Page 6 of The Misfit Mage and His Dashing Devil

Nope. I had exactly five minutes to retrieve Agatha’s Heart—which I’d done thanks to the instant transportation sigils along the entryway of the vault—and make my way back to the repository. Honestly, though, I wouldn’t want to call forth these artifacts one by one. I’d prefer trekking through the silent corridors of this endless storage facility. Averting my gaze, I ignored all the unstudied tomes, barely touched relics, and forgotten tools of the past. There would be another day to indulge in all of them. In fact, Magus Remington entrusting me to assist in handling the return of this witch relic was a sign of positive things to come.

Not that I valued superstition, despite understanding the ins and outs of all forms of magic, but there was an expression of good things happening in threes and sevens. Ian had asked me on a date, which I couldn’t miss. Magus Remington had asked for my expertise, which I couldn’t screw up. The third potential good thing in my future—the practitioner exam. This was the one. Practically destined to succeed. Even if there wasn’t magical merit behind this stuff, for once, it was nice to have my head in the clouds looking for something brighter as opposed to studying the storms on the horizon.

Once outside the vault, I stood in the archive’s basement, awaiting the metallic door to seal itself, keeping everything contained in a room about the size of a closet. Fae had always been the most valued among the Mythics due to their innate ability to conjure trans-dimensional spaces. Too bad I had to push off Chancellor Alden’s research on Fae rifts and their portal magic; it sounded so fascinating and in-depth.

I frowned. She’d lecture me on prioritizing a social life over completing… No. Magus Remington explicitly said to ignore everything else and focus on Agatha’s Heart. For once, I wouldn’t overextend myself.

I made my way to the exit where Harley stood, ready to scan my person.

“Ha. Figured you’d be in there for hours.”

“Not today,” I said, holding up the case containing Agatha’s Heart.

As the posted sentinel mage working the vault, she held the responsibility to ensure I didn’t retrieve more than Magus Remington permitted. Not that I’d ever take anything from the vaults. But I definitely understood the appeal. Most of the artifacts weren’t inherently dangerous yet remained hidden for preservation. I could find a hundred uses for Agatha’s Heart, which I’d document in my report.The sentinel regiment served as security throughout the state anywhere magic dwelled, from guarding buildings to serving as protective detail for chancellors and escorts for Mythic ambassadors.

“How’s your day?” I asked as Harley scanned the relic case.

“Boring, mostly. You’re sadly the highlight of my shift.” Harley finished the scan. “I thought working at the Magus Estate would be exciting. It’s a lot of empty hours.”

Harley was young, bubbly, and chatty. Twenty-two and freshly graduated from the academy, she talked a lot about work and nonwork-related things, like regretting her choice in picking the sentinel regiment instead of something with more travel. Occasionally, she’d pry me for details on applications and transfers into the archivist regiment, but I really didn’t think she had the personality for research. Travel, yes. Adventure, probably. Long, isolated hours of study? Doubtful. So, like now, I nodded as she spoke and skirted the topic.

After Harley scanned my relic, and my person, she let me pass. Normally, with the entire night to catch up on my workload, I’d linger in the Magus Estate, absorbing the fine portraits displayed on the walls or studying the craftsmanship of the golems who’d made the marble floors. Instead, I quickly skirted into the foyer of the West Wing, where several portals served as a miniature version of Dolen’s Crossing, allowing the Magus quick access around the massive manor, a convenience I very much enjoyed.I scanned my badge, opening a glittering golden portal to the archives located in the East Wing, and stepped through. Gold flecks clung to my glasses as I exited the portal. I resisted every urge to clean them, knowing the magic would fade but the smudges would stay.

“Hmm. Figured you’d be roaming through that vault all night, given the free pass you had.” Carl, another underworked sentinel, licked his thumb, flipping the page to the latest noir novel he’d picked up. “Another late night planned?”

“Nope.” I scanned my badge to the repository. “I’ll be out by six. Guaranteed.”

