Page 79 of Hawk & Sparrow

SATURDAY, 19TH OF NOVEMBER—11:08 P.M.

Something lurched in Vesper’s chest.

She tried to stay calm, to employ reason and logic the way she always did when faced with a crisis. But the longer Maximilian seized, the more her panic heightened. She started to have flashbacks, memories of the way Francis Gladwell had seized and convulsed the same way in the museum’s maze before he’d died. Her mouth went dry.

“Mr. Kite.” She crossed the room in a few strides and knelt beside him. “Can you hear me? Tell me what I need to do.”

“Miss Evans.” Maximilian’s eyes were screwed shut. He spoke through gritted teeth. “Please … don’t … trouble yourself. I’ll be fine in just a moment.”

Vesper stared. “You’re absolutely not fine,” she said indignantly. “Something’s very wrong. You’re clearly ill.” She started to stand. “I’m going to go get Mrs. Cauble.”

“Don’t.” Maximilian was still grimacing, his eyes were still closed, but his voice was steadier, firm. “She’s probably asleep right now. I don’t want to wake her. Not for this.”

“Maximilian.” Vesper’s fear was giving way to impatience. “You can’t just stay like this. You need to see a doctor. We need to figure out what’s—”

“I already know what’s wrong, Miss Evans.” There was a touch of annoyance in Maximilian’s voice. “Believe me, a doctor’s not going to fix it.” He seemed to brace himself, then with some effort, he sat up. He kept his eyes closed as he turned toward the fire, so that Vesper was staring at the back of his head. She frowned.

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s better if I show you.” He took a deep breath, then slowly he turned to face her. Vesper gasped.

Maximilian’s eyes were no longer a normal color like brown, gray, blue, or green—they were bright purple, the color of a hyacinth in bloom. She went still.

“What’s happened to your eyes?”

Maximilian covered his face. “It’s the arcanic energy,” he explained. “Using it makes me ill.”

“What?” Vesper frowned. “Are you sure? I’ve never heard of arcanic energy having a physical effect on anyone, negative or otherwise.”

Maximilian examined his fingernails. “That’s true for most of the population,” he said calmly, “but there’s a very small percentage of people who can develop what’s referred to medically as an arcanic energy intolerance.”

Vesper blinked. “What exactly does that entail?”

Maximilian frowned. “I can be around it, but when I try to channel it in great quantities, my body reacts poorly to it.”

“How poorly?”

“Imagine a migraine headache, but much worse.”

The words took a moment to sink in. Vesper stared at him, horrified. “So, every time you use sorcery, you get sick?”

“It depends,” said Maximilian. “Sometimes, I can do a little without issue. Other times…” He winced. “It can take hours or even days to recover. The more arcanic energy I channel, the worse it usually is.”

Something clicked into place and Vesper thought back on all the times she’d see Maximilian use sorcery. She remembered the first night she’d met him, when she’d seen him onstage beside Francis Gladwell. All this time, she thought he’d been uncomfortable because of the inventor, but had that discomfort come from using sorcery? She thought of something else.

“That’s why you went into the maze,” Vesper said. “You were having a reaction after what you did for Mr. Gladwell’s demonstration.”

“I was able to get it under control quickly that time,” he said. “But yes, that’s why I was there.”

“And after you got us out of Mr. Gladwell’s hotel room, when you collapsed at the end…”

“I tried to hold on for as long as I could.” Maximilian sounded pained now. “I spent the next four hours in bed recovering.”

“Do your eyes turn purple every time?” she asked.

“A side effect.” The sorcerer nodded. “It’s why I change the color. I’d rather people think I’m vain than know the real reason.”

“I don’t understand.” Vesper shook her head. “If channeling arcanic energy does this to you, why on earth would you continue to use it so frequently?”