The Magic Book of Accidental City Destruction: A Book Wizard’s Guide
I don’t usually permit unsupervised children to peruse my stacks. It’s one of the Book Wizard Guild’s maxims: “Children don’t buy books. Adults buy books for them.” But I’ve never been great at following rules, and something about the two young boys that wandered into my magic bookstall intrigued me.
Back then, my stall was merely a canvas stretched over four wooden poles. Nestled tightly in the bazaar just inside the city gates of Archen, my stall had just enough room for my desk and three tables stacked with my magic books. I swept a layer of fine, rust-colored dust out of my stall and into the crowded bazaar, pretending not to notice the boys. What was it about them? I craned my neck, trying to hear their voices over the buzzing of a thick crowd and the click-clacking of mule hooves on cobbles.
Maybe it was the way the books practically cooed like love-struck maidens as the older boy—probably a decade younger than me, around fifteen years old—brushed his fingers across their spines. Maybe it was that the younger of the two—presumably his brother, maybe ten—shuffled around in shoes that were far too big, while the older went barefoot, feet stained maroon with dirt and sweat. Or maybe it was that the younger one reminded me of myself at his age, too mouthy for his own good.
“I thought Book Wizards were men,” he said to me.
“Who says I’m not?”
He pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes, glancing from my breasts to my shaved head, then shrugged and bounced over to my children’s section—a small stack of moving-picture books. I grinned as he opened the top book.
Wind whistling through tall trees—the kind that can’t be found within a hundred miles of the city—could be heard above the din of the bazaar. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched the book’s gentle breeze rustle the boy’s wild, dark curls off his face. The scent of pine mingled pleasantly with that of the aromatic spice stalls nearby and masked the rankness of mule droppings.
The boy’s lips formed a perfect circle as he experienced the magic. “Kadin! Kadin! You’ve got to see this!”
The older boy, tall and thin with the barest hint of black hair above his lips and on his chin, was studying the cover of theBook of Truths, his attention unbroken by his brother’s exclamations. I frowned. I’d never liked that book. Many of my books had the essence of dogs, playful and loving. Some of them were like cats, temperamental but affectionate. A few were sly foxes. But theBook of Truths was a snake.
The younger brother raised his voice. “Kadin!”
The older boy lurched, as if being awakened from a trance, and peered down over his brother’s shoulder. “It’s great, Azzam.”
But I could see the frown that his brother could not.
“Can I have it?”
“Sorry, Az——”
“Please, please, please!”
“We can’t,
