Bound Read Online Free Page A

page and began to read. It took a moment for the words to become clear, like adjusting a pair of binoculars until the image sharpened, but once through it stayed. He read it as easily as a newspaper. It described the nature of the elemental forces in the world, the physical and magical properties of water, air, fire and earth. It talked of their personalities and how they could be manipulated, conjured, controlled with the fifth element of will. Magic.
    He read for a long time until his eyelids grew heavy and he began to blink long and slow. He was keen to read on, but his tiredness outgunned his resolve. The knowledge seemed to settle deep in his brain, more than words, mere information. He realised the book contained more than the script on the pages. It imparted magic directly to the reader. ‘Fuck me,’ he breathed.

3
    A sharp, insistent rapping. For a moment he stared at the fancy glass light fitting above and wondered where the hell he was. ‘Alex? Are you awake?’
    Welby’s accent brought everything back into focus. ‘C’m’ in,’ he managed through dry lips.
    The door cracked open and Patrick Welby’s face slipped into the gap, his expression almost comical in its concern. ‘Ah, you’re … er …’
    Alex rubbed his eyes. ‘I’m still here. I must have slept like a log.’ He sat up, stretching muscles that hadn’t moved since he lay down hours before.
    Welby came into the room. ‘I was mildly concerned that you’d slipped away in the night. I can see you’re still tired.’
    ‘Really?’
    ‘Magesign. Remember I told you how the magus has to learn to mask himself? It doesn’t do to wander around like a beacon.’
    ‘Right.’
    ‘Hungry?’
    Alex raised an eyebrow. ‘Bloody starving.’
    ‘Come on, I have eggs boiled and bread in the toaster.’
    Alex sat sipping gratefully at a large espresso, his stomach full of eggs, toast and sweet, fresh tomatoes. ‘You’re looking after me well,’ he said over the rim of his mug.
    ‘I’m still hoping you’ll help.’
    ‘How old are you?’
    Welby looked up from his plate, toast halfway to his lips. He stared deep into Alex’s eyes. Alex maintained his gaze, looked carefully at the play of shades around the Englishman. Something told him Welby was older than he seemed. A lot older. He thought about how much more he might be able to see if he put his mind to it. Welby’s lips curled in a smile. ‘Trying out some new tricks?’ he asked, and pulled his shades in dramatically, like an old-school thespian whipping a voluminous cloak around himself.
    Alex willed his sight to pry under that thick cloak of shades, to see past them all. To his surprise the shades burst open again, laying bare all the colours Welby had to show. Welby’s eyes widened in shock and Alex realised he could see not only past the shades Welby had pulled about himself, but past shades even the poor man could not have known about or controlled. He felt as though he had mentally stripped Welby naked and flayed him as he sat before his breadcrumbs and eggshells. He saw Welby for the age he truly was, saw everything about the Englishman laid bare, wide open, raw. He could see the fibres of the man’s being and he knew everything there was to know. He pulled away his vision, mentally and physically, turning his head. ‘Fucking hell, I’m sorry!’
    Welby’s hands flopped to the table, his shoulders slumping. ‘Good gods.’
    Alex couldn’t bring himself to look at the old man, turned in his seat to further avert his gaze. ‘Really, Patrick, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know I could …’
    ‘It’s all right.’ Welby’s voice was weak. ‘By all the gods, you have some power.’
    Silence, heavy and uncomfortable, for several moments. Eventually Welby said, ‘So you see me a little more clearly now?’ There was humour, sarcasm in his tone.
    Alex kept his back turned. ‘You’re, what, a hundred and fifty years old?’
    ‘Almost. One hundred and thirty-eight. I was born at