Page 92 of The Misfit Mage and His Darling Demon

When the bright light finally faded, fuzzy colors came into place. Filmy sunlight cascaded across all the cloudy shapes and for half a second I thought I’d been dragged into the sky. My body was clammed up, little hands wrapped around each other to keep from fidgeting in my seat.

Why were my hands so small?

“You’re probably quite proud of that magic you cast,” Chancellor Alden’s voice sent a spike of fear through my body.

Mother. What was she doing here?

The sharpness in her cold tone shaded away the blurry colors settling the concrete image of her home office, everything perfectly in place, cataloged and accounted for except a single tome she kept afloat beside me through several incantations.

I gulped. Well, I didn’t do anything. This was like a dream—or since it involved my mother a nightmare—memory of the first time I’d accessed historical files on the Mythic Council. Only at seven years old, I didn’t understand these particular files storedin the spelled text of pages she kept sealed were highly classified and not for musing curiosities.

“I’d be proud of you, too. The incantations used to seal this tome were quite intricate.” She leaned closer, not a single hair out of place, not a single line on her unchanging expression as she hid her feelings, but I’d caught the faintest traces of anger from the lilt of her voice, which made me listen, anxious and attentive. “Except, you didn’t crack these protective wards, did you Walter?”

I shook my head no, catching a glimpse of crimson drifting by the bookshelf, shimmering between the afternoon sunlight spilling light into the room.

“You made Alistair help you, trying to drag him into your snooping curiosities.” This was the first of many conversations where my mother expressed her contempt for my obsessive researching and dreams of being lost in books all day, every day. “I find your desire to study, to learn, admirable. What I don’t find admirable, Walter, is your laziness. Alistair has his own studies and shouldn’t be distracted because you wish to lollygag.”

“I’m sorry. I helped him figure out…” I bit my lip, keeping to myself how I’d deciphered her supposedly intricate incantations and found an easy workaround to the spell. Chancellor Alden wouldn’t care how my knowledge bested her security, merely that I lacked the mana to unravel the seals on my own.

“I wish you’d apply this eagerness to practicing and mastering your control over the Pentacles of Power.” She didn’t hide the bitterness in her words, using them to cut me down during a scolding that’d last for the better part of an hour and would be revisited during a lecture at dinner in front of our entire family. “You haven’t accessed any of your mana yet. Aldens do not rely on the kindness of others to cast on their behalf. We offer support. We master our own magics. We arethe shield of the Collective, unbreakable. You are a chink in that shield.”

She poked my forehead, ensuring I listened. My little hands squeezed around each other harder as I settled into this awful memory. Why was I reliving this memory of all memories? I wanted to see Bez, relive any of our encounters from the one-sided conversations in the repository, to the sweet nothings he’d whisper to me when he thought I’d dozed off. Hell, I’d settle for our first interaction when he attempted to murder me. That memory was less unsettling than any of the experiences I had with my mother.

“Psst. Psst.” A hushed aside plucked me from reliving this memory. I turned my head, ignoring the reprimand from my mother, an act that went unnoticed by Chancellor Alden as she continued berating the empty chair I’d slid off of in search of whoever called out to me.

At the door of the office stood a small silhouette taking shape through shades of crimson. The red sparkled, illuminating four small, curled ram horns, three slender flicking tails, and a pair of tiny feathery wings. Bez. Only smaller but not like when he’d lost his essence. No, this version was childlike, same build and stature as myself at seven.

“Bez? What’s happening?”

“Come with me.” He extended a cloaked hand and outstretched claws.

I grabbed his hand, interlocking my fingers with his ghostly grip. We rushed out of the office and ended up in the Magus Estate. Only it looked different. Well, the doors at least. Each one was labeled with my name and an event. A moment, a memory, a fleeting thought I’d had during all the years I’d spent in this place whether for family functions, academy visits, or work.

“What is this?”

“Memories,” Bez said, his voice light and squeaky with the faintest hint of rasp. “Gotta grab them all. Don’t wanna leave any behind.”

“Leave them where?”

“Oblivion,” he answered. “Come on, we need to hurry.”

We darted down the hallways, each doorway shimmered with crimson glitter before fading as we passed by it. When we reached the foyer, Bez paused and cocked his head back. At least I think so. It was hard to tell from the lighting here and how it reflected off his silhouette.

Black sludge oozed down the stairs, a slow trickle then a gushing flood of essence consuming the entirety of the Magus Estate.

“What’s happening?” I shivered.

Bez secured his hold on my hand; the fear washed away because I had nothing to worry about with him here. “Doesn’t matter. Just the devil doing his thing. We got the memories here, let’s go.”

We stepped outside, but the front of the estate was replaced by the courtyard of the academy I’d attended.

“Are we here to grab more memories?”

“No. Got them all. You hadn’t been lost in oblivion long, so they weren’t that scattered,” Bez explained.

“But why here?”

“You liked this place. I wanted us somewhere peaceful.”

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