She inched forward until she found it. It was a simple spell, designed to warn Lord Halvok if a thief was about, but not to keep out wizards—such a spell would be too taxing to sustain, even with runes. Carefully, gently, Sham stepped across, leaving the spell undisturbed.
The lower floor windows were shuttered, but those on the second floor were open. Scrambling up the native rock face and through a parlor window gave her little trouble. She stood in the darkness in the small room and pulled a sliver from her thumb with her teeth.
Places where magic was worked frequently began to collect a certain aura about them. Even people who couldn’t normally sense magic would begin to feel uneasy, as if they were being watched or followed. Such places tended to get the reputation of being haunted. Chances were good that Halvok’s workroom was in an isolated area of the house to avoid driving off the servants.
Sham closed her eyes and whispered a scrying spell to find where the workroom was. The return information was immediate and strong. Hastily she pulled the shutters on the window and lit a dim magelight to look around.
“Plague take him,” she muttered irritably.
The darkness had hidden the exact nature of the room she was in. The dark forms she’d assumed were bookcases were filled with a wide variety of antiques, each neatly labeled by a piece of parchment tied by wire to the artifacts. At another time, she would have been fascinated and covetous—particularly of the fine dagger display.
Unfortunately, there were several items radiating magic, a few as strongly as her flute. She was going to have to sneak through the dark house hoping no one heard her until she could get far enough away to find any other magic.
Sham called her magelight, restored the shutters to their former position, and opened the only door in the room. Rather than a hall, she found herself in a large bedroom. The bed was neatly turned back and a bed warmer was set near the banked coals of the fireplace.
She walked through the room and opened a door into a dimly lit hall, deserted except for a yellow-eyed tomcat. The cat stared at her indifferently from its perch on an open window sill before returning its gaze to the night.
A dark stairway broke off from the hall, too narrow to be anything but the servant’s staircase. Sham crouched low and listened for any sound that might indicate that it was in use.
She counted slowly to twenty before creeping quietly down the wooden stairs, walking as close to the edge as she could so the stair wouldn’t flex and squeak. Pausing briefly on the first floor, Sham decided to continue to the basement before trying to scry magic again. The further she was from the little collection room the better her chances of making the spell work would be.
She traveled down several steps when something both soft and sharp touched her gently on the back of the neck.
Stifling a scream, Sham jumped down two more stairs and turned, knife in hand to confront her attacker. She stared into the darkness, but saw nothing. Holding absolutely still, she listened for the sound of breathing.
The cat, sitting on a narrow shelf in the wall of the stairwell, purred smugly. She could hear it lick its foot in the darkness. Sham had passed by the animal without seeing it, and it had batted her gently with its paw.
Biting back her relieved laughter, she continued into the cellar. The temperature dropped noticeably as the last faint light faded behind her. She stopped and scried for the fragmented magic of the workroom again, though she didn’t close her eyes this time—it would have been pointless in the utter blackness of the cellar. She could still sense the spells tangled in the collection of antiques, but this time the stronger pull by far lay ahead of her, slightly to the left.
She decided the risk of someone seeing her light was less than the risk of someone hearing her as she tripped over the cat in the darkness, so she called her magelight once more. She kept it dim, so it wouldn’t spoil her night vision. The cat, with typical contrariness, was nowhere to be seen.
The first door that she came to opened into a storage area filled with foodstuffs. The second room was obviously a workshop—the wrong kind. Bits and pieces of broken or unfinished furniture were set in an organized fashion around the room. There was no third door, though she could feel the pulse of magic quite strongly when she tried.
Frowning, she tapped one foot with silent impatience and stared into the workroom. She inhaled and detected, underneath the smell of the lemon oil and varnish, the tang of herbs and the acrid scent of burned hair. Mentally she compared the size of the food storage room and the wood-shop. The storage room had been significantly narrower.
Back in the storage room, behind a shelf of dried parsley and fresh vegetables, she found a plain door that opened into Lord Halvok’s workshop—this one scented with magic rather than varnish. Stepping into the room gave her an odd feeling of going back in time. This was what the old man’s workshop in the Castle had looked like.
There was no trace of black magic here, as there had been none in the hut in Purgatory; but she hadn’t expected to find any. A magician who practiced the forbidden arts would hardly have done so in his own house. She began to search his books.
All magic had a certain signature that identified itself to a wizard. Because of that signature it was possible to tell what a spell would do, even if it were unfamiliar to the magician looking at it. Rather than waste time looking through each book, Sham touched the books in turn using her magic to search out the tomes that might contain black magic.
After twenty minutes of work, she laid three books on the smooth surface of a marble table. The first was an old copy of an even older text. It had several spells that called for the use of various body parts ... “the forefinger of a man hanged on the vernal equinox,” “the eye of a man who died in his sleep.” Enough for the spells to be black magic, but a farseeing spell was not what Sham was looking for. She set it aside.
The second book, bound in butter-soft leather, was embossed with the enlightening title, Majik Boke. Unlike the first one, it was spelled shut so no unsuspecting person could casually open it. It took Sham some time to dismantle the protection spells, as they were old and powerful—also vaguely familiar. As soon as the spells lost their hold, the book fluttered open and the signature of evil increased tenfold.
“I found that in the ashes of the bonfire where they burnt the library of the King’s Sorcerer,” Lord Halvok spoke quietly from behind her.
Sham turned to him and nodded, with a casualness she didn’t feel. Never show fear or let them know they’ve surprised you. “I thought that I recognized the Old Man’s work in the warding. You haven’t opened this?”
Lord Halvok’s blunt fingers stroked behind the ears of the yellow-eyed cat that was draped limply over his shoulders. The cat purred. “No, I have one just like it—though I believe Maur’s copy is somewhat older than mine.”
He strode casually to the table where the books rested and picked up the one she hadn’t had time to examine. He unworked the spells that kept it closed and opened it to display essentially the same text as the page her book was opened to—although written in a different hand. “This is my copy. As Maur’s apprentice, I suspect the one you opened should be yours. I advise you to keep it somewhere no one will find it. Texts that deal with black magic are forbidden, Lady Shamera.”
He snapped the book shut and met her gaze. “Tell me, how did you know that I was the wizard this afternoon? The illusion of the old wizard has fooled many mages who, forgive me, were more powerful than you are.”
She shrugged. “How long have you known I was a sorcerer searching for a demon rather than just the Reeve’s mistress?”
“After all these years Lord Kerim chooses a mistress—not just any mistress, but a native.” He closed his eyes briefly. “We have been without hope for so long. Holding on to our lands by the thread of Lord Kerim’s honor.” He opened his Southwood blue eyes and met hers. “When I realized something was going on, it was easy to connect it with you. Why would he choose an unknown Southwood lady of, you’ll forgive me, more style than beauty, when he could have his pick of court ladies—including Southwood women like Lady Sky if his tastes were so inclined?”