Marked by Death (Necromancer #1) - Kaje Harper Page 0,51

does the power for this come from?” Am I making myself older every time I do it?

“It mostly comes from inside you, just like physical work. This kind of thing, shield walls, takes very little because it’s intrinsic to you. Even that display you put up was a tiny pull.”

“Of my lifespan?”

“Usually of last night’s dinner. But if you push beyond what your body and talent can power, you drain your life force. One of the reasons we don’t send messages by magic, or clean the house that way, is that it does demand energy.”

“No dusting by magic tornado?” he said, to cover his nerves.

“No. Sorcerers power their spells from their own strength, so they don’t waste them, but these are simple exercises, not much drain. And you need to learn to shield. You can’t live a long life if something eats you.”

“True that.” He sighed and pulled the rags of his determination together. “All right. Again?”

“With a lot less force. Pretend there’s a mosquito that wants to bite you. Wall that out.”

He spent the next hour building domes. Then learning to do it by imagining the lines, instead of drawing them. And then gradually pulling the walls in until they hugged his body, then tried to sink them into his skin.

That part was rough. Magic outside him was doable, cool even, once he got over worrying about powering it. But to let magic soak into his skin, get inside him, even his own magic… He flinched and dropped the shield again, the gold glitter running over his hands and gone.

Silas sighed. “Maybe time to stop. We’re both past our best.”

“I can try again.”

Silas grabbed his wrists, and he realized he’d been scrubbing his hands against each other, as if to scrub off the long-gone gold. “You need food and sleep or you will start doing damage. Time for a rest. Anyhow, you have a solid dome, and you’re getting fast at bringing it up. That’ll do in a pinch.” Silas squeezed his hands. “Best student I’ve had.”

I am not jealous of Silas’s past apprentices. Not. “How many is that?” leaked through his gritted teeth.

“Well, just one so far.” Silas grinned. “But I’m starting with the best.”

Darien snorted and stood, grabbing the desk for help like a crippled old man. “Oh Jesus, my hips, my ass. A pillow, Silas. That’s a simple answer.”

Silas stood, unfairly easily. “I’ll take it under advisement. Let’s get some food in you, before that nap we both need.”

He straightened his back, rubbing a fist against his spine. “So could I go out and rob a bank now, and not get shot?”

“Hardly. Personal shields stop magic, ghosts, demons, and objects of power, for as long as you can hold them. But not mundane folk, not ordinary objects, not bullets.” Silas caught the hem of his sweatshirt and tugged. “Remember that. A shield that could stop Crosby’s lightening wouldn’t have blocked a knife in the back. A spell might, but that’s a different thing. Magic’s a useful tool, but don’t rely on it too much.”

Well shit. He shuddered at a sudden thought. “What if he’d had a gun?”

Silas’s expression might be called a smirk. “Demons set off gunpowder if they get too close to it. Thank the gods or we’d all be lost.” He sobered. “They like knives and swords, though.”

Darien knuckled at his dry eyes. “Sounds complicated.”

“It’s a whole world for you to learn.” Silas put an arm around his shoulders, and Darien leaned on him

“A whole new fucking school. And I was so close to graduation.”

Silas’s chuckle vibrated against him. “Piece of cake for a student like you. Come on, let’s see if Grim’s left any food for the rest of us.”

Chapter 12

Silas pushed up on one elbow on the bed and looked down at Darien. He hated to wake him, but the sun was getting lower, and he wanted at least one more teaching session before their council meeting.

Darien lay sprawled, his sweatshirt bagged in wrinkles across his thin chest. He needs another good meal too. The impulse to kiss him, to start something now, in this private space in time, was strong but it faded, looking at the dark circles under Darien’s eyes. He’s still recovering. He’s off balance. It’s not right— not yet.

He eased out of bed and went into the bathroom. By the time he came out, Darien was sitting up, scrubbing a hand across his face. “What time is it?”

“Almost five. We slept for seven hours.”

“That’s a hell of a