Authors: B. Justin Shier
I wondered what the penalties where like. The image of Rei carving up the tall man crossed my mind.
“
And the second option?”
“
The second option is a complete wipe your memory. You would find yourself where you were if we had not interfered, enrolled at the school of your choice, blissfully unaware of any of the events that brought you to our attention.” Dean Albright shuffled some papers. “We also need to deactivate certain brain centers so that no more unfortunate incidents occur.”
I scratched said threatened head and frowned. “So under option number two I would be incapable of doing any ‘magic,’ as you call it, and I wouldn’t recall meeting you nor Rei—Ms. Bathory?”
Dean Albright paused to think about it.
“
By law, the Magi would not be allowed to acknowledge you. The laws regarding that are quite strict. But Ms. Bathory? She’s a bit of an exception. I’m not sure what the ruling would be. It might depend on which state you were in. I’d have to ask Professor Simons.”
I took a sip of coffee and sat back in my chair. My father had always been virulently anti-government—conspiracy this, conspiracy that, he was a fervent libertarian. In his mind, the government was always out to get you. They wanted to take away your rights, take away your money, and force you to eat tofu. He even had a stash of arms in the desert, “Just in case.” And he wasn’t alone. Nevada was a bastion for those with a deep mistrust of the Feds mixed with a strong pioneering spirit. “Whatever the government can do, we can do it better,” was the mantra. George Orwell was a patron saint. Ann Rand had groupies. Growing up in that environment had an effect on me. I didn’t buy into any of the conspiracies (maybe I should have), but signing up with a government agency was not at the top of my list of things to do before I die. In my neck of the woods they had once ordered soldiers to stand in the desert while they tested nuclear weapons.
Not cool, Big Brother. Not cool.
Still, I saw myself as a scientist, a person who wanted more than anything to follow the facts wherever they led. The idea of turning my back on all of this new knowledge was revolting. Sensing auras was pretty sweet. And that other power…I had to admit that, deep down, the prospect of wielding the sort of power I’d used to kill Tyrone was seductive. I had demolished a whole section of my high school with a hand gesture. That much power…if I could control it…I couldn’t even conceive of all the possibilities. I was beginning to see why all those brilliant scientists signed up to work on said atomic bombs.
And then there was the promise I made with Rei…
I took another sip of coffee.
To recap, my main influences were: A) delusions of grandeur, and B) the advice of a vampire…wonderful.
“
I have one year to pull out?”
I tried looking Dean Albright in the eye, but he avoided my gaze.
“
One year. It’s all spelled out here.” He slid a slim stack of papers across the table. The letterhead read: “The Department of Mana Affairs of North America.” It had an eagle seal and everything.
I picked up a pen. It felt like it was made of lead. I had never signed a contract before. Committing to something on paper sure came with a weird sensation. “All right then,” I said, biting my lip, “you’ve got a year to wow me.”
Dean Albright gave me a million-dollar smile. “Very good, grub. Just sign here.”
+
Duffle slung over my back, I followed Dean Albright out of his office. When I put pen to paper, a giant door slammed shut in my mind. Behind it was everything that happened before I got on that big blue bus and left Las Vegas. That life was dead. I felt some sadness. It was like when you trade in an old car after it provides years of faithful service. You’re never going to plop into that well-worn seat again, never going to feel the leather on the steering wheel. So, sure, I felt some sadness…but I was about to hop into a brand new Porsche. I was way more concerned with how fast the new girl could go. Dean Albright had shifted into orientation mode. He was rapidly describing the facilities and all the places that served good coffee on campus.
“…
and for the love of God, avoid that Black Death they serve in the cafeteria. It’ll melt your insides. On the bright side, the food is excellent. Pizza Fridays are my favorite. You should try the Dean Albright Special. It’s my own spectacular concoction. It can even cure the common cold!”
He cleared his throat.
“
Just don’t say hello to Ms. Bathory right after you eat one.”
“
Um, sure thing, sir.”
