The flame fluttered, responding to her pull. A smile spread across her face. Illumination from the feeble light sparkled in her eyes.

Perhaps Judas is right, and magic comes with time.

Ever since she experienced her essence, the conjury came easier for her. However, it presented new challenges. The incantations he provided failed to manifest, so she started over with the flame, calling her essence. He wrote down two simple spells for her, but the magic refused to respond to her call. She released her influence on the flame before reaching out again. The fire churned, glowing brighter, the flame elongating before curling, bending, looping back on itself. Her smile widened. Julie threw her arms up in celebration but kept from shouting out her excitement. In this late hour, she doubted many remained awake. Judas retired to his room hours ago. Her smile faltered when she thought of her master.

Master? Such an odd word.

The world had changed for her, a rapid transition over the last few days, and she was still trying to catch up.

Earlier in the day, Julie took the warlock’s advice and opened a book from the small bookshelf in her room. She alternated between influencing the flame and the books. A cover to cover reading was a feat she wasn’t inclined to indulge in but rather skimmed through the short excerpts. Only when she found a passage that grabbed her attention, she read the section. The thin book, printed in the last year, covered various subjects. A small portion was written in remembrance of the Wizard’s War and lacked the detailed events. The tidbits of information she found, she already knew, either from Judas’ss Transference or his ramblings. But even as he talked, he withheld information. Julie was certain some of the information he hoarded was for personal reasons, but the general knowledge, the details, he held those back as well. Every time she asked, she sensed the weight of his gaze and noted ponderous thinking behind his azure eyes.

A trust issue.

He didn’t trust her, and the path worked both ways. From his own mouth he stated his actions, taking her away from wherever and performing complex, untested magic on her. Granted it worked, but what if it didn’t?

You’d be dead, she reminded herself.

The edge of truth cut deepest, her reality hinged on what Judas relayed. But how could she discern the truth from uncorroborated testimony? Trusting blindly didn’t bode well, and the less he trusted her, the more misgivings she had. He gave restrictive knowledge and sheltered her. She wanted freedom, the ability to choose what to learn, where to go. The distinct possibility didn’t seem likely at the moment. Judas said someone hunted them, but she couldn’t make sense of why they holed up in an inn when they should be moving. Couldn’t someone find them once they reached their destination? Their journey’s end eluded her but from the little hints she gathered, the place sounded secluded, off the well-trodden path. Seclusion meant isolation, and isolation implied a small location.

She sighed, and her insides gurgled. She pined to see Ralloc. Everything she knew about the city, and from the way Judas talked, sounded majestic. A massive hive of buildings and races intermingling throughout. An adventure! One she wouldn’t have, not anytime soon. A spark of resentment flared in her, her magic washing out of her like a wave. The candle flickered, danced, and burned brighter, reaching higher than before. The sudden burst startled her, and she reined in on her emotions. The light danced and dimmed, shrinking back to its normal size.

She recalled her meeting with Staell and the thoughtful, brooding mood Judas opted for in the wake of the unicorn’s departure. A conversation must have taken place before her arrival downstairs and whatever the contents of the exchange was, it bothered the warlock. His semi-petulant mood made her yearn all the more to know what they conversed about. Judas was a methodical man, lost in his thoughts more than not. That didn’t bother Julie other than the absent knowledge, excluded from the internal monologue. What she’d give to comprehend what he thought, his sentiments and moods, and what secrets he kept.

Perhaps magic can help you?

An intriguing thought, tantalizing. When she grew more powerful and controlled her abilities better, perhaps more opportunities would arise. Was that even a possibility, to read people’s minds? The first reaction bore squeamishness. To possess such a gift would be an invasion of privacy, but the possibilities were too tempting to pass up. She would be aware when Judas lied to her, if he indeed lied, siphoning the secrets he held close, knowing for sure whether he warranted her trust. He would, after all, shape her near future.