“Unlikely, kid,” Carl chuckled, half his gaze on me, the other half on the book, and none of his attention on the cameras at his desk.

Carl was an older former vanguard and panacea regiment who moved into a sentinel position later in life. Unlike Harley, he probably enjoyed the easy desk job at the estate. Most shifts, he’d read a book, watch shows, or dabble in a new hobby his wife dragged him into. He’d even crocheted me mittens once. Ugly, itchy things, but it was nice.

“You’ll see. I’ll be out before you finish that book.”

He wore the standard blue blazer of a sentinel, yet I found myself drawn to the three regiment emblems pinned to his chest as he spoke. Each badge was polished and proof of the excellent service he’d shown among multiple regiments over decades.

“Uh-huh.” Carl flipped another page, likely speed reading just so he could finish before I clocked out.

I rolled my eyes, entering the repository. As an apprentice, I didn’t receive an emblem or blazer despite years of work in the repository. I sighed. Not a huge deal, given the archivist colors. I didn’t look great in orange anyway.

“Yes, yes, I know, Bez. You weren’t expecting me for hours. Maybe not even until tomorrow.” My fascinations were a running joke in the estate, but I wouldn’t let a little thing like compiling the findings on Agatha’s Heart keep me from an early departure.

Black and crimson mist swirled inside the orb perched high in the repository. Sure, Magus Remington stated there was nothing sentient within, merely Diabolic magic flowing in a fractured state. He’d know best, truly. But we’d never know for certain. And yes, devils were awful murderous leaders of tiny Hell dimensions reigning over armies of demons desperate to plunge their way into our world—or so many among the Mythic communities claimed—but if Bez was aware in there, he was probably lonely. I would be. I was. Here almost all day, every day. No one to go home to or visit. My own fault for isolating myself until I reached my practitioner goals, which always fell just out of grasp.

I shook it away. The point was, talking to Bez was a win-win situation. He definitely enjoyed the conversation. Who wouldn’t? And I had someone to share all my findings with.

“Hmm. That sort of makes you a captive, or captured, audience, doesn’t it?” I went to open the case containing Agatha’s Heart. “Never mind, Bez. Ignore me. My mind’s everywhere today.”

It was stunning. Agatha’s Heart sat atop a small pedestal. With the tissue completely drained of blood, the organ appeared white. It didn’t pump, yet the faintest echo of a thump drummed deep inside.

“It’s said Agatha Hollow’s magic was so powerful she could amplify anyone’s latent ability,” I explained as I went to the computer to pull all the information catalogs from the archives. This particular artifact had been found two decades ago and placed in the vault without much added study. I read over what little information other archivists had done, but there wasn’t much to share with the coven upon return. “Looks like this’ll be a small report to file. Or I could go the extra step, quickly, of course, and compile a bit more for Magus Remington.”

I walked toward the Archivist Nexus Grimoire, which connected to every source of lore mages had acquired. Not merely here but across the world. The chains of connection even linked across to Mythic servers. Sort of like a magical library database for easy access when researching. So long as the person knew what to look for using keywords and phrases.

“Agatha’s Heart, Hollow coven, witch,” I said, opening the leather cover.

Blank pages with a yellow tint etched words into long-spanning paragraphs and traced faint images into highly detailed portraits. Lore surrounding Agatha’s Heart stretched back hundreds of years. I read through the pages, detailing fact from fiction, which would hopefully help in writing up an amazing report. Time disappeared while I compiled the information. This was the best part of the job, investigating and rooting out the Mythic truth hidden in the old legends. Plus, Magus Remington would be impressed, and hopefully, the witches would be too.

Agatha’s death dated back to a time before the Mythic Council when Mythics openly fought for territories. Witches harbored a lot of disdain and distrust for mages. We were inherently human, not Mythic like them, yet our bodies absorbed the magical residue leftover from Mythic casting that lingered in the atmosphere and offered us access to the Pentacles of Power.

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