I spent most of the evening trying to find another mention of Blackhart or Covington. I kept going back to the original book, reading what it said below the symbol, thinking that there must be a mistake.

It must be a different Covington.

I was slightly excited, sure, but I knew the odds that Blackhart was mine, that Blackhart had been my father's at some point, were slim.

I didn't know any Covingtons in Nightsbridge, but that didn't mean that in the wider magick world, that in the Lumaverse, that on all the other plaines and shards, there wasn't another Covington being referenced.

Something about that didn't feel entirely correct, though.

You knew that place and that symbol. You felt a pull towards it. That can’t just be luck, can it?

But maybe that's exactly what it was. Maybe it was luck. Maybe it was fate that Geist sent me down that little side street and to a place where I would actually see Blackhart, be in its vicinity, know that it existed, and feel the pull of my birthright.

Once I'd given up in the library, once I couldn't read a single sentence more without my eyes going hazy and cross-eyed, I headed back to the cafeteria. I grabbed some food and took it to my dorm room to think quietly. I ate and, when I was finished, I set the trash on the floor in the realization that I hadn't seen a single trashcan in Bristlebloom or the Night Market. Not in the hallways, not in the cafeteria, not the library, and least of all in my room. The trash would have to wait there for now.

I lay back on my bed, the familiar springs in the cheap mattress digging into my back as I thought over everything that I’d learned that day. My first day in the magick world and I'd already gone to class twice, gotten a job, and now, after eating and studying, was going to sleep. This was my new daily life.

I was a new person, reborn, someone I barely even recognized. I was thinking it would be nice if I could find a handheld Lumadex when my eyes slipped shut and I fell asleep.

I had a dream that my landlord was demanding money, that he wanted me to pay, but all I could pay him with were witchstones. Clear witchstones.

I opened my mouth to tell him this and witchstones fell from my lips, blocking the words. He somehow, in that dream sort of way, could still hear what I was thinking, what I was trying to tell him.

He shouted that a man couldn't eat on witchstones alone and grabbed my wrist.

More witchstones fell from my nostrils and my tear ducts in addition to the steady stream falling from my mouth. He screamed that he would tear the rent out of me if he had to because he would be paid. He grabbed my wrist even harder, squeezing there until I felt the bones rubbing against each other, until I felt them begin to break.

Then I was out of the dream, but I could still feel his grip on my arm. It wasn’t as hard as in the dream, nowhere near as hard, but I could still feel his hand squeezing around my wrist. I reached down to rub my arm and my hand brushed the cool metal of the bracelet. I sat up quickly.

Geist is paging me right now for a job.

I glanced over at my alarm clock and immediately shook my head.

There were no plugs in the room, so I hadn't been able to plug it in and my phone had died earlier in the library, so I had no idea what time it was.

I got up, slipped on some clothes, and headed out of the room. The hallway was almost completely dark. A single floating witchstone near the ceiling shone down light every fifteen or so feet and gave the hallway the illusion there were rivers of sheer darkness in between each small stepping witchstone of illumination. Part of me expected Grey Eyes to slip out of the shadows, to slip into the light right in front of me.

I chewed on my lip and crossed my arms across my chest, every single one of my footsteps making me jump out of my skin.

I pushed the thought of Grey Eyes away and made it to the staircase. I headed down to the gateway room and picked a door at random. It’s not like my choice mattered.

A red door with a golden knob at the very center. I twisted the knob, pushed open the door, and stepped into Geist's shop. I closed the door behind me and caught the scent of Pine cleaner. Glancing down at the floor, I noticed that the wooden parquet floors were even shinier than I’d previously seen them.

Does Geist clean them himself, or does he hire someone else to clean them? You don’t even know what his shop is called. Does it have a name?

I made my way in, noticing that the lights at the center of the showcase were dimmer.

Geist was in his usual place, sitting on a stool behind one of the cases of witchstones.

I glanced over at the wall that held the wooden cubby system and wondered how many witchstones he sold, or if the ones in the cubby were part of a private collection.

There was one witchstone that caught my eye this time.

Is that a new one?

The witchstone made itself known in that it didn't sit on the bottom shelf of its little cubby like the others did. This witchstone floated, equidistant from both walls of its cubby as well as the ceiling and the floor. It didn't move, it just hung fixed in the air. It was confusing to look at.

Was that there the last time you were in here?