Julie hated the impression of not being able to control her destiny, to be so reliant on a person, not able to fend for herself. By wizardkind standards, she was well over the Age of Maturity and an adult, but he lead her by the hand as he would a child. A bitter thought. True, she needed guidance; she held no delusions in that regard but was bothered by the way he led. He guided her with vague direction.

She recalled his words. I can’t tell you what to feel; that must come from within. What in the Underworld did that mean?

Judas told her that he never trained someone from the beginning, a learning experience for the both of them. No matter how she viewed his sentiment, she found no way to deny the obvious truth. He seemed to be fumbling, bumbling through. Perhaps such rudimentary and elementary tasks were too menial for him. That would explain a lot. He may be a prominent master, but simplicities escaped him. She gathered that much from the small book she skimmed through.

The book she read offered two short passages regarding him within the slender confines. One detailing the legality of his banishment more than anything, citing him as the only exile within Ralloc and Marcoalyn domains and his branding of a warlock. Last year alone, he repealed his case three times to reinstate his citizenship. All were denied, a fact she knew before reading the passage. The second passage, as vague as the first, focused on his role in the war. A few of his notable battles were mentioned, including Far Point and his delayed arrival. The author summed up his greatest accomplishment in a few short sentences:

Judas Lakayre survived his twin brother, Josiah, and went on to defeat the dark lord Xilor. Details surrounding his ultimate victory are guarded secrets, and it’s unclear who all is privy to such information. Regardless of his legal status or what title he was bestowed with, he single-handedly brought an end to the Great Wizard’s War. We shouldn’t forget the deeds of our heroes, no matter how far they fall, or the lost lives that granted us a future without oppression.

And that was it. Nothing more on his exploits, no details on his grand feats of magical prowess, just a few lines summarizing what everyone already knew. A waste of paper as far as Julie was concerned. Both passages mentioned nothing about the kind of person he was, his views, philosophy, religion, or political leanings. It wasn’t beyond the realm of distinct possibility that neither writer knew him other than as a distant figure they’ve heard about. Both wrote with a distant tone, annotating their personal feelings or lack thereof. Her stomach grumbled again.

Sighing, she stood, abandoning the comfortable chair and tossed the book on her bed. She tried sleeping earlier, but the elusive comfort abandoned her. Her mind churned with what the future may bring, where they were going, what magical abilities she may yet discover. One unaccounted bonus to not knowing who you were or what you could do was the aspect of newness. Each passing moment was a learning experience, discovering the world for the first time. Each day, she found out that it was a bad thing, too.

Julie opened the door to her room, peeking out into the darkened hallway devoid of life. A floorboard creaked in the distance. She snapped her head behind her, down the hall towards the end and Judas’s room, a tingling racing through her body. The hall remained empty and dark. Her scalp prickled, but she shook the impression away.

It’s an old building, probably just sighing.

A funny notion, thinking of buildings as sentient beings that sighed. A ludicrous thought, but one she didn’t dismiss completely. Perhaps they could be?

Descending the stairs, she eyed the empty lobby and dining room. A fire crackled in the latter, and the lobby’s candles burned brightly. Someone was awake at this hour to help late arrivals or wandering guest such as herself.

“Hello?” she called into the quiet. Noise stirred from behind the counter, through a door to a back room. A young man—older than her but not by much—came through, smoothing his clothes. His dark brown hair contrasted nicely with his pale gray eyes. He was tall, too, enough so that Julie had to look up at him. The smile she received was heavy with evident sleepiness, but seemed to wake up with her presence. She returned his smile with one of her own. He was attractive, even if he had just woken up.

“Good evening, Lady…?”

“Uh, Fossard,” she stammered, remembering the alias she and Judas used.

“Lady Fossard. How may I assist you?”

A caress so subtle she never realized its gentle arrival. A soft stirring within her, a fluttering heartbeat. Warmth crawled, languid and salacious across her flushing cheeks, the familiar prickling in her tightening chest.

What can he assist me with? What am I doing here again?

