Oz sat quietly on the floor, legs crossed, reading a book in his hand and skimming through one in his mind at the same time. He took a deep breath and let it back out slowly, relishing in the scent of old paper. Nothing like reading a real, physical book.

Though on the other hand, there’s nothing like the convenience of a digital book, he added a moment later, glancing at the one in his mind’s eye. The scent of ash mixed with the old-book smell, and he grimaced. Also, the scans don’t spontaneously combust, which is nice.

Paging through the last few pages, he closed the book. A faint sense of regret welled up in his heart, and he rested his hand on the book’s back cover. It was a good manual. The kind you wish would last forever and explain everything, because it breaks everything down so nicely. The place to set the items, how to call out to the power of qi imbued in nature, how to channel the excess qi without coursing it through your body. As if the instructor whispered the words to me, as clear as could be.

Of course, it didn’t include a possession technique, because why would it? Books that explain things well never explain the thing you want them to. It’s unfortunate, but it’s important to comprehend the basics, too. It’s not a loss at all.

On to the next! Tossing the book gently aside, careful not to put it too close to the other books, Oz plucked the next book off the floor and opened it.

At last, he set down the last book and stretched, lifting his hands up toward the sky. Nothing like spending an uninterrupted evening doing nothing but reading.

…I wonder if I can hear the front door from down here?

…

Nothing like an uninterrupted evening, am I right?

Oz stared at the ceiling for a minute, then shrugged. Right now, this is the most important. If I don’t find a good rumor, my quiet library life is over. Which means figuring out a way to go to the mortal world as quickly as possible, which means figuring out a possession technique.

Reaching into the pile, he pulled out three volumes and set them before him. ‘Moon, Sun, and Stars,’ ‘In the Night and What Comes,’ and finally, “A Fantasie of the Glen.’ Of all the volumes I read, only these three had possession techniques.

He set ‘Moon, Sun, and Stars’ before him, tracing the silvery crescent moon at its apex. This one depends heavily upon time and the flow of the celestial bodies to cast fey magic. I’d have to go outside and chart the stars to know if I could use it. Since I can’t really go outside, it would be a matter of if the grassy small realm has the proper array of celestial bodies, and I have no idea if that small realm even has celestial bodies. I think, for now, unfortunately, I can only rely on this tome for general guidance on fey magic.

Moving on, he pushed it aside and set ‘In the Night’ and ‘A Fantasie’ beside one another. Pitch black leather bound ‘In the Night,’ burned corners slowly healing. ‘A Fantasie’ sat in pristine mossy green, the material as plush and moist as moss in the morning, though the pages remained dry and the cover appeared as green cloth.

‘A Fantasie’ requires branches and trees to manipulate magic. Not ideal, but with Aisling’s help, I can procure the materials. On the other hand, it requires me to procure the materials, which leaves traces. I can’t imagine many mages would instantly recognize a fey spell from its components, but given how many mages are breathing down my neck? Someone would notice. I’d have to be subtle as hell about it.

Which leaves ‘In the Night.’ He took a deep breath, pressing his fingertips together. It, er. Well. I. I don’t like it, but I can do it.

Oz flipped open the book. Scanning the instructions again, he grimaced. Ughhh. I don’t want to.

But I can. I can do it, and I won’t leave any traces behind me. It’s just going to be a little awkward, is all.

A little awkward, and a little dangerous. But hey. As long as I move quickly, it should be fine.

Oz stood. He dusted his robes down, brushing the ash off the rear. But let’s not jump in headfirst. I want to try casting a smaller fey spell first, so I get the feel of how to control qi outside of my body.

Picking up ‘A Fantasie’ and ‘In the Night,’ he tucked them into his robes. He turned. “Linnea, coming up?”

Linnea looked down from where she hung from the ceiling, tucked into a silk hammock. “I haven’t finished my book yet.”

