Each page of the old tomb felt as fragile as a butterfly's wings beneath Leander's careful fingers as he turned them. He would pause now and then to read the requirements of some little charm for good health or instructions for making a protective talisman, but none were quite right for his purposes. The Widow Carver had been very clear in her tearful request; she wanted her daughter married by autumn, and if that required a little magical intervention, so be it.
"I could have sworn there was a spell for love in here somewhere," he muttered, wishing his grandmother had included a table of contents, or perhaps a glossary of sorts. "Does arranging a grimoire's contents alphabetically take some of the mystery out of it?"
"No," Vespertine muttered without raising his eyes from a book of his own. "All the best magical texts are organized for ease of cross referencing."
Leander frowned in the necromancer's direction, offended on his dear grandmother's behalf. As always, Vespertine was lounging like a cat in the cushions and blankets he had stacked in the tower's bay window. He'd set up his little reading nook when he was first sent to stay with Leander, and moved from it only when evening came and the hearth provided more warmth. It seemed that to be cold as the grave was a sad reality for the sorcerers who devoted themselves to necromancy, much in the same way another alchemist could always recognize Leander's trade by the stains on his hands from whatever tincture he'd last created.
"I don't suppose you know any love spells?" Leander asked, offering a weak smile.
"If I did, I certainly wouldn't be explaining them to you." Vespertine narrowed his eyes and peered at Leander. He always knew how to put their uncanny shade of pale blue to use, and the venomous glare he was giving now was no exception. "Remind me, why is it the Council of Magi rejected your application for apprenticeship?"
"Because I melted a hole in the West Wing's floor," Leander muttered, shamefaced.
"Sorry, what was that? I can't quite hear you."
"Because I melted a hole in their floor!" The alchemist snapped. "But last I checked, this was as much your punishment as it was mine."
Vespertine shrugged, returning his gaze to his book. "You are being punished for incompetence. I am being punished because they were intimidated by my prowess."
Leander stared at him. "You made a ghoul out of a unicorn."
"Flawlessly, I might add," the necromancer said. A small smile tugged at the corners of his thin lips. "Which no one has done for a century."
"Probably because they executed the last person to do it," Leander muttered. "You should be more careful. Next time they might do more than give you a babysitter."
"Mm, I doubt it, but at least you'd finally be rid of me."
"That isn't funny!"
He had loathed Vespertine's presence at first. It was hard to say which of them had been more severely punished for their indiscretions: the necromancer, barred from his research for a year's time, or Leander as he proved his trustworthiness by keeping said necromancer out of trouble. Both were to suffer the other's company within the tight quarters of the tower that Leander called home until the Council of Magi returned for an evaluation in a year's time.
However, as time went on, Leander found himself warming to the necromancer. It was Vespertine's passion that first drew him in, and how willing the man was to speak of his time in the Council's Academy. When evening came, they would sit for hours with a book in hand by the warmth of the fireplace, but more often than not the books were left forgotten as Vespertine described some strange sorcerer he'd known during his classes and what had become of them. He rarely spoke to Leander unless spoken to, save for those moments when the alchemist managed to get him reminiscing. Still, his presence had become comforting, and whenever Vespertine made tea there would be a second mug for Leander waiting on his desk.
Leander wasn't entirely sure when he'd first felt the warm flush of affection for his reluctant housemate, but whatever little flame had sparked was fanned by that quiet nearness and endless patience from the otherwise dour necromancer. As much as he'd longer for the Council of Magi to reconsider his apprenticeship, the final days of his probation meant the final days of Vespertine's unofficial imprisonment, and Leander truly wondered if he'd ever see the man again once he was freed.
"Oh!" He was shaken from his melancholy when a love spell finally caught his eye. "Here it is! My grandmother's very own charm for love."
"Should I go to the sitting room?" Vespertine asked, eyeing the alchemist as he began gathering a bottle of dried rose petals and vials of sweet smelling oils from the nearest shelf. "Or perhaps up to the bedroom, in case you melt another hole in the floor?"
"It's just a little love spell! A charm, even! Barely more than a cantrip!" Leander dipped a quill into one of his many ink pots and began copying the grimoire's diagrams onto a fresh sheet of vellum. "Draw the circle, crumble the rose petals, add the oil as you incant the words. A child could do this."
Vespertine looked skeptical, and he climbed to his feet to come and inspect Leander's work. His sharp gaze drifted between the grimoire and the alchemist's copy of its enchanting circle, and Leander caught a slight nod of approval as Vespertine inspected the runes and ring of vines he had drawn.
"You read it all the way through before beginning?" He asked.
"Every instruction," Leander confirmed.
