A Study of Fiber and Demons Read online

  Table of Contents

  A Study of Fiber and Demons

  Book Details

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  About the Author

  When Alim is exposed by his rival Liam for academic corruption, his career in the Pinnacle University of Scholarly Magic is destroyed, and only a breakthrough in the study of the highly-profitable essence known as demonweave will be enough to regain his standing.

  His efforts to restore his reputation are disrupted by the University, however, when they assign him to uncover a means to replicate the production of demonweave, along with a team of experts on demon magic: his nemesis, Liam; his primary competitor in the field of demon research, Sylvestra; and the handsome and tender-hearted professor, Jack.

  As if that wasn't bad enough, Alim is well-aware the University intends to sell demonweave to mages for a hefty profit, and they will expect their researchers to do whatever it takes to discover a way to control the production of demonweave, even at the risk of the demons who create it—and there's no telling how the demons will retaliate.

  A Study of Fiber and Demons

  By Jasmine Gower

  Published by Less Than Three Press LLC

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission of the publisher, except for the purpose of reviews.

  Edited by Addison More

  Cover designed by Michelle Seaver

  This book is a work of fiction and all names, characters, places, and incidents are fictional or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is coincidental.

  First Edition August 2017

  Copyright © 2017 by Jasmine Gower

  Printed in the United States of America

  Digital ISBN 9781684310517

  Print ISBN 9781684311033

  One

  For the din and the chaos that overtook the room, Alim might as well have been in a gladiatorial arena. He never ceased to marvel how the higher minds of academia so quickly fell to petty battling at the quietest suggestion of dissidence or the slightest bruise to the ego. It was better sport than any athlete could provide, and there was something validating in watching Instructor Kurin lose control of her classroom so quickly. It suggested that Alim might not be the most inept instructor on campus.

  He hung at the back of the small auditorium, watching what had started as a debate on transmutation theory descend into a shouting match between two overly-boastful students. Even once it came to raised voices, they kept onto the topics of chemistry and mantic physics for a few more turns of the debate before personal insults regarding each other's fathers and haircuts came into play. Once other students joined in on the verbal melee, it was only a matter of time before someone tossed a book at someone else's head. Now, Alim watched as one of the debaters attempted to climb over his podium to pounce upon the other, with other students pulling him back and Instructor Kurin waving her arms and threatening expulsion for everyone.

  "Ah, a scholarly learning environment."

  Alim turned in his seat, recognizing Farrah's sarcasm even before laying eyes on her, ever the stereotypical snarky little sister that she was.

  "It's quite the show. Care to watch?"

  "Maybe I would, if I had brought any snacks." Farrah glanced once at the battling students before returning her attention to Alim, dropping the playful familial banter. "We had a meeting, remember? Once you were done grading papers."

  Alim shrugged. "Well, that I'm dropping in on other classes to observe their chaos would suggest that I finished in my task, don't you think?"

  Farrah smirked. "For anyone else, perhaps. Don't forget that I've known you for thirty-six years."

  "That old, are you? Nearly time to put you in a home, Farrah."

  "You're the elder sibling, Alim."

  "The chronomagicists theorize that time is relatively fluid concept." He hooked a thumb over his shoulder to point at the ongoing "debate" up front. "You should ask one of them about it sometime."

  Farrah pouted. Normally she was happy to indulge him in the great sport of people-watching, but his dear sister was a full-fledged professor and could no longer always spare time for gossiping and giggling with her brother. "Are we going to have our meeting or not?" Alim groaned and stood. He stepped out of the auditorium, heading toward his office as she followed behind.

  Pinnacle University was a palace of interconnected towers tucked into the frigid but snowless Forezet Mountains. The university's most prized academic minds had offices high up in silver-domed towers, with windows overlooking the dramatic, craggy environment or neighboring towers of equal beauty. Alim's office, however, was on the second-story of one of the smaller administrative towers, and his windows faced the sanitation bins tucked behind the western block of laboratories. Farrah was kind enough never to comment on the condition of his placement, although her own office was in an eastern tower on the fifth floor, with a perfectly adequate view of the sunrise each morning. She was a thoughtful sister in that regard.

  The contents of Alim's office were nearly as embarrassing as the location of the room. Stacks of unfiled paperwork lay strewn about, some falling into others and scattering loose sheets on the floor. A discarded jacket, which was probably his own, was draped over the one chair facing his desk. The desk was piled more with his own interests than his immediate work—books on demonweave, electromagnetism, mental links between twin siblings (less than credible), and a few paperbacks of a more erotic nature that he had neglected to tuck away. The papers he was supposed to be grading sat in a folder on a shelf behind his desk, a cup of lukewarm tea sitting upon it.

  "Kind of you to make time for this project, Farrah," Alim said as he took the chair behind the desk. His comment might have sounded sarcastic, but he was sincerely thankful for Farrah's interest in his work, and he hoped she knew him well enough to understand that. There was little at Pinnacle he valued so much as her, even if he did love to play the disaffected older brother. "I know the university pays you to do actual work, so I'll try not to keep you too long from it."

