Sorcery and Small Magics (The Wildersongs Trilogy, #1)

by Maiga Doocy

He practiced swordplay in the mornings, and studied at the library in the evenings, and was always back in his room before the tenth bell rang, which I found deeply embarrassing, both for Grimm and myself. Rivals were meant to be more exciting than this.

“I’m sorry to report that the inconvenience level has been updated to moderate.”

I described the gradual, creeping need. The stolen glimpses I’d employed to keep the symptoms at bay. The way that my heart’s very function seemed tied to the spell now, beating out a frantic rhythm in my chest. How, without Grimm there, each breath felt like it was leaving a bruise.

“The quickest solutions are rarely the best,” Grimm said.

Being at odds with Grimm was part of the natural order of things, like thunder followed lightning and night gave way to dawn.

Reality felt fragile, like something that would be shattered either by a spindled limb reaching out to grab my shoulder or by waking up in my own bed.

For all he wanted to be rid of me, there was no way Grimm could possibly understand how much I needed the curse gone. The desperation was all-consuming, like being drunk, or on stage, or in love.

he followed anyway. Perhaps because he’d done something to be ashamed of and sticking with me was a type of penance. That was the control I had over him, you see.

In the center of the room were two velvet sofas that sagged a little in the middle, aging but still doing their best.

Being a performer myself, I knew when someone was making an entrance. This one was expertly done.

“Very well, if you don’t want to say it, I will. This is a love spell.”

It was totally normal to find your friends attractive, after all.

“There’s no point in building a giant, mysterious tower in the middle of the woods if you’re going to ruin it by being sensible about interior design features.

Magic, like music, does not always need to be explained. It is enough that it exists.

But it was frightening to long for such things. When I dwelled in the wanting, it felt like an ocean, endlessly vast and moving just beneath the surface of my skin. If I stayed there, I would be swept away.

“Mysterious people don’t list off the traits that make them mysterious.”

My theory is that there are as many different types of magic as there are people. It’s a mystery that rewards us for believing in it, not understanding it.”

You’ve built a tower in your mind; I’ve built one in the woods. We’re very much alike, Leo.

it had always seemed strange, how much agony could remain invisible—but

It’s not like I’m sabotaging myself on purpose. The feelings are just there.” They took up so much space inside of me that it was sometimes hard to find room for anything else.

And when he is in front of me, I’m not sure if I want to kiss him, or kill him, or just go someplace very quiet with him and ask if I could be allowed to pet his stupid, lovely hair. It’s awful, Sybilla! Awful!

I’ve often thought that kissing is a little like composing a spell.

I tilted my head and let our lips press unerringly together and thought, There will be no recovering from this.

It was too much for a first, I knew that, but we had never been anything but too much for each other. It was fitting then, that there was no poetry to the rough press of our mouths, just an outpouring of answers.

I think this love spell is a little bit like being wounded, only spread out over days. Each morning I wake up and it’s a little worse. It’s happening so slowly that sometimes I forget and it doesn’t even feel like a curse at all.”

“I hope someday to meet a version of Leovander Loveage who doesn’t believe everyone else’s well-being is dependent on what he denies himself.

I wondered if, in every duo, there was one person more likely to plunge ahead, tugging the second in their wake like flotsam.

Scared people were capable of terrible things. I should know.

“I think perhaps it is not so uncommon, to be selfish in the face of a loved one’s pain.”

I thought of how sometimes you wanted to make something right for a person without them asking, and what that meant.

Tuning in front of an audience is always slightly nerve-racking, but it is exponentially worse when you aren’t sure if the audience is about to lose its patience and eat you.