Maybe there was something inside that would explain the smear on his aura because the alternative didn’t bear thinking about. There had to be an explanation, and maybe she could fix it before it got worse. That’s what her Resonant powers could do, right? Unravel spells?

  She pushed the door open, revealing shelves that lined the walls from floor to ceiling. Magical artefacts of every description filled the space—crystalline spheres that caught the light, ancient-looking weapons with runes etched into their hilts, and bottles of swirling liquid that seemed to move on their own.

  “Please let there be answers here,” Vesper whispered, running her fingers along a row of silver pendants. Each one hummed with its own unique magical signature, but none held the darkness she’d sensed around Rafe.

  She moved methodically through the room, examining enchanted mirrors, mysterious clockwork devices whose purposes she could only guess at, and dozens of books bound in materials she didn’t want to identify. Her stomach twisted with each item she dismissed. Nothing here could explain the shadow, either.

  A wooden box caught her eye, its surface carved with protective symbols. Inside lay a collection of personal items—a pocket watch, a ring, a handful of jumbled crystals. Family heirlooms, perhaps? But even these radiated only normal magical energy.

  Vesper’s hands trembled as she replaced the box. The evidence was becoming harder to deny. Marina’s influence over Rafe ran deeper than simple manipulation—she’d cast some kind of spell on him.

  The front door slammed shut.

  Darting through the wards, she pulled the curtain closed behind her just as footsteps thundered down the hall. She managed three steps into the lounge before Rafe burst in.

  His face transformed from panic to relief to fury in the space of a heartbeat, but the darkness in his aura writhed around him like smoke.

  “Where the hell have you been?” His voice crackled with barely contained magic. “I’ve been searching half of Nightreach for you. Do you have any idea⁠—”

  “Rafe—”

  “No.” He stalked forward, running both hands through his already dishevelled hair. “You disappeared without a word. After everything that’s happened, after the attacks, after⁠—”

  “I had to⁠—”

  “Had to what? Put yourself in danger? Again?” The pendant lights overhead flickered with his agitation. “We have enemies everywhere, Vesper. The Concordat, the mages, whoever killed Selene⁠—”

  “Rafe, listen⁠—”

  “I’m trying to keep you alive!” His voice rose to a shout. “But I can’t do that if you keep running off on your own, ignoring everything I⁠—”

  “Lucian D’Arco.”

  The name fell between them like a stone into still water. Rafe’s tirade cut off mid-sentence, his face draining of colour. The surrounding darkness pulsed once, violently, before settling back into its disturbing pattern.

  “What did you just say?” he whispered.

  “You knew.” The words tasted bitter on her tongue. “All this time, you knew about D’Arco’s connection to the grimoire. To the Echo. You mentioned it once, then it’s like you forgot about it. Like it wasn’t important.”

  “Vesper, I—” Guilt flickered across his features as he reached for her.

  She stepped back, anger blazing through her chest. “Don’t. Every time I asked about the grimoire, about what was happening to me, you held back. Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”

  “I was trying to protect⁠—”

  “Stop.” Her voice cut through his excuses like steel. “I’m done being protected. Ash told me everything—about D’Arco’s shadow magic, that the mages are searching for something, that my grimoire carries D’Arco’s magical signature, about what the Echo really is. And he’s going to help me prepare for the third trial.”

  Rafe’s expression hardened. “Absolutely not. You can’t trust⁠—”

  “This isn’t up for debate.” Vesper lifted her chin, meeting his gaze steadily. “You’ll continue teaching me combat, but Ash handles my academic preparation. I need someone who won’t hide things from me.”

  “It’s not that simple⁠—”

  “Yes, it is.” She pressed her hands flat against her thighs to stop them from shaking. “You lied to me, Rafe. By omission, maybe, but still lies. And now there’s something wrong with your magic, but you won’t tell me about that either.”

  His face went still, the surrounding darkness coiling tighter. “There’s nothing wrong with my magic.”

  “Then you’re lying again.” She turned away, unable to look at the shadows clinging to him any longer. “I start working with Ash tomorrow. That’s final.”

  The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy. Vesper’s hands still trembled, but she kept her spine straight, her jaw set. The morning light caught the edges of Rafe’s darkened aura, making it shimmer like oil on water.

  His shoulders slumped. “Fine.” The word came out rough. “But I’m coming with you to these sessions.”

  “No.” Vesper crossed her arms, though the gesture felt more like hugging herself than showing defiance. “I need space to think clearly. To learn without…” She gestured at the air between them.

  “You don’t understand what you’re dealing with.” His voice cracked. “The Echo, D’Arco, the Concordat—it’s all connected. I can’t just⁠—”

  “Can’t just what? Let me make my own choices?” The words came out sharper than she intended. Her chest ached watching him struggle, every instinct screaming to reach out, to help somehow. But the wrongness of his magic kept her rooted in place. “I’m not asking permission, Rafe. I’m telling you how this is going to be. I’m tired of being reduced to a thing. This magic is mine and I will use it how I see fit.”

  Something shifted in his expression—a flicker of the man she’d come to trust beneath whatever Marina had done to him. He straightened, dropping his hand from the wall, but he stepped back, giving her space.

