Free The Importance of Being Emily by Robyn Bachar Page A

target and allow your eyes to relax. After a few moments you should catch a soft glow around everything. Living things, mainly, though some objects or areas can hold the aftereffects of energy for a time. Like a teacup, or a chair,” I said. The chronicler nodded, and I explained further. “Auras don’t extend very far. Perhaps an inch or two, depending on how powerful the magician is.” I held my palm just above the sleeve of Michael’s coat to demonstrate. He smiled at me, and I blushed and turned to watch Simon as he stared at his hand.
    “I don’t see anything,” Simon murmured.
    “I wouldn’t begin with your aura. You’re very dim,” I replied. He looked up and scowled at me, and I winced. “I meant your aura isn’t as bright as a living magician’s.” To confirm this I examined his aura again, and to my surprise it was brighter than it had been before. Still not as bright as mine or Michael’s, but its strength had improved.
    “You are more vibrant now than you were earlier,” I commented. “I suppose the difference has something to do with feeding.”
    “Vibrant enough to pass for a living magician?” he asked.
    “No. Even if it was, you’re…unrecognizable. You don’t have a librarian’s aura, yours is something else entirely. Remarkable. Mr. Farrell’s aura should be similarly so—it may not match yours, but it will not match anyone else’s either.”
    Simon stared in our direction, and then he nodded briskly. “Ah. Yes, I see it now.”
    “How long will the borrowed magic last?” Michael asked.
    “Not very. We should hurry.”

Chapter Six
    We prepared for battle in the hallway, and all I could do was stare with growing dread at the door to the wine cellar. I knew the necromancer was in there with a certainty that went down to my bones, and I prayed that it wasn’t Mr. Farrell, more for my sake than his. Creeping tendrils of death slipped like fog from under the door. It was evil, plain and frightening—I’d never experienced anything of its like. And I was expected to walk into the dark heart of it, with only the dubious protection of my librarian soul mate and his mentor.
    To keep my hands from shaking I folded them tightly, though a slight tremble traveled up my arms. I wanted to cling to Michael for support, but I didn’t want to distract him. He had enough to worry about as it was, for librarians were not known for defensive magic. Really he had no business in a fight such as this—like myself—but he insisted on accompanying me. Worry creased Michael’s brow, but Simon, on the other hand, seemed nonplussed by the situation. Upon arriving at the wine cellar he had removed his jacket, rolled up his sleeves and politely asked Lord Willowbrook for a sword, which we were now awaiting the arrival of. It was difficult to decide which was more worrisome, the murderous master necromancer or a chronicler with a sword.
    When the weapon arrived, Simon drew it, examining the blade’s edge before belting the scabbard on. “Do you want Farrell killed or incapacitated?”
    “Killed,” Lord Willowbrook replied. “I would rather not risk him healing his wounds and attacking other guests. I do wish you would take more people with you.”
    Simon shook his head. “They wouldn’t be able to see him, and unless there are any shapeshifters in attendance, I am the only one who can match the speed, strength and resilience of a master necromancer. Even a young one will still outpace any of your volunteers.”
    Lord Willowbrook was less than pleased by that idea, but he did not argue.
    “Keep the door shut until the deed is done. I don’t want him escaping past us.”
    “Understood.” Willowbrook handed Michael a lantern, and Simon led us into the darkness.
    The wooden stairs groaned as we walked down them, and I clutched my skirts with sweating palms, my heart pounding. The lantern cast a small circle of light, and it was an anemic comfort. Fear made my vision slow to shift, but once it