I could remember examining the cubby system before, but I couldn't remember any of the witchstones floating. Then again, I'd been pretty much in shock at that point from sensory overload. I'd already seen things I couldn't explain, so maybe it just didn't register.

“Hexana,” Geist said. “I hope I didn't wake you.”

I had a feeling Geist knew that he’d awoken me, that he knew exactly where I'd been and what I'd been doing when he paged me.

“I was asleep,” I said, not bothering to hide it or make him feel better. “I have class in the morning.”

“Hmm,” Geist said. He raised an eyebrow. “I do hope you've been studying. Our library is rival to none.”

He fixed me with a stare.

“Is it better even than the magickal libraries in Akademi?” I asked

The corner of his lips twisted up into a half-smile. “Those are a different sort of library entirely. Probably the sort which wouldn't take kindly to you entering or opening a book within.”

“You mean the people wouldn't take kindly to it?”

“No. The books wouldn't take kindly.”

I stared at him. Is he being literal or is there something else to what he’s saying?

“Anyways,” Geist said, interrupting my thoughts, “I have a job for you.”

I nodded.

“Well,” he said. “Two jobs, actually.’

“Two jobs at once?” I asked.

“No,” Geist said. “No, it's not like that at all. This is a choice. This is a decision.”

“Okay. What's the decision?”

“On the one hand,” he placed a pouch on the glass case in front of him, fixing me with a stare, “you can deliver this. It's very easy. There's nothing hard about it. Thus, the payment isn't that much.”

I knew the payments I was receiving and the amount of money I’d made from my last job were far more than what I'd made in the stick world.

“The other option…” He smiled at me. “The other option would allow you to make far more money, almost triple the amount.”

My heartrate picked up.

Triple? That’s a ton of money.

I calculated the figure in my head. I could probably afford to buy the theatre with that amount of money.

One job and I could own my father's theatre.

“It's a difficult job though,” Geist said. “Very difficult, and I'm not sure if you're up for it.”

“Just tell me where to deliver whatever it is,” I said, “and I'll do it.”

“Oh, for the amount I would be paying, it wouldn't be a simple delivery job. This is something different, something your father was exceptionally skilled at.”

“My father?”

“Did you know that he and I worked together from time to time? I swear I mentioned it.”

“You didn’t.”

“Strange. Do you know what your father's expertise was?”

I shook my head.

“Stonebreaking,” he said.

I raised an eyebrow at this. “Stonebreaking? What’s that? Hitting a witchstone with a hammer and watching it break? Doesn't seem that difficult.”

Geist laughed at me. Openly, outright laughed at me. There was nothing good-natured about it.

When he recomposed himself, he said, “Stonebreaking is a little more complicated than hitting a witchstone with a hammer.”

“So, what is it?”

“You've heard of reverse-engineering, yes?”

“Sure.”

“Every witchstone is like a code. All of them contain varying sources of lume which combine to make the magick within. Take that wall of cubbies over there. There are massive numbers of spells within each of those witchstones. There are mixes of all four magicks, in varying degrees, in varying spells.”

It seemed like he was describing something along the lines of chemistry. Magickal chemistry. Combine elements together and from those elements come new things.

“Okay,” I said. “I follow.”

“Stonebreaking is simply taking a witchstone whose function no one knows and determining what sort of magick lies inside along with its purpose. The icing on top is determining how to activate it.”

I laughed. “How would I be able to figure any of that out? I barely know anything about the magick world.”

“Oh, it's risky, but your father was the best. I assumed he might've left behind some of his tools of the trade, things he'd invented to assist him in stonebreaking. You know, things the rest of the magick world is without.”

I shook my head. “No, no I don't think he ever left me anything like that.”

“A pity,” Geist said. “Well, if you do ever find any sort of material he's left behind, any sort of tools, let me know. I'll let you walk in your father's footsteps. I'll let you move through the same world he did.”

There’s another world? A deeper world?

“What—”

“Deliver this,” Geist cut me off, tossing the pouch sitting on the case in front of him in my direction. “Your payment will be deposited as per our agreement.”

I recognized a power move when I saw one. I tucked the pouch into my back pocket and turned to head out of Geist’s shop, not really knowing where I was going.

“You’ll be going back to the stick world for this one,” Geist called after me. “Someone will meet you there with a second package. Both are headed for Nightsbridge.”