The Arcane Arts
From: Storer.Ellsbeth
To: Rawlins.T.M.
Subject: The Ritual
Happy Monday.
I hope this makes all of your waiting worth it: a functional writ magic ritual (attached below). At least, I think there’s a pretty good chance it might be a functional magic ritual.
I think I was too flustered when I saw you Friday night and then slightly too buzzed on the very good wine to have actually let you know that the ostensible reason I came to your house—studying Wentz—proved incredibly useful.
I did not go on my Saturday date with the runner (his name, for the record, is Oscar) because I had hit that perfect, enviable state when work feels easy and even words from dusty, centuries-old texts make perfect sense and I wasn’t able to pull myself away. We postponed; next weekend.
And so, here it is. I will say now that I am more than a little sleep-deprived, and so the ritual might be much less coherent than I think it is, but the way it makes sense to me, this is a ritual that could (hypothetically) be performed with only two individuals—the binder and the subject—and with relatively inexpensive materials: a chalk circle, fully charred ash from cedarwood to draw the actual writ (diagram 1c in the PDF), and a piece of thread to tie the knot (diagram 2a).
Maybe success is an endless slog on the hedonic treadmill, and every victory will eventually become pat and pointless.
But I have to admit that even writing a first draft of this ritual felt good.
If you had time in the next week or so, I would love your thoughts on whether my analysis was sound, and whether you think the ritual would actually work.
If I was completely delusional in my reasoning at any point, please go easy on me.
I think part of the reason I was so productive this weekend is because I was willing myself not to think about you.
If I was translating Aramaic and Italian, then maybe my brain would be too occupied to dwell on the way your smile reveals your ever-so-slightly crooked teeth, or how good you smell.
Even I know that it’s not smart to be thinking this much about how good your thesis adviser smells.
I spent my life wanting to become a scholar of arcane mechanicals; it was my singular focus, and after the disaster of my Arcanus, I thought that dream was over.
Now that I’ve been granted this rare second chance, an invaluable opportunity, I know I should avoid anything at all that might risk my future. And yet…
How do I best put this? Have you ever been driving along a coastal highway and imagined how easy it would be to jerk the steering wheel and disappear into oblivion?
It’s not that you want to die—it’s almost as if your brain is taunting you with how fine the line between chaos and order truly is.
It’s a fairly common psychological phenomenon.
They call it L’appel du Vide. The Call of the Void.
All of that is to say, I should be focused entirely on protecting my precious academic career, but it’s taking everything in me to stop thinking about that moment by the door, when we stood so close I could feel your breath on my skin.
When you almost kissed me. That was what almost happened, wasn’t it?
I can’t stop thinking about you, and I can’t stop thinking about the possibility of you and I performing an illegal ritual together. Two equally dangerous prospects.
I admit, with other boys I’ve pulled the classic “leaving my coat” trick in order to guarantee a second encounter and I should probably preserve the fiction here that I am a cool femme fatale, the vixen who knows exactly what she’s doing.
But we’re getting to know each other. We’re supposed to trust each other.
And so I will be honest with you here: I left my coat only because that moment with you left me lightheaded and a little senseless.
I didn’t even notice it was missing until you emailed yesterday.
x