ZERO SIGHT

(Zero Sight Series, Book 1)

by

B. Justin Shier

Kindle Edition v.2

Zero Sight (Zero Sight Series, Book 1)

(www.zerosightseries.com)

Copyright © 2011 by Brian Justin Shier

(www.bjustinshier.com)

Kindle Edition v.2

ISBN 978-0-9835000-0-1

Editing by Jon Steller

Cover design by Jordan Kimura

(www.jordankimuradesigns.com)

Cover photography by Sarah Pedersen

(www.sarahpedersen.com)

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this ebook and did not purchase it, please purchase your own legal copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental. All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author.

To Deborah Lim,

For reminding me how to move a castle across the desert.

Part I

HOW TO MAKE TOAST

Chapter 1

BEHIND THE SCHOOLHOUSE

I read it in a book once. Time doesn’t slow during a fight. What you perceive as a slowdown is actually your poor noggin’ overloading with data. It’s working extra hard to create a detailed record of events—the mental equivalent of running a highlighter through a book—and you’re misinterpreting the added detail for added time. There’s a good reason for your brain’s sudden attention to detail. If you manage to survive the fight, there’s a serious advantage to remembering every last dodge and strike. You’ll have a chance to learn, a chance to maybe not repeat any of the stupid shit that got you there in the first place.

Professional fighters hear this explanation and shake their heads. They’ve all been there. They remember the sensations. They say that when the punches start flying, time slows down to help them focus. All they see is their opponent. All they hear is their heartbeat. Distractions like the shouts of the crowd fade away. Fighters become totally consumed with winning. Victory is their one and only drive. And the pros believe that if they wait long enough, all their intense focus will pay off. They call that moment the fight’s tipping point. They argue that spotting it is the difference between winning and losing. And trained fighters are patient beasts. They’re willing to take tremendous damage waiting for that perfect moment. But when that moment comes, they don’t hesitate for an instant. They deliver all the savage precision they can muster. It’s the essence of their craft. They gamble everything on it. No wonder they get so hot under the collar when some know-nothing scientists start arguing otherwise.

The scientists or the fighters…to be honest, I have no idea who’s right. I’ve been in dozens of fights: nasty ones with broken bones and missing teeth, fast finishes that ended before the second swing, slow grinds that were ended by the cops, but through them all, I never once experienced time slow down. Maybe that’s because I see things differently.

Perhaps “see” is the wrong word, but frankly, there isn’t anything else to call it. I’ve looked in hundreds of books, searched the Internet for hours, but there is nothing like my Sight logged anywhere. All I can do is describe it for you:

Close your eyes.

Rub them for a minute or two.

You see bursts of countless colors bound off in different directions, right? Some of them even have forms you can recognize—circles, squares, squiggles, and waves. Picture all those shapes overlaid onto your normal visual field. Now, imagine that every sparkle, every blur, every little motion has a meaning, that every last one is telling you something important about the world around you, that they’re feeding you information about energy on the move. When my adrenalin starts pumping, and my mind is overrun by fear and pain, my world doesn’t slow down—it fills with stars. And right now, in the dirt lot behind my high school, I’m about to take advantage of this strange little talent. A few seconds before the next punch is thrown, I’m already going to know it’s coming.

My feet kicked up dust as I skidded just out of his range. The dust irritated my eyes and mixed with the sweat on my skin. I tried to ignore it. I tried to focus on my footwork. I reminded myself of the need to breathe. I needed to be patient. Needed to lure him into a strike. I took a quarter step forward and leaned in on my toes.

Tyrone took the bait. As soon as I planted, he lunged in too close, and then I saw it: Light surged ahead of Tyrone Nelson’s left hand—beautiful waves telegraphing the punch’s power and direction. The waves were clean. The waves were vibrant. The more powerful the source, the brighter the bands of light. The more directed the source, the easier it is for me to read a blow’s path. I could See this one as clear as day. Tyrone got high marks for power and accuracy. If I let it hit, the punch would rattle my brain. I would stumble backwards with my chin high in the air. He would be able to follow-up with whatever he wanted. I would be on the ground in seconds, blow after blow caving in my face—so it was truly unfortunate for Tyrone Nelson that I Saw his left hook coming before he even released it. It gave me the half-second lead I needed to quarter-step right, set my feet, and deliver my own fist to his incoming nose. I felt the rush of air as his fist missed wide, the satisfying crunch as my own punch landed clean, and the warm spray of blood as his nose collapsed. That was the true value of my Sight. It made me nearly unbeatable.

I lowered my fists and smiled. This fight was over. I was going to need a new shirt.

As my heartbeat settled, so did my Sight. The crowd noise came rushing back. Life’s normal dull hues returned. I sagged from the strain. My Sight was a strange gift. I had no idea why, but I could only manage to focus it when I was in danger. Once a brawl was over, it faded away with the adrenalin.

I looked down at Tyrone sputtering in the dirt. It was all he could manage through the rush of blood and tears. I glanced up. The bright afternoon sun shone down hot and heavy. A circle of our peers stood around us. They looked thoroughly disappointed. I rubbed the dust and sweat out of my eyes and sighed. The return to reality was always like this. No more laser light show. No more rush. Just another bleached-out day in the valley of the sun. Except this one sucked more than usual, and I wasn’t out of the woods just yet. I returned my eyes to the dirt. It was best to not make eye contact with the crowd.

I listened to Tyrone’s blood patter to the ground and watched as it beaded up on the earth. The dirt repelled the uninvited moisture and held it up as an offering to the sun. In less than an hour, the only hint that someone bled all over the desert would be a faint streak of red in the dust. The city of Las Vegas doesn’t do soil. Soil implies some hope of life. The dirt here doesn’t do life. Hell, it doesn’t even do moisture.

I tightened my fists. The response had to be coming soon.

With a quick glance, I checked the distance between the crowd and myself. They hadn’t gathered to watch Tyrone Nelson get dropped, and they sure as hell weren’t scared of me. Las Vegas was still in America, and Americans demand happy endings, no matter how contrived. The muscles in my legs were locking up, so I shifted my feet. I needed to be ready to move. I needed to be ready to dodge. My mental calculus was simple: It was way better to get the beating over with now rather than later, but I didn’t want them breaking anything.

I could hear sirens in the distance. The school police must have spotted the fight. They wouldn’t intervene just yet. Not before they had backup. The riot two months ago had been a bad one. It had taught the cops just how much the gangs respected their badges. Live where I do and you get to know sirens real well. I listened carefully to the whines. I guessed three minutes tops. Five minutes would be pushing it, but I thought I could survive three minutes. They would get some hits in for sure, but I would be able to walk away. Running was a no go. Even if I got away clean I would still have to face them eventually. Then the fight would be at a time and place of their choosing. I shuddered at the thought. If that happened, there sure as hell wouldn’t be a three-minute time limit.

The decision was an easy one. I’d take my lumps now.

With a smirk, I looked up to meet their eyes.

Fifteen or so young human males and females wearing our mandated white button-down shirts and thick navy slacks surrounded me. (On a side note, whoever picked blue as our school color was one twisted fuck. Here’s a good idea: Take a bunch of impoverished, hormonally imbalanced teenagers, wrap them in heavy sheets of cotton, and make them march around in the middle of the desert. Yeah, that’s gonna work out well.) Despite the mandated uniforms, the Splotches stood out from the crowd. Legend had it that one of the founding Splotches had thrown their school slacks in the washer with a gallon of bleach. Twenty-five minutes later, the Splotches were born. You would think that the school administration would have banned the newly developed gang colors on the spot, but the Splotches were one step ahead of them. They pointed to a bureaucratic loophole which stipulated that no student could be required to buy more than two uniforms a year. They bleached every pair of slacks they owned and pleaded poverty.

Two pairs of slacks a year—it was sorta like the gang’s membership fee.

And so it was that the Splotches (who couldn’t pass a single class if you summed their scores together) circumvented the will of the entire educational establishment of Las Vegas, Nevada.

Three cheers for the ingenuity of youth.

Right now, I needed as little of said youthful ingenuity as possible. I wanted to orchestrate a controlled beating; I couldn’t afford any sparks of genius. What I needed was pure unadulterated rage. What I needed was a mob. I considered the possibilities, flipped through my Rolodex of pre-pubescent insults, and selected one of my finest bovine references:

“So,” I asked. “Which one of you fucking bluebells is next?”

Thirty eyes glared back at me.

Someone actually snarled.

My shoulders sank. I was committed now. The inevitability of the beating added to the suckitude. My heart began to pound. My gut churned. I considered just how badly this was going to hurt, and my confidence plummeted faster than a fat man in dunk tank. Nauseating anxiety rose to replace it. Then came the fear. Wave after wave of knee-knocking fear. The fear was perfect. The fear was exactly what I needed. My Sight returned just as a stream of color warned that the first attack was already coming—and from behind no less.

I focused on the shape of the source.

A pipe. A pipe was coming down on my head.

I looked a very bloody Tyrone Nelson straight in the eyes. I watched the smile growing on his face vanish. Tyrone knew I knew the pipe was coming, and Tyrone knew that was bad.

I shifted downward and threw a blind kick straight into Phil Collins’ incoming kneecap. Phil had already committed to the swing; he couldn’t dodge. The charging weasel yelped as I repositioned his bones. My blow flattened his angle of attack, redirecting the pipe forward. Tyrone was smart enough to protect his head. Instead of cracking open his skull, the pipe came down on his forearm. I heard his radius snap clean. (Or was it his ulna? I could never keep those two straight.)

Tyrone screamed in pain as his wrist jiggled like well-done pasta.

Phil was too busy cradling his busted knee to apologize.

I scrambled back to my feet. There was no time to gloat. I still had fourteen very angry Splotches to deal with. I cursed myself as I stood. This hadn’t been the plan. I had wanted to buy time, not dish out more hurt. These kinds of fights didn’t give extra-points for extra ass kicking—they deducted them. I knew that the more pain I dished out, the more they would pay back in kind, but I had underestimated how serious they were. I mean, a freaking pipe to the head? Stars above, these guys wanted me in the back of an ambulance.

Once I got off the ventilator, my dad was going to kill me—we didn’t have any insurance.

I swept the circle like a cornered animal. I needed an opening, and I needed it fast. All 14 of the Splotches wanted me pulped, and they were all acting on that desire at the same time. My Sight was starting to go haywire. When lots of sources generate energy at once, it’s like listening to an orchestra tune-up. Each instrument clamors over the next, vying for attention. Focusing on a single one becomes increasingly difficult. All I could See was a brilliant collage of colors—very pretty but very useless.

I didn’t need Mr. Tzu to tell me that, if a gang of mongoloids wearing tie-dyed navy slacks starts charging, it’s time to make haste or be paste—and I certainly wasn’t too proud to run. I spent a precious second searching the crowd and selecting an opening. I picked a gap between two girls, a weak link in the rapidly collapsing circle-o-death. Hoping that my antsy legs would cooperate, I kicked off in a dead sprint for the space between them.

Leaderless, the Splotches were acting rash. Each Splotch wanted to be the first to land a blow. Most committed to full-on charges. That included the two girls I rushed at. As they realized I was charging towards them, their eyes popped wide with surprise. Mobs are funny. Rolling deep gives the mobites a ton of confidence. Their chances of getting hurt are incredibly small. But that type of confidence comes at a cost.

It makes them stupid.

In their haste to bash my brains in, the girls had charged too fast. They had never considering what they would do if I came charging back at them. Now they couldn’t change course to block me. I zipped right by. One of the lovelies did manage to rake my cheek with her sharpened nails. (Remind me to never ask her for a head massage.) But that was that. I was home free. I extended my stride and didn’t look back.

Things were going well. My mad sprint was adding distance, and more importantly, it was eating time. As I reached the back of Binion High, I angled toward the corner of the main building. Taking the beat-down was no longer an option. The amount of damage I’d dealt to Tyrone and Phil had escalated this fight to a whole new level. If I didn’t want to be spatulaed onto a stretcher, I needed to get to the cops before the Splotches got a hold of me. At the very least, I needed to get out in front of the school and into the police’s line-of-sight.

I smiled. I’m a fast kid, and while some of the Splotches might eventually chase me down, I doubted they could make up the distance between us before I reached the cops. The LVPD would charge me with disorderly conduct and throw me in jail for a day or two. I could plead the charge down with some community service. The charges wouldn’t even show up on my record. I nodded to myself. Two nights in jail was a fair trade for getting to stay in one piece.

My head jolted forward and relief spread over me like a warm blanket. I was going to make it…but that warm blanket was making me dizzy. The sky was far too white. My feet were lagging behind the rest of my body. My limbs weren’t moving right. It was like one of those dreams where no matter how fast you ran it wasn’t enough to get away. A funny tingle was developing at the back of my head. I felt mushy. My ears started ringing. I reached back with my hand and felt my scalp. It was wet, sticky.

“Oh,” I blubbered. I had forgotten that my Sight was blurred. I hadn’t sensed the incoming rock. If I hadn’t been running away, it probably would have killed me.

My legs giving out, I stumbled to the corner of the building. I was right outside the chemistry lab. It was all closed up for the day. Clinging to cinder blocks, I tried to sort out my feet. They replied by turning to jelly. Shower of sparks were rushing towards my Sight. The lights were coming from too many directions. There was nowhere for me to dodge. Fear took me, and time slowed. As the first blow landed, I prayed I would have the chance to learn from my mistakes.

The Splotches knew their craft. They avoided my head. The body offers plenty of opportunities for pain, parts that don’t kill the sucker if you break them. All you need is a pointy boot and some patience. The kicks came sharp and quick. I couldn’t stand. Curling into a ball only opened up my sides. It was hard to sort out the pain, but I could certainly hear the cracks. A broken rib makes a distinct sound. I took a breath and instead of air I was greeted with a stabbing pain. The blows just kept coming. I had the time to consider what a shattered rib could do to a lung. The time to wonder what would happen if someone hit my spine. It occurred to me that I might die. The pain reached a crescendo. My mind started zeroing out. But I fought the urge to sleep. I fought it with everything I had. I was afraid. I was afraid I might not wake up. And I sure as hell wasn’t ready to go. I gritted my teeth and bore through it. And to think, this whole mess was of my own making.

+

Tyrone Nelson was the best pitcher our school ever had. He was headed for a full-ride scholarship at Stanford and a guaranteed ticket to the majors. Scouts actually came to our school to watch him play. The chicks loved him. The guys wanted to be him. He was a phenomenally talented athlete—and an absolute pile of shit.

Last year, Tyrone was halfway through his third no-hitter when a kid from Valley High took a single off him. During the kid’s second at bat, Tyrone Nelson threw a fastball at his temple. The pitch found its mark. It blinded the kid in one eye. He’d never see another fastball again. Needless to say, from that point on, batters just swung and missed. The incident earned Tyrone the nickname Beemer. An enterprising agent had gone ahead and bought him a real one in exchange for hiring his firm.

Tyrone Nelson was the undisputed king of our school—but that wasn’t enough. More than fame, more than power, Tyrone loved to control. He took over the Splotches as a hobby, purely as a way to get his rocks off. Under his leadership, the Splotches cornered our school’s soft drug market. They sold ecstasy mostly, plus some of the good ADD medicines that the nerds loved to pop before tests. Tyrone was smart. He avoided the hard stuff and never let the Splotches sell shit on school grounds. The Splotches didn’t exactly terrorize the school either. Tyrone’s violence was more targeted. He preferred to make one or two kids’ lives a living hell. Tyrone call them his ‘projects’. He would toy with a kid for a while, break them, and then move on to the next.

No one bothered to intervene. Tyrone was the school hero. He was something rare for Las Vegas: a success. Vegas was in the shitter. The decade long Great Slump had crushed people’s self-worth. They all desperately wanted to be around something that wasn’t rotting. They wanted to rub up against it. Maybe they hoped that some of it would come off in their hands. Most of the students, a good number of the faculty, and a majority of alumni backed Tyrone no matter what shit he pulled. They looked the other way when the Splotches dented in a dork—and to be honest, I did too. I had no interest in getting involved in any of it. That would have conflicted with the Plan.

The Plan called for calm. Throughout high school I had kept my head low. I managed to make it into my senior year with only five major fights under my belt. I think it might have been the school record. (I could see the yearbook inscription now: “Dieter Resnick, least likely to be stabbed dead in a bar fight”) The trick was to bloody up your opponents. You know, hurt them real bad. Then no one wanted to mess with you.

Ted Binion High was sorta like prison + homework. The same rules applied.

I had kept my head down for good reason. I only saw one chance to get out of this shit-hole of a town: a full-ride to a private. Nevada’s state college system collapsed my freshman year. The funding had simply dried up. Across the country money was tight, so the Great Slump was hitting Vegas especially hard. No one wanted to take a trip to Vegas when they were worrying if they had enough money to last the winter, and with the tourists went the tax base. There was barely enough revenue to fund the primary schools let alone state colleges. With state school out of the picture, an admission to a private was the only viable option for an aspiring Nevada youth. If your parents were wealthy enough to stash some cash you might be able take out a loan. But that wasn’t an option for me. My dad was heavily invested in The Bank of Ethanol, and believe-it-or-not, their interest rates are terrible. Since the only help I got from home was free lessons on how to dodge beer bottles, I needed to go for broke. A full-ride to one of the East Coast privates—that was the Plan. To do that, I had to deliver straight A’s and blow the doors off every AP test that Binion High had to offer. There were a lot of smarts gunning for the same scholarships. If I wanted to make the Plan happen, I needed to keep my head down and bust my ass. So you see, I didn’t want to be involved with Tyrone. I didn’t want to fight any of the Splotches. It’s just that I couldn’t help myself.

The kid Tyrone Nelson blinded was my friend.

His name was Victor Newmar, and we cut vegetables together.

Because my father is such a money sieve, I’ve worked since I was fourteen. Air salads and invisible hamburgers aren’t very filling, and hunger serves as excellent incentive to forage for a paycheck. That’s where the Newmars came in. Victor Newmar’s father used to deal cards with my dad. When I was about five, Mr. Newmar left the casino floor and—with some seed money he and his wife had scrounged together—opened a little restaurant in the same district as all the strip clubs. No one ever opened businesses down there, especially not 24-hour restaurants. But it was a brilliant move. It turns out that strippers and bouncers have to eat too, and being service employees themselves, they tip damn well for your efforts. The Newmar’s little joint became a huge success, and at fourteen, I became a grateful employee. Mr. Newmar had me do two hours of prep-work in the kitchen plus give Victor any tutoring he needed. In return, Mr. Newmar paid me a full-time wage.

His son, Victor, was two years younger than me. Victor’s folks realized early on that he was a bit slow, but that never stopped Victor. He tried hard and seemed immune to frustration. Teaching him inspired me to work harder myself. It made my own excuses seem petty. My own struggles, small. Growing up, the Newmars were like a surrogate family. When my old man settled in for a bender, I could always crash at Victor’s place. Before I was halfway through the door, Mrs. Newmar would be on her way up the stairs to make a bed. They never made me feel like a charity case. They never made me feel guilty for hiding out at their place. Heck, they even made me feel like they were happy to have my company. But the best part about the Newmars was how they never said a word about my father. When I got older, I realized why. There was never any alcohol in the Newmar household, and despite all the family gatherings the Newmars hosted, I never once heard Mr. Newmar speak of his own father.

I never asked him, but I figured Mr. Newmar knew more than most about growing up with a drunk.

I was sitting in the stands the day Tyrone hit Victor in the skull with that fastball. In the car with the Newmars as they followed the ambulance. At the hospital when Victor woke up blind in one eye.

Victor shrugged it off like it was nothing.

“Can’t fix what’s already done, Dieter,” he had told me. “Only what’s comin’.”

Only what’s coming…

I spent that night punching a wall till my fists bled, but in the morning I bandaged up my knuckles and told myself a convenient lie. I told myself that Tyrone didn’t mean to do it, that it was an accident, a fluke pitch. It was a lie, but I had my eye on a scholarship and taking on gang members didn’t mix well with Dieter’s Grand Plan. I told myself it wasn’t my business. I told myself making a stir would amount to nothing. I told myself it was all for the better if I got the scholarship. I told myself I could give Victor a better turn if I became powerful and wealthy. What good would revenge against Tyrone be anyway? The world was a hard place. You couldn’t fix it with your fists…You needed money and power for that.

I avoided those arguments when I stood in front of a mirror.

They didn’t work so well when I looked myself in the eye.

Then one day as I was walking to class, I overheard Tyrone talking with his buddies. They were laughing about the ‘tard he puttied during the Valley High game last year. To my surprise, I realized I had stopped walking. Instead, I was standing in the middle of the hall shaking. People were bumping into me as they rushed to class. I stood there oblivious. Part of my brain screamed at me to stop glaring, screamed at me to let it go…That part got smacked down, and smacked down hard. All those weeks of cowardice boiled over. I wanted Tyrone to hurt, for him to bleed, for him to plead for mercy, and get nothing but more pain in return. I knew I was distinctly qualified to make it happen, and that excited me. It drove me wild.

Tyrone noticed my glare. It must have unnerved him, because he jolted alert. Tyrone wasn’t used to having that sort of look directed at him—it was unheard of.

His reaction thrilled me. For once, I didn’t hesitate. I started right towards him.

Tyrone saw me coming. He stood, ready-to-go—but we were interrupted.

Dr. Leeche, my chemistry teacher, intercepted me mid-stride. He was going on and on about the work we were going to do in the lab over the weekend. The Plan. My brain reoriented at the word. Schoolwork. College. Gainful employment. Or the alternative: Stuck in Las Vegas. Dicing onions and frying burgers. Going nowhere just like my dad.

The fear of no choices. The fear of no free will. That fear was greater than my sense of shame, greater than my desire to smear Tyrone Nelson up and down that hallway. I faltered, and just like that, my fury ebbed. I walked away. I buried the urge deep inside me. I decided to let it go.

But things are never that easy.

Tyrone wasn’t ready to let it go. He couldn’t really. I had challenged him in front of his crew. In the world we lived in, you couldn’t let that slide. That was weakness, and weakness wasn’t allowed. The Splotches started in on me the very next day. Pushes in the hallway. Snickers in class. Spitballs at lunch. Weeks of silly bullshit. They never challenged me to an actual fight. They were too smart for that. There was no profit in a direct confrontation. It was better to wear me down.

I took it all in stride. With graduation only seven months away, my eyes were back on the prize. Things would be better in college. Toughing it out would be worth it…

Then they torched my notebooks.

For a scientist, notebooks are everything. If it isn’t written, it didn’t happen. It’s that simple. They were the sum total of all my research with Dr. Leeche. I was studying how yeast could be used to generate energy. Dr. Leeche said I had a knack for breeding yeast, and the project had already won last year’s state science fair. If I could reproduce the findings, I’d be able to get published in a major journal. With that victory in hand, I was guaranteed a full ride at an Ivy League school. The data in those notebooks were my meal ticket. Every experiment would have to be repeated. It would set my work back months. Tyrone was telling me he knew where to hurt me. If I didn’t do something, he could ruin me.

And so I set a brilliant plan in motion. I challenged Tyrone to a fight.

I knew the Splotches. They loved to beat down an opponent. It inflated their egos and improved their reputation. But once they did it once, the thrill was gone. I’d never been beaten in a fight. I was a big prize. I figured if I lost to them, they would get their kicks and move on. But for the plan to work, I would have to give them what they wanted: a damn good fight. I was going to throw it of course. I could use my Sight to turn the heaviest hits into glancing blows. I would take a few good punches, land one or two of my own, take one in the chin and go down. It was brilliant plan. I could get bloodied up while avoiding the worst of it, the Splotches would get their ‘justice’, and we all could get back to minding our own business.

I challenged Tyrone right in the center of the cafeteria to a duel at dusk. (My performance was quite badass, if I do say so myself.) I needed people to know about it—and I needed him to be forced to fight me at a time of my choosing. A fight at school would probably get me arrested, but that was the whole point. I wanted the LVPD to intervene. It would give the fight a time limit.

His honor at stake, Tyrone had accepted.

When we met at the back of the school, the whole gang came to watch. I probably should have known what was going to happen next. Probably should have predicted it. As I stood facing Tyrone Nelson, my emotions started going haywire. I should have known they would—and maybe deep down I did. Maybe I needed a contrived situation where I could finally do what I really wanted. All I know is that as I watched Tyrone Nelson swagger up to face me, my mind went rogue. I thought of all those times Mrs. Newmar hustled up the stairs to make a bed for me, how none of them ever asked me where the bruises were from, how Victor never said a word when I cried myself to sleep at night—and I just saw red. When the punches came, there wasn’t a speck of hesitation. I only wanted to make pain. I was going to drop him. I was going to make him suck blood. Tyrone was going to know what it was like to be on the receiving end. He was going to know what it was like to have no control at all…

+

And now his buddies were readjusting my ribcage.

Hollow thuds filled my ears. Their boots were playing my lungs like drums. I struggled for breath as blows exploded my belly and sides. A particularly brutal one caught a kidney. I gagged as that special pain stretched down the length of my left side. I was going to be pissing blood in the morning. My eyes rolled backwards. My shoulders sagged. And then, just when I thought I couldn’t bear anymore, the cheers of the Splotches were replaced by quietly shuffling feet.

Whispers and gasps filled the air.

I could hear sirens closing in.

I blinked my eyes. I had made it. They were finally finished with me. I should have been relieved, but something was wrong with my insides. Air was seeping out of my mouth. My body was screaming for air, but even as I tried to draw it in, it leaked back out my mouth.

For some reason the Splotches were walking in a circle around me. Looking at them, I felt like I was at the center of a merry-go-round. Why had the gang gone West Side Story all of a sudden? They whirled about, faster and faster…

“Oh,” I thought to myself. They probably weren’t the ones spinning. The rock to the head must have caused a concussion. I blinked twice to try and clear the haze.

Like at the end of a really long exhale, the leak from my lungs trickled to a stop. I could manage small breaths now, but the strangest thing was happening—only the left side of my chest was rising. That explained the leak. They must have popped one of my two balloons. Still, why hadn’t the Splotches made a run for it yet? I was toast, and the cops were coming. Why were they still hanging around? They were looking at something, something over to my left.

I turned my head and looked.

I really wished I hadn’t.