Oz nodded. “I’ll see you in a while, then. Fenrir, shout if she starts harassing you.”

“If I—more like I should—” Linnea bit her words off short, casting a nervous look at Fenrir.

“I’ll be sure to shout,” Fenrir said gravely. He eyed Linnea hungrily and licked his lips.

Linnea jolted. She jumped down from her hammock and ran, abandoning the webbing behind her. “On second thought, I can read the book upstairs. Better light, anyways.”

Fenrir clicked his tongue. “What’s the rush, little arachne? Surely you aren’t scared of this poor old bound demon.”

Linnea pursed her lips and said nothing, hurrying out the door.

Oz paused. “You still don’t want to tell me why you’re bound? I really do mean what I offer—”

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“No.”

Oz shook his head. One day.

As Oz left the chamber, the walls shook again. The fey tomes flew to the shelves of their own accord. The tomes in his pocket trembled, but couldn’t escape the cloth. Behind him, stone covered the shelves once more, and the torches dimmed, returning to their blue flame.

From the hallway, Oz glanced back. The chamber no longer appeared to house any tomes at all. Nothing but stone, blue flame, and Fenrir, swaying gently in his chains.

He nodded and turned, leaving the dark space behind.

Up top, Oz stretched, yawning in the sunlight spilling through the tall windows. Sunlight… I missed you!

From the desk, he picked up a quill pen and yanked the metal tip off it. He brandished the remaining white feather, pretending to flick it around. Magic! Quill pens and feathers! I’m a real magician, haha!

Linnea squinted at him. “What are you doing?”

Oz cleared his throat and lowered the feather. “Checking the feather for spells.”

“Why didn’t you just put some qi into it?” she asked.

Oz cleared his throat again. “Indeed.”

Linnea squinted harder. “Are you okay?”

“Probably.” Oz sent a mote of qi into the feather. It came back clean, unenchanted. Good. Exactly what I need.

He lifted the feather high overhead. Flight is impossible at my qi-gathering realm, but fey can fly at this same realm by using the magic around them. I know there’s plenty of qi here. It’s condensed and hard to activate, but it’s present. It ought to be enough to give it a try.

Pointing his other hand at a ninety-degree angle, he held it in a gently cupped palm, then paused. Looking around, he walked over toward a window, then slowly spun until the sunlight pooled in his palm—or at least hit it. Oz licked his lips. I hope the ‘pooling’ part was just flowery language, because if it means something other than ‘have sunlight hit your palm,’ then I have no idea what to do.

Recalling the words of ‘A Fantasie,’ he drew a deep breath and circulated his qi from one hand to the other, calling out to the world through the palms of his hands. Poole the light in ure palmes, and thereafter call forth the world’s power; from the feather to the palme of sun, and back again. Thereafter thine bodie lightens, and shall take flight.

Oz looked at his hands. Sunlight, check. Feather, check. Qi circulating, check. So why is nothing happening?

“Oz, are you sure you’re okay?” Linnea asked, a note of legitimate concern creeping into her voice.

“I’m fine, I’m just failing at fey magic,” Oz grumbled.

Linnea tapped her chin. “Did you try being in a good mood?”

“Huh?”

“All kinds of things can influence fey casting. It’s the most touchy bullshit in the world. Even your mood or thoughts, the temperature, the scent of the air, everything. You’ll have to think light things and have a light heart, or something, probably. Maybe eat something floaty. I don’t know.”

Oz shot her a look. “Sounds like you’ve tried fey magic before.”

“Sure. Tried. Who hasn’t waved some sticks around as a kid, pretending to be a fairy?” Linnea muttered under her breath.

“I thought people kept fey magic away from young mages,” Oz commented.

“I’m a demon,” Linnea said.

“Right.”

“My dad…” Linnea licked her lips. “Well, I never met him.”

Oz’s spine tingled. He cut a look at her rear, even though she remained in human form. She is a black widow spider. I think I can figure out what happened.

