I liked the sound of that. “What sort of self-defense artifacts?”

“Personally, I prefer something from the impello set for newbies. Simple but effective.”

“A push spell? I’ve used the cantrip, but …” But it wasn’t very powerful.

“I was thinking something with more oomph than that. An advanced artifact.”

My nose wrinkled. Thanks to the bounty from killing Tahēsh, my bank account looked pretty good right now, but seeing as I didn’t have a job, I needed to make the money last. “I’m not sure I can afford an artifact like that.”

“Ramsey could get you a good deal. Or one of our sorcerers could make one for you. Lim, Jia, and Weldon are all skilled artifact engineers.”

Make one? Why had it never occurred to me that I could make an artifact—something better than a simple cantrip—to protect myself?

“Does the guild have any resources for Arcana engineering?” I asked eagerly.

Zora laughed. “Someone skipped giving you a tour.” She folded up her map and pushed away from the table. “Come on, I’ll show you.”

I hurried after her toward the stairs that led to the upper floors. Waving at Rose, who tried again to summon me over, I trotted to the second floor—a room as large as the pub below but filled with worktables, computer kiosks, whiteboards, and an intriguing row of bookshelves at the back.

Zora kept going to the third level—the domain of the guild officers. Instead of entering the three-desk office, she turned down a short hall. A sign hung on the door at the end, white with no text, and a container holding several fat markers was attached to the wall beside the jamb.

When Zora plucked a marker from the container, I expected her to write on the sign. Instead, she pressed the thick felt tip right to the door and drew a swift rune across it in vivid pink.

“Recludo,” she declared.

A shimmer rippled over the wood, followed by the loud clack of a lock. A spell unlocked by a rune? That was clever—and meant only Arcana mythics could enter.

“Get a good look at that,” she told me as she capped the marker. “It’ll fade in about ten seconds.”

The pink lines were already losing their vibrancy. I squinted, memorizing the shape—a variation of a common cantrip—then nodded. Zora threw the door open.

I followed her inside, my jaw dropping.

The first thing I noticed was the three-foot-diameter circle drawn in the middle of the room. The smooth, polished black floor looked like poured glass, without a single seam, crack, or blemish. Next, I spotted the huge skylight built into the flat ceiling above the circle, the glass speckled with raindrops. A worktable and a stool occupied one side of the room. On the other side was a long counter with tiny, neatly labeled drawers underneath it and cupboards above. The back of the room contained a massive bookshelf overflowing with leather-bound texts.

“The Arcana Atrium!” Zora pointed at the ceiling. “Skylight for spells that need sunlight, moonlight, starlight, all that jazz. The cupboards have basic ingredients and components, and if anything is missing, they probably have it downstairs in the alchemy lab. There’s a testing room down there too, for more experimental spellwork.”

She opened a cupboard. A tangle of rulers and giant protractors tried to fall on her head and she slammed it shut. “See? Everything you need. And …”

Striding to the bookshelves, she gestured dramatically. “And all the spell compilations, grimoires, and instructional texts you could want. Unless you plan to jump right into abjuration or something. We’re not that advanced.”

Grinning at my stunned expression, she perused the shelves. “Let’s see … this one? No … aha! This one.”

She slid a book off the shelf and flipped it open. Stepping around the circle on the floor, I joined her.

“This book has a whole bunch of impello variations. Some of these—wow, look at this beast of a spell!—yeah, some are pretty demanding. How far into your apprenticeship are you?”

“Yeah,” I said vaguely, avoiding her question about my apprenticeship. Admitting I’d been a sleeper—a non-practicing mythic—up until a few weeks ago would be excessively dumb. Though I’d never officially apprenticed, I’d studied enough Arcana to sort of count as a sorceress. Maybe.

Zora handed me the book. “See what looks doable. You could make a few simple artifacts and try them out before investing in a high-quality one.”

“Good idea,” I breathed, drinking in the diagrams and instructions that filled the open pages of the book.

Chuckling at my obvious distraction, Zora headed for the door. “If you want to start something, check the schedule clipboard to make sure no one else has reserved the room. And don’t forget to turn the sign over!”

By the time I dragged my stare off the book, she’d disappeared through the door.

“Turn the sign?” I muttered.

Balancing the book on one palm, I crossed to the door and flipped the sign over. On its opposite side, bold black text read, “Arcana In Progress.” Under that, in red marker, someone had scrawled, “So keep out, losers!”

I settled the sign in place, text showing, and closed the door. Sliding onto the stool at the worktable, I began paging through the book, skipping past the easy spells to the more difficult ones. The room was quiet, the smell of books, leather, herbs, and a hint of something burnt tickling my nose. Part of me instantly relaxed, while another coiled with building tension.

I was going to make an artifact. I was about to do real magic.

Cantrips were the most basic form of sorcery—building blocks more than usable tools. The next level up was a hex—a reusable cantrip. But a sorcerer’s true power lay in artifacts. Spells of immense power and complexity, some of which took hours, days, or even weeks to construct, could be sealed into portable objects and triggered by a simple incantation.

Zora’s blood trackers were a type of artifact. For myself, I wanted something more impressive, something that would make an adversary think twice about attacking me—assuming I could pull it off. Considering I’d never made an artifact before in my life, that might be a stretch.

At least if I screwed it up, no one would see. This room was comfortingly private.

The infernus tucked inside my shirt buzzed with heat. Red light sprang off it and Zylas took form beside the table.

I sighed. “What have I told you about popping out whenever you think I’m alone?”

“But you are alone.”

“What if I wasn’t?”

“Then you would not have thought about it, na?”

Rolling my eyes, I returned my attention to the book. Each spell had a short description of what the resultant artifact would do, and I skimmed through them, searching for something good. Zylas wandered to the room’s other end. Sniffing at the air, he opened a drawer, peered inside, then shut it. Opened the next one, checked its contents, closed it. Opened the next.

Exploring the drawers and cabinets kept him busy for almost ten minutes. I flipped back through the pages and reread a spell description. Defensive, reasonably powerful, and not too difficult to engineer. This was the artifact I was going to make.

The back of my neck prickled and I looked up.

Zylas stood beside me, studying the page. “What is this?”