Mightiest of Swords (The Inkwell Trilogy Book 1) by Aaron Buchanan

guitar and his fingers sliding down the frets as he sat down somewhere close by. After some picking to warm up, he strummed and picked some more. His song was beginning and I found myself immersed; lost in his song. I have always loved music, which might have something to do with why Shred was more like an uncle than one of my dad’s friends.
                  He sang and played, and I could hear his fingers continuing to pick across his guitar strings. I was entranced and caught snared in something I had never felt before. It was beauty; and while I believed in no form of the afterlife, I was suddenly energized by an epiphany: what if when we die, we are not placed in the skies like the heroes of old, but rather, what if we were made into a note and suspended into music?
                  I felt as if I became someone else, and that my memories belonged to someone else, but they were still memories I cherished, even if they felt as if memories from dreams. I was moved beyond reckoning.
                  When Shred finished playing, neither Joy nor I could manage a word. Shred had successfully put us into some kind of trance or altered state of consciousness, and the after-effects continued to resound in my ears.
                  I felt Joy grab my hand and pull me up. She walked me to the sofabed, helped me remove my shoes and clothes. She put a large t-shirt over my head for a gown. I do not even remember lying down.
     
                  I awoke to the voices of Shred and Joy. They weren’t trying to be quiet, so I figured it must be their own subtle way of trying to rouse me from my slumber. It worked.
                  “I’ve been looking at websites. Everything I’ve read says her eyes would have blinked closed before any real damage could have been done. So, it might not be a full organ-regeneration. I think she might only be like this for a few more days. Tops,” Joy was explaining. I could only assume she was speaking to Shred.
                  “Problem is, I don’t think you guys have that long before the more serious shit hits the fan. I’m already hearing,” Shred rifled through some papers, sounding agitated, “things.” I also hear his mug clank down on his table.
                  I felt my face. My eyes felt goopy, like someone had spread salve over my eyelids and tied some cloth around my eyes. We never did get to Walgreen’s, but someone apparently had since I fell asleep. I decided to not yet let them know I was awake.
                  “She doesn’t know, but since last year I started taking classes I didn’t tell her about. I already speak and read Korean because of my mom. Took Latin in high school. Took some German last year. Taking Classical Greek and Akkadian this semester.” Joy was explaining to Shred her desire to become a magos. If anyone were capable of dissuading her, it would be him.
                  “Akkadian? I have no idea what the fuck that is.” Shred’s footsteps were on the hardwood surface of his kitchen floor.
                  “Babylonian, basically.” Another mug was set to the table. I assumed it was Joy’s. “It’s like calculus, but with letters.  You know, they’ve actually uncovered some tablets recently that lead us to believe the Babylonians actually used calculus thousands of years before the rest of Europe started to use it.”
                  “How ‘bout this—I have no idea what language you’re speaking right now.” Shred sounded like he was even further away. “It’s five o’clock. You need to wake her up. Our freak show has to get on the road.”
                  “Speak for yourself, sir!” I shouted, somewhat groggily. I stood up, but my knees buckled and I went right back down to the mattress. “The only think freakish here is my charm and good looks.”  My charm was something I considered