The Infraction Of Magic (2018)

XVIII

"One week." The Necromancer places his hands against the ledge of the table, a smile unfolding across his face. His eyes twinkle but it's not the same shine that they glow with when he addresses Magicians.

I'm swinging my legs- back and forth, back and forth, a pendulum to work off the anxiety chewing at my tense muscles.

"I don't think I can do it." I finally say, scratching along my kneecaps and keeping my eyes fixed where my skin is tight along the bulge. It's the only way I can avoid the accusation in the Necromancer's stare.

"Why not?" His voice is smooth and undaunted. I blink countlessly, struggling to shape my emotions into words that can fully translate the feelings swirling inside of me.

"This is too much." My answer is a soft whisper that barely rings out in the quiet room. Still, the Necromancer catches it. He takes fast strides from his desk and settles in the chair beside me, hunching slightly to close the distance between us.

"You killed for revenge. Now I need you to kill for me. There's not a big difference."

I flinch at the word, nails biting against my thighs at the enunciation. My breaths come out faster, more noticable than before.

"One person." I manage shakily, the tears that have embedded themselves deep inside my body slowly threatening to emerge.

"One murder does not make you any less of a killer, Miss Waters." The Necromancer's smile matches the inky darkness that lies outside his window.

"It was for the greater good." No matter how much I try to instill confidence in my tone, the sentence wobbles. The Necromancer captures the tremble in my voice and sets his lips into a curve of amusement, tangent to the lines that scar his face.

"Was it?"

The droplets that represent so much- my fear, the sorrow that I have struggled to bury deep for so long and a burning hatred suddenly prick at the corner of my eyes. There is a lump lodged in my throat which suffocates the words churning in my chest.

"Even if you don't wish to comply, I am fine. Just remember that you could have saved your brother when you see the Parliament haul him into a cell." Unfeeling. The Necromancer is without emotion when he issues me the final warning and heads back to his chair, his gait a reflection of his lack of sympathy- brief steps that creates a harsh thud which refuses to stop ringing in my ears.

I don't have a choice.

My brother's fate lies in the eight members of Parliament. In a week, they will flesh out a sentence that reduces him to nothing, that strips him of his magic.

In a week, they will all be dead.

"Please tell me that you're kidding, Hannah." Drew begs, his eyes filled with urgency.

Hannah- the Marauder, gives a slow shake of her head as she draws a chair from its fixed position and sinks into it, shoulders slumping.

"I can only deter the curse for so long. Even then, a week is a huge risk."

"But I touched her. Erin touched her. Why aren't we feeling the effects of the poison this instant?" Drew questions hopefully, his hands shaking as they latch onto the table's curve.

Hannha returns his question with a calm amswer. "That's because the curse that caused this poison is a special type of curse. It only inflicts the person who has primary contact to the poison it releases. Secondary victims will die the moment the primary victim is killed from the poison but they won't have the same effects."

My lungs are hollow and I lean against the table heavily, my hip pressed against the material with such a pressure that I can feel the marks slowly forming along my skin.

"Is there an antidote?" My voice is a low plea of desperation.

Hannah jerks her head to the side with a negative feedback and I feel my heart sinking fast. One week. Seven days before I drop dead.

"Is- is there no way to fix this, then? All three of us, along with Cass, will die?" Drew's arms slide against the length of the table surface, spreading across for the furniture to withstand the weight of his body rather than his feet.

"Of course not." Hannah replies, an indistinguishable emotion lingering in the depths of her eyes, "With a curse, there's always a charm to reverse the effects. And I'm not within the danger zone- I'm a certified medic. I have been blessed with a protection charm. The physical contact with Cass will do me no harm."

"The charm," I say, dismissing Hannah's statement, "Can you cast it? Do you know anything about it?"

"What do you take me for? I know my curses and charms. The curse that released the poison in Cass- it's nothing like regular curses. It's an advanced curse that requires powerful magic to be casted on the desired object or being." Hannah answers, her hands rapping against the surface as she speaks.

"What does that imply?" Drew demands, searching Hannah's features for an immediate answer. Dissatisfaction paints Hannah's face, "It means that the charm to reverse the effects is elusive. It isn't an ordinary textbook spell that you can just cast. In fact, it's quite the opposite- it's been years since anyone has even heard of the charm."

"We're doomed." Drew's face is a mask ready to shatter upon impact, his fingers that loop against the wood prepared to explode into a mess of rapid tapping.

"No, you're not." Hannah snaps, her tone twisting into one with determination. "I'm not going to Cass die if we have the slightest chance at saving her."

Drew and I shoot her identical glances.

"Or the two of you, for that matter."

"How can we save Cass if we can't even cast the charm?" I ask.

"You don't cast the charm because it's being casted on you. It's an ancient relic, back when Magicians were still unable to create charms and curses by themselves. They relied on the magic already instilled within objects and Acadia." Hannah explains.

"How is it casted on us?" Drew fires, nails grating against the texture of the table.

"I'm getting there. For the charm to work, you need various parts of a prophecy. Not a piece of text but a blessing or a curse, each bestowed upon you during a specific time frame by a specific creature."

"That's easy." I riffle through the contents of my bag again and pull out the whistle from before, "I can summon any creature of my liking with a blow. We just need to line up the timings, right?"

Hannah casts a doubtful stare at the whistle and I have a sneaking suspicion that she is desperate to know where I got it from. Drew draws in a long breath at the sight of the whistle but says nothing.

"That won't work with the prophecy you're dealing with." Hannah finally comments, tilting her palms flat against the table.

"Why not?"

"Like I said, the prophecy is thousands of years old, maybe more. What you have is too modern. It won't work with the creatures."

I bite hard on my tongue, struggling to contain my frustration.

"Then what do we do?" Drew asks, his face pale.

"We'll do it manually, the way our ancestors used to. We'll follow the prophecy and receieve the blessings and curses the way it's meant to be done." Hannah decides, rising to her feet and dragging the chair back towards the table. The friction between the legs and floor creates a screech but even the sound is not able to convey the horror that strikes my body, that tampers with my muscles.

"Where are you going?" Drew questions, a stunned look brushing across his face.

"I'm going to pack. We leave tomorrow morning, five sharp. There's no time to spare."

With that, Hannah turns her back on us and ascends the flight of stairs, her shadow a dot that eventually evaporates.

Word Count: 1348

A/N: Feedback is encouraged and appreciated.