Magickeepers: The Eternal Hourglass by Erica Kirov Page B

sighed. “You have shiny metal swords flying at me. You think I’m not going to take this seriously?”
    “Concentrate. Close your eyes.”
    “If I close my eyes, how can I see where your sword is? How do I know you won’t just chop my head off with one of these swords?”
    “Silly young cousin, if I wanted to kill you, I already would have. You are like a little fly I can swat.”
    “That makes me feel so much better. We’re cousins, too?”
    “Yes.”
    Nick looked up at Boris. The scar ran down his face from beneath the eye patch almost to his neck. It was purplish and red, and it looked like whatever Boris's long-ago wound was, it was deep. Whoever got him with the sword…Nick shuddered to think of what was under that patch.
    Boris snapped his fingers, and a black satin scarf appeared in his hand. “All right. You won’t close your eyes, so we do it this way.” He stood behind Nick and roughly blindfolded him.
    With his eyes covered, Nick's mind flashed. He staggered back a foot or two, heart pounding. He could see the swords in his mind. Now he struggled to feel his sword. As if, somehow, he could stretch his hand, invisibly, to the hilt, and control it.
    Nick could hear the two swords colliding in midair. He united with the sword in his mind, until he flashed on it being forged. He saw the sword's maker. He looked Japanese, wearing flowing white robes, with a Japanese-style house in the distance surrounded by cherry blossom trees.
    Nick felt heat, as if he were next to the anvil and the fire. He was far away—and yet he was still in the room with Boris.
    Boris untied his blindfold, but Nick didn’t lose his concentration.
    “You may look now,” Boris said.
    Nick opened his eyes. The swords were fighting in midair, striking each other with such intensity that sparks flew from their blades and fell to the ground.
    Boris waved his hand, and the two swords separated. Nick's flew to his side.
    Boris took the hilt of Nick's sword. “Give me your palm.”
    “Why?”
    “This is your sword, Nicholai. It cannot harm you. ” He took the end of the sword and pressed it against the fleshy part of the heel of Nick's hand. Nothing happened. No cut. No blood.
    But Nick knew the sword could slice through anything. It could find its mark, itst target. He didn’t know how he knew, but he did.
    “Wow.”
    “You take the sword. It will defend you. But just as Theo trains you with your crystal ball, the sword must be wielded with an open heart, never for personal gain, nor for simple revenge. Only to save your life or the lives of your loved ones if under attack. If not, the blade could cut you. Do you understand, Kolya?”
    Nick nodded.
    “Good.”
    Boris bowed to Nick.
    Nick bowed back. He took his sword, which still emanated heat.
    Okay, so there weren’t cheeseburgers, he hated fish eggs, and Shadowkeepers wanted to kill him—but the sword stuff was cool.

A GREAT DEAL ON A
DANCING BEAR!
    B ACK IN HIS ROOM, NICK LOOKED AROUND FOR SOMEPLACE to store his sword. As if it had read his mind, the sword flew from his hand to the wall, hanging there perfectly though nothing held it up but magic. Nick smiled. The sword made the last few days worth it. Almost.
    His crystal ball sat on its pedestal on the dresser. Feeling silly, he did what Theo had taught him. He approached the ball and rubbed his hands on it, familiarizing himself with his crystal ball. Theo said it was how the ball would “imprint” on Nick. It was how relics and magic worked in their world. Objects bonded to the magicians they were destined to serve.
    Suddenly, the ball grew hazy, filling with a bluish smoke. Nick waited for the smoke to clear away. He heard someone coughing, and Crazy Sergei appeared inside, waving his hands.
    “Hey, Nick!” He coughed. “I hate the blue smoke.” He coughed again. “Smells like pickled herring.”
    “What are you doing in my crystal ball?”
    “You happy with your horse?”
    Nick shrugged. “Yeah. I mean, now