Laurell Hamilton - Nightseer

“It is evil. You shouldn’t be able to use it.”

Keleios shrugged. “It is also demon-aided magic, and like it or not, so am I.”

“Demonmonger!” Fidelis hissed, “How long have you been watching the mirror?”

Keleios had toyed with the thought of lying, making her sweat, but Fidelis was a little too dangerous to play with. “Not long, Fidelis. Your secrets are safe, for the most part. And before you start calling names, remember, my demon alliance was accidental; yours was not”

So the mirror had been covered.

Keleios sat down on the edge of her bed, back to Fidelis and Fas. If it were the herb-witch, she would not want to bring blame upon herself. Most likely attacks would continue outside of the room. She was probably safe for tonight, or was it tomorrow already? The sword, Luckweaver, slid along the slanting mattress to touch her. Keleios reached back and drew the cool golden hilt to her. The hilt was carved simply for gripping but its one jewel was not simple. That orange jewel was a luckstone nearly as large as her fist. It rode the end of the hilt and pulsed magic to her touch. It was an elementary enchantment, her first shaped weapon. It would be just as powerful in anyone else’s hands, if they knew how to use it. There was no blood, or soul binding in it, so she had to touch it for the magic to shift things in her favor. If she had worn Luckweaver tonight, the damage would have been less or avoided completely. One did not take alien magic into the tower. She caressed the sword and resisted the idea of unsheathing it. Perhaps it was time to go openly armed. She sighed, stretched, and set the weapon carefully on the bed.

She pulled off one boot. A cat materialized through the door. It was a spell they had worked out between them. The door was enchanted to be soft near the bottom, but only Poth’s touch would activate it. Keleios didn’t want just any cat-sized creature crawling into the room. Gilstorpoth, who had many names around the school—Mistress Poth, or just plain Poth—came to rub against her ankles. Keleios picked up the cat. She trusted her hands to tell her that the cat was all right. Though Poth was not her familiar, she was more than a pet and sometimes sensed what only a familiar, or another sorcerer, should have felt.

The cat’s mother had been a shapeshifted elf who had become trapped. The beautiful white, silver-eyed cat had finally taken a true cat mate, and Poth had been one of her first and only litter. It is said that after a while one forgets one’s old shape; Keleios always hoped that was true. There had been a look in those silver cat eyes that had frightened her. Regardless of the pain it may have caused the mother cat, the mixed ancestry had given Poth sorcery. Poth meowed up at her, and Keleios cupped the small chin in her palm. She stared into those gold eyes, the color of well-worn gold pieces. They communed quietly for several minutes until the cat purred in a long contented line. Though there was no need for words, Keleios spoke softly. “I’m glad to see you, too.” She sighed. She had been too long among humans and had picked up the habit of talking when it wasn’t necessary. It was past time for a visit to her elven kin. Elves knew the value of silence.

A soft thump from the far corner announced that Piker was awake. Encouraged by her gaze, the half-grown white mutt ambled toward her. She smiled, and her thoughts turned to Piker’s owner, or rather master. Feltan was the youngest untrained witch ever to attract a familiar, and he was a peasant. Keleios herself had brought them to the school. If

her dream came to pass, Feltan would die. She let the thought go, for she had learned not to dwell on death prophecies. She had been wrong once. Piker stayed with Keleios because no animals were allowed in the apprentice dorms. If they made an exception, even for a familiar, the place would turn into a zoo, or so said Toran, head of the boy apprentices. Personally, Keleios thought Toran just didn’t understand children and their need for animals. Fidelis had complained that their room was turning into a zoo.

The moon shadow of the canary’s cage placed huge bars on the floor. Keleios smiled. Perhaps there were enough animals in the room.

Fidelis’ familiar, the wishing spider Fas, had tried ridding the room of some of its occupants. Keleios had entered the chamber in time to see Fas enclosing the canary’s cage with his hairy legs. “Fas! No!” The chain holding the cage to the ceiling snapped, toppling the spider and freeing the tiny bird, which flew to the highest shelf, panting.

Keleios had been about to fry the vile thing when Fidelis had entered screaming. She convinced Keleios that she would punish the spider. Keleios let it be, for it was a very serious offense to kill someone’s familiar. Secretly, she thought that Fidelis herself had ordered the animals killed.

The canary’s cage once more hung from the ceiling, and Poth the cat slept where she would, and Piker slept in the comer, all unmolested. To those who could see it, the cage, the dog’s blankets, and Poth herself glowed magic.

Fidelis had protested the severity of the wards. Later Keleios admitted to Zeln that perhaps a fifth circle fire ward was too much, but to change it would have been to admit she was wrong. She was excessive, not wrong.

Fas was intelligent enough to leave well enough alone, so Zeln had let it stand.

Keleios sat on the bed, the dog’s head sunk on her leg, and scratched his ear. Poth clambered up her back and curled round her neck. A precarious perch for a cat, but she liked it, and her purrs rumbled through the back of Keleios’ neck.

Keleios’ skin prickled, and Poth jumped down with a squall. Piker whined softly.

Fidelis called sleepily from her bed. “What is it?”

“The wards have gone up. Prophet’s right.”

“Why did they go up?”

Keleios turned to watch Fidelis grope out of sleep. “I told you: prophet’s right.”

“You being the prophet.”

“Yes, go back to sleep. We can argue in the morning if you want.”

Fidelis opened her mouth to speak, changed her mind, and settled back into her covers.

A few minutes and the woman’s even breathing filled the room.

Keleios rubbed the dog’s head, making his ears flap, and sent him to his bed.

Poth walked along Keleios’ covers, trying to find a comfortable spot.

“We’re safe now,” she whispered to the cat. But as she finished undressing, she wondered just how safe one could be with traitors on this side of the wards.

She placed a hand to her bedpost and activated the spell. It gave a pulse, a mere spark of power. Keleios lay back gratefully. There would be no more magic tonight, no matter what the need. Poth curled into a black and white ball beside her shoulder, her plumed tail resting just under Keleios’ chin.

She checked briefly to assure herself the wrist sheath dagger was in place, and placing a hand over Luckweaver, she gave herself to sleep.

Keleios lay snuggled into the warmth of her sheets, tired, very tired. Something was tapping at her hair. She batted it away but the tentative touch returned. She opened her eyes just enough to catch a black and blur.

Keleios groaned. “Poth, what is it?” Then she noticed the angle of the sunlight. “Urle’s forge, I’m late.”

Poth jumped to the floor with a startled cry as Keleios tore back the covers. The cat swatted at her foot, claws carefully sheathed.

“I’m sorry, and thank you for waking me.”

The cat sat very straight, looking virtuous and patient. Keleios laughed and picked her up. Poth tried to remain unmoved but consented and began to purr. Keleios put her on the bed and began to undress. “I haven’t slept in this late in months.”

She was alive, the ward was intact, and Fidelis was gone. A note was pinned to the clothes she had taken off last night. It read simply: