Chapter 35: Magical Theory

Neither Imogen's father nor Landy could write prose worth a damn. This was a shame, because the content of what they were talking about was fascinating.

"So objects have souls, sort of," I said, pacing back and forth in my room while Olezhka followed me with slight turns of his great big head. "But not really souls? More like they collect pieces of our souls. The more we care about an object, the more it becomes infected with our magic. Infected is the wrong word, and so is magic."

"It starts to smell like you," Olezhka suggested helpfully.

"Sure," I said. "The more we use an object, them more it starts to smell like us, but like the emotional equivalent. We imbue it with our memories and our associations."

"You have lost me." Olezhka said. "How does the object remember things?"

"It doesn't, not really." I struggled to put the thought into words. "Our memories sort of catch onto it, like dust might onto your fur."

"I dislike dust," Olezhka growled.