*
Kattea’s excitement had faded considerably as they once again descended en masse. She clutched the back of Gilbert’s jacket so tightly her knuckles were white, and kept her eyes on her feet. Kaylin’s gaze was drawn to the markings on the wall: magical, all, and invisible to the naked eye if one wasn’t blessed—or cursed—with magical vision.
The familiar returned, disgruntled, to Kaylin’s shoulder. He didn’t lift his wing. He didn’t lift his head, either, but he did complain a lot.
Gilbert stopped walking and turned to the wall on which the detritus of previous spells had been splashed. Kaylin was not surprised when he reached out to touch the wall.
She was very surprised when his hand passed through it.
Kattea’s breath stopped. It resumed when she realized that Gavin, back toward them, hadn’t noticed. “This was a bad idea,” the girl whispered, presumably to Gilbert.
“Most of the work we do is,” Kaylin told her, just as quietly. “But someone’s got to do it.”
“But what is the work?”
“Right now? We’re trying to figure out what the Arcanum wanted with this particular building.” She hesitated. “You said the water brought you here.”
Kattea nodded, moving as Gilbert once again descended the curved, stone stairs, and stopping when he stopped.
“I think I can guess why.”
“Why?”
Kaylin exhaled. “Your Nightshade is not my Nightshade. I was born in the fief. I know it. I hate it. I ran across the bridge. But the bridge brought me here. It brought me to the Hawks. Your bridge doesn’t lead here. It doesn’t lead anywhere.”
Kattea nodded again.
“There must be a reason it doesn’t lead anywhere. And it’s here, somewhere.”
“You’re certain?” Severn asked.
“You aren’t?” she countered.
“Did you write these?” Gilbert asked, as if no other conversation had been taking place around him.
“They’re not exactly writing,” Kaylin began.
Gilbert once again slipped his hand through the wall, as if he were rearranging something.
Kaylin wanted to tell him that the marks he could see were the echoes of magic’s use. She refrained because she didn’t actually know what he was seeing. No two mages saw evidence of casting the same way. She suspected that even given that, Gilbert, with his third eye, was unique.
“According to the owner of the building, the subbasement is new.”
“It is not newly constructed,” Gilbert replied, stating the obvious without apparent condescension. “What was its purpose?” He hesitated, frowned and returned up the steps, dragging Kattea as if she were just a heavier part of his outerwear. His hands passed through the wall again and again, and as they did, Kaylin saw the runic symbols of forgotten or unknown mages realign. The colors, the blue that shaded to purple and from there to red, shifted as well, blending into a continuous glow of...gold.
“I’m not sure you should have done that,” Kattea told Gilbert.
Kaylin felt absolutely certain he shouldn’t have—because if Kattea could now clearly see the sigils, it meant that everyone could, including Gavin.
Gilbert was frowning. Kaylin’s frown was different. Where she had previously seen the distinct hand of multiple magicians, probably attempting to cast the same spell at different times, she now saw writing that looked almost familiar.
Lifting her left arm, she unbuttoned her sleeve and inspected the runes on her skin. How big is this going to get? The sigils left behind by strong magic had never reminded Kaylin of ancient words before. Gilbert’s rearrangement had altered that. She could see familiar bold lines, heavy curves, lighter strokes.
“Gilbert, what are you doing?”
“I am trying,” he said, “to understand the purpose of this alcove. I do not believe it was meant to be accessible to you and your kind.”
Gavin, predictably, stiffened at the phrase.
“Those aren’t—those weren’t—a message.”
He lifted one dark brow.
“Until you touched them, they weren’t visible to anyone.”
“They were visible to you.”
“Yes, because I can see magic.”
“These are magic?”
Gavin’s snort was not followed by words.
“A certain kind of magic. Not everyone can use magic. But when magic is used, the caster leaves evidence.”
“Evidence.”
“Yes. Magic is very individual. Even when mages cast the same spell, they don’t leave the same...magical trail. That trail is evidence that can help us to track down a mage if they commit a crime using magic. The wall contained traces of that evidence.” Which Gilbert had destroyed. “That’s not what it contains now.”
“No. But I believe your...mages...were attempting to invoke this phrase.”
“Pardon?”