  “At least tell me when you’re going,” he said quietly. “So I know where to look if—” He cut himself off, running a hand through his hair.

  She nodded, fighting the urge to close the distance between them. “I can do that.”

  Vesper watched as Rafe turned, leaving the room. His footsteps thumped up the stairs, each sounding like a nail hammering home in a coffin lid.

  But now she was certain. The pieces clicked into place with brutal clarity. Marina’s meaningful looks during the second trial, her constant presence around Rafe, the gradual darkening of his magic—it all pointed to deliberate sabotage. She must be trying to drive a wedge between them, which was obviously working like a charm. What better way to ensure Vesper’s failure than to compromise her closest ally?

  Unfortunately for Marina, she’d passed the second trial all on her own, but the third would be more complicated.

  The sound of Rafe’s bedroom door slamming shut echoed through the townhouse.

  Vesper pressed her palm against her chest, trying to ease the ache that had settled there. Every instinct screamed at her to follow him, to find some way to fix this. Instead, she forced herself to remain still, to think rationally about their situation.

  Attempting to break whatever spell Marina had cast without understanding it first could make things worse. One wrong move and she might hurt Rafe instead of helping him.

  But doubts began to creep in as she remembered his journal and his failed attempts to repair his fractured memories.

  How many more secrets lay buried between them? How much of Rafe’s behaviour lately had been influenced by Marina’s magic, and how much was simply him? The lines had become impossibly blurred.

  Vesper sank onto the couch, her head dropping into her hands. The weight of everything was becoming too much. She couldn’t even trust her own mentor anymore, not until she found a way to break Marina’s hold over him.

  How was she supposed to have all the answers when she’d only discovered magic barely a month ago?

  “Selene…” she whispered. “I wish you were here…”

  Chapter 14

  The bell’s chime echoed through Brigue & Sons as Vesper stepped inside, breathing in the familiar scent of old books and magic. It was a smell she’d never get tired of, and one that always reminded her of home, no matter which reality she was in.

  Morning light filtered through the grimy windows, casting long shadows between the towering shelves that had been pushed back against the walls. The usually cramped space had been transformed, creating a circular clearing in the centre of the shop.

  Ash stood at his workbench, arranging what looked like a museum curator’s nightmare—brass compasses with too many hands, crystals that pulsed with inner light, and what appeared to be a perfectly ordinary fountain pen until it started writing by itself.

  “Right on time.” Ash glanced up, his grey eyes sharp behind his dishevelled fringe. “How’s the hand?”

  Vesper held up her palm, turning it in the light. The angry red burn from the detection rod had vanished completely, leaving no trace it had ever existed. “Good as new. Edmund knows his healing magic.”

  “Brilliant.”

  Vesper gestured to the odd collection. “What’s all this about?”

  “Ah, I’ve gathered some items for us to work with. Thought we’d start with the basics—magical signatures and patterns, that sort of thing. Nothing too exciting, but it’ll help you understand what you’re dealing with in that grimoire of yours.”

  The careful arrangement of objects reminded Vesper of museum displays, each item placed with deliberate precision. Some she recognised from her previous visit—the brass instruments Ash had used to examine her grimoire. Others were completely foreign, their purpose a mystery. A silver disc caught her eye, its surface rippling like mercury despite being perfectly still.

  “I appreciate this,” Vesper said, moving closer to examine the workbench. “Especially given how busy you must be with the shop.”

  “Please. I know what you’re up against, and you should have every advantage.” Ash’s expression grew serious. “This is far more important than selling rare books to pretentious collectors.”

  Vesper stood before the arranged objects, her hands clasped before her as Ash explained.

  “Each item here has a unique magical signature. Your task is to identify them without physical contact. Tell me what you sense.”

  “Okay.” Vesper closed her eyes, reaching out with that newfound awareness that hummed beneath her skin. The first object—what looked like an ordinary pocket watch—radiated a steady pulse.

  “The watch… It’s not keeping time, it’s tracking something else. The magic moves in circles, but they’re not even. More like ripples spreading outward.”

  Ash’s pen scratched against parchment. “Good. Next?”

  She shifted her focus to the silver disc. “This one’s different. The energy doesn’t ripple, it…spirals? No, it’s more like it folds in on itself, over and over.”

  As she moved from object to object, Vesper found herself describing not just their magical presence, but the intricate patterns woven into their very essence. The fountain pen contained tight, controlled streams of energy that reminded her of cursive writing. A crystal paperweight held magic that formed lattices, like frozen snowflakes.

  “The compass—it’s got multiple layers. Each hand responds to a different frequency. They’re…harmonising? Like musical notes playing together.”

  Ash’s pen paused. He looked up from his notes, brow furrowed. “You can see the individual frequencies?”

  “Yes. Each one has its own pattern. This one’s for finding true north, but this other one…” Vesper pointed to a brass hand that gleamed differently than the rest. “It’s searching for something specific. Something that resonates at exactly this pitch.”

  Ash set down his pen, studying her with renewed interest. “Most mages can sense if an object is magical. Some can even determine its general purpose. But to identify distinct magical frequencies, to see how they interact…” He trailed off, jotting down another note.