Her stomach clenched and with it, the pangs of hunger reminded her of why she came down.

“I know it’s late,” she murmured, her breath catching in her throat. She swallowed. “Is there anything in the kitchens? A piece of bread or some fruit?”

He smiled again, a dazzling display of his teeth. The corners of his mouth tightened as his lips spread, a teasing, coy grin. It made him more handsome. “Sure, I can snatch you something, but you have to do something for me.”

He wants me! she realized. “What―What is that?”

“Tell me your name, Lady Fossard.”

What? That’s not what I expected. “Why do you want to know my name?”

His smile widened.

Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

Oh! He knows he’s attractive!

“You’re a beautiful Lady. Not many minor nobles come down here. I’ve never even talked to one. How could I resist?”

She smiled at that, mistaken for nobility, an agreeable feeling. Somewhere through the haze of her mind, she remembered Judas’s words about not using their real names. Since she identified herself as Fossard, she continued to play her role. “Cynthia.”

He came around the counter, held out his hand, palm up. She placed her hand in his, and he brushed his warm, full lips against her skin, a delicate touch. “The pleasure is mine, Cynthia.”

Heat crept into her face, her mind swam with a heady sensation. He stood to his full height, his head and shoulders towered over her. Even Judas would be half a head shorter.

From his closeness, she sensed more than felt his warmth. For the first time, Julie regarded him fully. His handsome face, tall, broad shoulders, and fair complexion though tanned from time not spent indoors. She even noted his hands before he let go of hers, rough, calloused, strong. She thought Todd attractive, but even the journalist didn’t measure up.

“What’s your name?” she asked, breathy.

“Does it matter to a woman of your stature?” he purred.

Swathed in cyan vestments to match the color scheme of the inn, his robes were of a high caliber of linen, woven with care. A simple gold threading embroidered the cuffs, a design reminiscent of a vine. His gray eyes twinkled, lingering on hers before she dropped her gaze to his chest, the plunging line of his robes showing more skin than she first realized. She fixated, his flesh calling to her, beckoning her, and she almost missed his soft words.

“I’ll check the kitchens for some food, Cynthia.” He walked away to the dining room. Disappointment flooded her, realizing she asked him for something that would bewitch him away from her presence. She followed a few short steps into the dining room, her gaze lingering on his backside as he strode away.

Julie’s pulse quickened as she imagined what he looked like beneath his clothing. Was it as dazzling as his smile? As gratifying as his face?

I want him! Shit! What’s happening to me? I can’t stop thinking about him. I must have him.

Her body thrummed as she hungered for him. She blushed again, turning scarlet, grateful he didn’t witness her embarrassment. Her vision swam again, weaker this time. She tried to shake her head to clear away the vibes but that only made it worse. She took a step back towards the lobby and found her breath coming easier, then took another, and another. Her senses came back, a gradual regression through the fog.

Get out of here!

Julie heeded the advice and climbed the stairs, careful not to make too much noise. She didn’t want to disturb the other patrons or worse, awaken Judas.

A fine time for him to show up!

She reached her room, the first door on the left of the second floor, fumbled with the key for a moment before making entry. Shutting the door behind her, she sagged against the wood as if a refuge and let out a deep, shaky breath. Tiny prickles of sweat beaded her forehead, and she wiped them away on the cuff of her sleeve.

What’s happening to me?

A quiet rap on her door, two quick knocks, made her jump. Pride rippled through her for not gasping aloud. She opened the door, a small sliver, spying the man’s face and the heady sensation returned as strong as before. Her vision swam, nearly swaying.

“Your food, Cynthia?” he whispered.

Her body shuddered when he called her Cynthia, like a cat’s purr or silk drawn across the skin, and her abdomen tightened as did the rest of her body. The sweat returned, a thin sheen on her forehead, but this time, she resisted the urge to wipe, embarrassed by the thought.

