“Place the witchstone on a grounded table,” I read under my breath, “within the containment area.”

After scanning the room, I saw nothing that looked like a containment area.

The next step, according to the notebook, was to place sounding bowls on either side of the witchstone. Apparently, a stonebreaker couldn't be sure how many bowls would be necessary to dispel any curses or excess energy contained within the witchstone.

There was a tiny drawing that looked like the bowls already sitting on the table.

“Easy enough.” I pulled the witchstone out of my pocket and placed it next to the porous bowls. It floated just above the surface of the table.

Step three: Pick up the witchstone using the containment gloves—

I glanced over at the bright blue gloves that sat on the table across the lab. I grabbed the witchstone and walked toward them.

This table must be the containment area.

I set the witchstone down, at least as well as you could set down something that floats. I brought the sounding bowls from the other side of the room to the new table. The bowls clicked as I set them beside the witchstone. My fingers felt immediately clammy once the gloves were on. As soon as I touched the witchstone with my gloved fingers, a faint blue glow of an outline traced itself on the table.

Okay. This must be the containment area.

The witchstone quit floating. It touched down onto the surface of the table with a barely audible click.

Four translucent blue walls of light appeared and surrounded the witchstone. A ceiling of white light connected all four walls, illuminating the surface below.

Have you ever seen one of those enclosed spaces with holes that have gloves attached where scientists can work with dangerous chemicals or pathogens? This was a lot like that, just with a heavy coat of magick.

Of course. A magickal containment system. That makes sense.

The next step in my father’s notebook indicated that I should cover the witchstone with one of the sounding bowls and leave it there until it stopped shaking. I picked up one bowl and did as instructed, placing it over the witchstone and watching.

At first nothing happened.

At first, I thought I'd done something wrong, not activated the bowl in some way.

Maybe he skipped a step. Maybe he knew something I couldn’t and left it out, not realizing his stick daugt—

That wasn't the case, though.

The bowl started vibrating.

It only rattled a little at first, but then shook harder as though it was caught up in a targeted earthquake. It shook against the table, vibrating to the left and to the right, spinning in a circle and doing everything but flipping over to reveal the witchstone below.

The vibrations eventually slowed and then stalled. Gradually the bowl stopped moving altogether.

I glanced over at the notebook and read the next instruction.

Continue with sounding bowls until vibration does not occur at all.

Grimacing and leaning away, sure something terrible would happen, I angled up the sounding bowl covering the witchstone and peeked inside.

My jaw dropped and I flipped the bowl over so I could get a better look.

The interior surface of the bowl was covered in thick, chunky crystals. There were three specific colors present and they mingled together like colorful ink dropped into water, clouding through each other.

There was a dark blue.

There was an even darker purple.

And then there was a bright yellow: a toxic, neon yellow.

I'd been told what the four primary colors of lume were, but no one had mentioned these colors.

I set this bowl aside and picked up the next one. I covered the witchstone just as I had previously done and, this time, there was no gradual buildup to the vibration at all.

The sounding bowl immediately erupted with activity, vibrating and shaking, moving across the table and hitting the containment wall, vibrating in a corner there, trying so hard to escape containment.

Thank the heavens for this containment field.

Just as quickly as the sounding bowl had started its terrible shaking, it stopped.

There was a violence to the ceasing of activity, an almost murder of movement that caused me to suck in my breath.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

I stretched my hand out and reached for the sounding bowl. Before I could touch it, however, the movement erupted again. It shook across to the opposite side and toward the opposite containment wall. Then the sounding bowl shot smoothly towards the wall directly in front of my face, toward the space between my gloves.

I stared, shocked, at the bowl as it slammed against the wall closest to me over and over before it suddenly quit.

My heart pounded and sweat trickled down my back.

I took a deep breath, not wanting to reach out. I was afraid of the bowl now. Afraid of the witchstone. I double-checked the notebook before returning my gaze to the upside-down sounding bowl.

As far as I could tell, I hadn't skipped a step, hadn't jumped ahead at all. I waited for at least five minutes before I reached for the bowl.

I half-expected it to flip over on its own and reveal some sort of magickal monster, all teeth and terror, ready to devour my face.

That didn't happen.

When I flipped over the sounding bowl there were even more crystals than I’d seen in the first bowl. Their needle thin points gleamed beneath the magickal light shining down on them.

The colors were the same, though: purple, blue, and that toxic yellow.

I picked up the last sounding bowl but paused for a moment to examine the witchstone. I squinted to see if I could make out any difference in it but couldn’t.

When I covered the witchstone with the next sounding bowl, I really leaned back from the containment area. I fully expected the bowl to lurch with activity, to burst with movement, to more intensely attack the walls. But, instead, it was completely still for several moments before giving a single, solitary jolt.

That was it.

After that jolt, it didn't move. It was completely still.

I waited for five minutes.

Ten minutes.

