Willow was off, during her next training session with Carl. Dean Weatherby’s words ricocheted around her head, but it wasn’t until her second less-than-satisfactory cast that Carl stopped her.

“Something’s on your mind,” he said, and sat on the bench to her right. She was covered in sweat, as usual, and breathing hard. He was still holding the pitcher he’d used to douse the nullification rings.

Willow nodded.

“What did the Dean want,” he asked. From the way he fingered the pitcher handle, she could tell he was nervous.

“To assure me that the Arcanum wouldn’t let what happened in metrology ever happen again. I learned some interesting things too, like that Steph and Daniel are fugitives on the run.”

Carl sighed. “I suppose I should’ve realized you’d find out sooner or later.”

“You told me they’d been expelled.”

“They would’ve been,” he said. “And then imprisoned. I got them out of the city as fast as I could.”

“So you secret away criminals now,” Willow said, unsure if she was upset about it or just bewildered at the situation in general.

“I’ve done it before,” Carl said. “There have always been students who… crossed the line. Is it wrong to offer them another avenue? A new start at life somewhere else far away?”

“If it lets them keep doing the things they got in trouble for? Yes?”

“They will never endanger you again, Willow,” Carl said. “I don’t know what they’re even working on now, but it doesn’t have anything to do with you. Nor could it. You’re here, and they’re…”

“Yeah,” Willow asked. “And where is it exactly?”

“To the west, there’s a city in the mountains.”

“Asche,” Willow said. “There used to be a city there. Now it’s… what?”

“Asche is still there,” Carl said.

“I thought we’d lost contact with it a long time ago,” Willow said, probing. “How do you know so much about it?”

“There are things about myself that are best left unsaid,” he said. “For now, anyway. I suppose since we’re just sitting here, I can try to teach you cycling.”

“Cycling,” Willow said. She was a little annoyed that his topic-change had worked, but she was interested in learning even more about magic.

Carl nodded. “It’s an advanced technique used by mages to squeeze out a little more power into their spells. Up until now you’ve been directing your essence through your core, down to your arms, and out of your hands. This technique would have you keep your essence on the move, cycling around in your body. Each pass through your organs picks up a little more essence, as your regeneration doesn’t go to storage but to building up the mass you’re manipulating. When you finally concept and cast the spell, you can expect a modest increase in power.”

“It’s all about power with you,” Willow said. “Where are the days when you wanted me to throttle my essence? To cast like everyone else?”

“From what I’ve seen in class, you already mastered that ability,” Carl said, and motioned to her arms. “Even with your little unauthorized session with Annabelle.”

Willow tried not to feel chastened, like a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar. “It’s my body. I have a right to have it fixed.”

Carl nodded. “You do.” The agreement shocked Willow more than she was expecting.

“But you need to stay safe,” Carl continued. “If you heal yourself too quickly, you risk brain damage from the cascade of sensation. Believe it or not, I do actually care what happens to you, Willow Tremont. Now, breathe in through your nose, and visualize your essence flowing, up your arm, through your chest, and down the other.”

🜛

When Leopold found Willow wandering the street, covered in a dusting of crushed stone, he rushed to her side and carried her to a wall. He leaned her up against the side of an alley and said something to her, but she had a hard time hearing him.

Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

“What,” she yelled.

“Are you okay,” he screamed into her face. She barely heard it. She looked past him to the end of the alley and the cloud of pulverized stone rising into the sky. He took her face between his hands and gently swiveled her head down again.

“Willow,” he shouted.

“I’m okay,” she said, but she wasn’t sure if that was the truth. She looked down at her hands; there wasn’t a scratch on them. She’d managed to find her cane sometime between the cast and when Leopold had found her in the street, because it was still gripped in her right hand.

“Where’s Carl,” Willow whispered. The words didn’t feel like they had any specific meaning to her, but she said them anyway. There was someone named Carl, wasn’t there? Where was he?

“We’re going to the Sisters,” Leopold said, leaned over, and before she knew it Willow was thrown over his back, her cane dangling ineffectually from her fingers.

She didn’t mind the ride.