It was Tyrone. He was walking towards me. Crusty gunk covered his face, and his shirt was soaked straight through with blood. But that wasn’t the worst of it. No, the grand prize went to Tyrone’s right hand. It was dangling like a wet noodle. He wasn’t going to be pitching fastballs anytime soon. But all was not lost. Tyrone still had his left, and that hand looked just fine. Better than fine, actually. It was still able to palm a rather large rock with ease.

I swallowed.

Tyrone noted my attention.

The blood-crusted smile complemented the murderous vibe coming from his eyes.

Razor-nails girl walked over to him.

“Tyrone,” she said. “Step off a second. We gotta get you to a doc.”

Tyrone looked at Miss Scratchums, glanced at his wrist, and then drove his forehead into her face.

Miss Scratchums crumbled to a moaning heap at Tyrone’s feet.

“Shut the fuck up, bitch,” he growled. He looked around. Some of the Splotches were averting their eyes. The dangling wrist was a bit much for them. “Go buzz the PD. I need a tic.”

The fellow who had just deflated my lung turned to Tyrone. “Are you sure, man?” he asked.

Tyrone nodded. “Hell yea. Kick it.”

The Splotches ran off to run interference.

I tried to move my legs, but I wasn’t going anywhere. They were totally numb.

I heard the gravel crunch under Tyrone’s feet. He walked over and looked down at me. He said something, but the lack of oxygen was getting to me.

I could hardly pay attention.

Tyrone noticed. He kicked me onto my back and stepped on my chest.

A mixture of pain and panic rushed over me. The bastard was choking off my air supply. As my heart sped up in my chest, my Sight flickered back online.

If I could, I would have shrieked at the sight. A faint red cloud was hovering around Tyrone’s body. At first I thought I was just going hypoxic, but the longer I stared, the more certain—the red mist was real. I had never seen anything like it. The mist floated about like an aura of sorts, and it felt…mean. As I examined the strange haze, a wave of energy burst from the core of Tyrone’s body. I grimaced as it blanketed over me. This wasn’t normal at all. I wasn’t just Seeing these lights; I was feeling them too.

I had never figured out what my Sight really was. It was a talent I had long ago given up trying to explain. I had acquired my Sight when I was a child. It was thanks to my father. His beatings had given birth to my Sight. The fights would always start with my mother. He would get to thinking of her, and the rest of the night was predictable. A binge to start. A bitter swirl of words to follow. He’d say things he’d never dream of saying sober. Then his garbled rants would retreat into a language I didn’t even know. But while I couldn’t parse his phrases, I understood his pain. My gut reaction was to try and help him. His gut reaction was to punch me in the face. I was a stupid kid. I never ran. My dad was all I had. He was hurting, and I loved him. I’d step into the punches. I couldn’t bear to run away.

In the midst of his punches, when I thought my whole body would break, I began to see strange lights. They weren’t the normal stars. They told me how to turn so that his blows would only glance. They told me when to dodge so that his punches would fly wide. They taught me the principles of angles, reach, and speed. They only came when I needed them most, only when I was really scared of dying, but they gave me hope.

I thought the lights were angels. My grandma loved talking about angels. She said that some were guardians, guardians sent to protect those in need. Grandma said that I had one too, that all children did, and that all I had to do was listen close to hear it. I thought it was just as grandma said, that a guardian had come to protect me. The idea that something out there wanted to protect me—it kept me sane.

As I grew older, I decided the waves of light were nothing mystical, just pure, reliable streams of data. Maybe this Sight of mine was a sixth sense that other people lacked. Some people were colorblind, maybe I could just see more than normal. Or maybe my Sight wasn’t a sixth sense at all. Maybe I just had a knack for anticipating forces. My Sight might just be an artifact, a creative way my brain had decided to represent information. I reasoned that lots of famous fighters claimed they could anticipate an opponent’s moves, and that maybe that’s all I was doing. Whatever my Sight was, I learned early to never bring it up in public. That only brought strange looks and whispers. I kept the knowledge to myself and was just thankful it was there.

But as Tyrone stood over my battered body, I realized all those theories were wrong. The silver wave erupting into my Sight was like nothing I had ever Seen before. It was no simple vision, no stream of data to be interpreted. It was something entirely different…and it made my skin crawl. It wrapped itself around me. Groped me. Probed me. I didn’t know it’s nature, I didn’t understand where it came from, but deep in my gut I knew it was alive. As alive as I was. As alive as any of us are. The silvery thing rested on me like a thousand tiny blades waiting to cut, and my skin went numb. I strained my Sight for answers and tried to peer beyond the blanket’s icy burn. I found nothing but one solitary desire: This thing wanted inside me.

My Sight screamed a warning. It spoke to me in a language beyond words. Everything would end if I let it in. Everything. I stared into it. I stared right past the blades. They were simply the fringes of whatever it was. And it was massive. And it was dark. And it was painful.

Tyrone stood above me smiling. He pressed more of his weight onto my chest.

“Dieter, Dieter, Dieter,” he cooed. “What on earth were you thinking, man?”

My lungs were empty. I was in no position to respond.

“You fucked up my arm pretty good,” he said. The fact his henchman broke it while he tried to jump me from behind seemed to be lost on Tyrone at the moment. I looked at the goofy smile on his face—perhaps it had something to do with him losing his fucking mind.

“We have something in common, Dieter. You and me both want to get the fuck out of this shithole of a town, don’t we?”

“It’s you and I, asshole,” I thought to myself.

“Too bad my way out just got shattered,” Tyrone said, looked down at his arm. His wrist was flopping around like a rubber chicken as he spoke.

I grimaced at the sight. Those movements must have seriously hurt, but instead of being overwhelming by pain, Tyrone just started laughing harder. Tears moistened his eyes, but he just kept on laughing.

He took a long cleansing breath.

I would have killed for that breath.

“Oh well, sucks for me and sucks for you. An eye for an eye and a dream for a dream.” Tyrone raised the rock high into the air. Palming the boulder, he looked down at me serenely. “You’re a thinking man, right, Dieter?”

He couldn’t be serious…I stared at him in shock.

“Oh come on, man. All’s I’m asking for is a fair trade. Your brain for my arm.”

My heart skidded. Tyrone was serious. He was going to kill me.

In utter desperation, I tried to squirm away.

My body wouldn’t cooperate. I had absorbed too much damage. I couldn’t move.

Tyrone didn’t dally. He had already made up his mind.

It was all happening ridiculously fast. Where was the long melodramatic speech? Where was my chance for a pithy retort? He held the rock above his head. I watched helplessly as his whole body tensed. He was going all out. He was going to drive it right through my skull.

“Batter up!” he screamed, starting his pitch.

As the rock started its descent a magnificent wave of power streamed into my Sight—a flash of pure kinetic energy aimed directly at my face. I couldn’t believe it. The icy blanket wrapping around my body tensed. It felt like I had been dowsed with ice water. If I had air, I would have screamed, if I had anything in my bladder I would have pissed. I was going to die. I was going to die in the dirt behind Ted Binion High School. Before my first college bender. Before the good job. Before I got to tell my father to fuck off. Before I even got laid…I was to be a low virgin sacrificed to the gods of reciprocity.

Thoughts and emotions all rang out at once.

Regret, sorrow, fear, and despair all competed for attention.

Desperation won. Nature took over.

Something inside me tore loose. A thing I wasn’t even aware was there. Something bound and restrained. Something cruel. It had waited seventeen years, six months, and fifteen days for this moment. The thing told me it knew what to do. It told me to sit back, relax, and enjoy the show.

I was too scared to argue. I let it out of its cage.

When I was young, I found a kitten in the crawl space under our house. I snuck it food at night. When my dad wasn’t around, I brought it inside to play. One day, as she was chasing a ball of fuzz around the top of the cabinets, my little cat went for a lunge and slipped right off. I tried to catch her, but I wasn’t fast enough. I cringed, expecting her to break a bone. Instead, the darnedest thing happened. The clumsy ball of fur swung her tail out like a whip and kicked out her feet. The motions killed the spin and righted her for impact. She made a four-point touchdown and lumbered off for more adventure. It had been a pre-programmed reflex. When my cat had needed it, some sort of evolutionary override had just taken charge…

Mine wasn’t so cute.

I looked up to see my left hand blocking the path of Tyrone’s rock—and the rock was slowing. A brilliant wave of force extending from the crude projectile erupted into fireworks on my palm. A tiny galaxy of sparks was forming. The specs of light swirled about my hand. Spun faster and faster. Swirled tighter and tighter. And with an abrupt pulse, the whole lot of them flooded straight into my arm.

Imagine being a high-voltage power line. Imagine the electricity coursing through you. It was like that. I could feel the power pushing inside me. I could feel it drawn like a magnet straight to my core.

Tyrone grunted. He’d slammed that rock down with all the force 6’5’’of well-trained muscle could muster, but now it was resting on my palm as light as a feather. Off balance, he stumbled forward and fell to his knees.

With a wave of my hand, fifteen pounds of stone rolled harmlessly to my side.

But the energy in my arm wasn’t stopping. It was still crawling toward my chest. I gasped as the world went white. The energy was inside me. It bounced off the walls. It was touching me. Touching me from the inside. A queasy sense of violation overtook me—that awful feeling as you plummet downward on a roller coaster. Only one thought ran through my head. I wanted everything to stop. No more pain. No more fear. No more danger. I didn’t want to see more lights. I didn’t want to fight. I just wanted to be left alone.

Of course, my child, a gravelly voice replied.

My right arm shot up. The white world was replaced by a dark one. The power was flowing out, but it felt different—volatile, dangerous, like the strike of a match in a room full of gas. A split second later and my ears both popped. The world went red. My hearing was reduced to high-pitched ringing. My throat burned. The icy blanket covering my skin vanished, and a searing heat replaced it. The smell of smoke choked my one remaining lung. And I could feel a wetness raining down on my face. A fire sprinkler? How could that be? I opened my eyes. My vision was blurry…strained. I could have sworn I had been outside the corner of the building where Dr. Leeche’s chemistry lab was, but I must have been mistaken. I was inside the lab now.

A dream! I must have fallen asleep in class. There was homework due next Monday, and I had to ask Dr. Leeche a question about some of the acid-base problems. Problem was, I couldn’t seem to find his desk. It was hard to see through the flames, and there wasn’t a roof, either. The sky swirled above me, and something wet kept pattering onto face.

I wiped a red smear from off my eyes. Where was this stuff coming from? I turned my head toward the source. I closed and opened them again. I searched my groggy memory. There was a word for that sight…Maw. Yea, that was the word. Maw. The exposed gullet of another living creature. An SAT review word. I’d wondered why they wanted you to memorize it. But now it all made sense. It was a good term to know in situations where someone’s head explodes leaving chunks of brainstem, larynx, and esophagus exposed for the entire world to see.

One of the two holes blew a few bubbles before the torso shuddered and collapsed on top of me.

Panic stricken, I pushed the heavy mass to the side. Then I sat still and stared at the sky. My body wouldn’t move, and every breath was a struggle. Little black spots danced across my vision. My reality separated from time.

Seconds passed, maybe minutes.

“Jackson,” a voice said. “Jackson, find the kill switch.”

I heard the crunch of footsteps.

“Oh my God.” The same voice. Closer now. “Son? Can you hear me, son?”

I looked above my head, and there he was. A cop from the look of him—but without the usual stoic demeanor. He looked about ready to gag.

I blinked back at him.

Surprise etched on his face, his hand went to his radio.

“We’ve got a live one!” he screamed. “Ambulance. Now!” Breathing heavy, he looked back down at me. “It’s all right, son. We’re gonna get you out of here…just…just hold on,” he managed.

He looked like a nice enough guy. I blinked again, and he forced a smile. Checking my pulse with his right hand, he glanced over to the left. His face went white as ghost.

“Sweet Mary and Joseph,” he muttered.

Someone else came over. Heavy boots. Yellowish jacket. This one placed a bag over my face. I think it helped me breath, but my senses were failing. Things were getting too quiet. My vision dimmed.

One way or another, it was all over. I had gotten my wish. Finally, some peace.

I closed my eyes and started to weep.

Chapter 2

FLOWERS AND LYSOL

I woke in a strange bed. My body was stiff. My limbs felt heavy.

How long had I been out? Where the hell was I?

I was struggling through the odd sensations, when a rush of air surged into my chest. I panicked and strained against it, but my effort was met with a sharp protest from my angry ribs. A second puff came. Then a third. There was a tube sticking down my throat. I could feel it with my tongue. So it was providing me air…I relented, letting the puffs of cold dry air inflate my chest again and again. Still, breathing is so basic. It was odd to have some machine do it for me. I must have been drugged, because thinking was hard. I wasn’t outside my high school anymore, but since I was breathing through a tube, I was probably still alive. I opened my sticky eyes and glanced around. The lights were so bright. I could hardly see, but it looked like a hospital. I wasn’t so sure how happy I was about that. Hadn’t I done something really bad?

I strained to remember.

"Okay, Dieter,” I thought, “You picked a fight with Tyrone. You broke his nose, and then Phil Collins tripped and broke his arm. You ran. A rock hit you. The Splotches caught you. They broke some bones, and then Tyrone came with that big rock. He wanted to kill you. He was going to crush your head. You knew you were going to die, there was a blinding whiteness, and when you opened your eyes, Tyrone’s head was gone, the chemistry lab’s roof was missing, and there was fire everywhere. The cops found you. Then you passed out.”

I felt confident about those details. The problem was I also recalled stopping a giant face-smashing rock with my bare hand. That part had me a bit confused. That sort of thing shouldn’t have been possible. The forces just didn’t add up. But Tyrone’s head had been blown off…

The machine took a few more Vader breaths.

Holy shit. Had I just killed someone?

I tried to swallow, but the tube wouldn’t allow it. Closing my eyes, I waited for the inevitable rush of regret. Willfully or not, I had taken a life, and a human life no less. I sat perfectly still as the machine pumped in-and-out.

I felt nothing.

I’d read about this stuff. People suppressing their emotions until the whole kit and caboodle rushed forth at once, overwhelming them. That was what this was. I waited for the impending avalanche-o-guilt—and waited—and waited. I looked around the room and waited some more.

“Stars above,” I thought. ”I must be really messed up.”

It didn’t make sense. I had just killed a man and didn’t feel a thing. Why the heck not? I certainly didn’t like the idea of taking life. I understood the wrongness of the act. Life is rare. I knew it should be respected, never wasted. But I felt no emotions. I frowned. There was no guilt at all. No shame. Just a vague sense of unease. Sure, I would have preferred that he not die, and I certainly felt no pleasure that he was dead, but then again, Tyrone Nelson was a dick.

I squirmed under the covers. Wasn’t I a “sensitive guy”? I cried when Bambi’s mom died, didn’t I? I tried to avoid eating too much meat. Seeing people in pain made me angry. Heck, wasn’t that the reason why I ended up in this situation in the first place? But here I was, lying in a hospital bed after blowing the head off of Ted Binion High School’s first-and-only major league prospect, and my mind kept drifting back to whether or not I was going to get arrested.

Did I even have the right to worry? I was a killer, wasn’t I?

A pair of rubber soles squeaked into my room.

I froze. My introspective review session was over.

The feet stopped near my left side. I listened to the beeps as buttons were pressed.

Curious, I shifted my weight to get a better view.

Whoever it was jumped in fright.

“Omigosh!” she yelped. “You’re awake? Oh, thank goodness. No one thought you would make it…But Dr. Montgomery was so certain.” I felt the woman’s hand on my shoulder. “It was amazing to watch. She’s like a magician. I’ll go get her right away.”

The nurse scurried out my room and down the hall.

“Oh, thank goodness”? Perhaps she had a thing for homicidal freaks that liked popping their victims’ heads off.

Within moments, a whole team of medical folk thundered in. They began the poking, and the prodding, and the ritualistic shining of lights. And they all seemed so pleased.

“A miracle,” one muttered.

I didn’t get it. Why were these folks treating me like Dorothy after she wacked the Wicked Witch?

A set of fingers peeled back eyelids and placed soothing drops into my eyes. Whatever was in them helped. After blinking a few times, everything came into focus. I could see a doctor looking down at me with a warm smile. Mid-thirties, I guessed. Her hair was bright red, her skin, pale, and I can’t explain why, but something about her shouted, ‘I heart granola.’ She belonged in one of those commercials for asthma medicines. The one with two women skipping through a park as the voiceover says, “With my uncontrollable gasping under control, I’m free as a bird!” But there was a bit of an edge to her. More power than flower. The doc looked like she was running without much sleep, but her eyes were sharp and her fingers nimble.

“Hi, Dieter,” she said pleasantly. “My name is Dr. Montgomery. Welcome back to the land of the living.” She dragged her clogs over to the cart by my bed and messed with some vials. “Isn’t it high time we got that tube out of your mouth?” she asked.

“Yuugg.” I replied.

She smiled, and I felt warm inside.

“Alrighty, Dieter, I want you to take a deep breath and then exhale. As you exhale, out goes the tube.”

I did as she said and took in a deep breath and exhaled as she pulled.

The first breath was like sandpaper. I started coughing uncontrollably. Dr. Montgomery anticipated that. She placed a fat tube in front of my face. With a flip of a switch, it spread a fog of wet air over my face. Two-dozen coughs and wheezes later, I was finally able to croak a thank you.

“Now, now,” Dr. Montgomery said, wagging her finger back and forth. “No more talking tonight. Let’s let your throat rest up first.”

I nodded, but I was still puzzled. She wasn’t treating me as the Ted Kaczynski of schoolyard brawls. Could it be that they didn’t know what happened? I mimed confusion, hoping that she would take the hint.

“Don’t worry about going to the bathroom, dear,” she replied. “There’s a diaper for that.”

Egads. I needed to work on my miming skills. I frowned and shook my head.

“Are you confused where you are, dear?” she asked.

Heck yes. I nodded.

“Your father—your father doesn’t seem to be around,” she said trying to hide a frown. No surprise there. He was employed as a card dealer at one of the casinos. That meant he worked long, weird hours. That, or he was passed out in a gutter. (To be fair, when my dad wasn’t intoxicated he was a halfway decent guy. The problem was he was never not intoxicated.) Dr. Montgomery eyed me with a knowing look. Deadbeat parents were par for the course in these parts. “Well, Dieter, you’re almost eighteen. If he’s not going to show up, I guess I should bring you up to speed.”

I nodded eagerly.

Dr. Montgomery motioned for the nurses to leave. Once they had, she grabbed a stool and sat down. She let out the sigh of someone who had been on her feet for a very long time. There was a scratch along the length of her jaw. One of her patients must have gotten fresh with her.

“Dieter, I don’t know how much you can recall, so I’ll start from the beginning. The police tell us that a brawl broke out at Ted Binion High. Around the same time, someone was working in the school’s chemistry lab. The police believe the individual became distracted or scared by the fighting. They think he-or-she forgot to turn off the gas line when they left.” She looked past me out the window. “Some of Mr. Nelson’s friends told the police that you and a Mr. Nelson had run to escape the violence, and that the two of you went to hide behind the school.”

My eyebrows rose. How on earth had the story gotten so wacked out?

“Now Dieter, this is where things get a bit strange: The fire department believes that in the panic over the riots, someone set off the school’s fire alarm. As you may know, when fire alarms are activated, all the magnetic fire doors release. The firemen believe the doors nearest the lab were defective. They think a spark from the doors’ release mechanism ignited the gas building up in the chemistry lab.” She shook her head. “Pretty ironic when you think about it, huh?”

I frowned. That story was totally implausible. Those doors operate by turning off a magnet when the system is triggered. Why would cutting a circuit cause a spark? Besides, a room couldn’t fill up with that amount of gas in a few minutes. I ran the calculation in my head. Even if someone had left a valve open full blast, it would have taken over an hour for enough gas to build up to blow up the lab.

“When the mechanism ignited the gas, there was an explosion. It blew apart the wall you and Mr. Nelson where hiding behind. You both were caught in the blast. The debris hit with terrible force, Dieter. You were badly banged up. You suffered a collapsed lung along with a number of broken ribs. Some of the debris struck your head, and you suffered some brain swelling. We nearly lost you. Mr. Nelson was badly injured as well.” She shook her head sadly. “We tried everything we could, but his injuries were just too severe. I’m sorry, Dieter, but Mr. Nelson didn’t make it.”

I pondered what exactly it was that they “tried” on the headless corpse of Tyrone Nelson. I nearly laughed.

Dr. Montgomery must have misread the expression on my face. She said, “I’m sorry, Dieter, so very sorry. He must have been a friend of yours.”

I sat still and stared at the ceiling.

Dr. Montgomery patted my hand, and then took it into her own. She gave me a sad smile. “It wasn’t your fault, Dieter,” she said quietly. “I need you to remember that. The story has been running in the papers. Everyone knows you didn’t do anything wrong. If you don’t know that something is explosive, you can’t be held accountable if it explodes, now can you?”

Dr. Montgomery patted my hand again. Was she trying to imply something?

“Just try to rest for now. I’ll get the nurse to bring some water for you.”

I lay in bed and waited. The situation I had woken up to was not the one I expected. No one was holding me responsible for Tyrone’s death, and I wasn’t going to jail. They didn’t even think it was murder…but maybe that made the most sense. I considered how it must look to an outside observer. There wasn’t a murder weapon. No bomb or hand grenade. Just a big explosion right next to a chemistry lab threaded with gas lines. It was the sensible conclusion, the only one that seemed remotely likely. That brought me to the next question: What the heck had I done? How had I managed to kill Tyrone?

Drug-addled as I was, I was loath to trust my own memory. That I somehow absorbed energy and discharged it made no sense. Physics didn’t work like that.

I frowned. This was one helluva puzzle.

I thought back to what it felt like—it was about all I had to go on. I remembered that as the rock came down, my reaction was automatic, more like a muscle reflex than a conscious act. All I had felt at the time was utter desperation. And what brought on that desperation? It was that horrible dark sensation: that silver thing that had wrapped its arms around me. As those silvery blades crawled across my skin, my instincts told me I was about to die. It was hardcoded knowledge, like the fear associated with dangling off a cliff. You don’t need to have fallen off one to know that it isn’t a good idea. But what had that strange icy scraping been? It arrived right around the time Tyrone committed to killing me. I remembered seeing a hazy red aura around him, and then suddenly that icy silver thing burst out of him and screamed death. Some martial artists claimed they could read an opponents aura and sense their intent before a fight even started. They claimed they knew whether their opponent had the resolve to kill. Had I somehow tapped into that information? Had I sensed someone else’s killing intent? I frowned. This line of reasoning was a dead end. There was no way to test that theory unless I convinced someone else to try and kill me—and that experiment wasn’t gonna happen.

“Okay,” I said to myself. “You have an unconsciously triggered act brought on by a feeling of utter despair. But what the hell kind of reflex was that anyway?”

It felt like some sort of imprinted response to a clear threat on my life, and it was one hell of a fail-safe too. As best as I could tell, I had taken the kinetic energy of the rock plummeting at my head, collected it, converted it, and expelled it. Whatever I produced had obliterated Tyrone’s head and half the chemistry lab with it. The problem was I didn’t need a textbook to tell me that the energy put into the system wasn’t even close to the energy required for that amount of damage. The response was totally disproportionate. Since there was no conceivable way the energy absorbed was greater than or equal to the power needed to cause the explosion, I had two viable explanations to choose from: 1) The laws of physics broke down that Thursday afternoon behind Ted Binion High School, or 2) That rock I took to the back of my head had done more than just knock me off my feet.

I swallowed. It felt like chugging a bowling ball. I felt my bandaged head. It was starting to throb. The pain medication was probably wearing off, and all this thinking was tiring me out. The nurse came back in and gave me some water to sip. I choked down bit before waving her off. Just trying to stay conscious was exhausting. It wasn’t long before I dozed off.

+

I danced with vivid dreams throughout that miserable night.

Victor Newmar standing at the plate.

The wet thwap of the impact.

His crumpled body hitting the dirt.

The paramedics pushing Mrs. Newmar away.

And now I’m running through a hallway. Tyrone is chasing me with a bat. I try to get away, but my legs won’t move fast enough. He catches me, and we tussle on the ground. I end up on top. We struggle. I punch him again and again. I punch, and I punch, and I punch. Wet thwaps greet my blows. Rage throbs through me. The hate is so strong, so strong I can taste it. Every punch releases it. Exhausted, I look down. Tyrone’s face is gone, a bloody mess in its place. I take my red hands and wipe them across my face. My enemy has fallen. I can taste his blood on my lips. His body goes cool between my legs. Victorious, I arch backwards, stare into a burning sky, and cry out in ecstasy.

And now I’m in a stranger’s bed, tremors of that vacant thrill shooting through my body. Whispers in the corner. People talking. Groggy and confused, I strain to focus. Mustn’t make a sound. Mustn’t alert the voices. Slowly, carefully, I tilt my head. Three people stand in the darkness. I squint. Dr. Montgomery in her bright white coat. Two men in dark wool suits. The three are deep in conversation. I strain my ears to listen.

“As I told you, Agent Collins, he’s a perfect candidate for eye-cam,” Dr. Montgomery whispers.

The man named Collins crosses his arms. “Medic, we really appreciate your efforts on behalf of the boy, but he’s simply not salvageable. He’s over sixteen and has zero control. The incident at that school was a near catastrophe. By the time we got there, the fire department was already puzzling over why the debris had blown into the building. We had to bring in Cerberus WIP teams to cover all the loose ends. By the gods, they were just a few hours away from a press conference.”

“Ralph, normally I would agree with you, but can we really afford to squander talent right now?” asks the second man. “Talmax is on the move. We need—”

“Masterson,” interrupts the man called Collins, “from what I can tell, the boy hasn’t even exhibited until now.”

“Little surprise there, Ralph. He lives in this dust bowl. Water isn’t the only thing that doesn’t flow around here.”

Dr. Montgomery presses. “All I’m saying is you should give the kid a shot. He’s a bright one. I checked his grades—straight A’s. He even won the state science fair last year. He managed to enhance a yeast strain and harness it for energy. He can catch up, Agent Collins. I’m sure of it.”

Collins grunts and puts his hands in the air. “I guess I’m outnumbered. Very well, I’ll give him a shot—but Masterson, if he duds, I’m taking the cleanup out of your pay.”

Chuckling, Masterson says, “Yes, sir. But, Ralph, you can’t drain a stone.”

“Complain to the Department, not me,” he grumbles.

The two men leave the room together, and Dr. Montgomery does a little fist pump.

I clamp my eyes shut as the she paces about, checking my lines and making adjustments. I can feel the breeze of her body as she moves. A faint eucalyptus scent trails her motions. Her warm hand touches my forehead. My whole body tingles.

“Now it’s up to you, my little gem,” she whispers. “But do not fret, Kit will recognize your talents.”

Dr. Montgomery continues to stroke my forehead. I stay as still as I possibly can. Being touched is such a rare thing. I dread it might stop—but it hurts all the same. Her hand reminds of tired memories. She begins to hum a slow, mournful melody, beautiful but forlorn. The humming transitions to words, and she sings a lonely verse in a tongue I do not know:

Bayu-bayushki-bayu.

Ne lozhisya na krayu.

Pridyot serenkiy volchok,

On ukhvatit za bochok

I utashchit volesok

Pod rakitovy kustok.

A lullaby, perhaps? The sounds are as warm as the touch of her hand, like the last embers of a dying fire. My mind becomes hazy. I drift off again.

+

I spent the next few days in the same medical haze. The nurses came in. The nurses came out. I ate bland food and grew restless in bed. The Newmars dropped in to see how I was doing. Mr. and Mrs. Newmar didn’t seem so broken up over Tyrone’s death. After what he had done to their son, I couldn’t blame them. Victor didn’t share that sentiment. He felt awful about Tyrone. He said there was a memorial service for Tyrone three days after the blast—while I was still sedated—and that he had gone to pay his respects. Victor brought a copy of an article in the paper. It covered both the incident and the memorial service for Tyrone. The story gave the same explanation as Dr. Montgomery: Gas left on. Sparks started explosion. Ace pitcher killed. Other student seriously wounded. According to Victor, everyone in Vegas was talking about the blast. The news media was playing up the "life of promising young athlete cut tragically short” angle, and Tyrone’s service was heavily attended by the community. In a press conference, the baseball team’s coach announced that the team would wear black armbands in Tyrone’s memory…and in the very next sentence requested donations. It was good to see that Coach Casey was still keeping it classy.

Victor kept saying, “I can’t believe Tyrone died.”

I kept thinking, “I can’t believe I killed him.”

Despite that minor inconvenience, getting to see the Newmars was great. The past few days had been flat out bizarre. Spending time with them was grounding. It made my world feel less upside down. But the visit was a temporary respite. Once they left, I fell back into the same mix of guilt and doubt that had been plaguing me since I had first woken up. When I thought about Tyrone, I just felt numb.

I was thankful that the media was so fixated on Tyrone. It was good that no one was interested in talking to me…but it did seem a bit odd. Even if I weren’t the focus of the coverage, why wouldn’t the media want to get details of the story from me, the lone survivor of the blast? I shook my head at it. Reporters were even lazier than I thought.

+

My father stopped by the day before I was discharged. I heard his heavy footsteps as he strode down the hall. He was half-smiling and half-frowning. My dad was a big man. Thick knees. Thick chest. Shoulders as broad as a chest of drawers. He’s an imposing figure. A passerby would probably never notice the toll the drinking was having on him, but as the son of a drunk, it was easy to recognize the signs. The slight hunch in his shoulders. The yellow jaundice creeping into his burlap brown eyes. The drink is like that. It eats its way through you from the inside out.

“Hey son,” he said, descending into the chair next to me.

I sat up. He didn’t approve of bad posture.

“Good to see you, sir.”

Kurtz Resnick looked me up and down and nodded.

“The day it happened, the lady doctor told me you might die, but I told her, ‘listen here, doc, Resnicks are made of sterner stuff than that. He’ll pull through. Just wait and see.’”

I raised an eyebrow. My old man wasn’t into personal displays of affection. That was as close to a “thank goodness, you’re still alive” as I was ever gonna get.

“Sir, the doctor said I could be up-and-about tomorrow—and the school’s going to be paying for the medical expenses.”

“Good,” he rumbled. “We shouldn’t have to pay for their screw-up. God damn public schools.” He shook his head. “They’re nothing but cesspools. Might-as-well take our tax dollars and pour sterno on ‘em, instead.”

He shuffled in his chair. My dad couldn’t sit still when he got irritated, and his opinion of our fine system of education was mighty low. Why go to college when you can start earning? He would ask. It was all a giant scam to him. He had worked with his hands his entire life. Using book knowledge to get ahead was beyond him.

I bit my lip. I was too tired to get into another old argument with him. “Sir, I talked to Mr. Newmar. He says that as soon as I’m able I can have my job back.“

“That’s good of Newmar. You should be thankful. Times are as hard as I’ve seen ‘em in a long time. Men like Newmar are rare birds. Most would just fire you straight off no matter the reason you got hurt. You give him the respect he deserves, son, you hear?”

“Yes, sir,” I replied. This was a practiced conversation on a topic we both agreed on. A conversation we knew wouldn’t instantly descend into an argument.

“Heard about that Nelson boy. A shame. A good pitcher, was he?”

“Yea.” Hearing Tyrone’s name made me queasy.

My father nodded to himself.

“Son, the world just ain’t right. A boy can have all that promise in the world and get knocked off just like that. There ain’t no justice.” His face turned a mottled red. It seemed to me the only way he felt alive anymore was by getting fired up like this. It was so tiresome. “These days, a boy can’t even trust his own mother will stand by him.”

I flinched. Why did dad always have to poke that open sore? It was a wound I did my best to ignore. Why couldn’t he do the same? “Stars above, dad,” I said in exasperation. “Mom’s got nothing to do with this. Can we please leave her out of it?”

He raised his finger. “All I’m trying to say is that she never—”

“Oh! Mr. Resnick,” interrupted Dr. Montgomery. “So good of you to drop in! Could I borrow you for a moment? I have a few forms for you to sign.”

“Forms?” my father boomed. For a moment my father wavered between losing his temper and regaining his composure, but Dr. Montgomery’s pleasant grin seemed to be winning out. I watched his shoulders and waited for them to settle back down. It was a forced habit of mine.

“Uh, sure thing, ma’am—I mean, doctor.” He scratched his head. “I’d be happy to. Uh…forms, right?”

I raised an eyebrow. I’d rarely heard my father use the term ‘happy’ lest it followed shortly after ‘trigger’.

As my dad stood, he turned to me. “Right. Son, I have to head to work soon. Just give me a call whenever you need to get picked up.”

“Um…okay,” I said, still trying to process the chain of events. My father made his way out into the hallway where a nurse led him over to the office. If Dr. Montgomery wrote a book on conflict resolution, I’d be first in line to buy a copy.

I lay there staring at Dr. Montgomery. What was the deal with this lady? That conversation she had with those two men had been plain bizarre, but I also spent part of last week thinking there was a pink bunny hopping around the room. There was no bunny. (I asked.) But still…I got such a weird vibe from the doc. It wasn’t like she felt dangerous or anything, just…different. I tilted my head. If I stared at her in just the right way, I could see a fuzzy halo around her, some strange trick of light, like when a sunbeam strikes a pane of glass in just the right way. I scrunched my nose. The effort made my head hurt worse than when I tried to stare at those darn hidden image posters at the mall.

Dr. Montgomery noticed me squinting and smiled. I liked it when she did that. It made me feel better. My worries just sorta washed away. She opened her mouth as if to speak but closed it. “No, it’s best to wait,” she muttered. “I’ll stop in later, Dieter. Try and get some rest, okay?”

I watched her turn to go. “Wait…what is it?”

Pausing, Dr. Montgomery looked down at her hands and twiddled her fingers. “Well, I don’t know if you remember, but I was one of the judges at the science fair last year. Your project on yeast metabolism…it was wonderful work.”

“Thanks,” I stammered. (I didn’t have many fans. “Hey baby, wanna check out my cell cultures?” didn’t work so well on the ladies.)

“Dieter, you’re a senior this year, right?”

I nodded.

“Well, I took the liberty of recommending you to my alma mater. It’s called Elliot College. It’s a very small school back East, but I think you might like it a great deal.”

“Wow, Dr. Montgomery. Thank you so much!” I was shocked. An actual doctor? I’d never even thought to ask for help. I didn’t think that a person like her would ever consider helping a high school kid worth her time. Dr. Montgomery had really gone out of her way for me. “I’m gonna need all the help I can get. I really appreciate it.”

Dr. Montgomery ran a hand through her bright red hair. “Of course, Dieter. I don’t want to see your talents wasted.” Her smile weakened. “There are so few of us left.”

I looked at her in confusion. Sure, the state of American academics was pretty dire, but it wasn’t like medical doctors were going extinct or anything…

“Oh, listen to me and my blabbering.” She shook out her curly hair and rubbed her face. “Things have been so busy around here that I haven’t been getting enough sleep.” She checked her watch. “Speaking of which, I better finish my rounds. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

I nodded. Yep, Dr. M. had a strange vibe all right. Nice—but definitely strange. I rubbed my tender face. My facial wounds had all closed up, but the bruises were still in full bloom. I glanced at myself in the mirror. My mussed up hair had built itself into a veritable tower of bed-head. A scraggly brown beard partially hid my sallow cheeks. Basically, I looked as bad as I felt. I needed to get out of this hospital and clear my head. This week had been seriously fucked up. I was starting to get loopy.

+

I was okayed for discharge the very next day. A nurse brought up some street clothes and gave me a free shave. I had my fill of hospital gowns and bed sheets. The jeans might be a bit long, but the opportunity to put on street clothes was like a gift from the gods. I was pulling up my boxers when the woman walked in.

“Dear me,” she said shaking her head. “You’re gonna make me miss high school.”

My face turning bright red, I scrambled to button up the jeans. I went to slip the black t-shirt over my head but winced in pain. My shoulder was still swollen like a watermelon.

“Here, let me help,” she said guiding my hands into the shirt. As the shirt popped over my neck, I finally got a look at her. The woman wore a tight cut pair of dress slacks and a no-nonsense short sleeve button down. She wore her long auburn hair up high in a bun.

Flustered, I asked, “Excuse me, but who are you?”

“Lauren Curray of The Globe.” I looked down and noticed she was holding a notepad. She spoke with an easy confidence. She had no problem meeting my eyes. “You must be Dieter Resnick, survivalist extraordinaire.”

“You’re right on that count. What brings you to my humble abode?”

“Oh, just a few questions.”

I examined my bare toes. I was suddenly feeling warm.

“Uh…?”

“If you don’t mind.”

A reporter? I had only met one reporter before. It was after the science fair last year. He wrote down my name and took my photo. Never actually published it, mind you, but it was kinda exciting at the time. I perked up. I was going to be interviewed. Maybe I would actually make it into the paper this time…And then I remembered. Despite what the press thought, I had sorta just killed someone. I looked at the razor-sharp pencil she was tapping gingerly on her pad. This was probably the worst scenario imaginable.

I swallowed.

“Um, sure. Ms. Curray wasn’t it? Fire away.”

She smiled. “It’s good you can already joke about it. At this stage, most victims are still traumatized.”

“I didn’t mean it that way,” I said, frowning.

“Oh, of course not,” she said, jotting something down on her little notepad. “Tell me, Dieter, what were you and Mr. Nelson doing behind the school at the time of the explosion?”

“Well, um, there was a pretty big brawl going on, and neither of us wanted to get between the cops and the Splotches.” I struggled to remember the story, but it’s so much harder to lie when you’re put on the spot. “You see, there was a big riot two months ago and a bunch of people got hurt, so—”

“That’s funny,” Ms. Curray said shaking her head. “After talking to some of the students, I’d gotten the impression that Mr. Nelson was an important member of this ‘Splotches’ gang—maybe even its leader. And the Splotches are well known to the student body, aren’t they? They’re the sole supplier of illicit drugs, no?”

Ms. Curray placed a hand on her skinny waist and tilted her head expectantly. I did my best to maintain bladder control. What the hell had just happened? What manner of word-kung-fu was this? I grabbed the socks and slipped them on. I needed to buy some time and calm down. She had been asking the right questions, and for some reason the students Ted Binion High School had talked to her instead of slashing her tires.

“I don’t know. I try to keep my head down. I want to go to college next year, and I spend most of my time working with Dr. Leeche. He’s our chemistry teacher. Last year I published some findings with him. I’m hoping to get a scholarship, and he thinks this is a sure fire way to earn one. All that work doesn’t give me much time to socialize—let alone learn the gangs’ hierarchies.”

“Ah, yes, Mr. Leeche,” she said. “So you haven’t heard?”

“Sorry?” I asked. “Heard what?”

“That he was fired.”

“Excuse me?” I asked, flabbergasted. “Dr. Leeche? He’s the best teacher in our entire our school.”

“Best? Hardly. He failed to check the gas nozzles or lock the lab before leaving work that afternoon. He’s partially responsible for Mr. Nelson’s death—and your injuries.”

“But it wasn’t his fault!” I shouted.

Ms. Curray’s eyes brightened.

“Then whose fault was it, Dieter?”

I flinched. She hadn’t even been baiting me, and I’d already managed to trip over myself. This had just been a fishing expedition, but now Ms. Curray was wondering if I was holding something back. Super.

“I don’t know,” I said, biting my cheek. “I don’t know whose fault it was. Maybe…Maybe no one’s to blame.” Dr. Leeche was a good man, and now he was getting hung out to dry. My mind raced. This was all my fault. If I had just not gotten into it with Tyrone, if I had just minded my own business, none of this would have happened. But what could I do now? How could I get Dr. Leeche out of this mess?

Tell the truth, my conscience answered.

I bit my lip until it hurt. No. Even if I wanted to take the blame, even if I confessed, what exactly was my explanation going to be? I destroyed Tyrone Nelson with my mind? I mean, come on. I decided on a half-truth instead.

“Ms. Curray, I hit my head. The doctors said I suffered a concussion. I can’t recall everything that happened. To be honest, I’m just parroting back what they told me. I’m sorry, but I don’t think I’m going to be of much use to you.”

She strummed her notebook with her tightly cropped fingernails.

I busied myself tying my shoes. I needed this conversation to stop before I slipped up again. Lying wasn’t easy for me—especially when I feel guilty. My thoughts kept turning to poor Dr. Leeche. He didn’t deserve to get fired. He was getting close to retirement. I wondered about his pension. Would he lose it? What would he do if he did?

Ms. Curray reached down into her leather bag and pulled out a folder. Without a word, she strode over to my bed and placed three large pictures on top of it.

“What do these photos mean to you?” She asked.

I was about to tell the intrepid reporter lady to leave me the hell alone, but she wasn’t wearing the expression I’d expected. There was tiredness in her eyes. She looked burnt-out…At least that’s what I thought. I was never good at reading people—especially women—but either way, she had won me over. I took a look like she asked.

The first was a shot of three men facedown in a puddle. Each was wearing a DEA windbreaker. The Drug Enforcement Agency? And the bodies lay crumpled…as if they had simply dropped to the ground. Intrigued, I looked closer. The plastic of their jackets was all melty…like some serious voltage had run through them. Odd…The second photo showed a man tied to a chair. It wasn’t in color, but I was pretty certain that the beads of fluid coating his shirt and face were much too dark to be sweat. And then there was the third photo. That was the hook. My heart dropped through the floor when I set my eyes on it. A man and woman lay in a pile of debris. Both their heads had been popped like pimples. There was blood and guts everywhere.

I swallowed. They looked exactly like Tyrone.

I turned away from the photos and looked out the window. The image was drawing me back to a place I didn’t want to go. I was getting dizzy just thinking about it.

Ms. Curray noted my reaction and nodded.

“These are pictures from three incidents that occurred over the past month in the Las Vegas Valley. In this one, three agents from the DEA entered a warehouse on a drug bust. The official report says that they stepped into this puddle and got electrocuted. It was classified as an accident. Note the lack of wires of any kind.” She shook her head. “Do you have any idea how much electricty is required to cause those kinds of burns? We are talking on the order of a lightning strike here.

“The next one is of a Gustavo Avilar, a well-known local drug lord. Apparently he got rather hot, because the report states that he sweat out over three liters of his own blood.”

I swallowed. “It’s a condition called hematidrosis. It’s known to occur under conditions of tremendous stress. But it’s super-rare, unheard of, really.”

Ms. Curray looked at me questioningly.

“What can I say? I’m an epic nerd. We know these things.”

“The last is of two members of the LVPD vice squad. They were also conducting a drug bust. Neighbors reported hearing a rain of gunfire and then an explosion. The result was this bloody mess.” She smacked the photo. “The fire department is calling it a freak accident, the result of a gas line explosion.” She shook her head. “One problem with that story, Dieter. The perps the police were there to bust were nowhere to be found. Explain this one for me: The crime scene report said both cops unloaded their rounds in tight patterns, but no blood was found besides their own.”

She tapped her pad.

“Two highly trained police officers, clearly aiming at something right in front of them, and they only hit air? And if they were firing when the explosion occurred, why were the perps not killed by the explosion as well?” Ms. Curray paced over to the window. “But that’s not the interesting part. In each case, it looked like the evidence was pointing in one direction, and then, all of a sudden, out of nowhere the authorities started calling them freak accidents. And just like that, the investigations stopped. Does that sound familiar to you, Dieter?”

Sure did. And it offered up a whole can of worms. If there were similar occurrences, I might be able to find an explanation to what happened behind the schoolhouse. It was tempting, but that would require me getting involved. I glanced down at Gustavo Avilar’s bloody torso. The dude had been notorious with a capital N. Untouchable. Getting some answers was tempting, but not that tempting. Poking around in this stuff seemed like an awesome way to reduce one’s life expectancy. I wanted to get out of Vegas. You didn’t do that from inside a pine box.

“Listen, Ms. Curray,” I said. “I agree that all this stuff doesn’t add up, but I really don’t get what all this has to do with me. I’m here because of an explosion in a chem lab, not some drug deal gone sour. Besides, I already told you that I took a hit to the head. I can barely remember anything about that day, let alone how the explosion happened.”

Ms. Curray sighed. It looked like this wasn’t the first time she’d gotten that sort of response.

“Fine. But if you do remember anything, here’s my card. And Dieter, my condolences for the loss of your friend, it’s a shame he had to die like that.”

I glanced at the photos once last time. Explosions. Electrocutions. Bloodlettings. Whatever the hell was going on, I didn’t want any part of it. I made my decision there and then. I just didn’t want to know. Once I walked out of this room, I was moving on. My dad and I agreed on one thing: If you let it, the world would eat you for breakfast. I wasn’t going to risk my future fishing around for answers.

Chapter 3

OUTWARD BOUND

I returned to school expecting trouble. I thought the Splotches would be ready to get their revenge. Instead, I discovered the entire gang had dissolved. Their leader gone, the Splotches had crumbled. Some Splotches had quit school. Others joined different gangs. If you had transferred into Ted Binion after the explosion, you wouldn’t have known the Splotches even existed.

Free from reprisals, I busied myself with school and work. I had missed over two weeks and had a ton of catching up to do. Having one less class helped. Chemistry had been cancelled. The school was out one instructor and one laboratory, and they certainly didn’t have the budget to replace them. Every time I walked past the boarded up lab, I was reminded of Dr. Leeche. It was like my daily penance. I kept telling myself there was nothing I could do, but as the months went by, I felt worse and worse about it. My solution was to add on even more work. I took on more tutoring jobs and started working later at Newmar’s. It’s amazing how fast time can pass when you make sure you’re too busy to think. Before I even knew it, the fall had passed into winter, and the semester was coming to an end.

With winter came the dreaded application season. Based on the school counselor’s advice, I hit all the big names: Stanford, Harvard, Yale, Northwestern, Cornell and the like—eleven in all. I liked my chances. Washington University in St. Louis even sent me a letter inviting me to apply. Right before Christmas, I was celebrating mailing off the final one when a thick envelope arrived in the mail. It was from a school I only vaguely recalled: Elliot College. The return address listed a spot just outside of New Haven, Connecticut.

I scratched my head. Elliot was one of those small elite schools—a place where the super wealthy sent their progeny to ensure their blood was sufficiently blue. It was a school for demigods, the children of the multinationals. Lesser mortals were never considered for entry. Elliot wasn’t one of those huge research schools that could exploit my talents to their hearts content. They probably didn’t even do federally funded research at Elliot. Intrigued, I opened up the envelope. Inside was a bunch of info about the school, and a single letter printed on that kind of paper that feels like cloth. It was short and to the point:

Dear Mr. Resnick,

Your academic achievements to date have caught the attention of one of our alumni, Dr. Anna Montgomery. We believe the talents you have demonstrated could best be sculpted through the rigorous yet rewarding training our program affords. We strongly encourage you to apply for admission in our upcoming fall class. And please, do not concern yourself with cost. Every year we offer many full-ride scholarships to students of extraordinary merit.

As you apply to universities this year, please consider Elliot College.

Sincerely,

Dean Joseph Albright, III

This Albright guy had me at “full-ride”. I set the letter down on my desk. I had forgotten that Dr. Montgomery wrote me a letter of recommendation. I had assumed she was being nice at the time and then forgot. Pulling out my college guide, I decided to look them up:

Elliot College is one of the oldest universities in the United States. A small school of less than 300 total students, it is famous for its fixed 2-year curriculum, which all students are required to complete. After the initial two years of study, students are able to attend classes at numerous international institutions for intensive instruction in their disciplines of interest. Some Elliot students have complained that the rigor of classes is too great and that the pressure placed on students is excessive. Others rave about the wonderful opportunity to study at some of the world’s finest schools after completing the 2-year core. Judging by the placement of Elliot students into top graduate programs across the country, the small school’s quirky system yields impressive results. The entrance procedures for Elliot College are also unusual. Every year, Elliot sends out letters to students identified by alumni as “good fits” for their unique and rigorous program. Elliot College does accept unsolicited applications, but most of its student body is actively recruited through these formal invitations. Applications are due by December 31st.

I cringed at the description. It sounded like hell on earth. Why would I want to spend college locked up on a small campus in the woods? Didn’t bears live in the woods? But the words “full-ride” kept ringing in my ears. I leaned back in my chair, and the old frame groaned in protest. I shrugged. How long would filling the application take? Three hours? What was the harm? It felt kinda cool getting an invitation to apply. Like I had gotten a golden ticket. Perhaps I should have broken out into song. I grabbed a cup of coffee instead and settled down to fill out the form.

Simple stuff first: Name, date, address, parents’ names and occupations. As usual, I had to fill out a lot of the blanks with ‘unknown.’ I was penning in a ‘no’ to the question: “Did either of your parents attend Elliot College?” when I remembered that I had no idea whether my mother even went to college, let alone at Elliot. I knew so little about my mother. Not even her name. She had vanished while I was still a toddler. No note. No reason. Left my father to raise me alone. Nor could I ask him anything about her. It was the best way I knew of setting him off. I rubbed my cheek and filled in the blank with another ‘unknown.’

Finished with the cover form, I flipped through the three essay questions:

1. Imagine you are sitting in the park, reading. You hear a rustling in the leaves beside you. Putting your book down, you observe two glowing-red eyes peering out at you through the brush. After a moment of quiet tension, the eyes recede back into the forest. You are alone. You have no cell phone or any other means of contacting aid. You have very little on hand, only the key to your domicile, a piece of chalk, and the book you were reading. What do you do? (Limit, 1000 words.)

2. A friend comes to you in confidence. You have known her for years. You believe her to be of sound mind and body. She tells you that beginning last week she started hearing voices when she knows she is alone. The voices are telling her to do things, dangerous things. Your friend is frightened, but she insists she is not crazy. She pleads for you to tell not a soul. Instead, she wants you to help her sort it out. What do you do? (Limit, 1000 words.)

3. What do you want? (Limit, 50 words.)

“Wha…” I muttered.

I put my pen down and stared at the page.

I had filled out eleven applications so far. Their essay questions were about as interesting as “Please list the ingredients on the back of a box of Fruit Loops.” They were dull sorts of questions that admissions people think are going to give them some incredible insight into an applicant’s character. It was all nonsense, a cheap way of convincing everyone that they had done their job. (Seriously, have you ever heard of a business that hires their employees based on a bunch of essays?) But these questions…What was the deal with them? Red-eyed monsters? Friends hearing voices? And that last one…Only fifty words? I use more words to describe the specials at Newmar’s.

Perturbed, I slid back from my desk. It was eight o’clock, and my dad was at his job dealing cards. He worked swing, meaning he started at 4PM and got off around midnight. Of course, he rarely just headed home. No, he would usually hit the bars first, and then stumble in around 3AM. On extra-special-bonus-days, dad would come back bloodied up from one brawl or another. Those days were great. I got to spend the next morning picking up bloodied gauze and wiping down the bathroom. To his credit, my dad could take a beating like a champ. He was always up and about by the next evening, ready for work. I guess drinking that much makes you kinda numb to the pain.

I downed the rest of my coffee and put on my running shoes. Dr. Montgomery had urged me to stick to walking until Christmas. She wanted my punctured lung to have time to heal. So instead of my usual runs, I had settled into doing evening walks. I used to love running at night. During summer, it was the only time you could do it without bursting into flames. Walking wasn’t the same as running, but it got me out of the house.

The air outside was chill and the gusty desert winds were howling. Next door, a set of multicolored Christmas lights lay shattered to pieces on the gravel. I shook my head. Those neighbors had just moved in this fall. You had to make sure to tape the lights to the trees or the regular evening winds would yank them right off. I walked down the cement sidewalk of our cruddy neighborhood. Cheap grey-brown stucco homes lined both sides of our street. The water department had banned sod last year, so Las Vegans had been forced to get inventive. Colored gravel replaced grass. Pokey little bushes that may or may not have been alive substituted for the once healthy trees and shrubs.

At the end of our development, I jumped the fence and landed with a crunch in the open desert. A gust of wind buffeted me as I slid down into the nearby wash. These shallow gouges in the desert covered the Vegas Valley. They ran full of water during each year’s rains, but otherwise they were dry. The life that called the desert home loved the nooks and crannies the washes provided. There they could find the precious shade and water that made living possible. I made my way out across the Mohave following the path that the water had carved. Even though the sun set hours ago, I didn’t need a light. The city pumped out so many lumens that every night was full moon bright—or so I was told, I hadn’t been outside the city since I was a little boy. I got to visit Disneyland once, but besides that, I had lived the past ten years within the borders of this cruddy valley. My dad didn’t like to get out much. He said Vegas was predictable. He liked predictable.

Forty-minutes later, I reached the small crest that I’d been visiting since I was a child. I dug out the blanket I’d stashed and bundled up against the wind. This was my favorite place in the valley. You could see everything from here. In the distance, a squadron of F-18’s lined up to land at Nellis Air Force Base. One at a time, their flickering lights drooped down to kiss the valley floor.

I closed my eyes and tried to remember what flying was like. I was only a boy then. I remembered the funny smelling seats, getting served a little cup of coke with ice, and how it didn’t feel like you were flying through the air at all. I had looked out the window over and over again just to make sure.

I wanted to fly again one day. I wanted to put my own money on the counter and say, “One ticket to Prague, please.” How cool would that be?

Americans used to fly all the time. We used to globe-hop like it was no big deal. It was great. The problem was the rest of the world agreed. Countries across the globe invested in airports and fleets of passenger planes. That was well and good, except for one teensy weensy problem: The supply of the black stuff was running out fast. Big oil was digging deeper and deeper and finding less and less. Economists kept repeating the word “unsustainable,” but the citizens of the world loved their grandmas. They all wanted to visit them, and as fuel prices rose, they decided to start competing for the privilege. It was only then that the United States realized it was way out of shape. Our bloated government, overreached military, and embarrassing lack of exports had turned the Mighty Dollar into a third-rate currency. Our checks started to bounce. Less oil made it to our shores. Two car families dwindled. The two-dollar coin was unveiled. Quarters replaced pennies. The Mexican government collapsed. The Saudis cut a deal with China, and the Great Slump settled in for the long haul.

No normal person traveled by plane anymore. The rich still did, but those folks were immune to everything. The floundering economy, the stagnant job market, the collapsing infrastructure—none of our suffering fazed them. The rich had the skills that the multinationals were willing to pay for. They were hooked into the “global economy.” Waiting tables didn’t pay the rent anymore. You either got yourself a degree or ate donuts for dinner—and I hated donuts.

“What do you want?” I asked myself.

I shifted in my blanket and spat out what came to mind.

“I don’t want to be the sole of the shoe anymore. I’m tired of can’t. I’m tired of impossible. I want a life that matters. I want to walk the world, chart my own path, and take control of my own destiny. I want to define who I am.” It sounded funny coming out of my mouth, but it was the truth, wasn’t it?

I counted it out: 49 words.

+

I would start hearing back from schools in the middle of March. My anxiety was spiking through the roof, so I tried my best to keep busy. I took more weekend shifts at Newmar’s. I added more hours of tutoring. This time it was AP biology and chemistry. December slid into January. January slid into February. The word ‘evolution’ became the bane of my existence, but the pay was good enough. My dad and I needed the cash, too. Another airline went out of business over the holidays, choking off the supply of tourists. The casinos reeled from the heavy losses. They cut 20% of their dealers’ shifts. Our family budget took a beating, and my father—frustrated beyond belief—started drinking even more. His new schedule gave him three days off in a row. He spent most of his time in daylong benders. He got into more fights too. He was coming home with split lips and black eyes on a regular basis. And it wasn’t just my father. The economy was making people plain mean; the sirens never stopped after sunset. Poor men and free time—always a bad combination. Still, I was furious. We needed to be picking through the lint, and instead dad was pissing money away at the pub. We got in an argument about it and redecorated the kitchen. I think my head made a dent in the counter. After that I stopped putting money in the pot. He could buy his booze with his own cash. I took over paying for the utilities and groceries.

Even though he wouldn’t say it, I knew my dad was ashamed, but to have him blowing our money every night was just too much. To make matters worse, I wasn’t sleeping well. I could keep myself busy during the day, but I was having nightmares almost every single night. Tyrone just wouldn’t go away. Everyone else had moved on—everyone except for Dr. Leeche. I visited him once. He’d found work at a nearby private school that wasn’t fool enough to pass up one of the only PhD’s in the valley, but the new job didn’t improve his mood. He truly believed he was responsible for Tyrone’s death. The pain of that knowledge hung around him like a cloud. The bounce in his step was gone, and he barely managed a smile the entire time. It killed me to see him like that. I didn’t visit again. Still, no matter how hard I tried to move on, the nightmares kept coming. At least two times a week, I would wake up screaming, fists clutched, having pummeled Tyrone’s face into the ground yet again.

And then my waking hours started going to hell as well.

As March 15th came around, I started a daily ritual: Every hour, on the hour, I would excuse myself to go to the bathroom only to run to the computer lab instead. The weeks were crawling on without a single response from the colleges. As March swung into April, I developed a set of hives and matching ulcers. My friends had all gotten responses; some were even planning out their new wardrobes. I started calling colleges to check my status. They gave me the rote “your application is still in process” nonsense and told me to be more patient. Then on April 7th, the first rejection message arrived from Harvard. Rejections from Yale and Northwestern followed the very next week.

“Why is this happening?” I would moan. The guidance counselor had approved all my choices. She said I was going to be a shoe-in. People started asking where I was going next year. I would wave them off saying I had some tough choices to make or that I was still deciding. In reality, I was a mess. When rejections from Stanford and Berkeley came in on the same day, I puked blood. Fucking ulcers. The school nurse sent me home with a prescription for extra strength antacids. She ordered me to bed, but bed was the last place I wanted to be. My world was collapsing. My dreams were crumbling. By the end of the month only Washington University was left on my list, and St. Louis, Missouri was sounding like a fine resort destination. Again and again, my mind drifted to a single thought: I was going to be stuck in Vegas working minimum wage for the rest of my life.

A week later (and ten pounds lighter) I stumbled into the computer lab for perhaps the thousandth time. The proctor placed her oversized glasses on her desk and frowned. She was friends with the school nurse. She was probably worried she’d have to call an ambulance.

I plopped down in a chair and typed in my password. My bleary eyes shot wide-open when I saw two emails waiting in the inbox. The subjects were titled: “Congratulations” and “Aid Package”. I clicked “Congratulations” first. It was from Washington University. I let out a gasp. I had been accepted into something called the Fontbonne Academy for Naturally Gifted Students. Cool! Then my eye tracked to the second paragraph:

Unfortunately, given the current state of the economy, our ability to provide scholarship monies has been severely curtailed. We sincerely apologize, but given your family’s current income, we can only hope to cover half of your tuition. The remainder can be made up in loans through our office of financial…

I sank into my chair. I had already run the numbers. There was no way I would be able to qualify for any loans. Lenders were too wary to give that sort of money to college students unless their parents offered up some serious collateral in return. My father had already refused. “No way they’re getting their hands on the house. It’s all we got,” he had said. “Life’s not fair, son. I can’t carry you through it. Besides, this whole college thing is a giant scam. Your job at Newmar’s is fine. Be grateful for it.”

As much as I wanted to disagree with him, my father’s argument wasn’t baseless. In the past two years, a ton of kids had left college overburdened by their ballooning student loans. They had entered a job market with barely any openings. A great many of them had defaulted, and the banks had gone after their parents’ assets. Some families had been thrown out on the streets. There were newspaper articles about it every week. I had to face facts. Washington University was out of my reach. Dejected, I clicked on the second email:

Mr. Resnick,

Your aid package has been approved. It should arrive via post within the next few days. I apologize for the delay; our computer is on the fritz.

Warmest Regards,

Dean Joseph Albright, III

The proctor crossed herself as I ran screaming into the hall. Two minutes later, I had already sprinted halfway to my house. Arriving at the mailboxes I resisted the urge to knock old Ms. Williams out of the way.

“Oh, hello Dieter,” Ms. Williams said shakily. “You’re home from school early.”

I nodded, gasping for air.

“The mail just came,” she pointed out helpfully.

I stood there panting as her knobby old hand struggled to get key to keyhole. Would they give me a full-ride? Super-rigorous be damned. Giant forest bears be damned. If Elliot would cover my tuition, I was officially a future woodsman. As Ms. Williams hobbled away, I nearly tore the mailbox from its hinges. Who the hell sent stuff by post these days? And “our computer”? As in singular? I peered into our box. Hidden behind two weeks worth of overdue bills and one trillion coupons was a thick manila envelope. Extracting it, I sat on the curb stared.

Gently, like an archeologist unearthing a tomb, I peeled open the seal and pulled out the contents one-by-one: instructions to campus, meal plans, an order form for linens. I handled each page like it was made of glass. My heart beating against my chest, I found the one I was looking for. A simple letter printed on that fantastically expensive paper. “Letter of Admission to the Elliot College,” it read. I forced down the excitement and flipped to the next page. An acceptance didn’t mean anything if I couldn’t afford to go. The second page contained a chart of expenses. Huge, mind-blowing numbers built up like boulders as my eyes ran down the column. The yearly tuition alone could serve as a down payment on a small country. Each semester cost double my father’s salary. I leap-frogged past the horrors titled “student health insurance” and “student activity-fee” until I finally reached the scholarship section below.

My heart skipped a beat. There they were, the two magic words, the words that meant I could leave this dust bowl, the words that said my time in front of the deep fryer was over. I read them thrice over and then collapsed into a heap on the neighbor’s front lawn—that a field of sharp, pointy rocks had replaced said lawn was only a minor annoyance. This summer Dieter Resnick was going to college.

Part II

ON THE ROAD

Chapter 4

BIG BLUE

“Go west, young man, and grow up with the country.” That was the start of so many great American stories. Ah, those were the days. Back when rich rewards were promised to those who dared strike out for new lands and new opportunities. And seek them we did…till the water ran out, the oil dried up, and all that endless bounty became someone else’s property. Now the West was owned, occupied, and dying of jaundice. So instead I headed east on a mighty blue steed.

I threw on my work boots, midnight-blue jeans, and a ridiculous red plaid western. My uniform wearing days were over. I even sprung for a brand new pair of dark Ray-Bans (because even though he couldn’t sing, Dylan was awesome). My entire life stuffed into a military surplus duffle, I headed forth into the asphalt wilderness to seek my fortune. I tried swinging the overloaded green mass over my right shoulder, but my elbow started throbbing. I ended up dragging it by my side, trying to cover the artificial limp with the neutral expression of the Seasoned Traveler. I noted that other people’s luggage came with wheels and bit my lip. I had hoped that my ensemble screamed road warrior only to be undone by my baggage. I felt like a Cro-Magnon man stumbling out of a cave. Now the veterans would see me for the travel virgin I was. I imagined them descending on me like a pack of wolves, stripping me bare of the travel-sized toiletries I had just purchased at the drug store.

A little voice told me I should be more focused on not missing my bus.

Riding the bus was the new national pastime. To cross our grand country, I was in for two days of it. To be fair, bus travel has improved a great deal since when I was a kiddo. You get your own TV mounted into the seat in front of you and a decent amount of leg space. The cross-country lines are even nicer than the regionals (they have cup-holders). It wasn’t all that bad if you didn’t mind sitting still for two days straight.

I was riding the LCN Line. The bus started in Los Angeles and traveled to New York City via Chicago. Once I got to New York City, I needed to transfer to a regional line for the last leg of the trip up to New Haven. I was so afraid of being late that I arrived an hour before departure. I made my way onto the bus—banging into seat-after-seat with my duffel—only to be told that you could put your luggage under the bus before you get on. Red faced, I took out what I needed and stowed my duffle down below.

Only a few folks had boarded in Los Angeles, so the bus was still relatively empty. I noticed that about two thirds of the way back there was a window seat with a busted TV. I smiled. Very few Americans would be willing to give up TV for a two-day trip. I grabbed the aisle seat next to it and patted myself on the back for my cunning.

I never understood how people could watch hours of TV. The images were always a bit out of focus, and watching it gave me headaches. I came prepared with a copy of Ulysses instead. The bookstore by my house had always displayed Joyce’s book like some sort of thermonuclear device. Even the paperback version was given a wide berth on each side. I had passed by it countless times but never built up the nerve to read it. And it was a beast. I flipped through all 818 pages of it. The binding was tenuous at best. I was concerned it might hit critical mass and explode all over the floor if I dared to break the spine. On the bright side, I could use it as a blunt weapon if the need arose.

I bought Ulysses for a specific reason—it felt collegy. I was feeling a tad intimidated about starting school, especially at a college that was advertised as the academic equivalent of ancient Sparta. I half-expected to die naked on a mountainside, term paper in one hand and an empty vial of whiteout in the other. I decided I needed to psyche myself up. I told myself that if I could get through a monster like this, I was surely ready to tackle college courses. (I know, it was totally stupid, but I’m prone to performing ridiculous rituals, and it’s better than biting my nails.) Getting locked on a bus with a bunch of people I didn’t dare make eye contact with was the perfect time to attempt the challenge.

The bus filled with a gradual stream of people, but my seat remained safe. Then, a few minutes before departure, a moment of tension—a huge woman attempted to breach my defenses and claim the adjacent seat. I cringed as her enormous thighs enveloped my knees. The sweaty heat was palatable. She was just settling in when she finally discovered that her next two days would be soap opera free, and with a huff, she beat a hasty retreat further down the aisle.

My ward had worked perfectly. I was grinning broadly, when at 10 A.M. sharp, the big blue bus rumbled to life. As we turned out onto the street it struck me like a bag of potatoes to the chest:

My childhood was over. I was on my own.

My father was my only family, and despite our inability to co-exist, saying goodbye had been hard. He didn’t approve of me heading out on my own. He argued it was too risky, said I didn’t understand the dangers. (I hoped that was dad-code for: “Don’t go. I’ll miss you if you’re far away.”) But in the end, he couldn’t argue with the full-ride scholarship. Our finances were in the toilet. We were in danger of losing our house. I told him they would be paying both of us, and he just sat there real quiet. He didn’t know what a stipend was nor that it was really for my living expenses, but for the life of him, he couldn’t understand why the school would be paying us both. I said it was complicated—part of some government program—and I joked that we would finally be getting some taxes back from the Feds.

The next day, he had nodded stiffly when I told him I was accepting the offer. He said, “Dieter, You’re a man now, and I won’t try and stop you. If there’s one thing that’s true, it’s that all men have to make their own mistakes. You got some learning to do, and I guess it’s learning I can’t teach you.” I had hoped at least part of him was proud of me, but if he was, he didn’t show it. Then again, he never could express feelings like that with me. You may wonder how I could love a man that would just as soon strike me in the face. I can’t tell you that. I don’t know myself. But you would understand better if you saw the look on his face when I walked away. It felt like it was for the last time…My lip trembled as I turned away. It felt like I was leaving him behind.

I took a deep breath. It felt real now. Everything I knew was in this valley: the pizza place I liked, the friends I hung out with, all the roads I knew the names of. Where I was headed, I didn’t know a single soul. In fact, I only knew a single name, Dean Joseph Albright, III, the lone correspondent from my future home in Connecticut. My stomach churned with a mixture of anxiety and excitement. I hadn’t even considered Elliot College before they sent me the offer of a full-ride, didn’t even remember Dr. Montgomery telling me she planned to recommend me. I was grateful, sure. She had given me the chance to get out of the black hole that was Las Vegas. She had granted the wish I had held for countless years. I had even tried to track her down at the hospital and thank her. Unfortunately, I had missed my chance by then. The staff told me Dr. Montgomery was float—a doctor who swings into town to cover for others when they are on vacation and the like—and that she was already onto her next assignment. I thought that was strange. I could have sworn Dr. Montgomery said she had been at the Nevada State Science Fair the year before. I decided to try and track down her email address when I got to Elliot. I was in her debt. Without her help, I would have been still flipping burgers. Still, I had to admit that the whole application process had left me bitter. I had busted my ass, delivered the best GPA and SAT scores possible, taken all the AP classes I could afford, and still, still it hadn’t been enough. That pseudo-acceptance from Washington University had been the most galling. To have only been offered a partial scholarship—a scholarship they knew wasn’t enough to allow me to attend—it had felt like they were laughing in my face.

As the bus sped onto the freeway, I shook my head.

“Snap out of it asshole,” I said out loud. “You have a chance. Be thankful for it.”

Judging by the other passengers’ looks, I had spoken a bit too loud.

Turning red, I sank down in my chair.

I wanted to go home.

+

The bus made rapid progress through Mohave Desert. We were bound for Utah where I-15 linked to I-70 for the crawl up into the Rockies. Then it was on to Denver, where we would meet I-80 for the descent into the plains of the American Midwest. Transcontinental drivers switched off every eight hours at the way stations placed along the route. (The system made sense. Labor was cheap; buses careening off mountains were not.) Our first stop was in Grand Junction, Colorado. It wasn’t much of a town, but the way station sure was impressive.

The transcontinental carriers had built these oversized fuel depots after long-distance buses came back into vogue. They separated the paying travelers from the bums and ensured no third party restaurants got a piece of the action. Once off the bus, signs for men and women guided the passengers to Potty Land (a new American marvel). Row after row of gleaming white porcelain awaited us. Arrows etched into the tile floor pointed the way. After making your deposit, it was a straight walk down a corridor to sinks and the self-cleaning shower stalls. I listened to the music as I walked. It had a steady percussive beat. I stomped in time. It was fun music to march to—and a subtle prod to keep on moving.

The Champions of Industry had thought of everything. I trekked past the hand dryers, shoeshine machines, and toiletry dispensers and out into the din of the massive food court. Feeling a bit like livestock, I tried to re-establish my status as a top line predator. I ordered a hamburger. Said food product was un-bagged and microwaved bun and all. I stood next to the sleepy-eyed “cook” and watched the burger rotate.

Pathetic.

Finding a seat, I sniffed at the micro-burger. It was unworthy of the same title as the king of foods, but everyone else seemed happy with them. “Know your place, peon,” I mumbled, and bit into the soggy bun. There was a moment there where I almost spit it out. Then I remember I only had about a hundred in my wallet and swallowed it as fast as I could.

A few minutes later, a calm but assertive voice announced that the LCN Line was departing, and my compatriots and I shuffled outside and back onto our big blue bus. They didn’t even need to break out the prods. I shook my head. Our grandparents had been speculators, cattlemen, and farmers; but somewhere along the line, things had got flipped on their heads. The evil designers of the micro-burger must have anticipated my impudence and slipped in a roofie. Once we were on the road, I passed out in seconds flat. I didn’t wake up until we stopped in Denver. A few folks got on and off, but the defective TV next to me continued to ward off any prospective seatmates.

To pass the time, I made valiant strides in my effort to read Ulysses, but feared I was losing the war. A hundred pages in, I was getting the sneaking suspicion that James Joyce might have been an asshole, and by Nebraska I was in a foul mood. I had clawed my way into “Episode 8,” where the main character (I think) purchases two delicious cakes (I think) only to throw them into a river (perhaps).

My stomach grumbled in protest.

“The bastard,” I mumbled. “How could Bloom toss out a dessert like that?”

One or two droopy eyelids turned toward me in confusion. However, I had an ally. The enormous lady nodded in agreement.

“Ulysses, right?” she asked.

“Yeah,” I said with a grim nod.

“Don’t take it too seriously. Bloom is a madman.”

I was grateful when we arrived at our next stop in Lincoln, Nebraska. The book had descended into a languid discussion of the merits of advertising tactics and STDs. Fear of having to read more inspired me to purchase another micro-burger and—for good measure—one of their tiny apple pies.

“In-the-eye, Joyce,” I mumbled, sinking my teeth into the apple-esk product. I gagged. Maybe I should have thrown it into a river instead.

Before I even reached the bus, I felt the micro-burger kicking in. I nodded off before we even left the station.

+

Acres of dead grass stretched out before me. Alone on a darkened plain, an icy breeze caressed my flesh.

Lightning cracked, and the clouds belched fire.

Distant thunder rumbled a protest.

My lips were chapped. My mouth, parched. The air was bone dry and grating. My body ached with fatigue. So thirsty…how long had it been?

Thunder shook the air once again. The hairs on my neck stood in response.

The winds were shifting; I could feel the pressure change.

The bolts of lightning and thunder chased one another off into the distance.

The clouds above me opened.

I raised my hands in relief as the rain poured down. Heavy sheets of it coated my exhausted frame. The drops soothed my lips. Warm and heavy, the rain was more metallic than well water—yet oddly sweet.

Another flash of light lit the crimson clouds.

+

I was jarred awake by a passenger’s laughter.

He was watching The Simpsons. How many decades old was the show now?

A real storm had opened up outside. Wave after wave of rain pummeled the bus.

I touched the glass. These drops were icy cold. I could feel the engine humming away, indifferent to the weather. The big blue bus churned onwards, and I faded back to sleep.

Chapter 5

ENTER THE DRAGON

When I woke, warm sunlight was streaming through the windows. A new guy across the aisle was snoring loudly. The brim of his White Sox cap pointed straight into the air. I scratched my stubble and yawned. It was midday by my watch. I was impressed. That micro-burger had taken me out of circulation for quite some time. Looking past my neighbor’s gaping mouth, I noticed the countryside looked different. The land was still flat as a board, but lush green crops spread out as far as the eyes could see…so that’s what they meant by “breadbasket.” The air’s texture had changed as well. Even in the air-conditioned bus, I could feel the humidity pressing in.

I was making a mental note to get a haircut when I sensed something was…off. At first, I thought it was just a slight bout of nausea, simply my empty stomach demanding immediate attention, but as I focused, I realized the strange sensation was coming from my Sight. The feeling reminded me of leaning out over the edge of a very tall building, that vague sense of unease. And the sensation was faint. It didn’t feel like I was in that great of danger. That confused me. It wasn’t normal for this sixth sense of mine to fire up unprovoked. There were rules to my Sight. The adrenalin had to be flowing. I had to be scared out of my mind. Stranger still, there were none of the focused waves I’d come to expect. Heck, I couldn’t even see anything at all. This was more of a tactile sensation, like a cat brushing up against my thigh. The feeling wasn’t nice, but it wasn’t a blanket of blades either.

I scratched my head. I was on a bus cruising steadily down the highway with not a single schoolhouse bully in sight. The little girl sitting next to the snoring guy giggled as Sponge Bob jumped around on the TV in front of her. Diagonal to me, a couple talked casually. I frowned. All was well in the Dieterverse. Why was my Sight firing off?

And then—as quickly as it appeared—the sensation vanished.

Weird…I sat quietly and tried focusing on my Sight—but nothing was there anymore. My Sight had gone back to sleep.

After a minute or two of waiting, I gave up.

Well, I reasoned, nothing’s reliable 100% of the time. Maybe all this traveling is whacking me out. I resolved to solve my problems with the usual remedy—I reached into the overhead and retrieved my thermos. At times of like this, there was only one thing to do: acquire coffee immediately. My Japanese designed, vacuum-sealed thermos was one of my most prized possessions. I had filled it up before I went to sleep so there were no worries. This baby laughed in the face of entropy. The coffee inside would probably stay warm for another day or so. I poured out a steaming hot cup and drew it to my nose. And what an aroma! I wasn’t a morning person. Coffee was the only reason I could tolerate them. Even before the first sip, the black goodness set to work kicking my neurons out of bed.

Rejuvenated, I stretched my bones. The bus had filled up quite a bit while I slept. The cabin was crowded. I grinned. This seat rocked. I must have been the only person with a row to himself, but with the added people, it was sure getting hot. Last night, I had thrown on a sweater because of the cold jet of air the AC had been throwing out, but now the combination of extra people and midday rays were winning out.

I took off the sweater and turned to toss it—right onto the girl sitting next to me.

I froze, coffee in one hand, sweater in the other.

Keen senses. I had them in spades. Growing up, I always got accused of cheating in Marco-Polo, and I never once lost at hide-and-seek. I was the go-to-guy when you needed a lookout. I wasn’t sure it had anything to do with my Sight, but I was certainly more cognizant of my surroundings than the other kids. You didn’t sneak up on me, you didn’t enter a room without me noticing, it just didn’t happen. Besides, people are easy to sense. Even when we aren’t talking, they’re still making plenty of noises. We do our breathing loudly, our walking loudly, and even our fidgeting loudly. We ain’t mountain lions; those cats can sneak. You might be lucky enough to spot a mountain lion, or you might be lucky enough to hear one, but never both at once. They have PhDs in stealth. They make their living off quiet. I could track a mountain lion if I put my mind to it, so it came as quite a shock that I’d been awake for over ten minutes and hadn’t even noticed the standard-issue person sitting twelve inches away from me. That sort of thing just didn’t happen.

I looked down at my legs. They were still stretching down under the seat in front of me. How the heck did she get around me without waking me up? I shook my head. It must have been that stupid burger. I swore I’d never eat another.

My curiosity piqued, I decided to investigate my new sneaky seatmate. I opted for the “I’m-just-looking-out-the-window” approach because it’s time-tested and stalker-approved. More importantly, it would help me avoid any and all conversation.

At first glance, the interloper appeared to be young and female—but that was a rough guess. An oversized black hooded sweatshirt covered most of her body. The hood was monstrous. It reached well past the brim of her baseball cap. She sat, her long legs tucked up in front of her, sleeping in a ball. Her head hung between her knees, with her arms holding the whole package together. Below her hoodie, the girl wore a loose pair of black cargo pants tucked into a pristine set of laced leather boots. I had just been forced to ditch my sweater, so I was impressed Ms. Sneakums could tolerate all that clothing with the sun beating on her through the window. It must have been pushing 90 degrees outside, but even her hands were covered by a pair of thin black gloves.

I scrunched my face in thought. This was not my area of expertise, but in my limited experience with females, I was aware there existed a subset of the gender that—regardless the ambient temperature—remained cold at all times. They were known to utter a variant of “ohmygosh, it’s freezing in here” when entering any room. They displayed an intense fear of movie theaters and lecture halls. They considered fleece and down the pillars of modern civilization. And were known to query, “That sure is a nice looking car…does it have seat heaters?” when evaluating boyfriend prospects.

I nodded sagely. This particular specimen must have been a member of their inner circle.

It also occurred to me that I should stop staring.

I grabbed Ulysses and began another torture session. I read the first paragraph three times over before giving into the urge to glance over at her again.

She hadn’t budged.

