Sedgewick raced down the hallway, his half shrugged on coat flapping behind him.  Rounding the corner, he dashed past servants finishing up their first round of duties, and headed for the exit that would lead him to the Magic Ministry. His mind was running at twice the speed of his body as he mentally went down the list of all the possible causes for his magic acting up.

     It can't be a limiter because even with an illusion spell, I would have felt the weight of it on me. And it can't be a healer-turned witch because that technique would have blocked my magic entirely. Not to mention none of them touched me, and it would have worn off in my sleep. Which means that blast is the only logical answer.

     He skidded to a stop outside the door to his office and went inside. Feyla's desk was off towards the left, and his own larger one was further back and centered in the room. He passed by the books and charts lining the nearby shelves and headed straight for a small door in the very back.

     His research lab.

     Sedgewick instinctively touched the sensor on the wall to trigger the glow-lights, only to be met with continued darkness

     "Gates," he cursed, slamming his hand down on the sensor and practically forcing his magic into it. "WORK you wretched excuse for a-"

     The room burst into view as the lights finally triggered. An L-shaped table filled up two of the walls, its surface scattered with an eclectic mix of papers, shards of runestone, and empty, week-old coffee cups. Boards scribbled with notes and equations lined the opposite sides of the room, and in the very center of it all, stood a pedestal about four-and-a-half feet tall. The top was shaped almost like a flower bud with four metal crescents held together at the tips by a silver-colored ring. His spell-weaver. A misleading name, considering he was the one doing all the weaving. All this did was hold the volatile, half-cast spells in place, and allow him to see their inner workings.

     Sedgewick slid the ring off the center, and the four arches swung down until they were pointing out. He rolled up the sleeves of his coat and set his left hand in the center of the pedestal, palm up. Next, he clenched his hand and relaxed it slowly causing a small orange orb to form in it. The metal plates jerked up halfway and the orb floated from his hand up between them, pulsing and twitching like a lightning bug. A second later, it snapped, and flattened out into a square held between the four points. Burnt orange lines crisscrossed the peach-colored surface like cracks in a window, and the whole thing emanated a faint hum.

     The hum was the only thing other than Sedgewick's still-ragged breathing that broke the empty silence of the room. He leaned in closer to examine it but found himself glancing away at the last second.

     Just get it over with, you coward.

     The self-effacing seemed to work because he finally got a decent look at the physical representation of his magic essence. It appeared...completely normal?

     He exhaled, but his shoulders didn't relax. Just a minor overreaction. I must have forgotten to light the stove, and that sensor is getting old anyways. It's fine. Nothing to worry about. I was just wrong--Wait.

     He snatched a magnifying glass off the nearby table and craned over the device as close as possible.

     I'm never wrong. Not about things like this.

     And... Yes! There it was! A slight clouding in one of the veins, hiding like poison in a glass. He knew his instincts and experience were too good to be--

     Oh, gates.

     At that moment, a knock sounded on his office door.

     "Master Alverdyne? Are you available at the moment?"

     What the gates is Tyrinn doing here?! he thought, dispersing the magic and slamming the spell-weaver closed. He flew towards his desk, only to turn around half-way and shut his lab door as quietly as possible. It was then that he realized that under his coat, he was wearing nothing but a pair of trousers, a dirty undershirt, and no boots.

     "Oh! Good morning Tyrinn," Feyla's voice sounded through the door.

     Sedgewick threw himself into his chair, suddenly grateful for the fact that no one could see his feet from the front of his desk. Feyla and Tyrinn's voices jumbled together into an incoherent babble as bits of their conversation made it's way through the door. It was only a matter of seconds before one of them came through that door, and truth be told, he wasn't sure which one he wanted to see the least.

     "Well, I'll let him know you need to see him," Feyla said as she opened the door and slipped inside. She smiled politely at Tyrinn as she closed the door, careful not to let the sack she was holding catch. As soon as the door shut, however, her smile faded and she let out what sounded suspiciously like a growl.

     "Sedgewick, what is going on?" She plopped the bag containing an over shirt and boots on his desk and scowled at him. "You slept in--which NEVER happens--you didn't even START eating, and you ran out the door half-dressed!" she said, speaking as loud as she could without Tyrinn hearing through the door.

     Sedgewick shrugged off his coat and began tying the over shirt closed. "Can't we talk about this later?" He tilted his head towards the door.

     Feyla's lips pursed, but she nodded her head. "Fine, but we WILL be talking about it." She handed him his boots and gestured for him to sit down.

     Sedgewick shoved them on while Feyla cracked the door open.