I turned away and bit my finger. So that was true too!
After touring most of Central, Albright led me back out onto the lawn. The dean made busy pointing out all the buildings. That was information I had already digested from the brochures, so I turned my attention to the students. It was past midnight, but my future classmates were still milling about like it was noon. Lots of students were working outside; the library didn’t seem that popular. And it seemed group work was really important. I rarely saw a person toiling alone. Cement circles dotted the enormous lawn like tiny freckles. Each circle was outfitted with a pack of colored chalk and a broom. Some of the group members made busy drawing figures into the concrete. They referred to their notebooks as they went. Others observed the action. If their co-workers made an error, they would correct them and sweep the chalk marks away.
So that was the deal with witches and brooms?
A bit disappointing if you asked me.
The students were dressed pretty casual—sandals and t-shirts were the norm—but most everyone was wearing those dark grey coats with the wooden toggles over their street clothes.
“
Sir,” I asked, “what’s the deal with the grey coats?”
“
You meant our student robes? Standard safety equipment. Enchanted against all the elements. They’re required for all casts.”
I opened my mouth. Closed it.
Albright smiled. “I know, I know, our Elliot robes are actually modified duffle coats. We had to change with the times, son. Used to be no one batted an eye when a college student wore a robe—but that tradition died out around the time of the War for the Union. A few versions have come and gone since then. When motor coaches became popular, we even tried these hideous Western dusters…” Albright shuddered. “This model was designed in the 1950’s. The Imperiti think the coats are a quirky Elliot College tradition. They don’t even bat an eyelid.”
I wiped the sweat off my brow. “But, sir, isn’t it a bit warm for coats—or robes—or whatever?”
“
These are the summer models. They’re made of light linen. Oh, and do feel free to ‘trick yours out’ if you like.”
Some of the robes
did
have personal touches. One girl had stitched a giant Hello Kitty logo on the back of hers. Another looked like it was made of leopard print fabric. I spotted a third student sporting a red-velvet smoking jacket. I smiled. At least Elliot didn’t look like some uptight military academy. These mage folk seemed to still have a sense of humor. I was thinking I might actually like it here when some girls started screaming. A spark of blue light shot out of a circle fifty yards away. The group had been working on a sphere of the same color. Now parts of the sphere looked…unstable. Dagger-like bolts of the blue stuff were bursting off the surface only to be yanked back behind their chalked out circle. Tumbling backwards, most of the students retreated. Only one stood firm. Her arms outstretched, she strained against some unseen force. The members of her group urged her to fall back.
“
And then what?” she yelled back at them. “Get back here!”
It was in that moment of distraction that one of the blue tendrils struck her arm. The girl yelped as it globbed onto her. I stared wide-eyed as the blue substance congealed around her arm and gave her body a rough tug towards the circle. Quick on her feet, the young mage dug her heels into the turf, but the stuff had a good grip. Making its way up her arm, the blue glob dragged her towards the sphere. The young mage grunted from the strain.
“
Um, guys?” she asked. “A little help here?”
The rest of the group looked at one another in panic and confusion. One was hurriedly flipping through his journal. Another was biting through her thumb. I found myself instinctively looking for Rei…
“
Sir?” I asked, nervously. “What on earth is that?”
“
Your premise is flawed, Mr. Resnick. We are not limited to ‘on earth’ here.” Dean Albright cupped his hands and yelled, “Mr. Fukimura. If you wouldn’t mind, please assist Ms. Cafferty.”
A diminutive little Asian kid—one of the only students working alone—stood up from his work and sighed. “Tsukoda,” he cursed, and scrapped at the concrete circle in front of him. As the chalk smeared, a rush of energy compressed the air around me. My ears popped as the pressure changed.
Ms. Cafferty was now halfway into the sphere. To her credit, she was concentrating on resisting the pull rather than freaking out.
His eyes on the orb, Fukimura walked the distance to Ms. Cafferty at a brisk pace. He circled the amorphous blob before taking a position opposite her. Mumbling some calculations in his head, he turned to one of Ms. Cafferty’s group members and asked, “They dislike feces, yes?”