I tried it myself. I lifted up my knees, wrapped my arms around my legs, and bundled up into a man-ball. I could barely fit my feet on the seat and could only last thirty-seconds before everything below my waist went numb. Untangling myself, I shrugged. To each her own, I guess. Sure, it was strange, but what did I expect? I was traveling across the U.S. on a long-haul bus. There was bound to be plenty of weirdoes. I should have been counting my blessings that I hadn’t run into a band of cannibals yet…I frowned. Yet.

I turned back to Ulysses. It was time for Dieter Resnick to get back to doing what a Dieter Resnick did best: mind his own business. After all, this foray was just another attempt to dodge my summer reading assignment. With new determination (and coffee) I marathoned into the early evening. It was a tough push. If it weren’t for my self-imposed personal challenge, I would have set the thing on fire. I wasn’t even sure who was who anymore, and I was almost certain that the main character died two chapters ago. (This was confusing, because there were still a few hundred pages to go.)

When we arrived in Cleveland, the sun was finishing up its shift in the sky. I got off the bus, made a deposit, and grabbed some dinner. Twenty-four hours on the bus had done a number on my butt. In fact, my whole body was tight, so after I grabbed some snacks I went back outside to stretch out a bit. Paranoid it would sneak off without me, I stayed right next to the bus. (My puny bank account couldn’t take many more hits before it was out for the count.) The sun was setting, and the heat was beginning to back off. It was the perfect time for Dieter Resnick’s Keister Resuscitating Callisthenic Routine—patent pending. I swung into motion, pumping my arms and stretching my legs. It was good to move again, and I really liked the smell of the air around here. If you ignored the diesel fumes, the vague septic stench, and the giant dumpster behind me, there where all sorts of cool scents to sample: grasses, flowers, and trees—the smells of life. It was like standing in the supermarket fridge with all those bouquets.

I was thinking that living in the woods wasn’t going to be so bad when I felt the slightest prick on the side of my neck. Instinctually I swatted. I caught the little bloodsucker in the act. The insect’s wrecked body stuck to my hand. Judging by the blood, the fella must have gotten caught mid-slurp. I shook my head. A mosquito. A mosquito had bit me—yet another first for the day. I was in the middle of wiping the mess off on my jeans when my Sight hiccupped to life.

“Not again,” I grumbled, “You’re supposed to be reliable, Mr. Sight.” It was another nonsensical sensation: a cold tingle on the back of my neck, nothing threatening, and certainly nothing like I felt with Tyrone. I was busy wishing it would go away when the memory hit me full-force. Tyrone…I’d been sloppy and forgotten to distract myself. A bout of nausea roiled my stomach. Dizziness challenged my balance. The food I’d just eaten tried to come back up. That damn name…I had been trying hard to avoid it. Once my mind started down that road it was already too late. A cold sweat broke out on my brow. I grabbed the side of the bus for support.

“Steady breathing,” I told myself. “Stop looking back there.” I was familiar with the attacks now. I could even stop from passing out now. The trick was to focus on the present. That broke the cycle. I stared at the bus’ giant tire and forced myself to count the lug nuts. I calculated the square of their sum, found the closest prime to the square, squared the prime…and my heart rate started to return to normal. My balance steadied.

With my body back under control, I returned my attention to my Sight. Something wasn’t right here. Before my fight with Tyrone, my Sight had only functioned as a sort of early warning system for things like flying objects. Once an object was committed to a trajectory, I could predict its direction based on the waves of color that preceded it. But in those last moments with Tyrone, my Sight had shown me something different. Whatever that thing was, it wasn’t a kinetic force. No matter how much I thought about it, the only explanation I could think of was that the blanket of blades was a manifestation of his intent to kill.

So, I wondered, was this new sensation a form of intent too?

If my theory was right, then there was a way to find out. Intent required a source—a source that I might be able to find if I concentrated. Since the incident, concentrating on my Sight had had the nasty habit of bringing me back to that day behind Ted Binion High, so up until this point I had avoided it, but I was feeling bold. I’d just beaten back one of those panic attacks, and my Sight seemed to be working without the need for adrenalin. Now was as good of a time as ever. I was willing to give it a shot.

I ignored my other senses, shutting them down one-by-one. I steadied my breathing and held my hands to my sides. As my focus increased, it was like my Sight reached out. It was the sixth-sense equivalent of switching from a wide-angle lens to a telephoto. The rest was simple. I just let it guide me where it wanted. I focused in on the tingling, reaching out towards the origin…but the sensation began to fade. Soon, only a delicate tickle remained.

I was puzzled. Nothing had ever responded to my Sight before.

“What’s going on?” I muttered. I had always considered my Sight to be a passive organ, a sense like hearing or vision that received data but never projected it, but that strange tingling had vanished when I focused my Sight. Could that mean my extra sense was more like sonar, a sense that broadcasted a steady stream of noise and relied on the rebound to gather up the data?

I went cold.

If so…I had just given myself away.

I opened my eyes and swept the area. The lot was mostly empty. In front of me a group of men from my bus stood chatting while they smoking their cigarettes. Across the lot, a driver was fueling his bus. A few bugs buzzed around me, nothing else. Where could it be coming from? Was I just overanalyzing it? Was my Sight just misfiring as I had thought at first?

As I scrambled for clues, the gentle tickle returned. It crawled up and down my neck. I strummed my thigh in agitation.

“Fuck,” I muttered. It was like I was being played with. “Why the back of my neck?” Like a dog chasing his own tail, I spun around to look behind me. Big Blue sat there idling, indifferent to my quandary. I frowned and swatted at the air in front of me. Now that the sun was down, the bugs were going nuts. I’d never had to deal with bugs before. It kinda sucked.

Swatting bugs himself, the bus driver hopped aboard and turned on the running lights. Fluorescent rays poured down from the windows above. I glanced up into the light—and right into the eyes of the girl in the black hoodie. She looked down at me groggily, the flush of her red lips in sharp contrast to her pale complexion.

I stood motionless in the brash light. Sights and sounds melted away away. A fine nose that buttoned lazily at the end. Skin smooth as marble. A thin and graceful neck. None of it held my interest. My attention was reserved for her eyes. Blue-grey orbs as cold as the worst winter night, they were as deep as the ocean and as dead as the moon.

Still matching my stare, one of the girl’s eyebrows raised slightly.

With a surge of embarrassment, I remembered staring was actually considered rather rude. I turned away, pretending something else had caught my attention. It was only then I noticed that the pace of my breathing had shifted into overdrive, my heart was beating fiercely, and the lights around me were too bright. I squinted my eyes against the glare, unclenched my fists, and massaged out my forearms. I looked down at my hands. If I hadn’t just cut my fingernails, I would have drawn blood from my palms.

Sweat running down my brow, I stood there shaking. Why was I re-experiencing the same sensations I had while fighting Tyrone? There’d been no danger, just a sleepy chick amused at my goofy exercise routine. Since the fight with Tyrone, I’d first had the nightmares and then the panic attacks. They weren’t fun, but I could manage them. But now my Sight was misfiring and triggering flashbacks. If there was one thing I thought I could trust, it was my Sight. My Sight was my security blanket—and now it was just shooting off at random? I knew I was developing a case of PTSD, but I had never imagined my Sight could be affected. My Sight was an honest broker, something I could totally rely on. How was I going to filter out what was bogus? Was I going to be jumping at shadows?

Could I…hurt someone by accident?

I kicked the asphalt in frustration. I felt naked. Exposed.

As I was mulling over options, the LCN Line’s departure announcement sounded. I sagged. I would have to deal with this mess later, the stragglers where already putting out their cigarettes and queuing to get on board. I walked over and got in the line. Once onboard, I couldn’t bear to make eye contact with the girl next to me. She had given me the Raised Eyebrow. That was the girl-sign for excommunication. I pretended to show interest in the television show in front of me. It was a documentary about a man trying to etch his name into the side of a mountain with dynamite.

I clenched my teeth. Tonight was going to be a challenge.

+

The bus kicked into gear and lumbered off down the road.

Only a few minutes passed before the TV screen gave me a splitting headache.

How can they do it? I wondered. How can they keep watching this thing?

Maybe I needed TV specific glasses or something.

I glanced over to find my seatmate rooting through her backpack. She pulled out two large silver juice pouches and frowned.

I swallowed. Even her frown was cute. The proximity of the attractive female was making me nervous. I wasn’t accustomed to encountering mysterious members of the opposite sex, especially ones with lips…I shook my head. Like a repenting priest, I retreated to ritual. Grabbed my thermos, I poured out some piping hot coffee and stared into its manly darkness. The smell alone made me feel better.

Meanwhile, my new neighbor found the Chapstick she was searching for and tossed the rest of her stuff back into her bag. I raised an eyebrow. What is it with girls and Chapstick, anyway? They’d slaughter the whole world for one cylinder of lip balm.

I fought the mighty urge to watch her put it on. My libido had just burst out of the closet and was tripping over the furniture yelling, “Who? What? Where?” (Please excuse him. He doesn’t get out much.) I was just getting my loins back under control when she upped the ante. With a yawn, she stretched her arms above her head. Despite the baggy clothing’s best efforts, the maneuver revealed enough to wreck me. I spilled my cup of coffee straight onto my crotch. Superior heat retention has its drawbacks. I grimaced as the scalding liquid reached ground zero, but as I did my best to angle my jeans away from the Resnick family’s last hope, my seatmate decided to dispose of her hoodie.

I juggled two pressing needs:

1) Protect the nethers.

2) Leer.

I had to commend my libido’s rampant disregard for its own survival. Like a kamikaze pilot, it was dead set on going out in a blaze of glory. And what a blaze it was: the hoodie caught on the girl’s head, and she struggled to pull it off. Underneath, she was only wearing a simple black tank top. Her flat belly contrasted sharply with two very strong arguments for the superiority of the B-cup.

No bra, either…

My mouth gaped. Riding the bus was amazing.

While I was engaged in less than gentlemanly thoughts, the battle of head vs. hoodie entering its final, desperate stage. With a grunt, my seatmate popped her head free—and delivered a well-deserved elbow to my forehead.

An ocean of stars filled my vision as my head cracked back. The chick had packed a wallop. I would have landed in the aisle if my spine didn’t catch the armrest first. Regaining my balance, I held onto my wobbly head with my hands. I was afraid it my fall off. “Wow,” I slurred. “You’ve got skills.”

The girl was staring at me wide-eyed with her sweater still balled in her hands. “Oh, splint—I mean, apologies, did I strike your head?” Her voice was a dulcet purr.

Pretty. I smiled back stupidly.

“Can you hear me?” She waved her hands in front of my eyes. “Are you broken?”

“Huh?” I asked, wobbling back and forth. “Yea. Fine. Groovy. Don’t worry about it.” (At least that’s what I think I said. I wasn’t sure my mouth was cooperating with my brain just yet.)

The girl frowned. I don’t think she believed me.

“Really,” I sputtered, catching some drool on its way to my chin, “don’t worry about it. I’ve had worse.” This was getting embarrassing. I had enough sense to hear myself now, but no matter how hard I tried, my voice kept slurring. I was having trouble forming the words, and what I’d said wasn’t exactly true. Sure, I’d taken a number of beatings, sure, I’d even been knocked out cold a few times, but in all my fights, I had never taken a hit like that before. And it wasn’t a temple shot either; she’d hit me dead on the forehead. If Phil Collins had connected with that pipe, it couldn’t have done much worse. But at the moment I wasn’t concerned about brain damage; I was too busy staring at her damn hair. It flowed in silken waves down over her shoulders, a black background that framed her face perfectly. Hiding it under that cap may have been a breach of the Geneva Conventions.

Perturbed, she waved her hand in front of me.

My attention drifted back to her eyes. They had a way of pulling you in. Right now they were fixed on my temple.

“Traveler, your durability is admirable, but from my perspective, you do not look fine at all.”

“Really, it’s alright. I’ve—I’ve had worse.”

Through another wave of neato sparkles, I noticed that my seatmate was busy removing her gloves. They were thin forearm-length ones that reminded me of that movie, Breakfast at Tiffany’s. Her motions were methodical, and all the while, her eyes stayed trained on my forehead.

“Very well,” she replied amiably. “I will accept your contention that you have received more severe bludgeonings in the past—however, at present you are bleeding and need tending to.”

At her words, I noticed the warm trickle making its way down my forehead. I went to reach into my snack pack for a napkin when her hand met my brow.

“Hold still,” she ordered. “Let me treat the wound.”

The inflections in her voice had vanished, and only the soothing monotone remained. I felt dizzy, and I wanted nothing more than to do as she asked, nothing more than sit still and be cared for. It was nice. It was soothing. She was touching my brow lightly with two fingers. They were cold, and as her fingers tracked toward the source of the bleeding, goose bumps rose on the back of my neck. With her other hand, she drew out a black handkerchief from her pants pocket and applied pressure to my forehead. Head wounds are notoriously bloody. Steady pressure would keep the cut from bleeding all over the place. It seemed she knew what she was doing.

“Good,” she said. “Now lean back and relax.”

She guided my head back to the seat rest all the while holding steady pressure.

“Sorry about the handkerchief…” I blubbered. “You seem to like black.”

She nodded, not seeming to get the joke. “I do. Black is my second favorite color. It never stands out nor can it be stained.” She spoke of the color with the same professional pride chefs use when describing their knives.

“I guess that’s true,” I said. “You wear it well, by-the-way. It suits you.”

“Indeed,” she said absently. Her arm was blocking most of my vision, but I could smell the faint scent of lavender. The gentle touch, the care and concern, it made me feel fuzzy. I didn’t want it to stop. It reminded me of when Dr. Montgomery had taken care of me in the hospital.

“Just rest here for a while longer.” She suppressed a cough and cleared her throat. “The wound is not a deep one. The dermis remains intact. You will not require stitching.”

I raised an eyebrow. She looked my age—maybe younger—but few if any of my classmates knew that the word ‘dermis’ had anything to do with the skin, let alone how the condition of its connective tissue layer determined whether or not you needed stitches.

Hot and smart? They made those?

The girl had my head pressed firmly against the chair with her left hand. Her bloodied right rested on her lap. I couldn’t see her face, but she didn’t seem bothered by the blood. Not many people can tolerate being covered in someone else’s. I wondered if she was like a medical student or something, but before I could offer to go get a napkin, she raised her right hand out of my view and wiped it clean.

Gross.

I’ll admit to rubbing food off on my shirt once-and-a-while, but wasn’t that taking it a bit far? I was considering whether that was a deal breaker when she stood up.

“Keep this amount of pressure on the wound,” she ordered. “I need to use the lavatory.”

“Sure,” I said, taking hold of the handkerchief. I started to say thank you when she basically hopped straight into the air. I sat wide-eyed as her hair brushed lightly against me. In one clean leap, she cleared my legs and landed in the aisle with a feather’s touch. She grabbed her backpack and hustled down the aisle to the back of the bus.

I scratched my head. That was odd.

In the past five minutes, I had managed to tease my libido, scald my crotch, and catch a world-class elbow with my forehead. I needed things to stop moving-burning-throbbing for a moment. I was grateful that my seatmate’s bladder had obliged. Once I thought it was safe, I checked the hanky. The bleeding had stopped. My head was still a bit wobbly—and I knew I was going to have a funny looking bump in a few hours—but that was easy enough to deal with. I wiped up the remaining blood and leaned back in the chair. On the TV, the dynamite guy had just finished the D and the A of DAN. He was jumping up and down with joy.

I was staring off into space, when the girl cleared her throat beside me.

Maintaining my confident, debonair style I jumped in shock.

She’d snuck up on me again. How the heck did she keep doing that?

She did that half eyebrow raise thing again and gestured to her chair.

“Sorry,” I said. “I didn’t notice you standing there.”

I hopped out of the seat to let her by, but instead of sitting down, she grabbed my head in her still chilly hands and squinted at the wound. I looked around awkwardly. There were people staring. I guess it wasn’t common to see a runway model dressed in black fatigues conducting a first-aid seminar in the middle of an aisle on a moving bus.

The little girl sitting across from us pointed at my forehead and announced, “Booboo, daddy. Snow White is fixing the big booboo.”

I smiled sheepishly. Big booboo was right.

My seatmate was indifferent. She finished her exam and nodded. “It has clotted. Go back and clean the skin gently. I will take care of everything when you return.” She spoke in that same commanding monotone. I tried to pay attention, but a painful sensation was building behind my eyes. I just knew that a headache was coming. My seatmate was trying to give instructions about how I should treat the wound, but the surging pain was too distracting. I was trying to push back against it when she handed me the big black Band-Aid.

I blinked at the Band-Aid. “They make black ones?” I grinned. Sure, she was a bit bossy, but at least she had a sense of humor. Maybe she was military…I mock saluted her. “Orders received, ma’am. I’ll get on it right way.” I extended my hand. “My name’s Dieter Resnick, by the way.”

Her mouth gaped in response. I had just enough time to marvel at the whiteness of her teeth before she clamped her mouth shut. They had to be the whitest teeth I’d ever seen.

I scratched my head. “What’s yours?” This girl was kinda dense. Maybe she was a model.

“You know not my name?” She frowned, and then her eyes widened as if she were remembered something. “Oh, yes! My apologies. My name is Rei Acerba Bathory. It is nice to meet you…Dieter, was it?”

I nodded.

“An interesting name. Dieter is of German origin, correct?”

I shrugged. “My mother picked it.”

Rei chuckled. “Your mother must have an interesting sense of humor.”

“Maybe, maybe not. I wouldn’t know. I never knew her.” I tried my best to conceal the discomfort, but I think my voice had an edge to it. “I think I’ll take your advice and go wash up.” I turned and headed to the bathroom, leaving Rei Acerba Bathory in the aisle looking flummoxed.

The “restroom” was mighty cramped. The design was a not-so-subtle attempt to discourage all but the most desperate deuces—but the vertical coffin did have a sink. Using its paltry flow of water I washed out the wound, rubbing so hard I flinched. My mood had darkened. It was Rei’s question about my mother. No one back home ever asked those kinds of questions. My neighborhood was tight-knit. Everyone already knew everyone else’s business, and my story was a crowd favorite. Mom had run off when I was a toddler, never to be seen or heard from again. I was “that poor boy” to everyone I knew. I wasn’t used to fielding questions about my mother, and the one Rei asked had been a good one. Why had my mother chosen such an unusual name? I had to spell it out loud more times than not; and it always looked funny on the page, like it could never quite get itself sorted out.

I stared at my reflection in the mirror. Was my mom German like my dad? Did she look like me? How about my personality? Or the way I held a pen? How about my Sight? Did she have it too? I hadn’t a clue what she looked like. My dad had burned all the photos of her long ago—and bringing the topic up was guaranteed to empty the house of liquor. I’d given up asking long ago. The mystery had nagged at me, but I guess she had better things to do.

“Or maybe she’s already dead,” I said to my reflection.

That thought brought a rush of sadness. I’d rather have never known her than discover that truth.

Putting on Rei’s black Band-Aid cheered me up a bit. Where could you buy black Band-Aids, anyway? The thick black bandage looked hilarious on my head. Any semblance of dignity withered-up and died. I touched the black Band-Aid and smiled. For some reason that didn’t bother me much.

+

When I returned to my seat, I found Rei, her black hair cinched back in a ponytail, sitting with one leg crossed over the other flipping through my copy of Ulysses.

I plopped down in the seat next to her.

“Hey, that’s my torture, not yours.”

She looked at me and smirked. “I was unaware you were a masochist. Why not skip this tripe and allow me to strike you in the forehead a few more times? It will be much faster and achieve similar results.”

I laughed. A severe wit to boot. So not fair. “Yea, it’s pretty terrible, but I made a pact: If I survive this book, I can survive anything that college throws at me.”

Rei’s smile vanished. “One should not enter into such pacts idly. If you succeed, you gain nothing your own merits could not attain. If you fail, you doom your prospects in college. It is a fool’s bargain, Dieter. For instance, if the book were to be destroyed…” She stared off into space, and her mood darkened further. “Dieter, what fiend tricked you into this contract?”

It was my turn to raise an eyebrow. “Um, the fiend I know best? It was just a challenge I made for myself. You know, to build confidence? I didn’t make it with anyone.”

“Oh.” Rei’s face relaxed. She nodded sagely. “You are engaged in a ‘motivational exercise.’ The black woman on that popular daytime television show has mentioned them often. People lacking confidence in their own abilities use them as a sort of crutch to get through life, correct?”

“Um, sort of.” I winced. That kinda hurt. “Well, Rei, if you don’t mind me asking, how do you motivate yourself for a tough challenge?”

“I guess…” Rei frowned. Strummed her chin. Frowned again. “This is an interesting question. I am uncertain of the answer, Dieter Resnick. I believe I just make sure I have fed recently.”

I nodded in agreement. “They always say you can’t think on an empty stomach.”

“Oh, you can,” Rei said with a half-smile, “just not about anything other than eating.”

I laughed. I had never really considered that, but Rei was right, wasn’t she?

This Rei Bathory was certainly odd, but she was the fascinating kind of odd. I was used to vapid chicks—girls who cared about money, looks, and status. She hadn’t asked what I did for a living; she’d asked where my name had come from. She knew literature. She knew biology. She was smart and had knowledge all her own. She seemed to come at life from an entirely different perspective, and I thought that was great. Half the reason I wanted to get out of Vegas was to learn about other ways of life and find my own path among them. While I considered myself well read, I had seen very little of the world. I knew well enough to not expect people to just act “normal.” My definition of “normal” was probably really narrow.

I looked back at Rei. Yea, she was gorgeous, but I’d already seen my fair share of attractive women. Heck, I’d worked in the strip club district; I’d already seen my fair share of attractive naked women. (One with rather spectacular DD’s had even taught me how to dance.) Call me jaded if you want, but Rei’s curves weren’t what fascinated me. Rei wasn’t just pretty. She was something else entirely. I think it was the way she held herself. Her mannerisms were unlike anything I’d ever seen in real life. Her posture was perfect. She moved her body in smooth graceful motions. Every bone knew exactly where to be. It reminded me of those films about kings and queens. There was a word for it…refined. Rei was refined. Realizing it, I became nervous. I didn’t know much about high society. I was worried about sounding uncultured, that Rei would think I was inferior or something, but conversation turned out to be easy. Rei asked questions. I answered them.

“So you are traveling to this Elliot College for your freshman year?”

I nodded.

“And previously, did you attend a public institution for your schooling?”

“Yep, elementary through high school in Nevada’s finest school district.”

“Were there many students in your academy?”

“Academy?” What was she…? “Oh! You mean my high school. Yea, lots. My high school had three thousand students.”

“Three thousand? Three thousand people!” she asked, flabbergasted.

“Budget cuts. They had to clump as many of us into a class as possible. Usually it was one teacher per fifty students.” I shrugged. “But all you really need are the books, right? What was your education like, Rei?”

“Well…I was what you would consider to be homeschooled. I had many private tutors and a pedagogue to manage my studies. But, Dieter, I am curious, in such a large school, how did you manage to establish sufficient dominance to gain the note of a prestigious school such as Elliot?”

“Dominance? Rei, I’m a nerd. I only dominate equations. I was at the bottom of the social totem poll.”

Rei glanced at my wound and tilted her head. “You do not strike me as weak.”

“What I meant is that mental aptitude wasn’t valued by Ted Binion’s student body.”

Rei looked at me as though I had claimed up was down. “Then what do the young value?”

“Strength.” I looked down at my shoes. I felt embarrassed even explaining it. “They value strength.”

“And how do they determine strength?” Rei asked, leaning forward.

I shrugged. “It usually gets decided in the first few fights.” No use faking it. She could probably see right through me. In truth, I was nothing more than a thug. It felt better to just get it out there. I didn’t feel comfortable lying to her.

“It always does, doesn’t it?”

I raised an eyebrow.

Rei smiled. “You were a good fighter.”

I put up my hands. “Hold up, Rei, I wasn’t king of school or anything…”

Rei’s eyes narrowed. “What of the first few challengers?”

I bit my lip. Rei didn’t dance around things, did she? Still, it was an honest question, and it deserved an honest answer. “Well, I…I hurt them badly, Rei.” I wasn’t proud of those fights. Using my Sight had felt like cheating. “That reputation gave me some breathing room. But, Rei, you have to understand, there’s no reasoning with the kids I grew up with. They only understand violence and power.”

Rei turned away from me to look out the window. “Dieter Resnick, that is a fact as old as time itself.”

I swallowed. That was rather heavy…

“Forgive me, but I cannot resist asking: How did you hurt them?”

“What do mean?”

“You did not have a method? I apologize if the question sounds rude, but I come form a very different background. I did not have peers growing up. I’ve never been in a ‘schoolhouse’ fight.” Rei almost looked wistful. It was hard for me to picture what homeschooling was like. It must have been just as difficult for Rei to try to understand my experience.

“Okay. If you want, I’ll try and give it a shot.”

Rei nodded eagerly.

“First you have to understand that fights don’t just suddenly break out. There’s always an underlying motivation. Fights start because a guy decides he has something to prove. Maybe he wants to get into a gang. Maybe he wants his girl’s respect. Maybe he’s just afraid of getting picked on himself. Now, what he understands is violence. As he grew up, he saw it work for other folks; and now that he’s old enough, he’s going to try it too. He picks on someone he perceives as weak, someone he thinks he’ll have a good chance of beating. The best outcome he can hope for is that the person he’s picking on won’t even want to fight. You see, if he can get his opponent to chicken out, then he wins without risking anything. That’s why these fights start out with a war of words.”

“How odd,” Rei opined. “The aggressor merely goads his target? He only attempts to intimidate?”

I frowned. “Of course. All fights involve random chance. Why risk rolling the dice when you can get a free spin at the wheel?” That seemed rather obvious to me. “Now, if you are getting picked on, you have a few options. You can talk shit back—but that will gather a crowd. The witnesses up the ante. It raises the stakes for your opponent. That’s no good. If a fight breaks out, he’s going to fight even harder now because he has more to lose. Only idiots do that. Some people cower and try to gain their opponent’s favor. In the short-term it’s a good strategy, but in the long-term it’s terrible. It just opens you up to more bullying in the future.”

“Did you choose another option?”

“Yea, I used three-strikes.”

