I study my hands. “What if we . . . what if we somehow spellbound the blood-spell? What if we tricked the magic itself?”
Gunn’s face stays stone, unimpressed. I lose some of my nerve but stumble forward. “Before I brew the shine, we’ll spellbind the top of the bottle with a double-sided trick. Like our glass stand manipulation, or a protective wall that shows two different things to those on each side.” I try to think this through once more. “The bottle will appear closed on the inside but will be a pass-through on the outside,” I say. “And then I conjure the blood-spell over this double-sided trick.”
I practically see his mind’s wheels turning. “Can someone besides you release it?”
I nod. “They should be able to. Because it will only be blood-caged from the inside out, and not the outside in.” I pick up the bottle of water on his desk. “Imagine a stopper sitting right here”—I point to the neck of the bottle—“a stopper that’s separated into two manipulations: the one facing the liquid inside is a closed container, and the manipulation that faces upward is an open container. I conjure the blood-spell over this stopper”—I point again to the neck of the bottle—“but we seal the bottle with a cap up here.” I slap the top of the bottle. “A buyer can open the real cap, because the magic inside is none the wiser. It still thinks it’s trapped, blood-caged. It has no idea it’s been tricked.”
The beginnings of a smile slowly start to pull at Gunn’s face. “But the shine would still be bound—”
“It wouldn’t be bound, it’d be released,” I interrupt. And then I stop, take a breath. You don’t talk over Gunn. “Just because the magic doesn’t know it’s been tricked,” I start again, more tentatively this time, “doesn’t mean it hasn’t been. The bottle would be open. The shine’s shelf life would begin.”
Gunn doesn’t say anything for a long time. Then he simply says, “Show me.”
He leans over, takes off the cap of the water bottle in front of me, and leans back, waiting for my demonstration.
I swallow down the nerves, the fear, the doubt. You can do this. It will work. It has to work. I take the bottle into my hands, keep my right on the glass, wave my left over the top. “Conjure and split—to the bottom enclose, to the top release.” A small glass stopper sparks alive at the mouth of the bottle. And then I close my eyes, brew my shine into the bottle, letting my magic touch flood into the glass, and transform the water into a pure red shine.
I steal a glance at Gunn. “Moment of truth.” He passes me his letter opener without a word. I pause, then draw it quick across my arm. A flash of blood pulses out of the cut, trails over my skin, drops into the bottle and around the glass stopper I’ve just conjured. Then I slowly place the real cap on top, right over the bloodstained stopper wedged into the bottle’s mouth. “With purpose and a stalwart heart, a sacrifice.” I chant the spell. “Less of me, an offering to cage for eternity. My wish, to cage this shine forever, or until I release it.”
The bottle trembles, accepts my sacrifice, and shudders once more before it stops.
“When will we know if it works?” Gunn says.
“After at least a full day. We need to make sure the caging spell has preserved the shine beyond the magic’s shelf life.” I pause. “And then someone else has to try to open it.”
Gunn leans back in his chair again, pensive, begins to bite his cuticles. He takes a long look at the bottle. “If this works, it will blow the market apart,” he says simply.
But I can’t let myself think about that “market,” about all the folks who could get hooked on shine if this comes to pass—their homes that might get broken, their families who might get left behind. And maybe that’s gutless, but I never tricked myself into thinking I was a hero. I’m here to do right by one small corner of the world. Besides, Gunn didn’t give you a choice. This is the warehouse clearing all over again, the house of magic manipulations.
You or them.
“If you teach the troupe, and they in turn each teach a team of hired sorcerers”—Gunn thinks through it—“we’ll be able to churn out larger shipments. We hire even more magic gofers, and we can mass-produce it.” He gives a sigh. “Ship as much of this as we can manage, anytime, anywhere. The only limitation being, as I understand it, that as soon as you open the bottle, you’ll need to drink its contents within a day.”
I chase away my guilt and answer, “Which will still keep people coming back to us and wanting more.”
At that Gunn pops a hard, hungry laugh. “Here’s hoping to God, Joan.” He leans forward, opens his notebook, and says, “All right. I’ll let you know.”