  When he was settled and looked to Farrah, she remained standing, her expression now void of mischievous smile or pouty frown. Despite his earlier teasing, Farrah looked as youthful as the freshest student. Her head covering, a pretty lavender floral print, framed her face in such a way to give it soft roundness, which was further emphasized by her full lips and wide, bronze eyes that were framed by only the faintest beginnings of wrinkles.

  Alim, who was four years older, had not aged as well. His eyes were smaller and accented by notable crow's feet, he was a bit gaunt after losing much of the weight of robust youth in recent years, and his wavy charcoal hair was streaked with dark silver near the temples. He blamed the stress of his miserable, failing career, but at least now he looked the part of a jaded academic.

  "I know you think I'm taking pity on you, Alim, but I am interested in your project. If it can produce successful results, the implications could be staggering." The connotation to her phrasing didn't pass his notice. She still did not entirely trust him.

  "The implications will be theoretical," he corrected her, shoving aside the more scholarly books on his desk and moving the smut to one of the drawers. "It's unlikely that in my lifetime enough progress can be made to sell the results off to the most moneyed corporation, I assure you." Farrah didn't respond. He was sure she had grown tired of that particular rant from a number of tense family gatherings in the past five years. "This is a passion project, I assure you."

  "You mean a gambit to rebuild your credibility."

  "Yes, which I am passio
nate about."

  Farrah's shoulders relaxed. "I actually wouldn't mind seeing this telepathic link come to fruition. It would be useful while I'm doing field work. I could simply tell some assistant back home to record my findings as I uncover them, and I would be spared the effort of packing around bundles of journals."

  "I'm sure many others in the university would value its utility." There was some relief in knowing that he didn't have to pretend to care about appearances or manners around Farrah—not that he ever did anymore, regardless. But she was still not quite at ease with him, hovering there and forcing Alim to look up to meet her eyes. Clearly, they had both been dealing in university politics for too long. "I do wish you would sit. You're making me feel like an undergrad caught in some mischief."

  Her little smirk returned. Suffering university politics together as they had at least came with the benefit of providing a wealth of shared jokes between them. "I'm sorry, Alim, but after hours of leaning over thesis papers, my neck is just bent like this now. If I sat, I'd be staring into my lap."

  "Your knees are a prettier sight than my mess of a desk, I'm sure."

  "Quit stalling, Alim. I'm dying to know this secret of telepathy that you've uncovered."

  He tried to focus on the actual intellectual pursuit at hand, opening another of his desk drawers to remove something wrapped in a muslin square. "I am confident that the key to making it work is demonweave."

  Farrah frowned again, and not some cutesy pout. "And how did you discover demonweave as the key to your project, pray tell?"

  Alim set the cloth on the desktop and waved a hand at her. "You sound certain you already know the answer: By fitfully, self-destructively pawing through the works of Liam Steppard, hating him and hating myself with every word I read, until I eventually stumbled across information that I could actually make use of in my own works."

  It was the answer he was sure that she dreaded, and she spared him a sigh—a soft, pitying sound. "Alim, no. You can't keep punishing yourself like this."

  "Nonsense, Farrah. This is my greatest intellectual pursuit in years. Look."

  He opened up the little bundle to reveal several hair-like strands of glimmering orange demonweave. Often sewn into the garments of mages, its primary known function was as an amplifier of magic. Recent findings suggested other uses, as well, but the stuff was rare, and what little could be found was usually bought up by major clothiers before the university could obtain them as research samples. Alim, like any scholar of the Demon Arts with at least half a brain, had hired professional scavengers to collect this small sample, and likely only their brutally strict contract terms had kept them from turning around and selling it to clothiers once found.

  He looked up to Farrah, thinking she would be enamored with the sparkling sunset color of the threads, but she was still frowning. "And let's say your project does become a success, and you do rebuild your career. You think you'll be satisfied knowing you built it off the research of Master Steppard?"

  Alim bit his lip. Was it unhealthy of Alim to obsessively fixate on the man who had brought him to ruin? Oh, possibly. But he knew that it wasn't Steppard's research that he was working off of, no matter that the man's name was attached to the papers that Alim had pored over. Not that this knowledge soothed Alim any, as he was only marginally less sour toward the researcher who had pioneered this work.

  "I'm not concerned with who did the foundational work on this theory," Alim said, trying to convince himself as much as Farrah. "I want to see what I can accomplish. And I'd like your help running a little test." He parted the lock of faintly glowing demonweave fibers into halves with a finger, taking one and waving Farrah closer. She rolled her eyes but obeyed. Reaching across the desk, he tied the lock around her wrist.

  "Here, a friendship bracelet."

  Farrah's eyes darted from the bracelet to the remaining lock on the desk. "You think that will be enough for a mental link?"

  "I want to see if it will be. This fiber came from the same sac, which means it holds the same genetic code. There may be a way to get it to respond in various ways to matching genetic code."

  "Might I not end up communing with the demon that spun this fiber, in that case?"