Rei cocked her head again. “Pardon?”

I swallowed. She looked even cuter when she was confused.

“With three-strikes, the first time someone makes a comment, you just walk right by. The second time they make a comment, you stop, meet their eyes for a second or two, and then walk right by again.”

“Ah! You speak of dominance posturing. This I understand. You have put them on ‘the notice.’ You are giving them a chance to back down without injury.”

I scratched my head. “Not exactly, Rei. You’re doing it so everyone else can see it.”

“Everyone else? Do you mean the other students? But they are not your opponents. They are just rabble. I do not understand this, Dieter. Explain it better.”

I mussed up my hair. Stars above, I needed a haircut. “You’re thinking too narrowly. I don’t give a damn about the challenger. He’s a short-term problem. There are thousands of students. Hundreds of them are stronger than me. And I’m not only worried about one-on-one fights.”

“The cretins would gang up on one person?” Rei looked confused. “What is the fun in that?”

“Beats me. The point is that by eyeing the challenger, you’re singling him out from the group. Instead of letting his buddies get involved, you’re turning them into spectators. The eye contact is a form of direct challenge. It says, ‘I dare you to try that one more time.’ It also ensures the larger group doesn’t perceive you as weak. You have to avoid that at all costs. The weak always get torn to shreds. It’s better to be the entertainment. Give the crowd a bit of theatrics and—”

“They become an audience rather than a mob. A fascinating observation, Dieter.”

I blushed.

“And the third time?”

“The third time, you do something theatrical. Oh, and theatrical means painful.”

“Like?” Rei had leaned in close enough that I could feel the slow draw of her breath. Her lavender scent reached my nostrils, and all hesitation left my mind. I wanted to tell her everything.

“I had five fights before the challenges stopped coming. In the first, I closed quickly and dropped him with a few knees to the gut. He had no stamina. That stopped the fight. But to my surprise, a second guy came after me within a week. I did something similar in that second fight. But again, within a week, another guy started in on me. And the third guy was stronger. He took the shots to the body and managed to crack my jaw. I got lucky and caught him in the temple.”

“Why did you focus on the body?” Rei asked. “Why not target the joints?”

“Because I wanted to get into college, not start a fight club. Body-blows-don’t-show. You don’t get in as much trouble.”

“Body-blows-don’t-show,” she repeated. “So after this tactics failure became evident, you decided to do something ‘theatrical’?”

“No. I was still being thickheaded. The fourth fight was a bad one. My opponent had a good fifty pounds on me, and this guy knew how to fight. I could be as fast as I wanted, but I couldn’t deal enough damage to faze him.”

“If one’s opponent is large, one need only employ counters to his vitals,” Rei said, matter-of-factly. “Velocity can always defeat mass.”

“You know how to fight?”

Rei shrugged. “Martial arts are part of a balanced education, and my education was quite balanced. Now tell me, did you prevail in this fourth contest?”

“His punches were powerful. I didn’t want to take anything more than a glancing blow. He was dealing enough damage with his jabs.” I felt my jaw reflexively. “First I took his knee out. After I scored the hit to his knee, I worked him laterally. I forced him to plant on the bad knee and caught him in the throat.”

“Excellent! Was that sufficient to kill him?”

“Stars above, Rei! I didn’t hit him that hard. I hit him a few more times, and he yielded.” I scratched my head. “Actually, we got along pretty well after that. Turns out he wasn’t such a bad guy. He just liked a challenge.”

“Your technique was incorrect,” Rei grumbled.

“My technique was desperate. He only gave me a narrow opening, and I was not the strapping lad you are looking at today. I only weighed like 130 pounds.”

“And I weigh even less,” she replied. “You shouldn’t select a tactic you lack mastery in, Dieter.”

“Technique? I never learned any techniques. I wasn’t taught martial arts as part of a ‘balanced education’.”

“Then who taught you to fight?” she asked. “You can’t just know.”

“No one taught me.” Visions of a particular birthday party danced in my head. “I just…”

Rei waved off the question with her hand. Something in her eyes told me she knew what I was trying to say.

“You said you were involved in five fights?”

“Yea.” Was I that easy to read? “After the fourth fight, I realized that all I was doing was making myself look like a bigger challenge. I was attracting fights, not scaring them off.”

“Indeed. That much is obvious. You masqueraded about like appealing quarry. Defeating you was a chance to earn prestige with very few downsides.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Right.” Again. “And to make matters worse, the fifth kid was a bold little prick. He picked a fight right off the bat. It was in the center of the cafeteria at lunchtime. It was a bad place to fight. Too many people. Too many obstacles.” Too many distractions for my Sight. “Anyway, he was quick, wiry, and even faster than I was. I wasn’t used to that. It was like fighting against myself. I was on the defensive from the start. I tripped over a table. He nearly managed to get on top of me—then I hit him in the head with a lunch tray.”

“Metal?”

“Na, plastic.”

“Unfortunate.”

“Na, it was good enough.” I smiled. “I hit him with the edge. It dazed him good. But I was pretty mad by that point. My lunch was on the tray—and there wasn’t anything in the fridge at home—so I grabbed him by the hair and kneed him in the nose.”

Rei covered her mouth with her hands. “Oh, there must have been a great deal of blood.”

“Yea, it splattered all over the cafeteria.”

Rei giggled. “A food fight. How charming!”

“Actually, the blood ruined my burrito. Anyway, I kneed him again. And again. And again. When he dropped to the ground, I kicked him in the kidneys. I dumped a few plates of food on him, poured a carton of milk on his head, and made him lick it off the floor. They called it Bloody Lunch Day. I got suspended for a whole week. It’s on my permanent record.” I scratched my head. I was getting a little too excited talking about this stuff.

Rei frowned. “A suspension? What is…ah, yes, like when Zack Morris and the Screech forged their identity papers in order to enter the dance club. But, Dieter, I do not understand this. The boy challenged you to a fight. Why were you the one punished?”

“Fighting isn’t allowed at school,” I said with a shrug.

“But—”

I laughed. “Gosh, where on earth did you grow up exactly?”

Rei frowned and crossed her arms. “Just north of Chicago.”

We talked for a few more minutes. She asked questions about life in Las Vegas. What were casinos like? Did people really just gamble away all their money? It was the stuff that outa-towners asked. I could sense she was enjoying the conversation, but it was becoming kinda awkward for me. I felt like she was sizing me up, checking my limits, seeing what I knew. Maybe it’s just me, but I think there should be a certain amount of tit-for-tat when you talk. That just wasn’t happening. No matter what I tried, she just kept steering the conversation back to me. I didn’t get to learn a thing about her.

It must have been around midnight when the conversation died off awkwardly. I returned to Ulysses, and Rei pulled out a copy of one of those Harry Potter books. Her face was expressive when she read, and I kept sneaking glances. Someone must have done something exceedingly vile to Harry, because Rei’s hands were tense, and she grimaced as she read. I envied her book choice. Reading about kids running around blasting monsters sounded way more appealing than cataloguing Leopold Bloom’s self-involved bullshit. I decided to finish the book off in one last push, but I was going to need some help in the doing. I busted out my thermos and readied an anti-sleep grenade. I was taking my first sip when I realized Rei had put down her book.

“Dieter, is that coffee?”

“Um…yes?” I sniffed my cup again to make sure.

“Father never allowed me coffee.” She eyed my thermos. “How does it taste?”

“Well, coffee has a complicated flavor that verges on—wait, did you just say you’ve never had coffee before?”

Rei shook her head in the affirmative.

Ah, so she was a Mormon. That explained a lot.

“Well, some people think it’s too bitter. Others find it too acidic. Coffee does have a strong taste, but there’s a lot of variation. The beans taste different depending on where they are grown, how long they are roasted, and how they’re brewed.” I paused to struggle for words. I loved coffee, and Rei’s question was making me get nostalgic. All the cram sessions coffee and I shared together, the video game marathons, that barista I had a crush on back in junior high…

“How does it taste?” I asked rhetorically. “If I had to put it into words, I would say it tastes like the sun mixing with the earth.”

I cringed at how corny that sounded. Man, I was a dork.

Rei considered my words with total seriousness, then turned to me and stared. I was regretting the dopey line, plus that headache was coming back again. All that reading was straining my eyes. I took a sip, telling myself the caffeine would help.

“Dieter, I desire a cup of coffee. Serve me one.” She said it with such force. More like a command than a request…like a spoiled little princess.

“No problem, princess,” I said with a smirk. “Just let me grab another cup out of my bag.” I stood up and scrounged for a cup. When I bent down to hand it to her, Rei looked distracted. I had to get her attention before she’d even take the cup. It must have been that princess line. I must have come off like an ass.

“He certainly has a sense of humor…” Rei mumbled.

“Sorry?”

“Nothing,” she said, waving her hand at an invisible fly. “I apologize, my mind was wandering.”

“Are you going to try it?” I asked.

Rei turned her attention back to her cup, sniffed it warily, sat up straight, and braced herself. As she gave the black goodness a probative sip, her features scrunched up. “You spoke truthfully. It does taste like dirt.”

We both laughed.

What little I knew of Rei Bathory, I liked. Blunt, hot, mysterious—how could you hate on that?

Too bad she wasn’t headed to rural Connecticut.

I sighed. Such is life.

We spent the rest of the night reading quietly. Somewhere around dawn, I finally killed off Ulysses. I knew it was a stupid ritual, but it sure beat biting my nails. The Sword of Damocles lifted from my throat, I drifted off to sleep.

Chapter 6

NEW YORK

The bus was already pulling into a station when I woke. I looked out the window at huge building that surrounded us. We had arrived in New York City, and stars above, was it big. Rei was roused from her sleep as well. She had nestled back in her hoodie and looked as groggy as I felt.

“It was nice riding with you,” I offered.

She covered her mouth and yawned. “One moment,” she said, leaning over.

She drew so close I could smell her skin.

I swallowed.

With a single gloved hand, she reached up and ripped my Band-Aid off.

“Youch! What about a little warning, first?”

“What would be the fun in that?” Rei asked dryly. She examined my forehead with interest. “The bleeding has ceased. There is no need for a new one. You heal quickly.”

I shrugged. “Good genes, I guess.”

“Indeed,” Rei said with a smile.

The mass of people in front of us was clearing. I watched as the little girl next to us hopped into the aisle and ran towards the exit. “Well I guess this is sayonara. It was nice to meet you, Ms. Bathory.”

Rei shook her head and sighed. “Dieter, ‘sayonara’ implies we will never see each other again.”

I knew what sayonara meant. That’s why I chose it. When did she expect to see me again exactly?

“Fair enough, Ms. Bathory. I guess I’ll see you when I see you, then.”

I bowed grandly as I stepped into the aisle.

Rei nodded, and turned to collect her pack.

So that was that. She wouldn’t even mention why she was traveling. I assumed she didn’t want me to know. I decided it was best to avoid dragging out the awkward parting, and headed down the aisle—but the further I got, the more I regretted not asking for her number. I began to doubt my read. What had Rei meant by that last line? Was that a cue for me to do something? Say something?

Frustrated, I thought about turning around, but I was already caught in a wave of people. Running away was far less complicated. I chickened out, hustled off the bus, grabbed my duffle, and ran all the way across the station. My retreat complete, I found a bench and sat down.

According to my watch, I had a four-hour wait ahead of me. What to do? Maybe I could spend some time checking out the city. I looked around. We had enormous buildings in Vegas too, but it was amazing how they managed to pack so many of them into such a small place. If one tipped over, it looked like the entire city would go down like a cascade of dominos. It took a special type of hubris to pack so many people so close.

I shook my head. New York City lived up to the hype—but it was also as hot as balls and smelled like donkey butt. From across the station, I watched Rei shuffle off the bus, her enormous black hoodie wobbling about, totally oblivious to the heat. That girl was capital S strange. I was sitting there chuckling at little black riding-hood when my Sight caught fire.

I wasn’t prepared, and I sucked in air like I’d just been burned. I started hyperventilating as thousands of tiny blades raking against my skin. The image of Tyrone, rock in hand, forced its way into my mind. I knew I was still sitting on a bench in New York’s Penn Station, but I could see the rock flying at my head, feel the inhalation of energy, the blinding whiteness, the heat of the explosion, even the spray of blood on my face. My sense of balance faltered. I flopped off the bench and landed in the anonymous grim below.

The fall knocked the wind out of me, and my emotions were a jumble as I struggled to my feet. Fear, terror, and excitement all mixing together in a confusing jumble. I couldn’t control my breathing. My lungs were constricting like an asthmatic. Air came in short, rapid spurts. I realized if I didn’t fight the panic, I was going to pop—and this was most definitely not the time to pass out.

Instinct told me there was something lethally dangerous nearby. This was no misfire. This was the real deal. I needed to break the cycle, and I needed to break it fast. As the fear dumped adrenalin into my bloodstream, I strained my muscles against the panic in my head. My body quivered in protest, but the effort stopped the worst of it. I focused on steadying my rasping breath—and as I calmed down, more clarity came to my Sight. The source of the icy cheese grater was isolated to my left side—but it was moving, as though someone in the crowd was shedding it as they walked. I threw my will into sharpening my Sight. I was running on a mix of instinct and intuition, but it seemed to be paying off. Moments later, I thought I had located the source. It wasn’t easy, there were a lot of people around, so it helped that he stuck out from the crowd.

He moved smoothly through the masses. Or rather, they parted as he walked. He was a tall man and wore a well-tailored black suit. A gaudy piece of red jewelry hung from his neck. Flanking him were two giants. One wore a blue sweat suit, the other, a red one. Stone-faced, they walked a step behind, a broad wall of flesh that said quite loudly: Do. Not. Disturb.

Some sort of bodyguards? I wondered. I turned my attention back to the tall man in the well-tailored suit. He was just oozing energy. It hummed off his body as he walked, and it was near identical to the sensation I felt when Tyrone tried to kill me. So this was killing intent. The man in the nice suit was preparing to take a life. But what was the deal? Tyrone only emitted death-rays for the briefest moment, only when he had committed to caving in my face…I frowned. Maybe it was because Tyrone wasn’t a killer. He was sadistic, sure, an asshole, sure, but he had his limits. I had challenged him to a fight, embarrassed him in front of his entire crew, and ruined his playing career before he lost it. The man in front of me was a different animal. That instinct we all have—the one that kicks in when a rabid dog turns and snarls—it was screaming at me.

Its advice? Back-the-fuck-off.

In the meantime, the part of me that likes to build with blocks was jumping up and down shouting for attention: “I just wanted you to know,” it bleated helpfully, “that if Mr. Badass and the Sandbag Twins are following a straight vector, they’re headed straight over to the nice girl in the black hoodie.”

I flinched and double-checked the path, and damn it, they were still closing on Rei. I looked around me. We were in a crowded place. No matter how hardcore they were, they surely couldn’t pull something here. There were too many people for anything that brazen.

The men picked up their pace.

“Stars above,” I protested, “it’s the middle-of-the-freakin-day.”

But my gut told me otherwise. Those three men meant to do something terrible. I scanned the area for police, but there weren’t any. And the intense waves rushing over my Sight weren’t letting up. Every second they were getting closer. What should I do? I couldn’t reach her in time if I walked, and darting over might not be the best idea. There was something wrong with that guy. My body kept screaming at me to keep away.

Rei was looking at a city map, matching something written on a piece of paper with cartoonish city diagram, when her body suddenly tensed. It was like watching a nature documentary. If she were a deer, her ears would have been twitching. I watched as she calmly glanced into their reflection off the glass.

Smart, I thought, but how the hell did she know to look?

The men were less than fifty yards away when the realization shook me. The parking lot last night. I could have kicked myself. My Sight hadn’t misfired last night; it had been played with. In haste, I re-directed my Sight towards Rei. I was greeted by the same tingling as last night. She was broadcasting it loudly now, like a switch had been swung. And I bet she could sense it too, that she could feel the tall man’s killing intent. And…no, that couldn’t be right. I had never used my Sight like this. Heck, I never even knew it was possible. I could sense their feelings—and things were seriously fucked up right here. The men were slowly closing in on her, and yet Rei was getting excited. I put aside the issue of why the hell I was able to sense what Rei was feeling. The pressing question was why the hell anyone would feel excited by the shit this guy was spilling out. There was no doubt in my mind. Something deep in my bones was telling me that this guy meant death. And yet there Rei stood, quivering in anticipation.

A terrible thought crossed my mind. Maybe Rei didn’t quite get it. I’d seen the type before. They’d read a bunch of fighting magazines and always thought it would be cool to be in one. Rei had lived a sheltered life. She might be about to do something really stupid. And this mistake wasn’t just going to cost her a bloodied nose…I only knew one thing for certain. I wanted answers. For seventeen years I had lived with the mystery of my Sight, and now, for the first time ever, a clue was dangling in front of my nose. And at that very second, Rei set off into the city.

I hissed a curse. She was leaving the station? How stupid could she be? Did she want to get herself killed?

The three pursuers saw her go and picked up their pace.

I gritted my teeth. I was about to do something stupid.

+

Let me take a moment to point out the glaringly obvious. Humans are idiots.

Over millions of years, a species’ fitness is tested in a game of life and death. The rules are quite simple: Fail and turn to dust, survive and reproduce. Some animals fail because they do stupid shit, others because they were just plain unlucky, but on the whole, the ones that were a bit smarter, quicker, or simply more paranoid than their fellows survive a bit longer. And that little bit is usually just long enough to make some babies. The cycle continues, and a sort of survival manual is etched straight into the DNA. It keeps progeny from doing silly things that failed creatures have tried before. Things like jumping off cliffs, poking snakes, or eating dirt (worms excluded). But humans just have to be different. We get a little more brainpower than your average mammal and decide that the manual shouldn’t apply. After all, how can a few million years of collective experience compare to the incredible insight we’ve accrued through a few decades of foraging at grocery stores and microwaving TV dinners? The result? Unlike our fellow mammals, we humans are prone to some really boneheaded decisions. And in the middle of a crowd, in the nation’s largest city, I was about to make the first in a series of them. I grabbed my bag and headed over to the lockers. Keeping my eye on the tall man, I fed the locker some change and stowed my bag. Then, taking a deep breath, I chased after the party.

What can I say? I’m only human.

Chapter 7

TRAILING THE TALL MAN

We traveled through the busy streets on foot. I kept a good fifty yards back, but it wasn’t because I was worried about being spotted. There were plenty of people to mask my tail. No, that wasn’t it. I had to hang back. The nasty vibe that tall bastard was sending off was simply too much to handle. If I got closer it started to mess with my mood. It was like a grab bag of misery. Despair, hopelessness, and fear, take your pick, it was like a direct challenge to my psyche. Each wave that hit me sent my heart racing.

Nerves on edge, my Sight was staying active. Normally, I was limited to using it during moments of intense emotion. My Sight was always fleeting, and I never had time to play with it, but the intense aura this guy was throwing off was somehow keeping it switched on. As we walked, I learned I could direct my Sight onto others as easily as I had done the tall man and Rei. It just took a bit of mental focus. I swept it like a flashlight, focusing it on one person after another. Every one of them had a faint hint of light surrounding their bodies.

I wiped the sweat from my brow. Auras…I was looking at auras. After looking at a number of people, I began to pick up on patterns. The color of the aura seemed to be dictated by the person’s mood. Blue was for bored. Red was for angry. The aura of a man scribbling in his notebook was a vibrant purple. Inspiration, I guessed. It was simply amazing. All I had to do was train my focus and my Sight worked like a charm.

The usual waves of color were there as well. Motionless objects didn’t emit them, but most moving objects had a current of waves preceding them. Why did some objects emit and other not? I was getting the sneaking suspicion that the motion had to be driven by a conscious act. I could see a door swing open before a person exited, but the model train racing across the toy store window didn’t have any waves at all.

What about animals? I wondered.

I spotted a dog watching a child eating an ice cream cone. It was a faint but muted green. The emotion was envy; that was obvious enough. (Then again, I didn’t really need an aura to understand the emotional state of a dog.) Still, the discovery was important. It meant that my Sight was somehow tied into the energy of life—and the moving objects that were the extensions of life.

I shook my head. None of it made any sense, but it sure was fascinating.

I turned my Sight back to Rei. She was far off in the distance, but I wondered if it might feel like the cold flame I sensed back at the bus station. Instead, only a vague grey haze quivered about her body. I frowned. What the heck was that? It didn’t look like any of the others. Maybe it was the distance?

I focused more mental energy into my Sight, and the world around me faded.

I paused. So focusing my Sight diminished my other senses? Strange. Was this safe? I wondered. The quivering haze continued to cloud around Rei. I couldn’t see through to the core. I couldn’t fight the temptation.

I thrust more energy into the effort—and then the whole exercise went awry.

It was as if I had tripped and fallen, but not downward. I was falling towards her. Part of me was still walking down the street working its way through the crowd, but another part of me was sliding forward through space at an incredible speed. I was in two pieces, and before I knew it, half of me tumbled inside her. My thinking clouded. Strange thoughts intruded on my attention. My senses tasted foreign. I smelled the hotdog stand next to her. Felt the rush of humid air blowing from a grate below her. Heard the tap of her boots out of step with my own. Stranger still, although my own rational mind was intact, I didn’t quite feel the same. It took me a few moments to sort out it out, a few moments to realize that I was so…happy. Sure, I was tired, but I could sleep later. The fatigue was melting away as a rush of adrenalin overrode it.

Finally, I thought. An opportunity. The cursed restraint…I could cast it aside. The rush of blood, the crunch of bone, the yielding of flesh…Could I even remember what torn skin felt like on my lips? And now the time was near. Just a little bit further…Just a little bit…

Rejecting the foreign input, my mind shook. I wrenched out of Rei, emotions tumbled this way and that. In my confusion, my physical body bumped into a cop. He scowled. Told me to watch were I was going. For a flash, I stared at his windpipe. I wanted to tear it out with my bare hands.

I mumbled an excuse and lumbered on. A cold sweat was running down my brow. Emotions—our emotions—were mixed like laundry. Figuring out which were mine was taking time, time I should have been spending forming some sort of plan. Meanwhile, Rei had led our merry caravan into a run-down section of the city. I didn’t like where this was going, but if I didn’t keep moving I was going to lose them. What was I getting myself into? I was flying blind and chasing questions down the proverbial dark alley. Shouldn’t I be considering the risks of this little adventure more carefully? But these clues to my Sight, all the years of not knowing, how could I turn away now?

Rei halted before I could decide. No crowds to hide me, I stepped into a doorway. I watched as she checked the address and examined her small notepad. She was looking at an old rundown warehouse. Rei returned the pad to her pocket and walked over to the loading dock. Hopping up, she disappeared inside.

I looked up and down the street. It was Sunday. Most of the businesses were closed. Only a few people were wandering by, and no one was stopping.

A deserted building on a quiet street. Wonderful.

I hung back as the three men followed her in. I had two good reasons: 1) The lack of foot traffic was making me more noticeable, and 2) Instinct had just filed an emergency appeal. Machismo needed to re-argue his case before I was stepping one foot inside of that building.

“Your Honor, Dieter is going to get himself killed,” Instinct argued.

Machismo huffed up his chest. “Your Honor, despite Ms. Bathory’s rather colorful personal—”

“You mean homicidal?” asked Instinct.

Machismo bristled. “Despite that, Rei is a lady in distress. We are duty-bound to respond.”

“And how do you plan on responding?” Instinct asked. “Let me guess…you plan to karate chop the two man-mountains, deliver a nutter to the tall fellow, and then gallantly embrace the swooning female?”

Machismo nodded eagerly.

Instinct looked at Machismo with disdain.

“Fool. She’s the type that would tear out our heart as a thank you.”

“Well…” Machismo replied. “That’s a good point, Instinct, she might be a bit dangerous, but I’ve been doing some thinking…”

“Oh, stars above, Machismo,” Instinct said with a sigh.

“Just listen, you prude. Yes, it does look like she is luring these guys, and yes, it does look like she wants to beat the crap out of them, but didn’t we do the same thing when we called Tyrone out? Didn’t we just spend all last night explaining how if you don’t stand up and fight you’ll just get trampled? It might be our fault that she’s picking this fight. Martial arts training or not, Ms. Bathory probably doesn’t know the first thing about street fights. Our little pep-talk might be about to get the young lady killed.”

“Hmm,” the judge brooded. “Good points. Good points.”

“Oh, I almost forgot!” Machismo added. “I noticed there’s a steel pipe lying over there. I would like to enter it into evidence as exhibit A.”

“Exhibit A?” Instinct asked.

“Yeah, A stands for ass-kickin’.”

The judge frowned.

“Hmm, Machismo makes a good points. Plus, thugs kind of piss me off. I’ll allow it.”

“We’re an idiot,” Instinct lamented.

I picked up the pipe and swung it. A good five pounds, it hummed as it swept through the air.

I was so going to get myself killed.

+

Phase 1 of my plan required ninja-quiet. By that I mean I tried to sneak into the warehouse on my tiptoes. The tall man and his goons had entered the building about a minute ago, so I figured enough time had passed. Pole in hand, I hopped up onto the loading dock and idled up next to the door. The door opened into a darkened storehouse. Inside, I could hear the echo of voices. The tall one was saying something. He stood ten paces back with the two thugs flanking him. He was gesturing toward Rei, but I couldn’t make out the conversation. Pressing my luck, I scooted inside, snuck behind a stack of merchandise, and squatted down to listen.

“…don’t give a damn who you are,” the tall man said. “I will ask you only once more. Where is your package, dear?” The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. The tall man’s voice was cool and methodical, and the threat of violence hung in the air. I looked to Rei. Her enormous hoodie masked most of her face. She stood loosely, her arms resting at her sides.

“Silly, magus,” Rei replied. I raised an eyebrow. Her voice was so cold—its normally melodic ring had been replaced by something horrid. She tilted her head up and stared the tall man down, her tongue slipping over each and every syllable. “I already told you, magus. It’s right here in my pocket. Why don’t you come over here and get it?”

Christ, Rei was reading straight out of a Spaghetti Western. How could she be taking this so lightly? Yet the glint in her eye…it made me uneasy.

A grating laugh erupted from thug in the red sweatsuit. I guess he thought that line was as ridiculous as I did. He leaned forward and grabbed his belly.

It was the last mistake he ever made.

