Emmaline was rarely enthusiastic about spell work, it was a little bit too much like actual work to her lights but given the pleasant company she found she was almost looking forward to it. For a long moment she stared at the dancing gold coin, physically restraining herself from snatching it and pressing it to her skin. With a mighty effort she pulled herself away and forced herself to look over the grimoire to see what needed to be done. It was somewhat similar to the enchantment of pomanders, something she had done a few times under Albrecht’s direction though considerably more complicated and involved.

It took Malcador almost an hour to lay everything out just so. The coin rested on the enhancing table, at the center of a complex diagram drawn out in essential salts Emmaline had pilfered from her masters stores. A pair of small, rather impure diamonds and several pieces of glass marked intersections and vortices and a trio of braziers smouldered lazily with the smoke of bitter herbs.

“Ok we are ready,” Malcador announced as he made a tiny correction to one of the lines with a protractor and a leaded blade that resembled a straight razor. He was clearly impressed that Emmaline had access to such tools and, she suspected, a little disdainful she made such limited use of them. In truth he had done much of the work while Emmaline looked on, but the final step had to be a joint effort. If she showed up with a project that was entirely of the Celestial wind it would raise questions to say the least.

“Alright,” Emmaline replied, idly wishing she had brought a bottle of wine or brandy now that the effects of her earlier indulgence were beginning to wear off. She took her position across the table and spread her hands.

“Let us begin.” They both began chanting softly, Emmaline reading from the book, Malcador working from a series of passages he had transcribed onto parchment. In Emmaline’s magical sight the golden wind of Charmon began to swirl, coming down the tower as though it were a funnel which drew it from the ether. She thought she could catch reflections of blue in the metallic glow but couldn’t be sure. With careful word and gesture she directed the flow of the wind to Malcador who began to channel it into the coin. Almost at once the essential salts began to pop and crackle and the braziers gutters to low blue flames. Emmaline continued to chant, the power flowing down into her and across into the other apprentice in ever increasing amounts.

“Slow down,” he muttered out of the side of his mouth, somehow contriving to continue his own incantation. 

“Emma, not so much,” he repeated more insistently, sweat beginning to film his brow. 


“Emma stop it!”


Emmaline tried to comply but the torrent of energy was strong and growing and she couldn’t safely dismiss it. It began to pour into her like a waterfall and Malcador’s incantation grew faster and more desperate as he attempted to redirect the raw strength of Charmon. Emmaline began to glow softly, her hair stirring like cobwebs blown by an invisible wind. The ambelic he had brought exploded and one of the braziers began to bounce up and down, skittering across the table like a living thing. The popping of the essential salts grew more intense and then flared into light like burning magnesium. Both apprentices were shouting now, their careful hand gestures desperate and dramatic. Golden light poured into Emmaline and she felt herself lift from the ground, molten gold pulsing in her veins, making her skin and eyes shimmer. She screamed out the words of the spell over and over as books leaped from the shelves and all three mirrors in the room frosted, then shattered in an avalanche of tumbling glass. Malcador raised both his hands then pounded them down on the table. The coin, glowing white hot by now, leaped six feet into the air, spinning before Emmaline’s eyes like a childs top. Flakes of red hot metal flew off in smoking arcs as the coin hung unnaturally in the air. The coin twisted and flowed in the air deforming into a whirl of blazing white metal, twisting itself into a spinning ring which tossed away the impurities of its debasement with contemptuous ease until it shone pure and terrible. . With a final scream Malcador finished the spell and Emmaline felt the power of Charmon come through her like a bolt of lightning. The ring hammered down onto the enchanting table with a sound like a gun being fired. Despite the tremendous speed of the impact it didn’t bounce but lay still and smoking as Emmaline wilted and Malacador sagged back, burning scraps of his notes floating in the air around him. The artefact glowed with the heat of its forging, a golden circlet entwinted with intricately etched serpents of a style Emmaline didn't recognise. 

“Wow,” Emmaline gasped, then collapsed onto the couch in a graceless heap.