The pinch of sulfur stings my nose as the spark catches the wick.

I’ve lost my bearings, let my mind wander too far: I need to see, just for a bit, to reorient myself before I find it and then I can retreat from the tunnels.

I’ve hidden it all here, tucked away in the darkness, as if the darkness could smother it. I swore I left that life behind, but can you truly leave such a thing behind? When times are tough, it is an easy habit to fall back on.

It has been three years since the tensions first began to rise within the Offices. Since then, the Arcanologists and Mystics have become a suspicious breed. But, I guess there has always been a bit of that amongst the Offices, course none of that mattered so long as we fulfilled our part – made ourselves useful.

But now, now they are considering the option that we may be far more dangerous than we let on. I can’t keep doing this – just this last time, then I will seal them away for good.

I reach the cache I’ve hidden, fumbling through the olde withered pages. It is too risky to take the whole thing, so I skim until I find the page I need, rip it out and tuck it away safely amongst my pockets. The pages call to me: Ancient wisdoms, olde rituals. I thumb across the broken and cracked leather of olde tomes and journals. I’ve been here too long. I can’t go back that path.

I snuff out the wick as if that will hide the temptation, and turn to make my way back down the tunnels. I trail a finger across the cooled, dampened stone of the cellar walls to keep my balance, hold my mind’s orientation through darkness, but it is only a comfort, I don’t truly need it; I know these halls far too well, I’ve walked them an innumerable amount of times in my life.

I crack the hatch of the olde cellar door, slowly and steadily as not to make a sound. Katovjin would be furious if she knew I had snuck back in the tombs. The tombs, we call them, because that is where the past lies – dead and forgotten. Although neither of those things are true, even though we pretend they are. The darkness lingers over the floor above, only the crackle of the dying fire spill
out a warm glow around the hearth.

I crawl carefully out, silently shuffling across the wood as I latch the door, and cover it with the slate stone that rims the hearth-floor, and cover it still with a reed woven mat and olde skin. If someone didn’t know any better, it was nothing more than a quaint sitting room. Good that the tombs weren’t originally constructed with the house, or else we’d been searched long ago.

I am knelt by the soft glow of the embers, just finishing straightening the hide into the long-time faded silhouette into the floor – a good cover – when I feel the presence beside me. I freeze. My veins stiffen as the shadow looms in the doorway. I twitch an eye sidelong at it, careful not to move. They lie just beyond the light, hidden in the threshold of the doorway to the shoppe-front, now bathed in darkness in the midnight hours; I can see nothing of them save for the glint of eyes flashing against the warm glow. They hang low, barely more than waste high.

“Ada!” She cries in her whimpering tone, startling me right out of my skin.

“Ai, Córra!” I gasp back at her, falling forward from he jolt she shot right threw me, my heart still hammering as I chuckled under my breath at myself. “You can’t do that to your father!” I grasp at my chest, only half play-acting.

She grins weakly at my start as she shuffles forward, all lank socks and mismatched pigtails ruffled from tossled sleep. Her olde, moth-eaten and ragged bear dangles from an elbow as she climbs into my lap – now sitting against the floor.

“Can’t sleep again?” I ask as I cradle her.

She shakes her head angrily, as she curls in a tight little ball in my lap, her heels digging into my thigh. I try to reposition myself so my tingling leg doesn’t go completely numb, but she’s stubbornly made her bed. I give up, letting her have her victory. She presses a knuckle to her lips – she is far too olde to suck her thumb, but the small action is an equal comfort when the night-terrors come again.

I sigh heavily, resting my chin on her hair. I know I did this to her; filled her head with tales of wonders and magic I should have let die – but she is so special. She has the gift, it is in her blood. I can feel it seething from her and it strikes me with such pride and awe and fear that I have let myself slip. And she eats it up.