“My mom made us a nice egg sac to hatch out of, but aside from that, I didn’t really know her as a child. It’s not uncommon for demons to leave their children to figure out life on their own. We siblings stuck together, and we eventually met mother, but who was there to tell us not to mess with fey magic?”

“No one,” Oz surmised.

“No one.” Linnea shrugged. “Luckily, it’s incredibly finnicky, so only one of us actually succeeded.”

“Oh?” Oz asked.

“He blew himself up, but he did successfully channel wild magic.”

“Oh.”

Linnea chuckled. “But you’re smarter than a baby spider, right?”

Oz looked at his cupped hand and the sunlight beaming uselessly into it. “Maybe?”

“I’ll stop distracting you. And also leave the vicinity, just in case. Is that grassy realm still open?”

“Yeah… wait, you’re going that far away?”

“I don’t really want to get guts splattered all over me a second time,” Linnea said neutrally.

Oz shook his head. “I’m not going to blow up.”

Without another word, Linnea walked off. Oz shook his head at her back, then sighed. Like she said. I need to put all my focus on this spell.

Lightness. I need to be as light as a feather.

Right. That one book, with the really good descriptions. What did it say?

Become the spell, and let the spell become you. The magic washes over you and through you, and you are merely the vessel that shapes it. Your mind, your body, and the elements all shape the spell. Shape, not control. Magic cannot be controlled, so do not attempt it. Flow with it. Guide it. Call to it, and listen.

Oz licked his lips. Right, that’s good. I remember doing some of that stuff from being submerged in the ocean of knowledge. Actually, I wonder, was that my first encounter with wild magic? And I survived it! Mostly. So now I just need to do that intentionally. And maybe handle it just a little better, but you know, second time’s the charm.

I can shape it. I can flow with it. The problem is, I don’t know how to call it!

Closing his eyes, Oz entered a meditative state. A small amount of qi flowed into him, but slowly. No sign of the wild rush he’d encountered during the sea of knowledge, or even the rush from finishing a shelf of books. The qi remained firmly immobile.

Oz opened his eyes, frustrated. He lowered his stance, tucking one arm over the other and tapping his chin with his feather. Qi isn’t flowing. But fey magic is designed to be called upon outside, surrounded by nature. ‘A Fantasie of the Glen’ assumes the caster is inside a glen—that is, a forest. He looked at the feather and the sunlight. In which case, a feather and sunlight are reasonable items to channel to call upon lightness.

The problem is, I’m not in a forest. I’m in a library. What counts as lightness in a library? Hesitating, he thought, and then his eyes lit up. Paper! Paper. And… a quill pen?

Oz twisted his lips. He shook his head. No. If anything, pens count as heavy in the context of a library. So what counts as light?

He cast around him, turning to the library for inspiration. Lightness. Lightness…

Books climbed all around him. A heavy desk dominated the room, weighty marble underfoot. Shelves bowed under the multitudinous books. Silence pressed down on him, even the atmosphere oppressive. He bit his lip. Libraries are kind of heavy, aren’t they?

Motion in the air. Oz blinked. It’s not in my eye? What’s that?

Golden dust motes fluttered by, drifting effortlessly on the slowly circulating air. Oz’s eyes lit up. “Yes!”

Dust motes and paper. Let’s see if it works! Stealing a sheet of loose-leaf off the table, Oz held it high in the air. In his other hand, he cupped a few delicate, floating dust motes. They swirled away from his palm, only settling back as he remained still for a few moments.

Oz held his breath. He focused, pouring all his attention on the lightness of the paper and the delicately swirling dust motes. His entire world became the paper at his fingertips and the dust motes. Deeper, deeper. The texture. The way the paper fluttered at the slightest breeze. The golden, almost fearful motes, dancing at a breath. The library faded away. All the heaviness left. Only lightness remained.

Oz breathed in. And with his breath, came qi.