Rei’s whole body quivered. I didn’t so much see her move as see where she wasn’t. There was just enough time for me to gasp before she closed the distance and flicked a slight little blade straight into his carotid. Spinning around his enormous body, Rei wrapped onto his back, thrusting the small blade again and again through the tuft of his neck. I watched blood shoot ten feet into the air. A red mist rained down as the tall man stumbled backwards issuing gurgled curses.

“Stars above…” I whispered.

The thug in blue didn’t delay. He rushed into the fray instantly, and considering his size, his speed was impressive. I wasn’t the only one surprised. Before Rei could react, the big man closed and delivered a sickening blow to her temple. I had no idea a human being could strike with such power. The punch knocked Rei off the red thug’s back. She landed on the blood-drenched concrete with a heavy thwap. Free of her, the red thug dropped to his knees and struggled to stem the flow of blood from his neck. A series of red bubbles issued from his mouth.

I forced down the rising vomit.

Not finished, the blue thug lumbered after Rei, who—incredibly—was struggling to stand back up. I couldn’t understand how she was still conscious. I had heard the crunch of her skull from where I stood. The punch had caved her cheekbone. The entire right side of her face was nothing less than tenderized meat. Yet she stood firm, eyes blazing. I looked at her bloody left hand. She was still clutching that tiny blade. I shook my head in disbelief. A box-cutter. It was a box-cutter. She had opened up a three-hundred-and-fifty-pound man with a freakin’ boxcutter.

Rei answered the blue thug’s advance with a wolfish grin. There was something off about that smile, something inhuman. Her teeth were too bright, her incisors, too long. And I could sense killing intent now. It projected out of her like the rattle of a snake. Her world was small now, made up only of her enemies. Everything else had ceased to exist. She was feeling neither pain nor fear. Those silly feelings no longer compelled her. She yearned to open him up. She wanted to work her way through his insides. She wanted to be there for his last rattles as he turned from man to corpse. Those crazed eyes, that gleeful smile…Rei had totally lost it. She was battle-mad.

As the thug dashed forward roaring his reply, I only wished I could pause time long enough to figure out what the hell was going on. Was I still on planet Earth? I wondered. On Earth, people didn’t move that fast. People didn’t hit that hard. People didn’t stand back up after taking that much damage. How could any of this be possible? And better still, what the hell was I still doing here?

A new scent distracted my focus. It smelled like…ozone. The hair on the back of my neck shot up, and my Sight forced my attention back to the tall man. He had backed away as the other three fought. Now he was clutching an object dangling from his neck with his right palm stretched out facing Rei.

I shook my head. My Sight was telling me that the tall man was about to do something impossible. I knew what was about to happen, but I found it absolutely absurd. I was a scientist at heart. I knew thermodynamics. I knew physics. Energy had rules. Those rules were absolute. I told myself that make believe never actually intruded on reality, but then I remembered the photos Ms. Curray had shown me. The three men in DEA windbreakers…

Rei’s intensity faltered. She must have sensed it too. Her eyes shifted desperately.

“Fulgurus!” The tall man roared.

Rei made a dash to the right. A bolt of electricity erupted from tall man’s palm. The room flashed white.

If Rei hadn’t moved that instant, the bolt would have struck her in the chest and stopped her heart. The main bolt swept past her instead, but it wasn’t a focused blast. Tendrils of electricity crackled into her torso anyway. They shocked her body rigid. A yelp made it halfway out her mouth before it was pinched off. She landed stiffly on her side. I watched helplessly as the spasms induced by the electrical charge pulsed through her body.

Exploiting the opening, the remaining thug delivered a kick to her chest. I heard her ribs break from fifty-yards away. She suppressed a whimper as a second kick crunched into her side. A steady wheeze left Rei’s lips. Her eyes bulged. She couldn’t breath. A rib must have punctured a lung.

I felt at my own chest reflexively as the tall man started to laugh. I’d heard that laugh before, that glee, and my body started to tremble. Again. It was happening again. Thinking stopped. Reasoning stopped. I abandoned any semblance of stealth, stood, and broke into a dead sprint. I shifted the pipe for a broad, two-handed strike. I didn’t hesitate. I aimed straight for the bastard’s spine. The blue thug yelled a warning, but it was two late for the tall sack-of-shit. I landed the blow clean below his shoulders and waited for the satisfying crunch…

An explosion of sparks shot me fifty feet in the opposite direction.

Stunned, I found myself on my back, the smell of fried bacon in my nose. I let loose a few coughs. It felt like someone had wrapped both of my hands in cotton. I looked down at them. My hands were burnt charcoal black. They looked like two slabs of overcooked meat. And as disturbing as that sight was, it wasn’t my biggest concern. There was a sharp pain rising in my chest, and I had a pretty good idea why.

The realization hit me like the bag of bricks. I had been careless. I hadn’t thought it through. The tall man had been one big ball of static charge, and my pipe had been a metal one. I’d electrocuted myself, and now both my palms were burnt. That meant the charge had passed through my chest. That wasn’t good. The pain growing just above my sternum had to be my heart. Right now it was probably fluttering at about 300 beats-per-minute. At that speed, it didn’t even have time to fill with blood, and if a heart can’t fill, it can’t pump. If it can’t pump, blood can’t flow. And if blood can’t flow…

I knew the math: 2 minutes of consciousness left; 3 minutes more before I went brain dead; and 1 more till I started to cool. And the only cure was those paddles they had in ERs. They gave the heart a chance to get back in rhythm. Nothing else worked. I wondered if the management at Sketchy Warehouses, Inc. kept one of those automatic defibrillators lying around. Better yet, I wondered if any of the nice folks around me would be kind enough to give me CPR till the paramedics arrived.

I turned to my head to my left. The tall man was cursing as he limped towards me. That perked me up a bit. At least I’d done some sort of damage with my strike. I turned my head right. Rei lay in an expanding pool issuing from the red thug’s neck. The blue thug stood over her, his face twisted in rage. The pain from the broken ribs was etched on Rei’s face. Pink foam coated her mouth. She definitely had a punctured a lung. Rei flinched, and I heard more cracks come from her insides. Her eyes were an empty grey. Not a hint of blue remained.

The tall man screamed something to the remaining thug.

The big man nodded and shuffled off.

The tall man was hunched over, guarding his back, but he still managed to deliver a savage kick to my side. The blow blinded my vision, but I could hardly feel the pain. I knew what that meant; my body was failing.

I looked back over to Rei. She was on her hands and knees spitting up pink foam. Dark blood coated her face, and her hair was a grubby mess. She spit out the last of foam and took a deep breath. I decided I was getting loopy. You don’t start breathing after you burst a lung.

My Sight burned as a blanket of icy needles danced over my flesh. The tall man wasn’t done with me. He struck my side again.

Rei continued her coughing. I stretched out my hand to reach her, but it only slumped in her direction. The muscle was useless. It sucked, really. All I could do was lay still and wait till my body ran out of oxygen.

Rei’s rally faltered. She collapsed into the thick puddle of blood.

I couldn’t do anything as she choked on it. She must have reached her limit. Her hand still grasping the tiny box-cutter, but she looked ghastly. Her cheek was dented in. She could hardly see. But as her eyes met mine, all I saw was defiance. I held onto those pale grey orbs, and for some reason they sent me back to my grandmother’s house.

+

My grandma used to insist on taking me to services every Sunday. Even in Las Vegas, the Church had a big presence. (Nothing like fear and despair to drum up new converts.) Our local church was huge. Before the service, I would stomp up and down the aisles listening to the echoes bouncing off the walls. I hated how you had to sit on those hard wooden seats, but I did like the parts when everyone sang. I didn’t quite get the reason for it all—they kept saying God was everywhere, but if that was the case, why did we have to go to a special house to visit him?

After the services, grandma would take me back to her house for the whole afternoon. It was fun there. Everything was old and strange and ripe for exploring. Better still, no one ever yelled at me. Grandma had hundreds of porcelain dolls decorating her house. I didn’t like the dolls, but I dug the general idea. I decided that when I grew up, I would decorate my entire house with GI Joes. Decorations aside, the best part about Grandma’s house was the cookies. She baked them fresh every weekend. The sugar cookies with the jam in the center were my favorites. I would eat the outside first, and then chomp down on the jammy centers. Cookies gone, we would sit at the kitchen table and talk. Grandma was the only person I knew that would actually listen to what I had to say, so I tended to blather on endlessly about my week. The way she would just sit and listen…that was better than the cookies.

On the walls of my grandmother’s kitchen were some old Briton Rivière prints. Two of them featured lots of dogs. Since dogs were awesome, paintings of dogs were totally awesome. There was this one of a guy named Daniel. He was playing with lions. (I figured he must have been Siegfried and Roy’s dad or something.) And then there was my favorite. It was one of a knight next to a dead dragon. The knight’s horse was dead too, crushed under the monster’s giant, scaly hide. It was frightening to see how the horse’s huge body had snapped like a twig. How could something as strong as a horse be broken like that? The knight looked almost as bad as his horse. He was lying on the ground staring up into the sky. He looked totally exhausted…except for one thing: His right hand still gripped his sword. His horse had been shattered, but the knight’s grip had held firm.

One day, as I dusted off another half dozen of Grandma’s finest, I asked her if the knight had a name.

Grandma looked up to at the old print and smiled.

“That’s Saint George, Dieter,” she said.

“Saint George,” I repeated. “He looks really tired.”

“Hmm…he does, doesn’t he,” she said. “And tired he should be…do you want to hear his story?”

I slid my milk to the side and nodded eagerly.

“Long ago, there were dragons, many dragons. Dragons were terrible monsters, bigger than a city bus, stronger than a herd of elephants, craftier than a council of scholars. They dined on people—and they terrorized the lands of man. In one kingdom lived an especially evil dragon. He could breathe poison. Any man who caught a whiff of his foul stench writhed and died on the ground. The beast demanded from the king of the lands children to eat lest it weave its poison among them all. The people became angry. They loved their children. They didn’t want them to die. But all of the king’s brave knights had dropped to the ground like flies.

“His army defeated, the king gave in to the giant lizard’s demands. Every week the people held a lottery. To lose was a pitiable thing. It meant sending one of your children into the dragon’s jaws.”

I clutched my glass of milk tightly. Grandma didn’t seem to be joking.

“Years passed, Dieter. The dragon ate many children, and the people despaired. The king hung his head in shame. But what could he do? How could he fight that which could not be killed?

“Then, late one evening, a knight arrived at the gates of the capital. This knight came from far away. A place he called Cappadocia. The name of this knight was George, and after hearing the peoples’ sorry tale, the knight’s eyes grew dark with fury. He told the people of the capital, ‘I shall go forth and slay the beast. Who will come with me?’ But the people looked upon him in silence. Many men had tested their mettle against the fearsome dragon. All had fallen. There was none brave enough left among them to stand with this strange knight named George.”

I balled my little hands. What cowards these people were. “What did George decide to do, Grandma?”

“The hard thing, Dieter. He decided to face the dragon alone.

“Alone?” There was brave…and then there was crazy.

“Sir George believed the dragon had to be stopped. He believed it was his duty.”

I looked up at the painting of this George and frowned. “He doesn’t look very strong, grandma. And that dragon is way bigger than him. Why did he think he could win?” I wondered how I might fight such a dragon. Was there a weakness? A trick?

My grandma laughed.

“Look at his eyes, Dieter. I don’t think Sir George believed he would win. I think he believed he would die fighting the dragon.”

“But he still fought?” I asked. That didn’t make any sense to me.

“He lived by a code, Dieter.”

“A code?”

“A code is like a rulebook for living. He valued his code more than he valued his life. His code told him that when he saw evil, he had to slay it. It was as simple as that for Sir George.” She looked at the painting and her face saddened. “Living by that code would eventually cost him his life. That is why he is called Saint George now.”

I frowned. I didn’t understand. Sir George had fought a dragon—so he must have been very brave—but he didn’t look it. He looked like a normal person. Maybe even a little sad. Brave people weren’t supposta look so sad and tired. Brave people weren’t supposta think they were going to die. Brave people were brave because they were strong. Because they knew they could win. Why would such a normal looking person decide to tread that path of a hero? Why had he chosen such a terrible, terrible fate?

It didn’t seem very fair.

My grandmother smiled sadly back at me. She didn’t need me to ask the question brewing in my head. “Sometimes the right thing costs,” she said, sliding the tin of cookies closer. “Sometimes it costs a great deal.”

+

The memory faded, and I returned to the cold cement floor. I hadn’t thought about my grandmother for a long time. I was thankful for it. It was a nice last memory to hold on to at the end. The right thing costs…I chuckled.

I looked past my scorched palm at Rei’s bloodied body. It was funny. Rei shared something in common with old Sir George of Cappadocia—they both liked to bite off way more than they could chew. A twinge of pain ran the length of my spine. Then again, who was the idiot charging in swinging a pipe a few minutes ago?

Rei’s breath seemed to be coming easier. Lucky her. I couldn’t say the same. My muscles ached, and my breath was coming faster and faster even as it shallowed. Deprived of its blood flow, my body was running out of gas. It was curtains for me, but I wasn’t scared. You see, death is only scary when you don’t know when it’s coming, when there’s still some hope it might not. Death isn’t scary once it’s already got you…just depressing. One thing was bothering me above all else. I was about to die without firing off one last snide remark. Now that seemed unjust.

“Hey, Rei,” I said in a raspy voice.

Her body remained still, but she managed to raise an eyebrow.

“For future reference, a knight should probably pack more than a box-cutter.”

“A knight?” She smirked. Her beautiful black hair had been reduced to a bloody mop. The right half of her face—where the goon had landed a blow—was nothing but ground meat. That single punch had even ruptured the blood vessels in her right eye, but through the tangled mess of blood and guts, her white teeth still shone. Her long incisors accented her wolfish grin.

“Next time,” she said, “I’ll be sure to bring a pipe.”

“Touché.” A fit of coughs took me. Too bad I wouldn’t be around to see next time.

The tall man was screeching something at the two of us. Rei turned to him, her eyes burning savagely. She struggled but couldn’t move.

I could smell the ozone before I even turned my head. The tall man stood over me, right palm pointed at my chest. He was clutching that thing around his neck again. That red crystal must be what he used to ready the strike. I thought frying me again seemed a tad overkill. I was already a goner. I did the only mature thing I could think of. With the last of my energy, I willed up my left arm and flipped him the bird.

The tall man looked down at me and smiled. There was no hesitation as he fired.

My chest exploded. Everything went white.

Chapter 8

SINGED

I awoke in a haze. The crushing pain in my chest was gone. Only a dull reminder remained. My senses returned to me gradually, like a slow computer coming back online. It felt like every nerve needed a reboot, that every cell needed time to recharge.

My hands were still blackened toast. Throbs of pain shot forth from them in regular intervals. I took the throbbing as a good sign. The throbbing meant I had a heartbeat. That was certainly a plus. I lay there in disbelief. The last shock must have restarted my heart. That guy was a walking defibrillator.

Did that mean I had to send him a thank you card?

I was thinking that all and all things were going pretty well compared to a moment ago when a piercing scream snapped me out of Zen-land. Whimpers and gasps followed, then more wretched screams of pain. At first I thought they were coming from Rei…but the noises were too masculine. Riled, I struggled to lift myself into a seated position before freezing in fear. Anyone looking would have just realized I was back in the land of the living. My death averted, the fear of it had returned. My heart started the race. The pain in my hands flared.

“Think before you leap, Dieter,” I reprimanded myself.

I needed to calm down. The human brain can be a huge help in a crisis, but ‘can’ is the operative word. Our big juicy forebrains only get to play ball if the old-school noggin’ lets it. Thoughts need to get past the amygdala first. If fear hits you hard enough, the amygdala acts like it has for millions of years and switches to autopilot. You get the classic fight-or-flight response. The nuance of the cortex gets tossed through the nearest plate glass window, and you’re either left staring into space, pissing your pants, or running away screaming (or sometimes all three at once). Fortunately, getting electrocuted twice in the last minute was making it kinda hard to get any more riled up.

I forced my attention back to my surroundings—which were now 100% covered in blood. Man, oh man, there was a lot of it. And it all trailed back to the fresh corpse of the thug in red. I didn’t care to enjoy the irony of the color coordination; I was struggling to keep down my lunch. The red thug’s face was twisted in an expression of horror and pain. One giant hand still clasped his slashed throat. From that opened artery the blood had flowed. It’d formed a circular pool. Some time must have passed, because the blood was clotting into a dark gelatinous mess. The spot where Rei had laid was the one noticeable exception. It was dry, and more importantly, empty. From the look of the blood, Rei had gotten up under her own power. Stranger still, between her old location and myself, a section of the blood was charred.

I raised an eyebrow. How was any of this even possible? Those guys had broken a bunch of her ribs and caved in at least one of her lungs. How on earth had she been able to move under her own power? And what was up with the charred section of blood between us? Strange shit was going on here. Shit that didn’t obey natural laws. People don’t shoot lightning bolts out of their fingertips. Young women don’t go skipping off after getting their bones broken by giant bruisers.

People don’t explode one another’s heads in schoolyard fights either, Dieter, a little voice chimed in.

I looked down at my blood soaked jeans. This wasn’t going to work. I needed to forget about how things were supposed to work and get myself the hell out of here—preferably while I was still breathing. I could worry about rewriting the laws of nature later.

My hands burned, but the pain was manageable. No one else was in the room, and I noticed a light was on in a small office about 50 yards off. Part of me wanted to just get the heck out of Dodge, but nothing about the past few minutes made any sort of sense. Sure, I was terrified, but damn it, I wanted answers. I turned my attention back to the bloody footprints. After a few shaky steps, I followed them off into the darkness. They led right to the man wearing the blue tracksuit.

He was in two pieces.

I blinked a few times.

The scene made no sense. The man was as big as I remembered. His torso was still as thick as a barrel, but now a huge diagonal slash separated his upper and lower halves. The cut started low and went clean up through his left shoulder blade. I knelt down. All the bones where hewn straight through.

How the…

Like every American male, I had my samurai-phase growing up. I knew that the amount of power needed for that type of slash was nearly impossible. In real combat, swordsmen perform focused slashes on vital areas. Trying to cut through bone is a huge no-no. It dulls the blade and risks it getting stuck (both nasty propositions in the midst of combat). Yet here was a man, splayed open on the floor, split cleanly in two.

Another bout of screams erupted, and I jumped straight up into the air. (People getting cleaved in half tend to put my nerves on edge.) The screams were coming from an office in the corner of the warehouse. I was scared shitless, but that was the direction my feet were taking me. My entire body shook from the adrenalin coursing through me, but I wanted to know—had to know. I went flush against the wall and carefully edged toward the window. The noises were coming from inside the warehouse office. Shuffling. Pattering. Whimpering. A shadow moved to and fro. I took a deep breath and peered inside.

The tall man sat tied to an office chair, his arms and legs bound by twisty ties so tight that they dug into his flesh. His shirt was torn off—and so were large swaths of his skin. A long strip from his back lay on the desk in front of him. Two more strips sat in heaps near his feet. Strip after strip, someone was peeling the skin from his body. I swallowed. He was being flayed alive.

Nausea was getting the best of me when I finally caught sight of her. I looked at the girl who had sat next to me on the bus, slept quietly, elbowed me clumsily, and talked with me late into the night and came to an abrupt conclusion: Monsters were real.

Rei’s skin blurred under the fluorescent light. It was far too translucent and pale. The light seemed to bounce off it, producing a fuzzy whiteness that made it hard for my eyes to focus. The lean muscles of her arms were tense, and I couldn’t help notice the nipples pushing against her blood-soaked tank. Like a merry gardener trimming roses, her eyes lingering over her work.

I looked upon the scene with utter revulsion; she smiled serenely.

I had once watched my cat bat a mouse around for nearly twenty minutes. If you didn’t know any better, you would think they were both having fun. But then, without warning, she pinned the little bugger with her paws and peeled open its abdomen. Not the slightest change in expression while she did it. The cat just flipped onto her back and went on to play with the mouse’s entrails. The cute little kitty didn’t react to the little rodent’s spasms. She didn’t so much as blink as it died. She was indifferent. It didn’t even occur to her that she should feel anything. It wasn’t in her programming. It wasn’t part of her design. To kill as easy as you breath…that’s the nature of a true predator.

Rei slid her boxcutter up under the tall man’s breast, driving the thin piece of metal deep into his muscle.

As blood oozed out of the wound, the tall man screamed.

“Who?” she purred.

The tall man stuttered nonsense. Spit dribbled from his mouth. The pain must have been incredible.

One summer, I got my hands on a copy of a translated KGB torture manual. (The good people of Nevada like to be prepared for the Enemy.) The manual said flaying was one of the best techniques to use during a rapid interrogation. There were many ways to extract information if you have more time—but if you were in a rush, they recommended flaying, crushing digits, or electrocuting the genitalia. (Say what you will about the Russians, they certainly didn’t beat around the bush.) Flaying had one obvious downside, though. You can’t lose half your skin and walk away. The tall man wasn’t playing to save his life. He was playing for a quicker death.

Rei cocked her head and frowned. The tall man’s stuttering was still indecipherable. She sighed and peeled off his left ear. It was hard work. There were snags. She inspected the floppy piece of meat before tossing it behind her shoulder.

I shuddered uncontrollably. I didn’t even know that was possible. And his screams were so guttural and unnatural that they raised the hairs on the back of my neck. Blood was spurting everywhere. It pitter-pattered onto the linoleum floor. And through it all, Rei’s face remained serene. She acted as though she were prepping the veal cutlets for the evening special.

As she waited for the tall man to catch his breath, Rei examined the blood covering her hands. A shiver coursed through her body, and her eyes went hazy. Her body tense, she swallowed, and her hand went towards her nose. For a moment she looked conflicted, resisting her hand’s motion.

“It’s not like he’s a citizen,” she muttered.

Her eyes broke focus, and she licked her hands clean.

My jaw dropped. I didn’t understand. Why was she licking the blood off her hands?

The tall man looked up and started to cry. “Oh, Jesus Christ, you’re one of them. I told you,” he said between sobs. “I—don’t—know. We’re wiped during assignments. It’s standard procedure. I don’t get my memories back until I complete the job. It’s standard—” He gasped and started shivering. Having been there, I recognized the signs. Pain was overloading his senses; he was about to pass out.

Rei’s eyes flashed. “Wait!” she hissed. “Not yet, damn it!” She smacked the tall man across the face. Blood splattered across the walls, and he returned from the edge of consciousness. “Just tell me the parameters, you insipid pofátlan.”

I could see it in his eyes. The tall man was broken. His body was torn to shreds. Ruined. And the pain wasn’t going away. It was easy to see he didn’t care anymore. He probably just wanted to close his eyes and die. Frankly, it was understandable. He mustered the last of his strength and looked up at Rei with unfocused eyes.

“Cross-country bus arriving at noon at New York Grand Central Station from Chicago. Intercept and retrieve one Dieter Resnick: Male. Age, 17. Height, 6’1’’. Brown hair. Light complexion. The package is Imperiti. Threat level is nominal. In event that the package has obtained a chaperon, termination of chaperon takes priority. For exit, proceed to 36th and 7th. Taxi will conduct pick-up after one pass of your party.”

“That’s all?” Rei asked. She looked somewhat disappointed.

The tall man nodded, and his head slacked.

Rei stared at him. That hazy expression was waxing over her. For the next ten seconds she stood motionless as though locked in trance. Then shook herself, walked forward, took the tall man’s head in her hands, and snapped his neck with twist. A few spasms later, he was dead. Rei sighed. She was looking at one of the walls, her hands tight on her hips.

“Fasz kivan!” She aimed a kick at the desk, huffed, and then plopped down on top of it. Cursing again, she buried her head in her hands. “What an unmitigated disaster.”

She was still sitting there looking pensive when her body tensed. My heart sank. I’d been a fool to get so close, and now that she wasn’t distracted…Rei gripped the desk with her hands and prepared to spring. I braced myself. Running didn’t seem like it would help. But just as suddenly, Rei’s face transitioned to one of confusion.

“Dieter?” The light timber had returned to her voice. “Dieter Resnick, is that you lurking out there?”

I was locked in a wave of overwhelming terror…but my Sight wasn’t doing its doom and gloom routine.

“Um. Well. Yea,” I squeaked.

The tension in Rei’s muscles eased. She exhaled deeply. “Excellent!” she exclaimed. “And here I thought I had fucked the dog!” She swung her legs back and forth like she was on a swing set. “Good job not dying. You are much more durable than you look.” She smiled jovially. “Now why don’t you step into my office?”

I swallowed.

“Sure thing, Ms. Bathory.”

Chapter 9

WHAT ARE YOU?

I didn’t consider running. She had just taken care of the three most badass men I had ever seen in my life. The guy I couldn’t even dent with a pipe was sitting like a peeled orange in the corner. Refusal was probably on the same page of the playbook as kicking dynamite. I shuffled in. It was the best I could do after the adrenalin twisted my quads into knots. After stepping over yet another pool of blood, I surprised myself and looked up to match her stare.

I couldn’t sense a hint of killing intent. Rei looked back with a relaxed expression on her face. I must have looked nervous, because she was trying for a gentle smile. But my mind was already cranking away. Why was it that she never smiled fully? Even when she talked, she only spoke with her mouth half open. The train of thought was ludicrous, but then again, there were people shooting lightning out of their fingertips. I felt I had a bit of leeway on this one. I considered what I was about to imply and chose my words carefully. They needed to be vague enough to not get me killed.

“So…” I began. Rei cocked her head to the side. The clotted blood kept her hair matted to her head. It looked like she had an enormous cowlick. “You do exist.”

Rei’s smile dropped like a rock. For a moment she sat very still. Then she raised an eyebrow and smirked. “More impressive still,” she purred. She leaned forward and rested her chin in her hands. “Truthfully, are you of the Imperiti?”

“Imperiti?” I asked.

Rei merely smiled.

Frankly, I had really hoped for a blanket denial. Instead, Rei was measuring me again, just like she had been doing all along. I didn’t like it, but Rei didn’t seem willing to give me any more hints. She was just sitting there giving me that easy stare, waiting to see what I could put together. I smirked. Monster or not, I could recognize a prick when I saw one. I couldn’t bear to turn down her challenge.

