The back of my own Grimoire was blank.
And here, on one of the last pages of Myrin’s, was the consumption of magic.
It was dark. The notations. The incantations. There were drawings that looked as if they were from a nightmare. Ingredients for physical spells that included the left thumb and forefinger of a particularly rambunctious child and the life’s blood of a virgin maiden taken from the throat.
It was disgusting. All of it.
But none more so than the note at the bottom, almost slashed into the thick paper.
It said:
NO SPELLS
NOTHING NEEDED
IT’S ALL IN THE MIND
CONSUME THE MIND
“Grimoires are the heart of the wizard,” Randall said quietly. “Sometimes it’s black. But it can help you, if you let it. It’ll organize your thoughts and allow you to see the fuller picture. You need this, Sam. After everything.”
I nodded, unable to look away from the darkness in front of me.
“Tomorrow,” he said. “We begin.”
I HAD the first nightmare that night.
I reached for Ryan, and he wasn’t there.
“TELL ME a secret,” Randall said the next day.
But I wasn’t ready. Not after everything I’d learned. I was still lost in my own head, trying to make sense of it all.
I shook my head.
He grinned.
I was knocked off my feet by a blast of wind that collided with the backs of my legs, whipping seemingly out of nowhere, especially since we were in an old dining hall, the tables pushed to the sides of the room.
I landed on my back, skidding along the ice.
“Shit toast monkey fucker,” I groaned.
“Indeed,” Randall said, sounding bored.
“Ow.” I stared up at the ceiling. “I don’t know if I’ve told you this today, but you suck, man.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“Gross.”
“I never had any complaints.”
I sighed as I pushed myself up. “You’re elderly,” I scolded him. “It’s time you start acting like it.”
“Still beating you, aren’t I?”
“Still beating you, aren’t I?” I mocked under my breath.