I could not count how many fights I had been in ever since indenturing Lisbeth. I imagined even if you had a very competent accountant, they would not manage to do better.

  In many ways, there was no point in looking at all of these fights as discrete instances. For they all joined together in the same direction.

  There were so many things to think of, but one I absolutely could not allow my mind to turn toward.

  If I dared think about my forbearers and what they had potentially done to this kingdom, I would stop, quite dead and quite cold.

  I had always believed the line that we Stones were an upstanding family. We had always been a prestigious magical line, and though I had been fooled into thinking my brother had not acquired our skills, that was irrelevant. I had believed that we Stones were some of the best wizards in the kingdom. And while I had technically dabbled in the dark, I had done so for good reasons. Yet it seemed that most of my forbearers had done so for their own darker selfish reasons.

  It is one thing to think you come from a grand family tradition. It’s one thing to hold up your forbearers and bask in the light of their achievements. It’s quite another to find out they have done such devilish deeds.

  If I had time again, perhaps I would’ve sold or given away every single inheritance I had and simply wandered into the wilds.

  But to do that now would be to give up. Not just on Lisbeth, but on making what was wrong right again.

  When you can’t wipe away your family’s dark past, shine a light on it. Be the force to make it right once more.

  If I had not had Lisbeth to hurry toward, perhaps I would not have come to such a noble conclusion. But she was the carrot in front of me. That seemed like a tame image. She was the air for a drowning man, the warmth for a frozen soul.

  And more importantly, she was likely the only force that could help me stop the barbarity about to occur. For every time I tried to slip into self-recrimination, I reminded myself of the horrendous future awaiting this entire world.

  It is one thing to fight for ourselves, quite another to fight for every single soul that has ever existed and ever will in the future.

  Securing my palm harder against the central book, I started to push enough magic into it to tear the ceiling down. It required the power of my soul stones. But I was forgetting something, wasn’t I? The exact man this library had once belonged to.

  “What the devil?” I muttered as ethereal energy started to leak from the central book. Startlingly great, it looked as if it had been there for some time. Ethereal energy, just like ordinary energy, will pale and become drab over time. Though, unlike with ordinary energy, ghosts can of course stick around for much longer.

  What I was trying to tell you was that the exact hues of the ethereal force leaking out of that book suggested it hadn’t been touched since Wintersmith’s time.

  It was not just force that quite startlingly grasped hold of my wrist. Literally. For a hand formed, and it grabbed me when I needed it least. I was still connected to Lisbeth’s indenturing mark, and I could tell that whatever was happening to her, it couldn’t last. She would give up soon.

  A ghost appeared right out of the central book. It took me a moment to appreciate not just how old they were, but how different they were. A man in full armor, he looked like he had wandered off the battlefield.

  Perhaps not. I looked at the armor, or at least the gauntlet and quickly realized I recognized not just the make, but the particular symbol stamped on the back of his hand.

  “It’s the suit of armor from the Magical Academy regalia. What is this?”

  It was more than a suit of armor. It was a ghost. And before the man could lift his sword, which was quite easy considering he was capable of floating, he looked at me once with dead gray eyes. “It is not permitted to destroy the library. The library must stand for dead practitioners just like you.”

  My mouth opened. My lips soon twitched half closed. “Just like me? But I’m not a real dead practitioner. I’m a Stone.”

  Why, at such an important juncture, should I admit that to such a powerful guard?

  It was quite clear that we Stones had been Wintersmith’s enemies. But—

  If it were that clear, then why exactly had Wintersmith sent Lisbeth to protect me of all people?

  I hadn’t had the time to put those thoughts together.

  Now they came slamming down, but fortunately, they were not accompanied by the knight’s sword. “You are the dead practitioner that can end this. You must stay here. The Academy is no longer safe.”