  Vesper traced her finger through the air, following invisible threads of magic that wove between the objects on Ash’s workbench. The paths twisted and intersected in complex patterns, forming a three-dimensional web that only she could see.

  “The resonance shifts when it passes through different materials,” she said, watching as the energy flowed through a crystal prism. “Metal conducts it cleanly, but organic materials like wood cause interference patterns.”

  Ash nodded, sketching rapid diagrams in his notebook. “And how does that affect the overall field structure?”

  “It’s like…ripples in a pond hitting different surfaces.” Vesper moved her hands, mapping the flow. “The magic bends around dense objects, creating dead zones where the resonance is weaker. But sometimes two waves intersect and amplify each other.”

  They progressed through increasingly complex arrangements. Ash would adjust the position of various items—shifting a compass slightly, rotating a crystal—and have Vesper describe how the changes affected the magical field.

  “These enchantment patterns,” Vesper said, studying an ornate silver mirror, “they’re not random. There’s mathematics behind them—geometric progressions, Fibonacci spirals, golden ratios.”

  “Precisely.” Ash pulled out a thick tome filled with technical diagrams. “The underlying principles follow strict rules. Magic may seem chaotic, but there’s always structure beneath the surface. A lot of mages don’t even bother studying such things, but if you ask me, it can only make spells stronger.”

  He had her draw out the theoretical frameworks for different types of enchantments—protection spells with their overlapping shields, tracking charms with their precise angular relationships, binding magic with its intricate knot-work patterns.

  “It’s like a language,” Vesper realised, filling pages with annotations. “Each component modifies the resonance in specific ways. Change the pattern slightly and…”

  “The entire effect shifts.” Ash tapped one of her diagrams. “That’s why precision matters so much in theoretical magic. One miscalculation can transform a simple illumination charm into something far more volatile.”

  Vesper traced her finger along one of the diagrams, gathering her courage. “There’s something else I’ve noticed lately. When I look at certain people, I can see…patterns around them. Like ribbons of light, but each person’s is different.”

  Ash’s quill stilled mid-stroke. His grey eyes sharpened with interest. “What sort of patterns?”

  “It varies. Sometimes it’s a steady glow, other times it’s more…turbulent.”

  “You can see a person’s magical signature.” His eyes lit up. “Oh, this is brilliant.”

  “It is?”

  “Of course it is. You could theoretically sense a person’s true nature. The depth of their magic.”

  “Oh…” Vesper chose her words carefully, thinking of the dark aura she’d glimpsed around Rafe. “Recently, I observed someone whose magical signature had changed. The usual warm tones had become shot through with shadows, like ink spreading through water.”

  Ash set down his quill entirely, leaning forward across the workbench. “And you can see these patterns clearly? Without any focusing implements?”

  “Yes. At first I thought I was imagining things, or it might’ve been a reflection of their mood, but they’ve remained consistent. It’s like each person’s signature stays the same unless something affects their magic.”

  “Fascinating.” Ash pulled a fresh sheet of parchment towards him. “What you’re describing isn’t simply detecting magical ability. A Resonant’s perception goes deeper—to the fundamental nature of magic itself. You’re not just seeing that magic exists, you’re understanding its essential character, its…composition, if you will.”

  Vesper absorbed this, thinking of how instinctively she’d recognised the wrongness in Rafe’s altered aura. “So, when I see these changes…”

  “You’re witnessing shifts in the actual fabric of someone’s magic.” Ash sketched rapid notes. “It’s rather like seeing the magical equivalent of a person’s genetic code, and noting when something has altered it.”

  The implications made Vesper’s head spin. If she could truly perceive magic at such a fundamental level, then the dark tendrils she’d seen around Rafe weren’t just surface corruption—something had changed the very essence of his magic.

  It also meant it was a trap. And if she was about to get caught, then she wasn’t going easily. Her best defence wasn’t going to be brute force, but knowledge.

  Vesper traced her finger along the faded text of a leather-bound volume, its pages crackling with age. Ash had pulled it from behind three other books, disturbing a layer of dust that still tickled her nose.

  “Here—an account from 1742.” Ash set another tome beside her. “A mage named Elisabeth Thatcher documented similar perceptive abilities. She described magical signatures as ‘threads of light, each unique as a fingerprint.’”

  The academic language felt comfortable, familiar. Vesper leaned into it, letting the theory push aside her worries about Rafe. “She used colour theory to categorise different types of magic.”

  “Precisely.” Ash retrieved a slimmer volume bound in green cloth. “And here’s William Hartley’s work from 1891—he developed a mathematical model for measuring magical resonance. His equations still form the basis of modern theoretical frameworks.”

  They spread the books across Ash’s workbench, creating a timeline of magical theory. Vesper found herself drawing connections between centuries of observations and her own experiences. The clinical descriptions and careful analyses helped her view her abilities with scholarly detachment rather than fear or uncertainty.

  “According to Hartley’s model,” Vesper said, “magical signatures operate on multiple frequencies simultaneously. That explains why I perceive layers of information—base resonance, emotional overtones, intentional modifications.”