Books are not that difficult to make.

First, you need paper. That’s the starting point for most, if not all, books. It’s the medium that writing, artistry, ink and paint are placed upon. Stories, entire worlds, entire universes can be printed upon the pages, allowing many to escape to a place that is much more simple, and much less stressful, than their day-to-day lives.

Nowadays books are mass-produced, in printing presses and sewing machines. It’s convenient, of course. It also allows for copy upon copy of story to be created for the masses. Many more people can enjoy the book than just a select few, and a certain camaraderie can be found from it.

As I said: Books are not that difficult to make.

Spellbooks, however, require much more.

For all of the technological developments in the world, spellbooks continue to be incapable of mass production. The magic that comes from effort and intention, of putting your energy into the book’s production and the filling of pages, has not yet been recreated by machines. This leaves the process to specific book binders, people who can transfer the energy of creation into the spellbook through making it by hand.

I am, of course, one of those binders.

A bit on the young side, of course; my apprenticeship only ended a few years ago. But from what I lack in experience, I make up for in talent and a magical affinity not found in most other binders. Or, at least, that’s what I like to tell myself. Now having my own shop, it becomes much more apparent how brutally critical of spellbooks mages can be.

At the edge of dawn, the sun beginning to rise over the smaller buildings in the city, I enter the shop. It’s hours before its official opening, but my goal isn’t to put in extra hours. At least, not on the side of sales.

The workshop in the back has been meticulously cleaned by my assistant, leaving two sticky-notes as the only things out of place. The first is a list of three custom orders, procured yesterday from aspiring mages. The second is a bit more urgent:

Hayden,

We are almost out of spellcatchers after the most recent flux of custom orders. I left the maker’s calling card by the phone.

- Luna

A sigh leaves my nose. I had been worried about the depletion of our spellcatchers since the start of the week, but luckily we’d managed to hold out until the end. I set the sticky note down on one of the many surfaces within the workshop, a rustic wooden desk filled to the brim with papers of varying weights, sizes, and edges. Then, I head for the phone.

Theodore Magellan is one of the top artificers in the shopping district, and his spellcatchers are particularly potent. Orbs made of polished white quartz and small enough to fit securely in the palm of the hand, spellcatchers are artifacts capable of absorbing one spell each. I’m not sure where Magellan gets his particular brand of quartz, but he’s the only one I’ve found capable of making catchers that can handle upper-intermediate and expert-level spells.

The only problem is, they can put a sizable dent in the funds if I’m not careful. It’s why, if at all possible, I tend to save buying them until absolutely necessary. Unfortunately, it seems that I’ve got to make that particular sacrifice once more. 

“Magellan’s Emporium,” a male voice answers, after three short rings of the landline.

“Theo?” I say, “It’s Hayden Faulkner with Spellbinder’s Book Shop.”

“Hayden!” he exclaims, “My favorite regular. Let me guess, you--”

“Ran out of spellcatchers, yeah. I’m looking to make my usual order?”

“Of course, not a problem.”

I hear the click of typewriter keys through the receiver. Neither of us speak for a moment, before Theodore decides to make small talk.

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

“Business has been picking up for you lately, huh?” he asks.

“Oh,” I blurt out, a bit startled by the question, before answering, “Yeah. It’s been pretty busy with the custom orders. A lot of higher-ranking mages.”

“Me too,” Theo responds, half-distracted by what I can assume is the sending of the order to one of his (numerous) assistants.

He follows up with, “Do you think there’s some sort of conference going on?”

“Maybe? It wouldn’t surprise me. A lot of mages enjoy being able to add new spells to their list.”

“Have you learned any more?”

A dangerous question. Technically speaking, the spells I know of belong to the people who hand me spellcatchers. As far as I’m aware, even with my magical affinities, my area of expertise has never been casting. Theodore, though, knows a thing or two about the technicalities of it. There’s a moment of silence, before the other man laughs.

“I’m just pulling your leg, Hayden,” he says, “I know you can’t cast. Anyway, your order’s been placed, we should be able to ship it to you as early as tomorrow.”

