Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
We agree that I will teach him another day. I cannot picture Lander dancing—and then, annoyingly, part of me can. The thought stirs feelings I absolutely should not entertain.
My soft heart will get me into trouble.
Somewhere along the way I stopped fearing him.
Is he becoming a friend? Not a romantic partner—he would never want me—the freak of nature.
“Do you mind if I destroy the paperweights?”
“Be my guest,” Lander says, waving me towards the case.
I set to work. First, I whip up a cleaning charm, scrubbing away the old chalk and sigils. Then I redraw the circle. Lander joins me; we meet in the centre, each completing our curves, chalk whispering over brick. To give the spell weight, I add a single drop of blood.
He watches in silence—his entertainment, apparently—but I let it pass.
My magic hums through my veins. Normally, disintegrating something like this would take immense effort, yet the part of me that was once House slips into place.
Instinctive power surges, familiar as breath, and the case—with all its foul magic—collapses into ash.
The residual energy pulses against my fingertips, sticky and wrong. I guide it into the earth, sensing it drain back towards the ley line beyond the Magic Sector ward. I should not be able to feel that.
Still, I’m safer with the weights destroyed.
“It’s lunchtime,” Lander says behind me.
“Already? You ate enough breakfast for five people.”
He shrugs, unbothered.
As we leave the bunker, Snack Thief greets us with a cheerful warble from the chapel roof, and a note flutters out of the ether.
Lander plucks it mid-air.
“What’s this?”
“A paper mage note. It must be from Knox.”
“Why is he sending you notes?” he growls.
The moment I read it, my stomach drops. I pass it to Lander; his jaw tightens.
Harper,
The island has been taken. I have only moments to send this.
Councillor Meredith Jackson arrived with a containment unit and guards.
Be careful. Keep safe.
—Knox
The note spell may have sat for hours, waiting, while we were underground and warded.
“May I keep this?” Lander asks, voice clipped.
I nod. He folds the paper and pockets it.
“What does she want with Knox?” I ask, though I already dread the answer.
“That’s what I’m wondering.” His gaze goes distant, calculating. “What if she didn’t come for you specifically—she just wanted an easy target. Maybe she wants a powerful mage.”
For some nefarious reason.
A horrid feeling churns in my stomach, but I try to dismiss it as paranoia. History cannot be repeating itself, can it?
No. I destroyed everything connected with sentient houses and unwilling soul transfer magic. Every scrap of knowledge, every ritual, every fragment of instruction. Much of what I used to twist the spell came from my own innate magic, born of desperation; that is why it worked in the first place.
But I cannot stop thinking: what if Meredith was hunting the mythical wizard’s house? When her coven failed to capture me, they turned to the next easiest target—someone isolated, someone vulnerable, someone powerful.
Me.
And when that failed, when she ruined her career, exposed herself and lost control, with nothing left to lose, she moved on again.
To Knox. To his people.
She cannot intend to recreate the magic. She cannot. No one knows the sentient house was once a paper mage. No one ever did. Unless… unless she is part of the Magic Collective.
But Meredith is too young.
Horror washes over me. I never hunted the families. Even at my angriest—burning with grief and rage—I could not punish innocent people for the sins of others.
Fate, it seems, has other plans.
What if that knowledge were recorded and stored beneath a paperweight? I would not know of its existence. It could still be out there, poised to let this nightmare begin anew.
I tell myself I am overthinking; trauma makes you see patterns everywhere, turns coincidence into conspiracy. Live too long inside a nightmare and you start to believe the whole world is built from it.
Projection. That is all this is.
Isn’t it?
Yet if Meredith believes the house was lost to the ley line—if she thinks that magic has vanished forever—would she try again?
Would she use Knox instead?
Paper mages are hated. Would anyone care if there were one less?
I have tasted Knox’s magic. He is strong, but not strong enough for that spell. It would shred his soul. The thought makes my chest ache. No one deserves that.
I hope I am wrong. I need to be wrong. But if there is even the slightest chance that I am not, then I have a moral obligation to act.
Knox and his people were willing to help me; now I must help them.
We head to the chapel, and I tell Lander I need to use my magic to check on things. He nods, pulls a laptop from his bag, and starts typing with brisk, practised efficiency.
