When His Magick Exploded ✓

12: Getting a little bit comfortable.

Precense' house was a five-story monster hitched on the edge as if about to jump into the void. Boridianverie was closer to the center hole than Cypur had thought. Absolutely nerve-wracking as Precense carried him up the winding hill. It was a vertical drop down one side of the house.

Each floor of the house was a different shape. Square, rectangle, oval, dome, and triangle buildings from bottom to top in that order were made of every material possible to make a house. Wooden slabs, metal beams, glass windows, concrete, brick, and other materials that Cypur had never seen before mixed and mashed together like a messy patchwork. On the second and fourth floors was a balcony sticking out on one side or the other of the house. Cloths hung precariously over the edge.

"How can you even live here?" Wescherlie whispered.

Precense shrugged. "It's the best living place I have been given. Suppose I make the most of it. Either this, or exile. Although, you could say," He chuckled, "this is exile."

Wescherlie peered up at him. "You don't look like that type."

It was true. Precense didn't look like the type of Sorcerer that would go around breaking the law. Rather, Junior Bounty Hunters should be on the watchlist, but citizens like Alsinda had influence and the police listened to them. So, bounty hunters slipped by the law.

Cypur knew most of the population of Junior-ranked Sorcerers spent their given free time for bounty hunting instead of research or practice. Such acts went back centuries. Citizens had always been on the lookout for some extra money somewhere. Even if that was borderline illegal.

I think my legs are coming back. He could say something to Precense, but it was kind of nice to be carried.

At last, the winding path came to an end. An arched doorway made of wood with a heavy padlock hanging on the handle welcomed them. Thick rusted chains garnished the lock and sat in coils on the ground.

"Tremfien," Precense said. The padlock vanished and the chains clanked as they fell to the ground. Lock magick, but not the kind Cypur had heard before. It was never just one word.

The door opened with a whisper of warm breeze creeping out from inside. "Well," Precense said, "welcome to my home, I suppose. Can you stand?"

He let Cypur down. Warmth fell like a blanket around his body, and an orange light glowed on overhead. The vaulted ceiling above made it clear that the shapes of the house were not what they seemed. Twisted stairs snaked to the second floor and further to the fifth. Cypur could see all the way up from where they stood. It was like a chute or a tunnel where the landings of each floor coiled along the sides.

Precense hung up his cloak. "It's one of the oldest structures, quite beautiful—"

"When Sorcerers say 'beautiful' it never sounds sincere." Wescherlie pushed the door closed.

"Wescherlie!" Cypur hissed. Precense had saved their lives and she was going to be that way? You never said things like that to a Sorcerer! It went against all their being!

But Precense didn't seem offended. "This time, it's sincere. When I first came here, it wasn't. Oh no," He shook his head, and his shoulders shook as he laughed, "not one bit. Come, to the living room. Down that way," he said.

A long hallway stretched to the right and seemed to go on forever, but that was just an illusion. The fake hallways rippled away to become a door. Running from the hinges were long, deep scratches on the walls. Some of them were deep and some had burnt the wood. Magick tingled up Cypur's arms, tickling, teasing, and telling him someone or something had recently been this way. Wescherlie touched the scratches.