Wizardborn (World's First Wizard Book 3) by Aaron Schneider (read me like a book txt) 📕

blood and the perpendicular slashes on his wrists, it would be natural to assume blood loss was responsible for his condition, but that was the least of it. Milo’s vital fluid might be roiling about in the bowl, but it was the subsequent essence he’d drawn with the blood that rendered him so corpselike. The red liquid was only the token of what he was sacrificing to the formula, and not only that, but until the time was right, he had to keep the essence active, or it might diffuse and become useless. If that happened, his plan was shot; he knew a second attempt would kill him before he’d gotten halfway through the preparations.

Despite all this, he still managed to smile at the big man over the bowl of his swirling blood.

“With Imrah’s help, I’m much more likely to succeed,” he said, doing his best to keep his focus even as he tried to encourage Ambrose. The distraction wasn’t welcome, but the bodyguard doing something foolish to thwart him at this stage would be disastrous.

You are being disgustingly optimistic, Imrah grumbled in his mind.

No one asked you, Milo shot back without letting his smile flicker.

“Success is not as important as your survival,” Ambrose growled as he laid the trunks down in front of Milo’s impromptu workstation. “I mean, besides me not wanting you to die, have you thought about what will happen if you die pulling this off?”

Milo had, several times, but saying that didn’t seem likely to shorten this conversation or reassure Ambrose.

“I appreciate the concern, all of it,” he said, not having any attention to waste on being irritated. “But this is our only hope for stopping Zlydzen, the Hiisi, and that device he’s made.”

Ambrose’s brows knit together in consternation as he bent and unclasped the trunks. With a frustrated flick, he flipped them open to reveal ash that filled them to the brim.

“Well, these have all been sifted,” Ambrose rumbled, crossing his arms. “I’ve got the American and his pet sifting the rest of what we could gather, but it’s not going to amount to much more than half of one of these.”

Ambrose scowled down at the trunks, chewing his lip beneath his mustache before raising his gaze to give Milo a pained look.

“Is this going to be enough?”

Milo looked at the two trunks, guessed their dimensions, and tried to do the calculation of how much ash was there, but quickly abandoned the attempt. Even if his attention hadn’t been so divided, it wouldn’t have done him much good. This was magic, and magic was as much art as science. He had a lot of ash, and he had to believe it would be enough because that belief would be more valuable than more cubic centimeters of material.

“Absolutely,” he said, realizing his voice sounded very tired.

This is no way to start the struggle to save all of Europe, he thought idly.

It certainly doesn’t bode well for this scheme, Imrah replied to the wayward thought.

You were the one who told me we could pull it off, Milo shot back.

There was silence for a moment, then an icy whisper prickled at his thoughts.

I said we might be able to accomplish it, not that it was a good idea.

Milo shook his head and realized that during his internalized conversation, Ambrose had begun to stare at him.

“What?” Milo asked, an edge forming at the cusp of his voice.

“Are you sure you are okay with what this is going to do?” Ambrose said softly, his green eyes searching Milo’s face. “After how you took it in Berlin, I don’t want to win a battle just to lose you, and I’m not talking about dying.”

Milo had thought a good deal about that point since they hoofed it across the city, and he didn’t have a good answer. As they’d run down the streets, he’d had the conversation with himself, his thoughts chasing themselves around his head. He’d settled on the uneasy idea that those he would be offering to the shades were already gone, and they were going to be used to keep a similar fate happening to others. He was certain there was a flaw in the logic, but for the moment, he’d resigned himself to facing whatever regrets and recriminations would come once he wasn’t in the thick of things.

For now, there was nothing to be done except to do it.

The wind keened sharply outside, and no one seemed particularly surprised when Rihyani slid through the front door, a flurry of ashen snowflakes chasing her.

“As you expected, Zlydzen’s turned most of his soldiers loose,” she declared as she moved between the rough benches toward Milo. “I haven’t seen any sign of the Hiisi, but they won’t come from the woods or the river unless the situation is dire.”

Things couldn’t have gone better than if he’d planned it this way from the start, but that only sharpened Milo’s suspicions. He licked his lips and felt an awful thirst clawing his throat.

Focus! Imrah snarled, and Milo realized with a start he’d allowed himself to let the blood slip from the center of his mind.

His gaze whipped to the blood, where the last of the ripples were racing to the edge of the bowl. He hammered down and sent a needle of his intellect to pierce the settling energies, setting the fluid to roiling again.

“What is it?” the fey asked as Ambrose stepped closer, arms out as though to catch him.

Milo didn’t trust himself to speak for half a minute as he stared at the seething blood.

“Lost my focus for a second,” he muttered, then looked at Ambrose. “I’m fine, Simon. It’s okay.”

Ambrose lowered his arms but he kept his place half a stride from Milo. His mustache quivered beneath glistening eyes, but he didn’t say anything.

“It’s fine,” Milo said, looking from the Nephilim to Rihyani and back again, his smile weaker than ever. “It’s going to be fine.”

You can’t keep this up much longer, Imrah warned.

Milo wanted to argue, but he knew