I sit cross-legged on the living room floor. I steady my breathing and slip into a meditative state. My filaments stretch outward and…
Nothing.
I cannot find Meredith, Samuel, or any of the coven from yesterday. All of them have vanished. The island is worse. Knox is hidden from me. Where I should sense his presence, I feel only a void, an absence so absolute it makes my skin prickle.
Meredith must be using additional paperweights to keep me out and maintain control of Knox.
The three I failed to reclaim at the chapel cannot be the only ones; this much deadened magic would require more.
Either she had others all along, or she has learnt how to make new ones.
I never checked the age of the originals. That was a mistake.
There are documents online about the island. None current, but all predating Knox’s arrival—records tucked away in obscure databases across the Human Sector, forgotten by everyone except the sort of people who like to hoard information. I track them down and forward the files to Lander’s email.
He makes a strange noise when the message appears. I can feel his gaze on me, but he does not interrupt while I work.
His laptop keys clatter beside me, the screen flickering. I glance over as he connects it to the television and opens the digital maps, the screen filling with satellite views and outlines.
I have already done a deep dive on the island; I know it well. And my memory—well, it is better than it should be. I have stopped questioning things. I simply use them.
I head to the storeroom. One unlocking spell, and the door swings open. I flick on the light.
Lander trails behind me, peers inside, and freezes.
“What’s this?”
“My armoury,” I say.
“Oh,” he breathes.
Paper covers every wall, floor to ceiling, in every weight and texture: crisp white sheets, creamy rag paper, thick cardstock, rice paper and newspaper.
I lift a heavy ream and carry it back to the kitchen. After clearing the dining table, I lay the large sheets flat.
My magic seizes the paper, folding and stretching each sheet until a map unfurls.
Ink blooms across the surface as I work: buildings, paths, wards, terrain.
The map ends up eight feet by four; it mirrors itself on the television in the living room.
I prefer the real thing in front of me rather than a screen; modern ways are not always better.
More magic. More paper.
The map ripples and begins to rise. A three-dimensional version takes shape—mountains, buildings, elevation lines—like an architectural model rendered in pulp and ink.
Lander stares at it, then at the screen in the living room, then back again.
“How on earth…?”
I shrug. “I have never done this before, but I thought it might be neat.”
“You’ve never done this before.” He circles the table and kneels to study a section. “And you’ve never been here?”
“No. Have you?”
“No. Not many people have.”
“This is all from the information I just sent you, plus a few checks of my own.” I keep my tone matter-of-fact. “I monitor people.”
“This is what happens when you monitor people?” he asks, arching a brow.
I ignore the question and begin pointing out areas on the model.
“This is the main building. That is the library. Knox’s quarters are here.
The conference hall. These L-shaped buildings are staff housing and security.
Gym and pool over here. Beach access there.
” I tap the narrow strip of land. “And this is the causeway—the only drivable entrance. Tides are high around midday and again in the late evening at this time of year.”
We study the map in silence.
“Can I bring people in?” Lander asks. “Just a small quick-reaction force, a QRF—three teams.”
“No.”
He exhales. “Okay. One team of four people. They’re good. We can’t do this alone.”
I appreciate that he is asking instead of telling me.
I nod. “One team of four. And we cannot rely on my magic—not with the paperweights in play. They are using them to block me. I cannot see. I cannot do much of anything.”
“Then we get in,” he says, voice hardening, “and we get rid of them.”
“If you do that, I can help. While they are active, my hands are tied.”
“Then you can’t come.”
“I’m coming.”
“Harper, you’ve only just turned human.”
“I do not care.” My voice is quiet but firm. “Knox is a paper mage. He went up against the Ministry on my behalf. Of course I am going to help him.”
“But he’s a stranger.”
“Aren’t they all? Everyone is a stranger—until they are not. Sometimes we help strangers because it is the right thing to do. It makes us the best kind of human.”
I do not say that if he refuses, I will go anyway, but he must see it in my eyes.
He sighs and rubs his face, thumb dragging over his mouth as if he is trying not to smile at my stubbornness. “All right. I’ll call my people.”
“Thank you.”