The City Archives occupied an entire block in the Upper District, a sprawling complex of stone buildings that had been old when my grandmother was young. Its enchantment was legendary—a preservation matrix so powerful that the air inside felt different, heavier, as if time itself moved more slowly within those walls. In a way, it did. The Archives' enchantments kept its contents in perfect stasis, documents and artifacts unchanged by the centuries that passed outside.
I'd been coming here since my apprenticeship days, but the grandeur still struck me every time. The main reading room alone was three stories tall, its shelves reaching toward a ceiling painted with constellations that actually moved, tracking the real stars in the sky above. Scholars moved between the stacks in near-silence, the only sound the soft whisper of pages turning and the occasional murmur of consultation.
Madame Laurent, the head archivist, had been presiding over this domain for as long as anyone could remember. Some whispered that she was older than the building itself, preserved by her constant exposure to the Archives' enchantments. I didn't believe that—didn't believe it entirely, anyway—but there was no denying that she looked exactly the same as she had when I'd first met her twelve years ago: silver hair pulled back in a severe bun, spectacles perched on a sharp nose, eyes that missed nothing.
"Thornwood," she said, looking up from her ledger as I approached. "Enchantment repair, merchant quarter. What brings you to my domain today?"
"I need access to the forbidden arts section. Specifically, texts on parasitic enchantments and their countermeasures."
Her eyebrows rose slightly—the equivalent, for Madame Laurent, of open astonishment. "That section requires special authorization. Council member signature or Guard documentation."
"I can get you the Guard documentation by tomorrow. A case came up yesterday—professional, potentially criminal." I kept my voice neutral. "I understand if you need to wait for the paperwork. But if there's any way to expedite—"
"Follow me," she said, standing abruptly.
I fell into step behind her, surprised by the easy acquiescence. Madame Laurent was notorious for her strict adherence to protocol. She'd once made a council member's aide wait three days for access to a public document because his paperwork had been signed in the wrong ink.
We wound through the Archives' labyrinthine corridors, past chambers filled with mundane records and rooms that held artifacts too dangerous for public display. The forbidden arts section was, appropriately enough, in the deepest part of the building, behind a door that looked more like a vault than an entrance.
"The protection wards on this room will record everything you read, everything you copy, everything you say," Madame Laurent said as she pressed her palm to the door's locking mechanism. "The information is monitored by the Guard's Magical Crimes division. Any attempt to record or remove texts will trigger an alarm."
"I understand."
She gave me a long look. "Your master Halvin spoke highly of you. He said you had a talent for seeing what others missed—and an ethical core that would never lead you astray. I hope he was right."
The door swung open.
Inside, the forbidden arts section was smaller than I'd expected but dense with dangerous knowledge. Texts lined the walls, their spines marked with symbols that indicated their contents and their danger level. Some were chained to their shelves; others floated behind glass cases, protected by wards I could feel pressing against my skin like static electricity.
"Parasitic enchantments," Madame Laurent said, pointing to a section in the far corner. "You'll find the sympathetic drain technique in Volos's Compendium of Forbidden Practices, third shelf. The countermeasures are in the adjacent volumes, but they're incomplete. No one has successfully removed a sympathetic drain in... thirty years, I believe. Possibly longer."
I absorbed this information with a sinking feeling. Thirty years meant the last successful removal had been before I was born. It meant the knowledge was theoretical, untested, potentially impossible.
"Thank you, Madame Laurent."
She nodded once and departed, leaving me alone with centuries of forbidden knowledge.
I spent the morning reading. Volos's Compendium was, as promised, comprehensive in its awfulness. The sympathetic drain technique had been developed during the Mage Wars, three hundred years past, as a way to cripple enemy enchantments without destroying them outright. A drained enchantment could be studied, reverse-engineered, its secrets stolen. It was elegant, efficient, and utterly without conscience.
The countermeasures were less helpful. Most assumed the sympathetic drain was being applied by a willing participant—as it sometimes was, during the Wars, when mages would drain their own enchantments to power more urgent needs. But in cases of sabotage, where the drain was unwanted and hidden, the standard techniques were useless.
I was deep in a text on matrix disruption when I heard the door open behind me.
"Researching dangerous topics again, Elara? You really should find a healthier hobby."
I turned to find a familiar face: Darian Kell, an enchanter who worked in the Upper District and had been a thorn in my side since we'd trained together under old Halvin. He was handsome in a sharp, angular way, with dark hair and darker eyes, and he knew it. He'd built a successful career catering to wealthy clients who wanted their enchanted objects maintained with discretion and flair, and he never let me forget it.
"Darian," I said, not bothering to hide my lack of enthusiasm. "What brings you to the forbidden section? Looking for new ways to overcharge your clients?"
His smile didn't waver. "Actually, I'm consulting on a case for the Guard. Magical Crimes division. Something about a family heirloom with a parasitic enchantment."
My stomach dropped. "The Ashford watch."
"Ah, so you've heard of it." Darian settled into the chair across from me, his expression shifting to something more serious. "That's why I'm here. Corwin Ashford went to the Guard this morning, just like you told him to. They've assigned the case to Inspector Mordecai, and he's asked me to examine the watch as an expert witness. Standard procedure when forbidden arts are suspected."
"You're consulting for the Guard?"
"Surprised? I have credentials, Elara. Just because I work with wealthy clients doesn't mean I lack professional standing." He leaned back, studying me. "Actually, Mordecai mentioned your name. Said you'd already examined the piece and identified the technique. I have to admit, I'm impressed. Most technicians wouldn't have recognized a sympathetic drain if it bit them."
"I'm not most technicians."
"No," he agreed. "You're not. Which is why I'm here to offer you something. Mordecai wants the watch repaired if possible, evidence preserved if not. He's agreed to let whoever makes the attempt work under Guard supervision. I could do it, but..."
"But?"
"But I think you have a better chance. You always were better at the delicate work. The careful work." Darian's voice had lost its usual edge. "I could recommend you. Get you official access to this section, Guard resources, whatever you need. In exchange, I'd ask for credit as a consulting expert. We could present the findings together."
It was a reasonable offer. Professional, even generous, by Darian's standards. But something about it made me uneasy.
"Why?" I asked. "You've never wanted to share credit with me before."
He was quiet for a moment. Then: "Because this matters. The Ashford case isn't just about one watch. Mordecai thinks there might be other victims. Similar enchantment failures in the past year, all dismissed as age or wear. If there's someone out there using forbidden techniques on unsuspecting families..."
"Then we need to find them," I finished.
"Exactly. And I'd rather work with someone I trust—even if that someone is you—than risk missing something important."
I looked at Darian, really looked, and saw something I hadn't expected: fear. Not for himself, but for what this case might reveal. For the implications of a forbidden arts practitioner operating freely in our city.
"Alright," I said. "Partners. For this case, at least."
Darian smiled, and this time it reached his eyes. "Partners. Now, let me show you what I've already found. There's something in these texts you might have missed."