  Alim shrugged. "Maybe! That's what the test is for. Fascinating findings, either way." He held out his own wrist to her, waiting for her to tie the remaining lock around him.

  Farrah shook her head but picked up the leftover fiber, spinning it into a vague rope shape before tying it on. "The tie will hold better if the fiber has some structure to it, fool."

  "My brilliant sister. This is why they gave you a nicer office." Alim tried to focus on the tingling magic radiating from the demonweave, but he could not sense any mental connection to Farrah. "It may take some time to attune before we notice any results."

  "That's fine and well, as I have a report to finish tonight. I will notate anything I find, though perhaps you'll already know about it, if you notice me talking into your brain."

  "This is why I asked your help, as you're already nearly to that point as it is."

  Farrah laughed and leaned across the desk to kiss Alim on the forehead. "Do try to take care of yourself, Alim. I know you are ambitious, but university politics is a poison you've been swimming in for too long."

  He didn't respond to her concerns. The drudgery of university politics was part of why he wanted to focus on this project. Something to actually do, to truly achieve, instead of just posturing around campus trying to be more impressive than the next scholar. He sometimes wondered if that was perhaps the key to success all along—to not care about it.

  He smiled up at Farrah, doubting that the expression was convincing. Still, she smiled back and turned to leave, saying as she stepped out the door, "And remember to grade those papers."

  Alim sighed, twisting to examine the folder on the shelf behind him. He certainly wasn't going to rebuild his reputation at the university if he failed to perform even the most mundane tasks of his current, graceless position. But he had no head for pedagogy. The university had taken him back as an instructor after his fall from grace, but instruction was considered the basest of grunt work in the Demon Arts department. Demon Arts students were notoriously airheaded and stubborn, showing respect only to full-fledged professors, and the department's robust research program was considered one of the shining gems of Pinnacle University. Alim belonged there, not overseeing an unruly mob of unmotivated sophomores.

  "Master Azura?"

  He stiffened at the voice, twisting back to find Sylvestra Geruz standing in his open doorway, back straight and eyes putting in too much obvious effort into trying not to glance around his office in disgust. She was the Chief Researcher of the Demon Arts department, the highest position that she could have in it without being Alim's direct supervisor. A coveted position—coveted by Alim, specifically, since he had lost the bid for it to her five years ago.

  Liam Steppard might have brought his career to ruin, but Sylvestra would have stopped it in its tracks, regardless.

  "Mistress Geruz, I am terribly sorry, but I'm rather preoccupied with grading papers at the moment."

  Sylvestra ignored him and strode in, plucking the jacket up from the spare chair and dropping it onto the floor before settling into the seat. She was about Alim's own age, although the lines on her face and the silver near her scalp looked elegant on her. Her brown skin was a bit darker and her chestnut hair a bit lighter than his, so perhaps that better complemented her signs of age, but more than that it was her confidence—steady and certain, to the point of being flippant toward anything that even tried to shake her. She glanced once at the demonweave tied around his wrist, but when she lifted her gaze to meet his, nothing in her expression betrayed surprise or even interest, although Alim knew the curiosity must have been gnawing at her. As one of Pinnacle's foremost demon experts, she would know exactly what it was.

  A lovely, brilliant woman and, aside from Liam, Alim's absolute nemesis.

&nbs
p; She crossed her legs, showing off the form of her knee-length pencil skirt, as though he had invited her up for tea and not… whatever she had barged in for.

  "Master Azura, the Directors' Board has taken an interest in your work."

  He had provided years of research that Sylvestra could be referring to. As most of that had been discredited by Liam, it was unlikely that was what she meant. "In my paper grading?"

  Sylvestra smirked. "So, they haven't told you. I figured not."

  Although they never interacted much on a personal level, Alim felt he knew her well enough as distant colleague to say with certainty that she was an intolerable, arrogant ass.

  "Come to gloat?"

  "A bit. But also to tell you what the Directors' Board has in store for you."

  "And what has that to do with you?"

  Her smugness faded, and any upturn of her lips now held only bitterness. "Because they have it in store for me, as well. We're to work on a project together."

  Alim leaned back in his chair. The Directors' Board valued the Demon Arts department primarily for its focus on demonweave. They might not have yet gotten wind of his current project, but it was no secret that he had been snooping on that topic for the past few years. And Sylvestra was the master of the subject, not that the Directors' Board understood to what extent that was true.

  "Oh, don't melt into yourself just yet. There is more bad news—Master Steppard has been assigned, as well." If Alim had wanted to pretend at professionalism in this woman's presence, he abandoned any notion of that, throwing back his head and groaning like a petulant infant. "I know. Tragic, isn't it?"

  Groaning again—an exhausted, resigned noise—Alim leaned forward. "And what, exactly, is this project?"

  "The university wants to expand its knowledge on the topic of demonweave. I assume to confirm many of the outstanding hypotheses regarding it to the point where our department's research becomes a bit more immediately profitable." She shrugged, but the casualness of the gesture was forced. "But that's just my hunch."