“
Huh?” I asked.
“
Oh! I didn’t think of that. That’s right, Ichijo!” the girl said. And then she ran like hell. Actually, everyone was running away. Dean Albright tapped my shoulder and made the universal sign for retreat. When everyone was about a hundred yards distant, Fukimura turned to Dean Albright, and Albright nodded.
“
Well, at least we won’t have to fertilize this year,” Dean Albright said to me with a sigh.
“
Sir?” I asked.
Ms. Cafferty was almost entirely engulfed. She had managed to dig her last free foot into a tuft of grass and was doing her best to keep the blue stuff out of her mouth. Nonplussed, Fukimura closed his eyes and hummed. I wondered what the heck this Fukimura hoped to do. He obviously didn’t plan to physically pull Cafferty out. If he got that close, the blob would probably just grab hold of him as well.
So what would he do?
As if in answer to my question, Fukimura knelt down and placed his left hand palm down on the ground.
“
A direct leyline draw,” Albright commented. “Flashy.”
I couldn’t see anything with my eyes, but I could certainly
feel
something brewing. There was energy on the move. The hairs rising on the back of my neck told me that clearly. Curious, I focused my Sight on the area around Mr. Fukimura.
“
Wow,” I mumbled.
“
You can see it, son?” Albright asked, his voice raising an octave.
“
You mean the gold stuff? Sure.” I’d just assumed my Sight was a part of being magey.
Albright strummed his chin. “Fascinating. Be thankful, son. Few have the gift, and it usually takes decades of focused training to hone it.”
“
Well, I did complete a training program, but I wouldn’t recommend it.” I wanted to ask Albright more about my Sight, but the scene unfolding in front of us distracted me. Fukimura was drawing something out of the ground. They looked vaguely like the auras I had observed in New York, but this stuff came in strands. Gold in hue, each fiber had a fluctuating glow. One particularly thick coil rose gently into Fukimura’s palm, where it swirled in multi-colored spirals. He drew the substance inward, and it happily complied. Fukimura did it with such control, like he was measuring out flour. I watched as spiraling wisps of gold collected at the very center of his body, the spot that martial artists refer to as Ki. Fukimura’s head was moving back and forth ever so slightly, like a violinist playing a piece by memory.
Was he visualizing? Reciting a melody, perhaps?
I was puzzling over possibilities when Fukimura leaned forward and jammed his right hand directly into the giant blue orb. Energy coursed out of his body directly into the sphere. This flow was different than the initial draw. I could see it without the help of my Sight. The orb shuddered, flinching inward like it was hit by pepper spray. There was a rumbling sound, and the kids next to me began to back even further away. You could hear the buildup of pressure as the strain reached a crescendo.
I took a step back just as the blue orb burst. A septic tank full of shit exploded in every direction. I scrunched my nose. This Fukimura guy had just detonated a poo-bomb. Liquid effluence rained down around the circle. Girls shrieked in disgust. That jock-asshole Roster guffawed loudly.
“
Doody!” he yelled. “Doody!”
Ms. Cafferty had been blown three feet from where she last stood. Stunned, she lay spread-eagle on her back. Her body looked fine, minus the film of dung covering her from head to toe. Wiping the butt cream out of her eyes, Ms. Cafferty looked about ready to cry—but then puked all over herself instead. Fukimura walked away from the circle quietly. He had been completely untouched by the shit-storm. A clean V of grass stood where he had cast the spell. Leaving the blast zone, he returned to his work without a word. The girl who answered Fukimura’s question removed her shoes, rolled up her jeans, and made her way through the goo toward Ms. Cafferty.
“
Now that is what I call a friend,” I said.
Albright chuckled. “Right. Well, you must be tired, Dieter. I’m going to have to organize a clean up. What do you say we cut the orientation short and get you settled in your learning group? Lucas can finish up the tour in the morning.”