Rawlins knew that whoever spoke next was ceding ground, and he would not give her the satisfaction. At last, Ellsbeth relented. “I’m aware that it’s controversial, but—”
“Controversy is one thing,” he said, cutting her off. “Writ magic is illegal.”
“There arestatutorybans,” she corrected, and he snorted, interrupting her again, but this time Ellsbeth pressed on. “And whatever you want to call them, those bans were enacted in a very reactive political environment.”
“By peoplereactingto the way writ magic was used,” Rawlins said. “Andabused.”
“I’m aware,” Ellsbeth replied. “Of course I know that there have been certain…unfortunate uses of writ magic. But I’m interested in much moresubtleuses, which might require entirely new avenues of research.”
“Writ magic is not subtle.”
“But maybe itcouldbe,” Ellsbeth said. “I’m just saying, the statutes have meant that our scholarly understanding of writ magic isdecadesbehind that in other fields. Writ magic touches on the foundational questions of human behavior. Of motivation. Free will. I understand that when people actuallyusewrit magic, there’s the possibility of violence, but the magic itself—I mean, we’re scholars. Don’t we have a duty to try to understand the power of the natural world? Isn’t that the role of an elite institution like Newlyn? To be willing to challenge the fear-based status quo and push the field of arcane mechanicals forward.”
She was proud of her line of reasoning, he could tell, and Rawlins was impressed by her persuasive skills. In the short time he’d known Ellsbeth, he somehow kept underestimating her. It was irritating, as if the floor kept falling out beneath him, forcing him to recalibrate his expectations repeatedly.
“It is…a compelling approach,” he conceded, finally, wishing he had a cigarette to distract his fingers. “But as disproportionate as the cultural resistance to writ magic may be—and I don’t necessarily think it is—that resistance is deep-seated. The rest of the faculty certainly won’t approve.”
“Then we’ll have to change their minds,” she said simply. And she placed her hand on top of his, just for a moment, before she removedit.
Rawlins’s heart caught in his chest in a way he didn’t quite understand.
He looked away from her, trying to think about this rationally. His scalp was tingling. In lieu of a cigarette, Rawlins found himself tearing at the corner of a napkin. “Even if I do agree to advise a thesis on writ magic,” he said slowly, deliberately not making eye contact, “we require our graduate students to actually perform the rituals they focus their studies on. And those remain illegal.”
To his surprise, Ellsbeth didn’t seem deterred. “I didn’t expect the professor who pulled off the first exothermic reversal ritual in North America to be so bound by the rules.”
“And I didn’t expect such a bright young scholar to be so untethered from reality,” he replied.
She shot back another infuriating half smile. “Oh,reality.Let’s leave that to the philosophy department. We both know that in the arcane arts, reality is…flexible.”
Her tone had turned playful; she was enjoying this exchange—and, he realized reluctantly, he was, too. They were practicallybantering.
Unacceptable. He was her adviser, and she was badly in need of a bracing dose of reality. He leaned across the table, his tone growing serious as he lowered his voice. “You are quite young, so you may not understand the depth of the aversion people have to writ magic, because in your lifetime, there hasn’t been a documented case of its use. But there are people alive today who remember the Stokely trial.”
She took the hint, and matched his seriousness, her face becoming stony and inscrutable. “Of course. It’s horrible. But people have done equally horrible things without magical influence.”
“Have you seen theinterviews?” he said. “Not just with the victims and their families—with Eleanor Stokely herself. Imagine being forced to do the things she did. And remembering all of it.”
“I mean…she shouldn’t really feelguilty,” Ellsbeth said. “We all understand it wasn’t her choice, so—”
“Don’t be achild,” Rawlins snapped. “Imagine yourself in her position. Imagine thatyouhad done something like that, to someone you love. You think you wouldn’t feelguilty?” Ellsbeth squirmed and Rawlins barreled onward, seeking to drive the point home and extinguish her foolish stubbornness once and for all. “Writ magic is a violation of our most fundamental sense of agency.”
Ellsbeth looked directly into Rawlins’s eyes then. “Whether or not people are using writ magic—and I’m not saying they should—the point remains that it exists as a power available in the arcane arts. And the fact that it hasn’t been studied for decades doesn’t undo that. In fact, I would argue thatnotstudying it, not understanding it, does a profound disservice to our entire academic discipline. Itkeepswrit magic taboo. I don’t think it’s childish to imagine the possibility that some therapeutic, rehabilitating applications of writ magic are possible. Or in a legal context. Imagine law enforcement compelling people to tell the truth, to help find victims—”
“How old are you?” Rawlins interrupted.
“Twenty-four.”
“You sound impossibly naïve,” Rawlins said. “You’re talking with the same elitist attitude as those who went on to abuse writ magic in the first place. You think you get to decide when it’s actuallyworthwhileto have people under magical control.” Ellsbeth tried to interject, but he continued speaking. “There is a reason that writ magic is banned. The autonomy of the mind and body is our most basic human right.”
“But there are allkindsof ways that people are controlled,” Ellsbeth continued, maddeningly undaunted by what should have been the concluding point in the matter. “Is using writ magic on someone more of an inherent violation of human rights than putting them in handcuffs? Of locking someone in prison? Or a system that forces them to live in poverty, in situations where they have to work twelve-hour days in inhuman conditions?”
Rawlins swallowed hard. “It’s…a fair point. An interesting philosophical argument. But the existence of unjust forms of control in the world doesn’t excuse adding another. And it’s impossible to even conceive of an ethical application of writ magic without the full consent of its subject. And no one would consent to being controlled.”
“Well,that’sjust not true,” Ellsbeth said. “Now you sound naïve.” Rawlins blinked, unsure for a moment exactly what they were debating.
Ellsbeth tilted her head in a peculiar, challenging way. The sound of laughter chirping at a nearby table startled Rawlins. The musicplaying in the shop was tinny and discordant; he realized he couldn’t pull his eyes from Ellsbeth’s face, her narrowed eyes and the curl at the corner of her mouth.
“Sometimes,” Ellsbeth said carefully, “I like being told what to do.”