  “I can’t stay here,” I roared. “My—” I couldn’t describe Lisbeth. Not with the word my. I could try, but my mind became stuck as if you had thrown a large stone under a clattering cartwheel. It simply could not rise over it nor go around it. Lisbeth was my what? Indentured? A factual statement. Assistant… I suppose you could conclude that. We had assisted each other. And we had furthered this mission by one another’s side. But why were those words so empty? Because there was another, far more important word I had not yet grasped.

  “The curse is being lifted once more. Soon, it will rise out of the earth. It will infect all who come in its vicinity. It will aim for dead practitioners like yourself. Unguarded, it will claim you, and it will only use your peculiar energies to grow larger. You must remain here, safe, away from its forces. You must be ready to attack when you can.”

  “But Lisbeth—”

  “Lisbeth’s a strong lass,” someone said from behind me.

  I was so overcome by this sudden voice, I almost fell from the ceiling, but the guard wouldn’t let me. With a strong hand on my arm, he held me in place as I twisted my head around. And there, floating through the floor, hands clasped behind his back, was none other than Wintersmith.

  “You—” I began.

  I couldn’t finish the statement. What did I want to say? He was my enemy? He’d saved this kingdom. My family had threatened it. He was the hero. I came from the devious line of dark practitioners he’d fought. But he had always known this, and he could have told us. If only he had warned us, I would not have brought Lisbeth here.

  “What did you do to her? Why didn’t you tell us the truth? Why lure us into this trap?” I blared.

  It was strange being held by a ghost. I had let go of the ceiling. The ghost did not fly me down to the ground, likely because that would get me closer to Wintersmith. But it wasn’t as if Wintersmith actually cared about my anger.

  With his hands still clamped behind his back and a particularly superior expression on his face, he simply let his eyebrows descend with a twitch. “And I thought you were an intelligent wizard. She said as much, you know? Bemoaned the fact that you are so smart. I told her things would be easier for her if only she could learn a few of those smarts. Unfortunately she did not in time.”

  “Wintersmith,” I now growled, voice dark and sentiment far, far darker. How dare this man lure us both into a trap. How dare he treat Lisbeth like that. She’d had no choice in this matter from the beginning. Wintersmith was the one who had set her against me, who had lured her to my side. And I wondered, from the particularly sharp look in his eyes now, if he’d always known I would indenture her. He seemed to have always been a step ahead.

  Now I tried to lurch toward him, not that the guard would let me go.

  Wintersmith finally unstuck his hands from behind him and lifted one in a pompous move. “Bring him down. It isn’t good for his body. And that will reduce his capacity to fight. When it is needed,” he added.

  “It’s needed now. I promised Lisbeth I would come for her. Who are you to get in my way?”

  Wintersmith chucked his head back and laughed. Such a violent move, I wondered why he didn’t lose his tonsils. Oh yes. Because he was dead. Because they were nothing more than images. They had no function. He’d lost his body – and through it – his dignity and conscience long ago.

  “Wintersmith, you’ve made a grave mistake,” I snarled.

  “And what is that? Withholding the one means to finally remove the curse? I think not.” He crossed his arms even harder. “This is all I can do to give us a last chance. One we desperately need.” He momentarily broke his arrogant eye contact, lifted his head, his beard jostling over his robes, and stared at the ceiling. His lips pulled thin in worry.

  I wondered what he was looking at, but honestly, I could tell. For the Ley lines in the room started to shudder. Whereas once they had been directed and ordered, now they were chaotic. They marched about like headless chickens. Some intersected me. Others darted around as if they were looking for a place to escape. Good luck with that. There was now nowhere anyone could go in this kingdom. And if Wintersmith’s journal was correct, soon there would be nowhere to go on this entire planet.

  My voice dropped off a cliff as I growled, “Wintersmith, you have finally shown your true colors. You’re stopping me from assisting Lisbeth.”

  His eyes glittered dangerously. It was the kind of look that could stop even the most competent wizard in their tracks and force them to reassess everything they’d concluded. “What was that? You think she needs saving? Let me ask you this. In all the time you have known her, has Lisbeth McQuarrie ever truly needed saving? Or does she strike you as the kind of competent witch who can get out of even the hardest situation?”

