The Stringer (The Ustari Cycle)

I’d always had a way with the Words.

Another wave of tiredness settled into my bones, and I staggered a bit, holding onto the doorknob. When I’d steadied again, I took my hand away. The door looked exactly as it had when we arrived. No one who walked by would ever notice anything out of the ordinary . . . unless they had a trained eye and specifically knew to look for something.

I took a deep breath. My heart was ragged in my chest, and I felt shaky and light. I reached into my jacket and extracted an old, soiled handkerchief and started wrapping it around my hand.

“C’mon, Mags,” I said, turning for the stairs.

He hustled to walk beside me. “What’s the matter, Lem?”

I didn’t pause. I could hear thick leathery wings in my head, too close. “Deep magic, Mags,” I said, pushing open the door to the stairs. “Deep fucking magic.”

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