“Great,” I answer, relieved for the change in subject, “That’d be perfect. You’ve got access to my payment info, right?”

“Yessir. I’ve already gotten the funds transferred over.”

“Great,” I repeat, “Thanks.”

Hanging up the phone, I turn to look back to the workshop. I pick up the list of custom orders and begin the search for the filled spellcatchers.

Most mages who ask for a spellbook will fill spellcatchers to either be copied from an older version of their spellbook, or to create a new one in its entirety. Mages don’t necessarily need spellbooks, but it keeps the knowledge of new spells in order as they grow in power. Furthermore, the only way to transfer the full technicalities of the spell is to use the energy stored along with it in the catcher.

I start with the first order, pulling the bin from the shelf. I set it on my main worktable, and begin assessing the spellcatchers. This is, of course, to predetermine the order I place them within the new book. Typically this is alphabetical order, unless stated otherwise by the mage’s preferences. Luckily, I only have to go with the default for this one.

My fingertips graze over the first orb, and I brace myself. The magical energy within the spellcatcher pierces within the grooves of each fingerprint, first painful, then a mere tingling sensation as the spell makes itself known within me. Luckily, Luna isn’t here to fret over my reaction as I take a few deep breaths, calming myself down.

Remember how I mentioned I had a certain talent my colleagues didn’t?

The way my mentor put it was that I was especially susceptible to one aspect of magic, and that was the memorization of spells. My memory when it comes to spellcraft is practically idetic, down to the very minute technicalities that make every spell unique to the caster. It gives me a leg up on competitors in spellbook binding, but not much else. As I said, I can’t cast spells to save my life. For all intents and purposes, to the common mage, I would be considered inert.

This reaction is less violent with each progressive spellcatcher I place into slots carved into the worktable. This is to keep them from rolling away, while also making them within reach for the final part of assembly. My fingers consistently feel tingly, not necessarily numb but with a muffled sensation with each passing orb.

However, on the last one, I pause.

Necromancy is, of course, highly regulated in the city. Some of it is used for good, of course, as healing and the regeneration of flesh is often derived from necromantic practices. However, historically, other parts of necromancy have been used for less reputable purposes.

The spell that lingers against my fingertips, within the back of my mind, leaves a sour taste in my mouth. It tastes then sickly-sweet, like rotten fruit, and I almost gag and drop the spellcatcher. It makes its way gingerly to the socket within the worktable, and I take a moment to breathe.

Resurrection is one of the aspects of necromancy outright banned, for its ability to disrupt the natural flow of life and death. The spell within that catcher isn’t just a resurrection spell, but a massively dangerous one-- capable of resurrecting two graves at a minimum and a small cemetery at most. Highly dangerous in the wrong hands and, of course, highly illegal.

I hear the door open. “Luna?”

“You always know it’s me,” she huffs, bustling into the workshop to greet me, “Did you get my note on the spellcatchers?”

“Yes, but Luna,” I begin, looking up to catch her gaze. We both pause, her because she can see the sudden haggard look I’ve gained, and me because it’s hard to get the words out.

I shift gears, putting on one of my work gloves before picking up the offending crystal ball. “Do you remember the name of the second custom order from yesterday?”

“They didn’t offer one,” she says, and then after a beat, “Wait-- No, they did. Alex Smith. Why, what’s in that ‘catcher?”

I explain the situation, bustling around for a proper container to put the spellcatcher in. She keeps her eyes on me all the while. Plucked eyebrows knit into a deep furrow, painted lips pulling at the corners into a serious frown.

“Hayden, we have to report this.”

“I know,” I retort, finally finding a small lock-box to put the orb in. Once it’s secured, I find a sticky-note to write down a warning not to open it.

“If we don’t, we could--”

“Get in trouble, too,” I finish, “I know, Luna. Do you remember what they looked like when they came in?”

“So plain-looking it’s odd,” she responds, “Especially for a mage. You can’t miss ‘em.”

“Right.” I look up at her, pushing my glasses up the bridge of my nose. “If you don’t mind calling the authorities for me?”

“Where will you be going?” Luna asks.

“Office,” I respond, brushing past her, “To check the records.”