     "He can see you now,"

     "Thanks, Feyla. Would you mind dropping these off at the main library for me?" asked Tyrinn as he held out a few generic, non-magic related books.

     "...No problem." Feyla glanced at Sedgewick, a question in her eyes as she took the books from Tyrinn. "I'll go ahead and get your coffee while I'm out."

     "Thank you, Feyla. That will be fine," he said, returning her look with one that he hoped she understood as not to worry.

     The door closed, and Sedgewick waved Tyrinn towards a seat at the front of his desk. "What is it, Tyrinn? This had better be important enough to justify sending my assistant errand running. It'll take her twice as long to get my coffee now."

     Tyrinn placed himself on the edge of the seat and rubbed his hands together as if collecting his thoughts. "I guess it's pretty prideful, but I didn't want Feyla to be here when I... apologized."

     Sedgewick leaned back in his seat. Well, that is certainly unexpected.

     "I'm listening."

     "You...were right," Tyrinn said, looking away and grimacing as if the very words were distasteful. He swallowed his apparent disgust and finally met Sedgewick's eyes. "I messed up with the witches' guild. I hesitated and didn't adapt to the changes in the situation, and my mistakes led to them getting away and us having to track them down again. I'm sorry. I am better trained than this and if I'm working here then I need to be operating at a higher level of standards."

     Sedgewick blinked. Of all the mages in his department, Tyrinn was the last person he would have thought would apologize, at least to him. After all, he'd chosen his second-in-command based on multiple factors, but workplace compatibility was not one of them.

     "Well, don't let it happen again," he said as they both rose from their chairs. "A mage of my department can't afford to make mistakes like that. If I didn't know better, I'd think you were losing your touch."

     Tyrinn's ears twitched ever so slightly in irritation.

     I suppose that last bit was slightly uncalled for, he thought.

     "Tell me, how is your research project going? Did the Tower Access I granted you prove useful?" Sedgewick asked, redirecting the subject towards a topic no mage could resist.

     As a chair-holding member of the Magiatic council, he was authorized to grant access to the restricted texts of the Ivory Tower library. Tyrinn had requested the use of them over a year ago, and he had obliged.

     "Excellent! I've been researching the differences in various subsets of First-Age casting techniques in hopes of identifying similarities that can be applied to the modern versions," he replied, his irritation apparently forgotten.

     Sedgewick nodded. First-Age spells were notoriously complex, written at a time when magical knowledge was at its height. Most of those texts had been destroyed when the original Ivory Tower fell, and half of what was left had been lost in the Great Crossing. He, himself owned a tome of one of the larger collections; a gift from his master during his apprenticeship. Even he with all his skills had only managed to puzzle out about half of it. It was an impressive undertaking Tyrinn was attempting.

     Truth be told, he wasn't quite certain the mage could pull it off.

     "Is there anything else? I don't have all day," Sedgewick said, pushing his glasses up his nose.

     "No, that's it." Tyrinn reached out his hand, and Sedgewick shook it, eager to end their little chat.

     He had bigger issues to deal with.

*******************************************

     "Well?" asked Feyla as she handed Sedgewick his coffee cup.

     Sedgewick took the cup with both hands and breathed deeply, savoring the rich scent. "I think Tyrinn is aiming for a raise. He's acting far too obliging."

     Feyla slid herself up on top of his desk. "Well, if Tyrinn gets a raise, then I want extra vacation time."

     "I just gave you extra days!" he said, sitting the coffee down and scooting it away as if the delicious drink had betrayed him.

     Feyla rolled her eyes. "You mean the extra week I begged for after my cousin gave birth? The one I had to trade in half my bonus for? That one?"

     Sedgewick scowled and picked his cup back up, looking at it as if it was the source of all his problems. "...It was a very long week," he grumbled.

     A small smile played at Feyla's lips and she glanced over at him fondly. "You poor thing. Having to take care of yourself for so long."

     "Don't you have work to do?"

     "Not until you tell me why you ran out like a madman this morning."

     He shifted awkwardly in his seat. "I thought I left my spell-weaver running."

     "Lying is unbecoming," Feyla said in a sing-song voice.

     He huffed. Some things would be much easier if she didn't know him so well. "My magic started acting...irregular. I viewed my essence through my spell-weaver and it confirmed my suspicions."

     "Which are?"

     He guzzled the rest of the drink and wished it was something stronger before looking her dead in the eyes.

     "I do believe I have a curse on me, Miss Everbloom."

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Tada! Update! Thank you to everyone who's reading! Don't forget to vote, comment, and follow!

Chapter 7 Excerpt: "Toss the rest of this rubbish. I found what I was looking for."