The door opened wider, his frame filled the doorway, a striking figure. His hands held the plate out to her; a slice of bread coated with a meager layer of honey and an apple adorned the dish. To control the trembling of her hands, she clenched her fists at her sides before reaching up, taking the plate from him, and put it on the dresser beside the door. The food was far from her mind, almost forgotten.

“Anything else I can do for you, Cynthia?”

Before she realized it, she nodded. Her body quivered when she heard his voice, the way he said her name. “Call me Cynthia, again.”

“Cynthia,” his voice rumbled in his throat, soft.

The moment carried her along swift currents. She reached out for him, kissing him, his warm lips pressed against hers. Her mouth opened, inviting; his tongue slipping through. A vigorous hand cupped her left breast, pinning her body against the door. The passionate persuasion crawled within her, called out and grew stronger. Each trickling second lasted a lifetime. The buzz thrummed through her body, building like the crashing of a gong.

He pushed into her room, her head resting against the door. A steady arm snaked around her waist, pressing her into his body while his other hand explored down her robes. The scent of earth and musk filled her nostrils. His hardness pressed into her, a wanton smile coming to her face. Her fleshed tightened, quivered, her pulse pounding in her neck. Hands continued down, reaching her groin, his fingers opening her garments. A few more seconds and she would feel skin on skin contact for the first time. Her robe opened more, fully exposing her undergarments. The other arm still around her waist hastily joined his exploring hand. A twinge at first, then a throbbing point dug into the top of her leg. The lecherous fog broke for an instance of clarity.

“Wait,” she said, gasping, chest heaving. Pulling away, she padded deeper into her room, and he let her slide out of his arms. She closed her robes, holding them shut with her arms crossed. “I can’t.”

“But you want to.”

Julie found herself nodding at his statement. “Yes,” she stammered. “But my father is just down the hall.”

“Are you worried?”

“Yes. You don’t know him. If he wasn’t here, possibly, but he is. I can’t do this now.” The lie seemed to help. The haze cleared, and the distance she put between them aided in her recovery.

He smiled, knowing his hopes of conquest would succeed under different circumstances. “Aren’t you glad I never told you my name? Just another boy on the street.” He took a step backward, exiting the room, closing the door behind him. The wistful twist of his mouth was the last thing she saw. Julie went to the door and pressed her ear against the wood, listening to his retreating footsteps, half-sorry she stopped herself.

When the soft footfalls faded, she reached down and locked the door, not trusting herself or him. Casting a glance at her leg where the discomfort originated, she explored the cause, realizing her wand bruised her as his hand plunged downward. Thinking of the moment caused her stomach to flutter, reveling in the fleeting moment. The heady sensation abated, fading.

What was that? What caused that?

She turned, putting her back to the door, knees shaking. The slender volume she had thumbed through earlier fell into her view. In a moment of certainty, she knew. Two deft strides carried her across the room and she snatched up the small publishing. Pages turned until she spied the short article titled: Woes of Magelust.

Ever feel drunk but you’ve never drank? Found yourself staring across the room at someone you never met? Chances are the magelust ensnared you. Another year has gone by with leaps of progress for the apothecary, pharmacon, and healers, but nothing for the magelust. Speaking for those few who have difficulty managing the menial task of blocking out other people’s aura or dampening their own, I’d like to see some progress made on this front.

Two percent of our population cannot block out auras, even though the majority of citizens can dampen theirs. It helps, but not enough. Even people who never sought a higher education in magical practice can turn the magelust on for those more sensitive to its pull. When will the lust become a social issue and be addressed? The Krey’s bloodlust is considered a malady, why can’t the magelust?

To date, the magelust affects far more people than the bloodlust. The Krey are a tenth of a tenth and then some of our population. The government should be looking out for the welfare of all its citizens. While pain can help break through the lust, chances are, nothing is available on hand to induce that pain, unless you are a Lord out with your Lady, and she slaps you for kissing the servant. For myself, and two percent of the population, it’ll be another year of promiscuous encounters and strange entanglements.