🜛

Leopold, bless him, wouldn’t stop pestering the Sisters until Annabelle came by name. When he saw her nod, he finally let the Sisters take Willow. He followed close behind as Annabelle led them to a bed at the far side of the main hall.

Willow heard Annabelle make hurried explanations, but she couldn’t understand any of the words the other woman was saying. There was something wet on the sides of her face, and when she absently wiped her ear, her hand came away smeared with blood.

That probably wasn’t good.

Annabelle pulled a man in a white coat over and said some things close to his ear, but Willow couldn’t hear any of it. Leopold wouldn’t leave her side; he’d grabbed her cane and still had it hung over his arm. He was holding her hand. He was crying.

The man—a doctor, probably—leaned over Willow and produced a device that shone with magelight at the twist of his fingers. He flashed it over her eyes and the world whited out for a moment before it came back into focus. He turned her head gently to the side, then to the other side.

Annabelle got him a chair, and the doctor sat behind Willow’s head. The vaulted stone ceiling swam with colors and patterns that Willow was sure hadn’t been there the last time she was in the hospital. She should really stop making it a habit.

A green glow rose to the left and right, almost like a second sunrise, and Willow closed her eyes at the knowledge that someone was working on her. Whatever was wrong, it would soon be fixed.

🜛

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” a man was saying. Willow hadn’t been asleep, had she? She’d closed her eyes to the green glow, and then opened them a moment later, but the doctor wasn’t at her head anymore. He was at the foot of her bed, and she could hear him. He was talking to Annabelle. Leopold was still beside her, holding her hand and looking into her eyes. The bed was curtained off from the rest of the hall.

“It would be in your best interest to forget what you saw,” Annabelle whispered harshly, and Willow heard the sound of coins exchanged out of sight. The doctor looked down, shook his head, and pocketed the fistful of gold.

“What in the seven hells,” he said, then swept out of the curtained alcove. The white curtains rippled with blue energy as he passed through.

The privacy spell.

Annabelle stood at the foot of Willow’s bed for a moment, huffed in exasperation, then swept her hair back again and secured the loose strands with the rest of her bun. She turned to fix Willow with a stare, then moved to the side of the bed and took the doctor’s chair.

“Willow, what happened,” she whispered. Apparently she didn’t trust the privacy barrier as much as Carl did.

“Carl and I, we were training,” Willow said. The memories were fuzzy, like they were dampened with a layer of cotton. It was hard for her to pick up a chain of events.

“You were in the building collapse,” Annabelle asked, and Willow nodded to her great regret.

“Don’t move your head. You’re still healing, although you’ll be fine in a couple of hours. Concussion, your eardrums were ruptured. It wasn’t just a building collapse, was it?”

“No,” Willow whispered. Leopold was leaning close to hear too. She swallowed and licked her lips. Her mouth was terribly dry.

“He was showing me a new technique. We were all set up to cast again, into the nullification rings.”

Annabelle’s face was as still as stone and Leopold only gripped Willow’s hand harder. Weeks ago it would have been excruciating, but she’d had weeks to build up her muscles again.

“I cycled, just like he told me,” Willow said, and she felt tears sheet her eyes and run down the sides of her face. She didn’t know why she was crying. “I told him it was too strong, that there was too much essence. He told me—”

“Oh gods,” Willow gasped. She saw herself, shaking, afraid of what was happening inside her. Carl, pointing to the nullification rings. She shouted the concept and pointed into the rings, but the essence was still cycling up her arm. She hadn’t imbued it with a shape when she released it.

“I did it,” Willow said, and sobbed, which brought on a wave of nausea. Willow turned to the side and retched. Annabelle, to her credit, didn’t even need to dodge as Willow’s lunch of cornbread and beef stew came up and splashed on the floor beside her.

“You blew the building up,” Annabelle said in realization. “It must’ve been overpressure.”

“Carl, where is he,” Willow asked after spitting the last of the bile from her mouth. “Is he okay?”

Annabelle took a breath, preparing herself, and Willow knew the answer even before Annabelle said it, just from the look in her eyes.

“Carl’s dead.”