Sorceress, Interrupted - By A. J. Menden Page 0,20

cast a spell, at the very least it might leave them unable to perform magic again. At the very worst, it could put a hole in them, much the same as someone eating at their soul, leaving them incredibly open to corruption from outside sources. Anyone could walk up and tell them to kill someone, and they’d have to actually do it.

“What would do that?” Cyrus asked, stepping forward from behind us.

Wesley eyed him. “Nothing good, and I have a feeling we’re all going to find out very soon.” He turned his attention to me. “Fantazia, get me that spell book on the table over there. Let’s wake him up and ask.”

I called the book he wanted to hand with one quick word and a flick of my fingers. Wes shook his head at my casual use of magic. My father had never, in any of his forms, been so careless.

“We can’t give him back his willpower,” Wes said. “Maybe over time—”

“Or never,” I interrupted. I’d had some lesserpowered magic-users at the bar who’d used too much will and couldn’t perform magic anymore. They’d seemed to think I could magically cure them. “Willpower is extremely hard to recover. He might be able to regenerate some of his magical aptitude over time—”

“You don’t always get that back either,” Wesley said, giving me a knowing look. In his last life he’d used his impressive magic to perform the one spell that no one other than himself had ever been able to pull off: a Resurrect Other spell. He’d done it when one of the Dragon’s cronies murdered Lainey. The highly leveled spell took a lot out of him and depleted a lot of his magical reserve. Once the most powerful magic-user in existence, he was now second to me. Somewhere down deep that had to hurt him. I had to admit, a small part of me didn’t mind having stolen some of his thunder.

“He may never be the same again, but at least we can help undo the physical damage,” Wesley said. He looked at me expectantly. “Fantazia?”

I sighed. “What do you want me to do?”

“I’m running low after the fight with Edgar. Let me borrow some of your magic.”

“Funny, wasn’t that the problem we were just discussing?” I said, but I stepped over to him. I couldn’t help thinking of Cyrus’s accusation that I only look after myself. How wrong he was. If only he weren’t. “Did one of the other Brothers of Power do this to Joseph?”

“Very possibly,” Wesley said. I met his eyes, and I knew we’d both come to the same conclusion. “Not everyone knows how to do this kind of power boost without damaging the donor. It’s possible one of them tried to borrow some of his magic and botched it instead.”

“I didn’t even know it was possible, borrowing magic from someone, hurting them or not!” Cyrus said. “Can you teach me how to do that?”

“It requires a special kind of donor,” Wesley said. “You try to do this to just anyone and you end up . . .”

“Like this.” I motioned to Joseph. “You’d better leave it to the grown-ups, Cyrus. You think you’re a lazy man now . . . ? Of course, this would give you an excuse to lie around all the time.”

Actually, anyone with enough magic to cast the spell could steal someone else’s power to boost their own, but usually those sorcerers potent enough to do so found the ceremony unnecessary. What they also often knew was they could borrow magic from direct family members with less likelihood of dangerous consequences.

Not to say such a process was painless.

“Fine, whatever,” I said to my father. I wasn’t entirely sure why I was giving in, but I knew a small part of me wanted to show Cyrus that I did care about people, even though I spent most of my time trying to prove to myself and others the exact opposite. It was distressing. “But if I end up like him, I’m going to kill you and Lainey’s going to have herself a new and younger husband.”

Wesley glared at me. His hand clamped down on my arm and, with a few growled words, I felt power drain out of me and into him.

I started to sway and, contrite, he grabbed me so I wouldn’t fall. “Are you all right?” he asked, concern plain in his voice. His grip was firm but gentle.

I looked into his eyes, eyes that no matter their color or