Fifteen minutes.

When I was mostly sure that it wasn't going to lurch to life, that it wasn't lying in wait—

Lying in wait? Do you think it’s alive? Do you think the witchstone has something living within it?

I honestly wasn't sure.

The way the bowl had attacked the wall closest to me gave me the idea that whatever was inside knew that I was there, but that didn't make sense.

Aren't witchstones inert objects? Just some glass or crystal filled with a spell?

I didn't entirely know.

There was so much I didn't know, but with my father's notebook, I could do my best and that's all I could do. I glanced at the notebook again and re-read the instructions.

Continue with sounding bowls until vibration does not occur at all. Use as many sounding bowls as it takes until no crystals are seen inside the bowls.

I flipped the third bowl over and saw that there was only a single crystal, a tiny thing. No more than a speck of dark blue at the center. This crystal was dark blue.

Relief filled me. The sounding bowl had absorbed all the energy in the witchstone. I didn't know what I would've done had it filled the entire bowl. I didn't know where more sounding bowls were in the lab. With the dispelling process over, I slipped off the gloves and grabbed the notebook.

The containment walls and ceiling dissolved and the witchstone retook to its floating.

I flipped through the pages, skimming the pages for any mention of the three colors I saw in the bowls before me.

I found a strange entry on the back page. This entry wasn’t written with the neat and precise handwriting from the rest of the notebook. It was scrawled there in jagged letters, looking like it had been written in a hurry. It was still my father’s handwriting, though.

I found the Builder’s Stone. Blue, purple, and yellow. This witchstone will change everything for the stick world. It will bring everyone onto the same playing field.

I stared at my father's note. A smile curled the corners of my mouth.

My luck is holding. I’m on a hot streak.

The Builder’s Stone. That's what this witchstone was.

I had no idea what that meant, but at least I had a name. I had something I could look up in the Lumadex.

I grabbed the tablet, powered it on, and started searching. I looked up builder, I looked up Builder’s Stone, I looked up purple lume, blue lume, and yellow lume. There was no entry on blue lume, but there was plenty of info on purple and yellow.

Yellow lume indicated a curse.

Purple lume was an indication of Astra. Typically, it was only seen when a witch had recently eaten lume in an area.

The Builder was the person who had created the connections between plaines in the Lumaverse. The thing, the being, the master entity then severed those connections, plunged plaines into darkness, and created the shards from broken plaines.

I even found an entry for the Builder’s Stone.

It seemed to be some sort of myth. A kind of witchstone fairytale.

Legend had it that the Builder’s Stone granted whoever used it the power of a wizard, be they a caster, adept, scryer, or a stick. It allowed anyone to use the witchstone and gain the abilities of a wizard.

Staring at the floating witchstone on the table, I understood why Geist said it was so rare and why he’d said no one had been able to break it.

Why did my father write about it at the back of his notebook if Geist owned it? How did that happen? Did my father try to stonebreak this for Geist, realize what it was, and then return it to him?

Frowning, I ran over my options.

I could return the witchstone to Geist, act like I didn't know what it was or how important it was.

What would even be the point of that?

I could keep the witchstone for myself, try to find some sort of black market, sell it, and make a ton of money.

I'd more than likely get fleeced if I did that. I didn't have any connections in the magick world and no one in the stick world would believe me. I’d be like the guy selling magick beans to a guy named Jack, promising untold riches.

I'd be laughed at.

I could tell Geist what the witchstone was. I could be honest. I’d broken the witchstone. I knew exactly what it did. I knew its power. I could take the money and I could buy the theatre. I would then have a permanent gateway into Blackhart and the Night Market.

The last option was also a serious contender: I could take the witchstone and use it myself. I could gamble on myself. I could become a wizard, that rare breed who towered above all magickkind.

You are on a hot streak…

I could go from being a zero in the stick world to being at the top of the food chain in the magick world.

If I was a wizard I would live for hundreds of years. I would have the ability to use magick. I would lose that crown on my head that marked me as a stick, a permanent outsider.

I took a deep breath and let it out, rereading the Builder’s Stone entry in the Lumadex.

It is said the way you activate the Builder’s Stone is by slipping it under your tongue. That is all. Once you do this, the power of wizards shall be yours.

Staring down at the witchstone floating on the table, I smiled. A familiar high of giddy anticipation flooded my veins.

I could have the power of a wizard. And when I did, what could Geist possibly do to me?

He wasn't a wizard.

I smiled even wider. I knew exactly what I was going to do. It was so clear.

I picked up the witchstone and stared at the ceiling.

“Here's to luck,” I whispered. “Here's to fate.”

I glanced back down at the witchstone, looked deep into it, and saw a faint purple glow.

I was going to become a wizard.

I slipped the witchstone under my tongue and closed my eyes.

If you’ve been paying attention, then you know that I’ve never been truly lucky, and fate has never been on my side…