  My mouth opened. My mouth closed. So I forced it open again. But once more, quite uselessly, it slipped closed. My lips ticked up. I snarled, for apparently, when I could not do anything else, that was my final move. “She is right now in my brother’s clutches. And Grace—”

  Wintersmith snorted. “You know, not even I saw that one coming. I had no clue there were two of them.”

  I was already cold. Now I was colder. Without reason, I threw myself toward Wintersmith, but I never reached him. The guard grasped my elbow in an ethereal, impossible-to-break grip. I still tried to fight Wintersmith with magic, but all he had to do was flick his hand to the side, and he practiced some… spell. I wasn’t too angry to note what it was, nor too incompetent. I’d simply never seen its like.

  The spell instantly stifled my magic. It was a deep move, too. It was like somebody had found the wellspring of my force and corked it.

  I gagged, locked a shaking palm on my chest, and bent forward as much as I could while still being manhandled. It took a few more breaths until I muttered, “What have you done to me?”

  “Stifled your dead practitioner magic. I figure it’s time you learned somebody can do that. Especially other dead practitioners. I’m not sure if your brother can yet, but I imagine that Grace character can. Quite incredible. I’ve never seen one manufactured to the exact standards as her.” With awe in his eyes – albeit tempered by disgust – he tilted his head up and stared at the ceiling again.

  I wondered if, with his ethereal eyes, he could see right through to what was going on above.

  I tried to chant in my mind to Lisbeth, tried to tell her, whatever was happening to her, I would get to her. But how could I get through Wintersmith, the greatest wizard in the land? Even if he was a ghost.

  For we wizards know one very important fact. It isn’t necessarily your raw power that matters. It’s the intelligence that sits behind it. A fool with a gun is nowhere near as lethal as a genius with a bow and arrow.

  “What do you want, Wintersmith? Grace—”

  “Grace is a manufactured dead practitioner. I sense my journal in your pocket. You have finally learned the truth.”

  I didn’t want to react. I couldn’t stop myself. Deep regret swelled through me. I looked at the floor. “A manufactured practitioner just like me and my brother?”

  Wintersmith shook his head. “If Lisbeth were here right now, she’d be so very disappointed in you. You can see what’s obvious, but you often deny it. You’re somewhat like her – too close for comfort, in fact. I suppose you two ultimately deserve one another.”

  I glossed over what that meant and let my eyebrows twitch down. “What are you talking about?”

  “You’re not a manufactured practitioner, Winchester. You are, quite surprisingly, the real deal. Who would ever have thought that an actual dead practitioner would arise in the Stone family of all lineages? But there you go. I suppose that’s statistics for you. Or perhaps the universe’s legendary humor.” He gestured wide to the side, fingers spreading hard enough to capture my attention.

  But it could not remove my thoughts from what he’d revealed for long.

  I soon shook my head. “You’re playing a game with me. You’re mistaken.”

  “Tell me, were you always a dead practitioner? Do you ever remember a time when you weren’t able to see the dead and commune with them? Do you ever remember a time when you were not fully connected to the Ley lines of this wondrous kingdom?” Wintersmith lifted his hands and acted in exultant respect. He even bowed.

  “I,” I began. But my lips continued to shake.

  There was nothing to say. There were only thoughts to think. And as I half closed my eyes, they thought themselves. Could I remember a time when I was not a dead practitioner? The answer was easy. It flowed freely like blood in one’s veins. No. This force had always been within me.

  I locked a hand on my chest, secured it there for several seconds as if I was once more checking I was alive, then looked at him. My lips tugged into a deep frown. I could say nothing, for I had no clue what yet needed to be said.

  Wintersmith laughed. It didn’t last. “There we go. The last secret. You’re the dead practitioner we’ve always waited for. The soul who can finally get rid of this curse, break it apart, and ensure it cannot be lifted again. But to do that, I’m afraid you must sacrifice.”

