The Sorcerer and the Witch-King's Heir

The next day, Leo decided to pay Marsha a visit. She frowned as he recounted his encounter with Michael Alden. "Oh, Michael," she said, when he finished. "He's a charmer, isn't he?" Leo said nothing, mostly because he didn't think "charmed" was the adjective he would use to describe “I did give him your name, but he didn't mention anything about what he was looking for. Just asked if I knew anyone with magical connections.” “Marsha, he asked me for,” he glanced around, even though they were very clearly alone, and lowered his voice. “Silvium.” “Wow,” Marsha said, suitably awed. “What for?” “I didn't ask! It's not just restricted, it's illegal! It's--” “But you could get it, right?” “That is beside the point.” He couldn't get it, in fact. No one could. What he could do was make it, since that was the only way to acquire silvium. But he wasn't going to tell Marsha that. Whatever she had guessed, she didn't ask, and he didn't tell. "I'm not a smuggler," he said, a little sulky at the implication. "What on earth did you tell this Michael person to think I was?" "Just that you might have connections to someone who might have the resources to get the 'sensitive' items he was asking about. Honestly, he didn't mention silvium. Why are you so upset about this anyway?" Leo hesitated. Why was he upset? He rubbed absently at the scar on his left shoulder. Oh, right. Marsha seemed to realize at the same time, and her face softened. "No one is going to rat you out to Parliament," she said. "Michael is, well, let's just say he'd be in just as much trouble. Honestly, Leo, do you really think I'm not more careful with my referrals?" "He was odd," Leo protested, trying to explain. "He kept asking...well, he said...more like insisted..." he was babbling. "Something is different about him," he settled on. "Oh!" Marsha said, her eyes widening and her face splitting into a grin. "Oh, I see what the problem is. It's ok to have a crush, Leo. I mean, honestly, I've known you almost fifteen years and I don't think you've ever had a relationship! It's about time, honestly." "It's not a crush! It's just something...something I can't put my finger on..." "It's been so long, you've probably forgotten what it feels like," Marsha said, reassuringly. She patted him on the shoulder. "Go home, get something to eat. Honestly, the whole silvium thing was probably just to seem more interesting. Next time he comes around, ask him out." "What makes you think there will be a next time? I told him I couldn't help!" "Trust me," Marsha said. "He'll be back." ** Leo hated it when Marsha was right. He had known her for a while, as long as he'd known anyone, in this life anyway. The memories came and went, but being functionally immortal didn't actually change biology, and the mind could only hold so much before it just...reset. He didn't know how old he actually was, but his current memories went back about twenty years or so, right after the first parliamentary election. Obviously, he remembered what happened before the election: before parliament. But part of it was pieced together from historical records, part of it was just cultural group consciousness, and part of it came and went in flashes of nightmares that struck at his mind like assassin's daggers and he really didn't miss that part of his memory. Michael came in just before closing, the same time as he had the previous day. At least he was predictable, Leo grumbled to himself. If he needed to avoid him, he could just close up early. He wiped his hands on his apron and plastered on his best customer-service smile. "Hello! What can I help you with today, sir?" "It's me," Michael said, smiling as if they were old friends. "Michael Alden. Remember?" How could he forget? Maybe Marsha was right, maybe this was a crush. "Of course," he said, hiding in politeness. "I'm afraid my answer hasn't changed regarding your...previous request. If there's something else..." Michael stepped quickly into the shop, closing and bolting the door behind him. He was so quick, Leo could only gape in amazement at the audacity, and wonder if he was about to be murdered. The obnoxious would-be customer pulled something from his pocket and Leo flinched, but it was only a piece of canvas, which he quickly unwrapped to reveal...a mirror. A broken mirror. Leo peered at it. The glass was not reflective. It had gone black and empty, as if it were gazing inward on itself. And it was broken into seven pieces. A scrying mirror. "Oh no," he said, backing away, his hands on. "Oh, no, no, no, no, no." "Can you fix it?" Michael asked eagerly, and his earnestness was unmistakable. Leo felt his breath come more quickly. This boy had no idea what he was dealing with. First silvium and now this? "Put it away," he said, and didn't realize how hoarse he sounded until the words came out. "Gods man, you can't bring that here. Put it away!" Hastily, Michael folded up the canvas and tucked the cursed object away. Leo breathed a little easier. Was it his imagination, or did the shadows retreat a little as well? He stared at the top of Michael's head to remind himself what the sun looked like. "You need to bury that," he said. "Bury it at midnight, and throw in a generous handful of salt. Black salt if you can get it. I can sell you some. No, you can have it, free of charge, if you promise to get rid of that thing." "Thank you," Michael said, clearly bewildered. "But...why?" "It's a broken scrying mirror!" Leo shouted at him. "You must know that, why else would you bring it to me?" "I know what it is," Michael said. "Why is it so dangerous?" Leo took a deep breath and ran his fingers through his hair, making it stand up on end. "Because," he said patiently, "when scrying mirrors break, they go...wrong. The spellwork that made them able to look out on the world...reverses. The world is drawn inward. It eats things, Michael. Thoughts, feelings, people, places. The salt helps dampen the effect. Burying just makes sure no one can look at it." "Oh." Michael looked suddenly uneasy. If this was an act, it was an extremely convincing one. "I didn't know. It belonged to my...my grandmother. I found it in some of her things and was hoping to get it repaired." "First the silvium, and now this," Leo said, his voice sharpening in suspicion. "There's definitely a pattern with this highly illegal, and equally dangerous, not to mention impossible, tasks you keep bringing to me. What is it you're really trying to do? Summon a demon? Raise the dead?" Michael dropped his head, like a child caught in a lie. "I'm trying to find something," he said. "Something...quite old. A family heirloom." "Well, why didn't you just say that?" Leo demanded. "I can make you a finding charm." "Of course. Any s--" he froze, and very slowly completed his sentence. "Any herbalist worth his salt can make a simple finding charm. Wait there." He went into the back, mixed up some rosemary with ash wood, dipped a piece of rope in melted wax and rolled it around in the herb concoction. Then he did the most important thing, the only important thing, wrapped the thing in old cloth, and went back to Michael, still anxiously waiting at the counter. "Take this," he said. "Keep it covered until you're at home. Then take it out and tell it what you're looking for. The rest should be self explanatory." "What if the thing I'm looking for is a long way from home?" Leo rolled his eyes up to the ceiling, praying for any saints or gods who might still be alive to grant him patience, and held out his hand for the package. Michael handed it over meekly. He shook out the wax-and-herb covered rope, gave it some new instructions (silently, he didn't need this inept, startingly tall-and-gorgeous stranger hear him chant), and then scrounged around on his workbench for a pencil. The wax had already hardened, so he jabbed the lead in between the rope fibers. Then he rewrapped it, and handed it back. Michael stared at it like it was a snake. "Tell it what you're looking for, and then ask it to write down the location," he instructed. It was more magic than he'd done in public for as long as he could remember, but this idiot had brought a broken scrying mirror into his home, so he was beyond hiding a few tricks that most witch-wives still knew how to do. "It's not very intelligent, and the spell won't last very long, so make sure any questions you ask are simple and brief." "Thank you," Michael said earnestly. "What do I owe you?" "Just get out of my shop," Leo said, wearily. "And don't come back," he muttered, as the bell chimed cheerfully, and the door closed behind him.