Page 3 of The Grip of Death
Niko was far more interested in inventive pursuits outside the guild, being my primary business partner in the creation of Jackson’s Spell Jars, patent pending. Name pending, too, because he hated that one. I’d refined the mechanism that siphoned magical essence into the glass eggs that he personally crafted and enchanted, resulting in my first artificing invention that anyone actually wanted to buy for themselves.
“Xander called me over to escort you to the Halls of Making. In other words, I’m supposed to babysit you today, because you’re a big baby. Big, hairy baby.”
I draped my arm across his shoulder and pulled him in, planting the sloppiest kiss on his cheek. He hated those, too, pawing and swatting at me like an angry kitten. “You’re the best, Belkova, sacrificing your usual day of doing nothing for a day of doing nothing with me instead.”
“Shut up,” he said, shoving me off, red in the face, head lowered just enough to disguise the little smile that betrayed how much he enjoyed the occasional show of affection. “Come on. We need to get going. The others are already waiting.”
I threw the front door open into the sunshine of the Black Market, breathing in a day that was simply bursting with potential. And it couldn’t be said enough, but bless Xander — bless him and his adorable face and his enormous brain for giving me this much-needed breather. I set my boot on the cobblestones and yelled for Niko to hurry.
“Niko! Get your butt in gear. Let’s go and make some magic.”
2
The sunover the Black Market seemed to shine brighter that day, as though the forces in charge of dictating the weather were trying to match my mood. “For peace and for profit,” as we liked to say, the dimension’s climate adjusting to maximize productivity in that same cryptic way that the Black Market picked its portal destinations.
Somewhere in America this time, if I had to guess. I could barely pay attention to anything beyond the wedding these days. The same could be said of the chatter emanating in a continuous stream from Niko’s mouth. Down Mystery Row, cutting through the heart of the busy bazaar, all I could really do was nod along as his mouth went a mile a minute.
“And then I was thinking that we need to redesign our grenade egg things so that they disintegrate into sand instead of leaving piles of broken glass everywhere. But then I remembered that we also have to make the siphoning mechanism stop stinging so much, which is actually your part of the job, and — Jack? Jackson! Are you even listening?”
“Sure, sure I am,” I muttered absently. “Biodegradable grenades. Make it so the mechanism doesn’t make you go ouch.”
I was interested in what he had to say. Honest. But the looming majesty of the new Halls of Making had captured my attention, even from this distance. Even in the grandest days of artifice, the old guild had never looked so imposing from afar, and yet so delicate, too.
Gone were the great brick, stone, and metal buildings that housed the guild’s powerful machines, that contained its many workshops. This was a new guild, all the masonry replaced by the strange, organic structures that served the same purposes of storage and shelter as any other building.
Only these twisted up into the sky like beanstalks, covered in carpets of flowers that greeted the sun with their petals. They must have numbered in the thousands, like feathers and tufts of fur on some great, flowery beast, channeling solar energy into power to be used for the noble art of artifice.
The tallest of the spires dwarfed the others with its ambition, a bit of compromise and ultimately a surprise collaboration between Master Lobelia and Master Vikhyat. It stood in the center of the compound like the antenna of a botanical machine, a floral appendage reaching for the warmth of the Black Market’s sun.
This spire, most of all, would supply a huge amount of the power we needed for the greatest of our projects. Its components sat sparkling at its base, constructed out of purest crystal, refined with artifice and magic, exactly as Luciana and Octavian Pryde intended.
Preston Smith stood by the components and control panel, muscles bulging as he waved his arm in a huge, welcoming arc. I beamed and waved back, quickening my step at the sight of his smile, outpacing Niko, who had to jog a little to keep up. I gave him an embarrassed, apologetic grin and a shrug.
“Oh, go on and play with your friend,” he grumbled, waving me off with a huff. “We can always talk shop later.”
I tried not to squeal as I skittered off, and I tried not to feel too bad for Niko, either. I knew he was going to come hang out with me and Preston, anyway. He’d be too curious, no doubt, after seeing what we’d done with the control panel and the rest of the device’s components.
Preston wrapped me up in a sweaty hug, clapping me on the back with his huge hand as a greeting. He did the same when Niko trotted over a little while later, almost forgetting how much bigger he was. Good thing he didn’t accidentally fold Niko like a card table or we’d have to answer to a very angry Reza Arshad.
“This looks incredible,” Niko said, once he’d recovered from Preston’s greeting and stopped himself from coughing up a lung. “I can’t believe you guys have done so much in so little time.”
I scratched the back of my head, offering a sheepish smile. It was definitely a wonder what a couple of artificers could do with several sleepless nights and maybe a little too much irresponsible spending. We’d spared no expense for the schematics that Mom and Dad had left behind, especially when we got to the part where it said that the control mechanisms could be designed to preference.
Of course we went wild. Of course we went over the budget. The device was designed to siphon someone’s arcane essence and potentially amplify it for other applications. In terms of artifice, that could mean anything from moving a flying airship to powering an entire city. So we went with something thematic, something appropriate, especially knowing that Xander Wright himself would be one of our first test subjects.
“It’s beautiful,” Niko cooed. He ran his fingers over the control panel, carved out of a single block of crystal to resemble an open book on an elegant pedestal. Trust a Grayhaven boy to find beauty in the most academic of aesthetics, the very nerdiest sort of design.
And trust Flint Lockstone to charge us an arm and a leg for lending us his expertise. As a member of Marquise & Empress, the Black Market’s guild of jewelers and gemologists, he was our best bet for both obtaining and enchanting such a fine piece of crystal. To be fair, he did offer me a very good price for the wedding rings, a number that miraculously wasn’t quite as painful as what I’d paid him for our engagement rings.
“So this is all hooked up to that bit over there,” Preston explained, tracing a line along the ground toward the second hunk of crystal connected to the first one. I should have mentioned the second hunk of crystal, but to be fair, I did mention blowing our budget quite a few times.
“Think of it as a battery,” I said. “A receptacle for storing arcane essence. The subject — in this case, my beautiful husband-to-be — places his hands on the panel. Then through the magic of artifice — and the magic of magic itself, I suppose — the essence makes its way over here. Only it’s supercharged. Amplified. Theoretically.”
I patted the second crystal affectionately. This one wasn’t quite as intricate as the siphoning mechanism, but it was still a beautiful piece on its own. Thin bands of precious metal followed its edges and angles, encasing the clear crystal in a network of silver and brass. Viewed from a certain angle, the battery resembled an oversized, intricate pendant, or an empty terrarium waiting to be filled with nature’s wonders.
“Theoretically,” Niko repeated with a raised eyebrow. “And do you have a name for this thing just yet? Only because I know that you aren’t very good at naming things. No offense, Preston.”
Preston wiped at his forehead with the back of his hand and shrugged. “None taken.”