  That one word reactivated what should never have slipped from my mind. I managed to take a jolting step toward him, even if it meant straining against the ghost still holding me. If this ghost really was some embodiment of the personified guard of the Magical Academy, then I quite rightly had no chance against him. But in my current mood, why did it feel as if I would have a chance against Atlas himself?

  “I will not leave Lisbeth behind.”

  Wintersmith chucked his head back and laughed once more. “My good man, haven’t you heard a word I said? Lisbeth is strong. And, though I wouldn’t call her smart, she possesses a certain intelligence most can’t account for. It is an intelligence tempered by her singular inability to give up. It doesn’t really matter what Grace and Bram try to do with her. They will not win. She will fight them every step of the way.”

  “They intend to use her to lift the curse, do they not? They will use the forbidden grimoire—”

  “But, my good man,” Wintersmith now smiled around his words, “they only have one.”

  My mouth opened. My lips closed. Why did it seem as if every time I finally started to understand what was going on, I realized I only had a small number of facts? I felt like some parable. Some fool who, every time he grasped a new part of an elephant, decided he knew what it was without ever having glimpsed the creature whole.

  “And why do they need the other grimoire?”

  “They can lift the curse with the grimoire they have. But they cannot control it.”

  I bristled. “That sounds terribly dangerous. An uncontrolled curse like that will randomly lift the dead of this kingdom. It will seek chaos when we need it least.”

  “It won’t be that bad. Bram won’t be able to control it yet. He won’t be able to lift anyone. He will instead use the curse to search for the other grimoire.”

  “Which is currently in your sarcophagus. You have a thousand soul stones protecting it. Will it be enough?”

  I kept roaring at myself to take a step back, to remember exactly what Wintersmith had done. I should not be speaking so patiently to this man. I should rush forward and collar him. If he had only revealed the truth sooner—

  I ought to finish that sentence. It hung there, a butcher’s hook waiting for its carcass.

  But before I could string Wintersmith up and condemn him, I had to pause.

  If Wintersmith had told me the truth back when we had first met, would I have used it wisely? Or would I have used it foolishly?

  I did not want to admit this and had hidden from the truth most of my life, but I was an arrogant soul.

  I had never accepted corrections from anyone. Not true corrections. Not the kind of correction aimed at making you a better person.

  It had taken far too many terrifying fights with Lisbeth to start to grow close to her, to even recognize that sometimes she had a point.

  “This is no time for a war with your soul, my good man. There is too much to do,” Wintersmith snapped as he strode forward.

  I bared my teeth at him. “You won’t let me leave. You won’t let me go after Lisbeth—”

  “I will let you go back to the cemetery. I will let you gather ghosts. I will let you protect them from your brother’s curse. I will let you call on an army. An army only you can control. And I will let you learn the true magic of a true dead practitioner.” Every single word he said was accompanied by his sparkling eyes.

  As a ghost, he got to choose what kind of energy he settled behind his stare. And the exact energy of this was like the very universe concentrating down into a point then communicating with me and only me from that point. It was a rather complex way of saying it felt that Nature, in all of its grand force, was behind that stare.

  And one must not go against Nature. Not at a critical juncture like this.

  I cast my gaze up and locked it on the ceiling. I winced in pain. Some devious spell wasn’t wrapped around my heart, but that wasn’t the point. My body winced in sympathy with Lisbeth’s.

  I partially closed my eyes. By the time I winked them open to see sudden movement, Wintersmith had both of his hands on my shoulders. I could’ve jerked back and snarled in his face but instead stared at him.

  “You will return to Eastside Cemetery. And there, boy, I will teach you everything I know.”

  “And what if it isn’t enough, Wintersmith?”

  He lifted his head. He stared above him. He smiled. “Then it will be all up to one Lisbeth McQuarrie. You don’t really want to see that, do you? She’s quite powerful. She’s also quite destructive. Leave it up to her, and there’ll be nothing left of your old life but ashes and dust. Now come. The future awaits.”