I love all of my children – they all have their most skilled talents that fill my heart, but she, this little one; Ai, she would have been my apprentice if I had stayed with the Offices. She is my Little Spark. Now she dreams too much, wanders too far, and falls into Shadows I should have shielded her from. Nights are the hardest – and I know what she is seeking.

“Please, Ada?” She stares up at me, those wide silvery-blue eyes glinting with unshed tears, pouty-mouth. She blinks at me, a silent beg for good measure, knowing she’s already snagged me under her spell.

“We can’t, Little Spark.” I sigh, but it’s a feint – and she knows it. I’m saying what I need to say to put up a good fight, but she can taste her victory.

“They are my favorite! They chase away the Shadows, and no one will know. We’re all alone, and we’re safe in our own home.”

If only we were safe in our own home. But I can’t tell her that. She actually looks scared tonight. I settle her down in my lap, wiggling the toes of my numb leg. She grins emphatically, eyes devious little slits that crinkle under her delighted cheeks, knowing she’s won. I’ll have to watch her, this one. She knows what she’s doing, and she learns people well.

She snuggles down, tucking herself into my arms, her cheek flat against my chest, still hugging her pitiful little bear. I hum, as I warm my hands, rubbing the palms briskly. I close my eyes, I see what I need, I call to it…

          Sleep, Lovely, Sleep.
          Fear no Shadows,
          As they reap
          The Spark touches
          And lights the deep
          A beacon in the Slumber’s Keep

She hums along with me as I pluck an ember from the grate. I fold it between both palms, I feel the spirit stir inside, I only have to waken it and coax it out. She waits eagerly, still humming the song she knows so well.

           Here, Lovely, Here
           See no troubles
           Bring no fear
           The Flame warms us
           And dries the tears
           A warden to a Heart so dear

I cup her hands inside mine, around the glowing ember. She is not frightened – she never is – but takes it gladly as I squeeze them firmly over the coal. It does not burn or blister one made of Fire like her.

I pinch my eyes closed tight as I concentrate the last prayer in my head, under my breath. She continues to hum. And as I open my palms, her eyes sparkle hungrily as she opens hers, mimicking my movements.

Her hands lay cupped in mine, as the coal glows red and hot in her hands – and then gently it stirs. The tiny little creature, like a glowing piece of slag, uncurls from within its tail and climbs from the ember’s heart. It raises a smoldering little head, flat and oval, up to her, taking her in as she beams back down at it. It must feel the Spark inside her, it always loves her so. It flicks a tiny little flaming tongue, as it begins to wind itself between her fingers and around her hand, down her wrist, over her knuckles.

Her heart spills over herself, beaming at her tiny little salamander.

“Calcinaer!” she breaths, so excited, so comforted. “I’ve missed him, Ada. He keeps all the Shadows away…”

“I know, Little Spark. He seems to have missed you too.” Guilt aches inside me as she dotes on the little fire daemon. But it is soon swallowed up by fear – a fear the Spark of Calcinaer can’t chase away, a fear not caused by Shadows and darkness. But she needs him this night. He will protect her. I can’t keep doing this…

He raises his glittering little eyes at me as if in answer to my thoughts. He looks at me sadly, but he seems to understand. Soft snores rise up from my lap. She can sleep now.

I scoop her up and head up the stairs and down the hall to the quaint little room in the corner. The twins sleep face-to-foot, crammed into each other in the upper bunk beneath the alcove ceiling, even though they each have their own. I tuck Córra into Kensey’s empty bunk below. She’ll sleep safer here than alone
in the room she usually shares with Izzy.

I slip what is now her Fire Stone under her pillow, as Calcinaer waddles warmly up her arm, curling up in the crook of her neck.

“I’m sorry, Cal.” I say. It’s all I know to say. He raises his little head, crooked to one side, as if to ask what I could be sorry for – trying to relieve me of my guilt.

“Keep her safe?” I ask of him, “Chase away the Shadows.” He rests his head on his stubby little feet, tail tucked over his nose, he smolders bold and warm and bright. Of course he’ll keep her safe.