Julie inhaled a deep draw and blew it out noisily through her nose. The magelust. It made sense. She, according to Judas, had a strong aura and had yet to learn how to block out other auras or dampen her own. Was she like the two percent or would control come in time? It was another question she needed to ask him, but would he tell her the truth or shy away and become elusive? Her belly growled again, and she closed the book, dropping it to her bed.

A glow outside her window caught her eye. Perplexed, Julie moved towards the glass panes. The illumination hadn’t been there earlier. She pulled the thin curtain aside with the back of her hand and peered out. Flames crackled with life; an entire building engulfed in a towering inferno. For a moment, she hesitated, stricken by panic. Thoughts and scenarios flashed through her mind. The most prominent notion was to reach out and try to affect the flames with her essence, but this task was well beyond anything she could ever hope to accomplish.

A muffled scream ripped through the night, muted by distance and the glass. The cry for help jarred her out of her reverie. Judas, he can help! Why she didn’t think of that first, she didn’t know. She stepped towards the door, turning away from the window. A vibration, followed by a deafening crackle of sudden energy like distant thunder, echoed through the somnolent witching hour. Before the brontide abated, her sole window shattered, the fractured glass lacerating her back, the strength of the blast knocking her to the floor.

Her face smacked the floorboards, a wave of bright light and pain swelled, darkening her view. In the distance, she heard more screams, louder than before, closer too. The deck rumbled, a vibration she felt through the floor with the side of her face, footsteps thundering down the hallway. She was sure Judas was one of them.

Drawing her arms under her, she rose. A cold sentiment crept along her back but as she stirred, hot, sharp agony peppered her skin, the glass burrowing. A gasp escaped her, and her vision threatened to dim, shifting from hazy to in focus.

A new noise caught her attention as the thundering feet fell away; her head turned towards the door, tracking the origin. Her vision reverted, clear and sharp. A large, shadowed figure appeared on the outside the threshold of her room, the edges blurred, the face distorted in magic and shadow but everything else crisp and distinct. The being entered her room. Julie had reached her knees as the intruder clawed her throat, cutting off her air and ability to cry for help. Panic enveloped her, and she could do little more than spasm. Muscles seized, constricted; her breath became short and sporadic.

The face, a mirage, flickered and changed, shifting before her eyes between shadow and visage of creatures she had no name for, obscuring the identity. One seemed feline. Demonic, twisted, something out of nightmares. She perceived movement and grasped something plunged deep into her skin, both white hot and cold. Julie gasped, or attempted to, her mouth open. The hand released her throat, the blurred image backing away, and she slumped to her knees. A gust of cool air filled her lungs, enhancing the agony. Stars sparkled in her vision. Hands fumbled, traced the discomfort. With shaking palms, she lifted, beholding the dark, velvety red coating her digits. Her gaze flickered back to the doorway. The intruder vanished.

Her head slumped, catching the opaque protrusion still in her abdomen.

The ground welcomed her as she doubled over, slumping, falling to her side. Warmth pooled about her as frail fingers clasped the object. Infirm, she pulled it free. Her eyes rolled as the blade clattered to the floor, excruciating paroxysms washing over her. The compulsion to vomit was too hard to ignore, her body dry heaving, and she gasped for breath between each constriction of her insides. Touching the wound in her stomach again, she tried to hold her hand there, applying pressure, hoping to dam the blood and ache.

“Shades, it hurts … help,” her weak voice managed.

Stop … stop hurting; stop bleeding and let the pain end.

A memory flashed through her mind, Judas’s face looming close, the words tumbling through her mind. “You’re not the first Wcic to come back from the other realm; you’re the thirteenth.”

Her visioned swirled, blackness lingered on the edges.

Perhaps Judas was right all along. Everyone that comes across dies; I am the thirteenth Wcic to do so. I’m no better, no different.

Her lungs burned, and she took one last, deep breath.