It was a lie, but only by omission. His grandmother had made all sorts of notes beneath, but he knew from studying past spells of hers that they would just be musings on the nature of the spell and how she'd developed it. The ingredients and process were outlined clearly enough to forgo such ramblings, at least for the time being.
"Then you don't need this," the necromancer said, plucking the grimoire from its stand on the desk. "What comes next?"
"The rose petals."
"Dried or fresh?" Vespertine asked, his eyes on the book; Leander realized a moment later that he was being tested.
"Dried, for ease in crumbling."
He uncorked the bottle and knocked some of the delicate petals into his hand.
"Crushed by hand or by pestle and mortar?"
"Hand," Leander replied brightly. "The spell encourages a gentle touch."
The corners of Vespertine's lips tugged ever so slightly into a smile. "Well well... there may be hope for you yet."
Leander beamed as he crumbled the rose petals with his fingers and let them flutter and fall into the circle's center. The red ink glistened as if still wet as they brushed its runes.
"You'd better finish with your questions. If I don't incant this properly, I'll have to start over." Leander gathered three of the vials he'd chosen.
"What scents did you choose?" Vespertine asked, peering down at the list of ingredients. His smile had faded, returning his face to the cold neutral that felt far more familiar.
"It doesn't matter," Leander told him with a shrug, uncorking the first. "When casting the spell for another, the sorcerer simply chooses what they associate most strongly with love or affection."
"I can read," he muttered. "I'm asking what you chose."
Leander shrugged again as he began the incantation. A few drops of clove oil were spilled onto the petals, and a pink mist began to rise from them like an early morning mist.
"I far prefer clove in my tea than my magic, but it does look like it's working," Vespertine admitted.
Unable to reply, Leander simply smiled and nodded as he spoke the simple charm his grandmother had written. Three oils spilled, and three repetitions of the incantation for each. Simple, repetitive, and easy enough for a fledgling such as himself.
"Is that oakmoss?" The necromancer lay down the grimoire and reached for the second vial. "No wonder everyone laughs at you rustic little folk magicians. This is better suited for a druid's funeral rights than a love charm. I dare say I use oakmoss more than you ever will."
Leander flushed but ignored him, already beginning the final chant as he dripped the final oil onto the mix of ingredients. The smell of myrrh joined the others, and it was far from an unfamiliar smell. Many who worked with the dead used its sweet, earthy scent to drive off the stench of decay, and Vespertine was no exception. Despite being so far from his work, his robes still carried the heavy perfume of the oil that had become as much a part of his daily habit as his magic rituals.
The alchemist could feel Vespertine staring at him, but he was so close to the incantation being done. Just one final repetition and he could begin thinking of excuses. Just one more...
"Leander."
Vespertine's hand was on his shoulder. He jumped and faced the necromancer, stammering and fumbling the final words as he was met with the other man's piercing gaze. His expression was unreadable. Confusion? Anger?
"Ves—"
On his desk, the spell sputtered and sparked. Both men's eyes went to the vellum as the rose petals began to blaze with the same vivid pink as the flower, and the fire spat glowing embers.
"Is it supposed to do that?" Vespertine asked, recoiling from the desk.
"I don't know! I don't know!" Leander reached for the grimoire.
Before his hand so much as brushed its leather binding, the spell erupted. The flames jumped high enough to lick the ceiling above, and both men were thrown back by the sheer force of the enchantment as it tore through the vellum and beyond the constraints of the circle Leander had drawn.
Then, there was silence. Leander lay on his back where he'd fallen and wiped the ash from his face, trembling slightly as his mind caught up to what had happened. The spell was done. The fire was gone as quickly as it had come, though the ceiling above him was still scorched.
"Please don't tell the Council," he begged, pushing himself upright. "I'll say I was trying to make a homunculus to do all the cleaning, and it set the curtains on fire with a candle. They'd believe that, wouldn't they? Vespertine?"
Leander looked about for the necromancer, and he caught sight of him laying in a crumpled heap nearby, dark robes scorched by the flames. He rushed to Vespertine's side and brushed the necromancer's dark hair from his face, looking for any scrapes or burns that might have been inflicted by his carelessness.
"Vespertine! I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." Leander gathered the necromancer into his arms, hoping to shield him from whatever final sputter the spell might have left. "Are you hurt? Can you hear me?"
Vespertine groaned and lifted a hand to rub the ash from his eyes. "Leander?"
"Yes! Are you all right? I had no idea..."
Leander's words trailed into nothing as the necromancer reached out to brush the soot from his blond curls. He felt Vespertine's fingers thread between the locks of his hair, and the smile he was given was warm enough to make Leander's chest ache. It took him a moment to wonder at the gentle affection of Vespertine's touch, and that moment was precisely how long it took the necromancer to close the distance between them and press his chill lips to Leander's in a kiss.