The Acolyte & The Alchemist Part VI
The two scholars tore through the Archive books, their fingers smudged with ink, their candles burning low. Each discovery unraveled another layer of untold history.
One book was a personal journal from Patty Mearsheimer, a member of the Founding Five and Advisor to Nikola Tesla. She claimed to have guided him in harnessing ocean magick—the rhythmic pulse of the tides—to shape electricity into the alternating current he would later perfect.
Another account detailed an Advisor’s role using glamor magick to help negotiate a treaty with the Lakota Sioux. George Crook, a U.S. Army general, had relied on occult counsel to manage delicate talks over gold mines in the northwestern Americas.
But neither of these compared to the black tome Quill had pulled from the archives.
It was an unabridged version of The Book of Skorn, penned by Aleric Khorvyn, another of the Founding Five.
Quill and Hamra hunched over it, flipping between its pages and the versions they had found in the library.
Entire sections had never been seen before.
It didn’t take long for him to regret finding the book in the first place.
Quill frowned, skimming a passage. This shouldn’t exist.
“Maybe it’s a misprint,” he said.
Hamra shook her head. “No. These sections were meant to be here. They don’t just describe the use of magick cards, they discuss the origin of their power.
” Her voice dropped lower, almost reverent.
“They say that the cards’ powers come from the Shattered Mother, who imbued the cards with seventy-eight pieces of her soul. ”
Quill shifted. A low, almost imperceptible hum rang in his ears, like the faint vibration of a tuning fork.
“Does it feel strange to hold it?” he asked.
Hamra’s fingers traced the cover. “It’s as if the Book itself is infused with—”
“Magick.” They both said it in unison.
A silence stretched between them.
Quill exhaled, setting the Book down as if it had suddenly grown heavier. “I think we should give it back.” The tome felt intoxicating, its presence curled around his thoughts, pulling him under. This couldn’t be right.
Hamra didn’t even look up. “I think we should test it.”
Quill’s gaze snapped to her. “That is firmly Advisor territory. We aren’t supposed to practice magick outside of leadership-sanctioned ceremonies.”
Hamra smirked. “And why should all the power be reserved for the Advisors? Why let them keep it locked away when it’s right here, at our fingertips? Why should we spend our lives preparing rituals for clients when we could use this for ourselves?”
Quill hesitated. She saw it, too—the slight dip in his shoulders, the line in his brow, the moment of doubt. And in that instant, her voice softened into crushed velvet.
“This could become our magnum opus,” she mused. “Didn’t you come to Foresyth for this very reason—to understand where power comes from? Well, here it is. Right in front of us. A theory waiting to be tested.”
She stretched her arms out across the Book and intertwined her hand with his, her final play. The warmth rushing to Quill’s head wasn’t just from the Book anymore. Her skin was warm against his hands, and blood was rushing behind his ears.
A source implied that the magick was real, not simply persuasive ritual. This was the closest proof he’d ever gotten. What was the harm with testing a theory?
The Book sat between them, waiting. And Quill—despite everything—was already reaching for it.