a labradorite crystal—known as a magical concentrator—with you.”
I knew nothing about crystals except that they were not as bitchin’ as wands. Still, I was willing to try anything. We talked about spell structure for another half hour. Talking to Miles was like talking to an encyclopedia of magic. He seemed to have the entire history of witches and mages committed to memory.
“Do you come from a long line of mages?” I asked.
Miles pushed his glasses up on his nose. I realized I had crossed over into personal territory, which was rude at best and incredibly insensitive at worst.
“I’m sorry, it’s not my business,” I said.
“No, it’s all right,” he said. “You are entrusting us with your abilities. It’s only right for you to ask about our credentials.” He paused, looking over my shoulder as if the past were somewhere in his piles of stuff. “My father was a mage and my mother a witch, both from magical families of many generations. They were young and happy and in love, married just a few years and with a baby—me—the first of what they hoped would be many children, but the Nazis put an end to that. I was smuggled out of Germany with friends of my parents’ while they stayed, hoping they could use their gifts to fight. Instead, they were betrayed, captured, tortured, and murdered.”
My heart felt as if it had turned to stone. “I’m so sorry, Miles.”
“It was a long time ago.” He waved his hand dismissively, but I saw the sheen of moisture in his eyes. “That’s why we keep our abilities out of the public eye if at all possible. Less than one percent of the world’s population has magical abilities. To say that regular people don’t understand us is—”
“Woefully ignorant? Criminally understated? A mistake that could cost you your life?” I asked.
“All of that.” Abruptly, Miles looked every minute of his eighty-something years.
“Why me?” The question came out of my mouth before I knew it was festering inside me.
“Why you what?” Miles frowned.
“Why did you offer me a job at the BODO? I know it wasn’t because I have a good memory and am well read.” I crossed my arms over my chest, letting him know I was prepared to wait for the answer.
