Effie wanted to stop and think about this and try to get back in the Flow again. But she’d promised to help Leander and Wolf. She took a candle and some matches and hurried down the first of the five flights of dark stairs toward the Special Collections reception. As she descended she realized that she felt . . . It was hard to describe. It was the opposite of when she had a headache from running out of lifeforce. It was as if she was magically full. Like someone had just put a new battery into her or charged her up.

Effie knew that magic was very costly in the Realworld. That using it for anything that would be easier to accomplish with a physical action was foolish. But she just had to check something.

She blew out the candle she was carrying. Immediately, she was lost in the sort of deep darkness you get a long way underground. She looked at the candle and willed it to light again in the same way she would will her caduceus to grow. Of course, Effie’s caduceus was designed to shrink and expand and it didn’t take much magic to make that happen. But creating fire from nothing? In the Realworld?

The candle fizzed alight immediately.

And Effie still felt fully charged.

So that was what it was all about. The Flow topped up your magic and made you more powerful. That was why Effie had come out of her first experience with fifty thousand M-currency. The Flow, it seemed, was the very source of magic. Effie could see why people wanted her to discover it. She just wanted to get back in it as soon as possible. But instead she had to complete this task, which suddenly now seemed boring and insignificant. But she couldn’t think like that. Especially as being humble seemed to be one of the things that got you in the Flow.

“Oh, it’s you again,” said the wrinkled, red-haired librarian as Effie approached his desk. He was doing the cryptic crossword, possibly even the same one as last time. “I see you’re not bringing anything back. Good. Take all the blooming books for all I care. Take them all home with you. Then you can be the one in charge of dusting them, and—”

“Can you help me find something?” Effie asked.

“No!” said the librarian, sounding horrified. “Good heavens. Whatever next! What do you think this is? I told you before. You’re on your own in there. And if you die—”

“Yes, yes. It’s my own fault. I know. But the world is in danger and I need to find a book of warrior cleric’s prayers urgently. It could actually mean the difference between life and death—not just for me but for all of us.”

The librarian rolled his eyes as if he’d heard all this before.

“And you’re Euphemia Truelove, you say.”