I shuffled the deck of facts I had so far: 1) She was absolutely silent. She had snuck up on me twice. On the bus I hadn’t woken when she got on, nor did I sense her presence when she returned from the bathroom. Check on major stealth. 2) She was fast and nimble. She had jumped over my seat on the bus and landed with barely a rustle. When she had attacked the thug in red, I could barely even track her with my eyes. Check on inhuman speed and dexterity. And 3) most importantly, she didn’t stay the fuck down. The blue thug had delivered a punch that should have mushed her brain, but Rei had managed to stand back up. She was spitting up blood-tinged foam one moment and cutting people in half in the next. Heck, besides a vague bruising on her cheek, you couldn’t even tell Rei had been in a fistfight.

I crossed my arms. “Okay, fine. I’ve been around long enough to know the limits of the human body. I’ve seen a bunch of full-contact martial arts matches, and I’ve been in a bunch of nasty fights myself. You are stronger, faster, and quieter than any human I’ve ever seen.”

She nodded.

“I watched that giant collapse your fucking lung…but here we are talking.”

Rei took a deep breath and then nodded in agreement. I guessed I was amusing her. That was fine with me; it was better than pissing her off.

“And what you did to that goon in blue was physically impossible with any type of blade. You would need a fucking laser to do that. I worked in a kitchen all the way through high school. When you butcher meat, you go for the joints. You never aim for the bones. That’s the fastest way to ruin a blade.”

Rei stifled a giggle. “That one wasn’t all me. I had a bit of help.” She waved her hands. “But please continue your guessing. It is most amusing. You’re getting warmer, Imperiti spawn. Let’s see how close you can come.”

I felt the blood rushing to my cheeks as my temper flared. I had no idea what the heck Rei was talking about, and I hated it. That’s probably half the reason I study so hard. I can’t stand being in the dark.

“Oh,” she purred. “This look I like.” She raised her eyebrow expectantly.

My jaw tensed. When faced with something we don’t want to accept, humans are rather predictable. I was beating around the bush. I was staring at a heaping pile of evidence with a very obvious explanation, but I kept on dancing around it. Then again, I wasn’t sure if the end of this conversation entailed the end of me breathing…Unsure if I would get another, I took a deep breath.

“Alright, Rei. In the middle of the day, you wore a huge hoodie, long pants, and gloves without breaking a sweat, yet at night, you were comfortable in a tank top. You move too fast. I can never tell where you are. You never smile, and you know way too much about human anatomy for the average high school—”

“Excuse me!” she interjected. “I will have you know that I am nearly two decades old.” She crossed her arms in front of her. “I’m going to be a sophomore in college this year!”

“Well I’m sure you’ll be thankful you look youthful later in life…” Caution told me not to, but I was getting frustrated. “Then again, I doubt aging will be much of an issue.”

Rei broke out into a full-blown smile.

Bingo.

I flinched. God, she was gorgeous. She was covered in a mixture of guts and grime, her hair was matted with the blood of three dead men, but it didn’t matter, as that silly smile blossomed, she was perfect. Like a bloodied angel. (I decided to pencil in some serious therapy if I ever made it out of this warehouse alive.) But there were two small problems with that lovely smile. The uneven lighting accentuated them. They were probably the two reasons she avoided smiling in public. Rei didn’t have incisors. She had fangs.

I swallowed. So there was a reason my gut instinct screamed predator. There was a time in human history when we lived or died by such intuitions. Nowadays, we ignore the scratching at the window, but back in the day we would have started for the nearest sharp object. Modern day reasoning tells us it’s probably just a tree branch. We train our children to overcome such fears. We try to explain them away. We make our sons and daughters look under the bed, confirm their error, and rinse and repeat as necessary. And we haven’t stopped there. We’ve turned all our ancient boogiemen into caricatures. We’ve relegated them to works of fiction. It makes the supernatural abstract, safely walls the monsters off from reality. It makes us feel powerful. It makes us feel safe. Only the old superstitions remain. We still knock on wood, open umbrella’s outdoors, and think twice before crossing a black cat’s path. They’re the last vestiges of those ancient instincts. But acknowledging that history is frightening. It means that long ago scary things really did go bump in the night. And it begs an even scarier question. Where exactly did all those scary things go?

“The name Bathory…” I asked as quietly as I could. “Is that some kind of joke?”

Rei looked at me appraisingly. “And well read to boot,” she said. “You are not the average peasant, Dieter Resnick.”

I was starting to shake. Stars above, I thought to myself. This has to be a fucking joke, right? Bathory? No. Seriously. Bathory?

Rei glanced over at me in annoyance. “Relax, please. We don’t need you blasting any more holes. I have been sent to guide you, not harm you.”

“What?” I mumbled. Confused, I noticed that a tension had built in the air around me. It almost felt like a physical pressure…but as I noticed it, the strange sensation began to fade away.

“Thank you,” she purred. Seemingly satisfied, Rei continued. “No, Dieter, my family’s name is not some kind of jest. It is an old name. One that few Imperiti remain acquainted with.” She stared past me. “A long time ago, Bathory was considered a noble name. Did you know this?”

“I’m only familiar with, um, Liz.” I had to be careful. I didn’t know whom I was addressing.

“Liz…? Ah. You speak of Erzsébet.” Rei gave a sad smile. “Yes, the Lady of Cachtice tends to grab the headlines. Alas. Still, it is impressive that you know of her.”

I exhaled. “So you aren’t…”

Rei looked at me with surprise. “Goodness, no. Erzsébet is long dead. Whatever gave you that insane idea?”

I glanced over at what was left of the tall man.

“Oh, please, that is entirely different!” she exclaimed.

It was my turn to raise an eyebrow. “Clearly.”

Flustered, Rei crossed her arms. “He tried to kill me.”

“Uh, huh.”

“He tried to kill you—twice!”

“Well, I did hit him with a pipe.”

Rei rolled her eyes. “Ah. Yes. That was when you attempted to come to my aid but managed to electrocute yourself instead, correct?”

“Well how the hell was I supposed to know that was going to happen?” I asked, recalling just how helpful I had been to the damsel in distress. “What did you want me do, sit back and watch as they kicked you inside out?” I crossed my arms in frustration—and winced as my palms brushed against my shirt. “Damn it!” I yelped.

At the sight of my hands, Rei jumped off the desk. She was holding my burnt fingers before I even knew what was happening.

“I owe you an apology. I thought you would sit quietly and wait for our next bus. I thought you would remain oblivious. I hoped to lure them here, kill them, dispose of their bodies, and return before the next leg of our journey—at which point I planned to bum another cup of that coffee beverage off you. I did not anticipate the use of an ACT device, and I did not anticipate your…gallantry.”

I looked at her in confusion. The mere brush of cotton had sent waves of pain down my forearms, but Rei’s touch was painless.

“This will not do. These are third-degree burns. The palms are ruined. You will lose most of your fingers, perhaps one of your thumbs.” Rei looked me straight in the eyes and frowned. “I apologize, Dieter, but I cannot deliver you damaged.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but Rei reached up and placed a finger over my lips. A wave of heat danced across my cheeks.

“Hush,” she ordered. “Trust in me.”

Before I could object, she whipped out her box-cutter and opened up her left palm. She repeated the motion on her right. Her dark blood dribbled onto the floor. I barely had enough time to let out a gasp before she started slashing my own. I stood stunned, too scared to do anything about it. Finished cutting, she put the boxcutter back into her cargos and grasped my palms with her own.

I began to pull away, but to my surprise, I found the pain in my hands was easing. I looked up at her in confusion only to realize how close we were. I could feel the cool breeze of her breath, count her eyelashes, smell her perfume.

As our blood mixed, Rei looked at me serenely. Perhaps she was feeling as good as I was…

“Fascinating,” she muttered. “It is just like Bátor’s poem.”

“Rei,” I asked meekly. “This isn’t going to…” What was the word for it?

Rei was looking a bit woozy. “No. You needn’t to concern yourself with that.” She shook her head clear. “However, I would appreciate if you never mention this. It could be easily misconstrued.”

I stared at our hands warily.

“My most anxious baggage, relax. I owe you this. I did not expect you would sense another mage. I did not expect you would pursue a killer exuding such an obvious killing intent. And I certainly did not expect that after observing our opponent’s power, you would still attempt to intervene. I miscalculated badly. It was my fault you were injured.”

I tried to respond, but I was feeling rather odd. Euphoric, maybe.

Rei seemed to notice the transition and released her grip.

“That should be about enough,” she said. “Now observe this.” Wiping off her hands, Rei walked over to the dead man and kicked the chair. It began to spin around in circles. For some reason, it reminded me of those revolving meat thingies at Greek sandwich shops. My growing euphoria mixed with a new sense of nausea. I guess that was the point. Rei was leveling my high.

Rei turned away from me, her expression troubled.

“I also did not anticipate you would form a weft-link while dying of a heart attack.”

My head spinning, I tried to focus on her. Giggle or throw-up? That was the question.

“What?” I managed.

“Unbelievable. You don’t remember the spell at all, do you?”

I shook my head no. If I opened my mouth I was definitely going to throw up.

“Fascinating…you certainly can’t be lying to me now.” She strummed her chin. “It is common for mages to whiteout when they lack control. And your file did note another such incident…but a partnering permutation? At your level, to be able to conduit that complex a spell…and on a diversion?” Rei shook her head. “Some people have all the luck.”

“Luck?” My head was swimming. I was trying to hold on to the conversation, but I’d much rather be running to the bathroom. “I’m sorry. What are we talking about?”

Rei sighed and wiped some of the dried blood off her face.

“Dieter, if I told you outright you would say something like ‘oh, you’ve got to be kidding me’ or ‘but that’s impossible.’ You Imperiti are all the same. You reject that which conflicts with your beliefs. If you do not puzzle it out yourself, you will not accept it.” Rei put her hand on my shoulder. Her palm wasn’t bleeding anymore. “My most impossible charge, you appear to have a brain—use it.”

I knew I needed to focus, but little sparkles were dancing on the periphery of my vision, and my skin felt warm and fuzzy. I bit down on my lip to cut through the haze. I think I understood what Rei was getting at: We pick up facts one by one. Take them in. Memorize them. Recall them. But concepts? Concepts are different. You have to work at concepts. Build a foundation. Tease out the details. Run through examples. If you keep working at it day after day, things finally start to click. You can’t explain concepts like you can explain facts. You can’t memorize them. You have to earn them. And sometimes that can hurt…

The flashback came before I expected it, and this time the memory was more vivid, more tactile, than it had ever been in the past. It had to be because of what Rei had done to me. It was like…like…I was on drugs.

“Rei,” I muttered, “I don’t feel so good.”

“Relax,” her voice said from somewhere nearby. “Wooziness is a well documented side-effect. Not much reached your bloodstream. The sensation should pass soon.”

“Should?” But that wasn’t what I was worried about. That wasn’t what was driving my heart faster. Ripples of energy danced in front of my eyes. I knew them well. They preceded the punches. I learned to listen to them the hard way. Failing meant pain. They spoke the truth. They protected me. I wanted to linger and stare at them a while longer. I felt safe here, not alone, but I floated past them. I could sense people approaching too. It was useful to know when my father was coming home. It let me know when I should go up to my room. It helped me avoid getting hit. I frowned as it finally occurred to me: I had always told myself my hearing was just a little better than other people, but that wasn’t right. I could sense my father from over a block away. It was why I rarely bumped into him. I had always been using my Sight that way. Not thinking about it. Just doing it.

I didn’t like this. My mind was too pliant. The carefully constructed barriers were melting. What had Rei done to me? Without the barriers…without the barriers my mind was going to go there. My sub-conscious was always trying to go there. I didn’t want to think about it. I didn’t want to go back…but it was already too late.

A rock.

Flames.

Screaming.

Splatter.

I panicked. I couldn’t get the images to stop. I needed them to stop. The tall man standing over me laughing. The sparks erupting from his hand. My own left hand absorbing them. My right hand pointing at Rei. The sea of white. The panic was driving forward out of control. I started getting dizzy. Rei was shaking me, shouting, but it didn’t matter, the pressure was building again. I saw the flash of fear in her eyes. Saw her dive out the window, glass shattering. Lights popped. Timber crackled. The office plunged into darkness. A sharp pain surged in my skull. Overcome, I dropped to my knees. My memories returned, and I started to scream.

Dust caked my nostrils. Sirens sounded in the distance. My right hand reached up. It knew what to do. It grabbed hold of Tyrone’s face and snapped down like a vice. He looked at me through my fingers. He was confused…no…petrified. I stared back in fury and tightened my hold. He tried to pull away, but my grip was stronger. Too strong. Ferocious. Unnatural. He wasn’t getting away…not ever again.

And then the power surged out. Tyrone’s face crackled like chicken skin on a spit. He started to scream. The smell of singed hair mixed with something else. The smell shook my resolve. He was in so much pain. Too much pain. I tried to stop it. It was savagery, inhuman savagery. It needed to stop, but my hand kept its grip. His eyes bulged under some unseen strain. The left went first. Then the right. The warm fluid ran through my fingers.

Like warm jelly.

Enough, my mind screamed.

Not safe, a voice echoed back.

Tyrone wasn’t fighting anymore. Hell, he wasn’t ever going to fight again. It needed to stop, but the surge wouldn’t abate. It redoubled instead. The bulge of power inside me was shifting. A barrier was giving way. I could feel it buckling under the strain. And then it tore. Power rushed into my shoulder, surged up my arm, and smacked into Tyrone’s screaming face. Spray masked my vision. The sound of concrete rent to rubble erased my hearing. Heat coursed around me. Whiteness filled my vision. My consciousness slipped. Exhaustion enveloped me. And then it was I who was screaming, the room lit by a dim red glow.

The corpse of a man was strapped to a chair in the corner. His skin was slashed to shreds. His head hung loosely. I had returned to the warehouse—but I could still smell Tyrone burning.

What planet was I on? Who could even invent this shit? Revulsion and shame overwhelmed me. I puked my guts out in disgust. When I ran out of stuff in my stomach, I kept going till I ran out of air. I puked until my body hit the kill switch, and I collapsed into her outstretched arms.

Chapter 10

BLOOD WASHES OUT

The faint scent of blood mixed with the taste of bile on my tongue.

Not the best wake-up call.

I was lying on a cold tile floor, but the air was hot and moist. I sat up slowly, my vision blurry. I was naked from head to toe. Normally that would concern me, but I didn’t give a damn at the moment. I’d had a rough day, and lack of clothing wasn’t that high on the list. (Realizing you melted someone’s face off tends to realign one’s priorities.) I blinked my eyes and looked around. It was a shower room. That explained the steam. I was grateful. It was helping to wash the smell of blood from my sinuses. I went to rub my head but stopped. I had forgotten about the burns. I probed my fingers carefully. No pain…that was odd. The fierce throbbing had vanished. Bracing myself, I looked down at the damage.

The burns were gone. My hands had healed.

Only a few rough wavy scars remained on my palms. I felt the spot on my forehead where Rei elbowed me. No bump. No bruise. I felt my ribs where the tall man had kicked me. No tenderness. “So that’s real too…” I muttered.

Looking about the room, I spotted my clothes laid out on a nearby bench…someone had rinsed them out. I gulped. They were hanging to dry next to Rei’s. I could deal with the hoodie, fatigues, and tank top—but the panties were kinda freaking me out.

“Pink?” I whispered. “You have got to be kidding me.”

Water splashed in the corner of the room. My body tensed. There was no way she was…

Boys grow up oblivious to the fairer sex. Their daily concerns involve Tonka trucks and Kung-Fu movies. But boys grow older. One day, a girl makes a subtle motion, a swish of hair, a bat of an eye, and suddenly the lad takes notice. That’s when all the problems start. It starts slow. He doesn’t work it out right away. He finds the Spanish teacher’s lectures more interesting. He double takes passing a billboard. Then one morning, he wakes up sticky. He learns to do it manually. He accumulates a collection of porn—a compendium the likes of which hasn’t been seen since the library of Alexandria burnt to the ground. He becomes an expert on female anatomy. He learns breasts. He learns butts. He can mentally image the entire high school cheerleading squad in a dramatic re-enactment of One Thousand and One Arabian Nights. He prepares for all conceivable eventualities—and he’s entirely unprepared for the real thing.

Rei’s back was to me. She was busy working the blood out of her hair. It was dim. She hadn’t bothered with lights. Probably didn’t need them. What little there was struck her skin and blurred. It was that same fuzzy glow I’d noticed in the office. As she moved it was like staring into a silver prism, the whites and greys reflecting this way and that. The effect had something to do with the water—but what I didn’t dare hazard a guess. I spotted a red tattoo on Rei right shoulder blade. I had never seen a red one before. The design was simple, almost cartoonish. It depicted some sort of large lizard. The lizard’s tail wrapped around its own neck, strangling it. The beast’s scaly body formed a circle, and on its back resting like a leaf was a cross. I was trying to figure out what that symbolism might mean when I got…distracted.

Rei was shifting her weight from foot-to-foot as she scrubbed. She was humming, bouncing to the beat as she did. Reddish water flowed over her buttocks as they flexed and relaxed. An inviting darkness cowered between them. I swallowed. Rei’s figure made all my boyhood fantasies seem pathetic—as ridiculous as a kindergartner's finger painting. Frankly, I didn’t know what to do with myself. I was sitting buck-naked on the floor ten yards from the most beautiful thing I had every set eyes on. She was washing the blood of three dead men out of her hair—and I was pretty sure she was humming a show tune.

I felt a tad lightheaded. My blood supply was fast tracking to less important regions. Reminding myself of the recent death-feast, I sent my deepest apologies to my most underutilized appendage and stormed over to the nearest showerhead. I jammed the button with the big ‘C’ on it, and a gush of ice water brought me back down to Earth. I closed my eyes and let the gallons roll over my head. As water streamed over my ears, I tried to sort out my life.

How had I gotten myself into this mess? I should have been on the noon bus to New Haven by now. I should have been wondering what dorm life was going to be like. Instead, I was standing naked in a New York City warehouse next to an extremely attractive killing machine. I had just aided and abetted the slaughter of two very large men and witnessed the torture killing of one very badass…whatever he was. On the bright side, Rei had been nice enough to wash the blood out of my clothes. At least she was a conscientious killing machine.

I examined my body in the dim light. No signs of the blood, guts, or vomit…

Had the Queen of Darkness given me a sponge bath?

It was all too much. Supernatural battle-royales didn’t exist. That sort of thing would catch the eyes of the authorities, right? This was like the standard go to school naked dream—only with a larger body count. Clearly, I was still on the bus to New York with drool running down the side of my face. This was a very long and very detailed dream. I waited patiently, willing myself to wake up. The cold water continued to rush over my head, and I waited some more. But nothing much happened. I just started to shiver. Frustration replaced hope. Things weren’t supposed to be like this. I was supposed to have finally gotten out of Las Vegas. I was supposed to be on my way to getting my education, making my own way, setting my own path. Being shadowed by the Queen of Fucking Darkness and targeted by thugs wasn’t part of the equation.

I slammed my hand down on the knob, and the flow of water petered out. Behind me I could still hear Rei humming. My jaw tightened. I knew that song. She was splashing about to I’m Singing in the Rain. The vampiress was a Gene Kelly fan? Un-fucking believable. It was like I was the target of some gigantic joke.

Fuming, I stormed out into the adjacent locker room. It was freezing. Looking around, I realized I had no towel and that my shoes and clothes were still back in the shower.

“Fuck,” I growled.

“I’m afraid that would not fit into our time horizon,” Rei replied.

I jumped straight up into the air—again. She must have only been two feet behind me.

“Could you please stop doing that?” I pleaded. My voice sounded strained…like I’d spent the past hour screaming. I kept facing straight ahead. I simply could not handle a full frontal right now.

“What do you wish me to cease?” she asked.

“Sneaking up on me, of course.”

Rei chuckled. “Oh, my deepest apologies. My most jittery of champions, did I frighten you?” I didn’t need to see her smirk to know it was firmly planted.

“I’m serious…please, Rei.”

She stopped laughing. “Very well. I will ‘pump up the volume’ as they say.”

“Thank—”

Something big and soft flopped onto my head. I managed not to scream and confirmed it was a towel. One of the lockers had its door ripped off at the hinges. I guessed we were ‘borrowing’ it.

“Your clothing is to your left. The garments are still wet, but we lack time. Get dressed. We leave in five minutes.” Rei stomped away chanting “one, two, one, two” over-and-over again. She kicked over a trashcan and struck a wall as she went.

When her steps receded into the other room, I turned around and started putting on my clothes. The wet jeans and socks weren’t a picnic, but at least they weren’t still covered in blood. In the other room, Rei belted out a throaty version of The Battle Hymn of the Republic.

I sighed. The Queen of Darkness was a smart ass. Typical.

Chapter 11

SUN IN THE EYES

Exactly five minutes later we were out the door.

I inquired about the slight issue of three mutilated bodies.

Rei gave a vague response, something to do with the impressive size of the building’s furnace.

I didn’t ask any more questions after that. I just focused on putting one foot in front of the other. The combination of a cold shower and soggy clothes had left me shivering. I was grateful to be out walking in the warm sun. It was still well over eighty degrees, and I could use all the heat I could get. The whole bit about vampires (my running assumption) bursting into flames must have been a bit of an exaggeration on Stoker’s part, but it was clear Rei wasn’t a fan of tanning. The walk back to Penn Station was directly into the afternoon sun, and Rei kept the brim of her cap tilted low. The cap read, “The American Red Cross—Save a Life Today.”

I shook my head. That was just sick.

Rei kept switching between staring at her feet and performing quick scans of the sea of pedestrians. In less than a few minutes, she started to sunburn. She looked totally out of her element. Her motions were jittery. She even stumbled on the uneven pavement.

I had a moment of schadenfreude when she did. It was shameful, but I had to admit it was kinda comforting to see her so vulnerable. At a visceral level, I was terrified of her. Despite her thin build, Rei could probably snap me like a twig. That she could hurt assuaged a bit of my fear. Then I felt like shit for thinking it. I reminded myself of the situation. Rei didn’t have to be out here in the sun. She appeared to be here purely for my benefit. For whatever reason, she’d been assigned the unenviable task of protecting me from some very unfriendly folks. I should have felt more grateful, but what could I say?

Me man. Me no likes when damsel kicks more ass.

Then start being gallant, dickweed, my conscience scolded.

I cringed. I’d totally forgotten. Fumbling in the breast pocket of my western, I pulled out the brand new pair of black Ray-Bans I’d bought for my trip. They had cost me three days of wages. I was relieved to find them unscratched. Rei was busy counting her bootlaces. I nudged her and present my offering.

She examined the sunglasses with a frustrated look.

Me Queen of Darkness. Me no likes when meals lend a hand.

I nudged her again. “Don’t be moron. You’re starting to look like a lobster, and I can squint better than you can. Consider them a gift.”

Rei hesitating for a moment.

“A gift?” Her eyes narrowed. “On what terms?”

“It’s a gift, genius. There aren’t any terms. Now stop making me feel bad.”

Rei huffed loudly and snatched them away. “Fine.” Pouting, she jammed them onto her face, picked up her pace, and stormed off ahead of me. I guess thank you wasn’t in her vocabulary.

I smiled. The shades looked good. They sat a bit large on her face, but they fit her ego perfectly. In my best John Wayne I said, “De nada, partner.”

At my words, Rei slammed to a stop. She smacked her hand into my chest and knocked the wind out of me. “Don’t you dare joke about that.” She glared at me from behind her new shades. We were so close I felt her cool breath, and my Sight tingled as a cold flame danced on skin. Rei was truly furious…

I swallowed. What had I said to make her so angry? I stared back at her in confusion.

Her jaw slacked. The cold tingling subsided.

“Have you any idea what you are implying?”

I shook my head a most definite no.

Rei turned to stare across the street, keeping the sun to her back. When she spoke again it was more measured, but the iciness never left her voice. “Dieter, this may be difficult for you to understand, but where I am taking you, words can have power far beyond their colloquial meanings. You must mind yourself, Dieter. Speak little and listen well. Approach the next few weeks as though you were Daniel thrust into the lions’ den.” Rei paused to inspect the afternoon rush once again. “You appear smart—and at least a little brave—but you are ignorant of the world. You do not understand this game or its rules. You do not know what is after you or how it can get at you. There are a great many things that could get you killed, Dieter.” Rei flashed her fangs. “Or worse.”

I rubbed my scarred palms. Worse?

Uncertain what Rei was implying, I nodded.

Rei turned away but paused. “And, Dieter,” she said, staring directly into the sun, “for the love of heparin, never call me your partner again.”

We walked on in silence. Rei was right after all. I was tangled up in something nasty, but I had no idea what it was. Yea, I had abilities that no one else seemed to have. My Sight was weird, and I had no explanation for what happened back in Vegas, but I’d never shared that information with anyone. Those were the kinds of conversations that ended with you in a padded cell. Yet Rei knew that there was something different about me from the start. She’d even mentioned that there was a file on me. I frowned. A file implied a large organization. Did that mean that Elliot College was involved? Did she work for them? And what about this other group? They were interested enough to send the tall man and his friends out to capture me. That meant they were willing to kill. I dared a glance at Rei. Heck, everyone around here was willing to kill.

I shook my head. It wasn’t worth the effort to start shooting theories from the hip. Rei was right. I was like a caveman that stumbled onto a modern factory floor—there wasn’t much I could make sense of, but plenty of ways to get maimed. I thought back to the man Rei had hewn in half. The powers at play were way too potent to mess with. Give me a standardized test, and I could work magic; give me dudes shooting lightning bolts out of their hands, and I’m afraid I’m at a bit of a loss.

You can go one of two ways when you discover the assumptions that guide your perception of the world are incorrect: freak out and run for the hills or lean into it and figure it out. What must have it been like for Copernicus when he discovered the Earth wasn’t the center of the Universe? What a crushing blow to the psyche. He could have simply balked at his calculations and gone about his business as if the world was still at the center of God’s creation. He wasn’t the only smart person back then. I’m willing to wager a number of them made the same discovery and buried it. But it was probably impossible for him. Accuracy defined Copernicus’ world. Abandoning that mantra was probably unthinkable to him. Facts gave me comfort too, but facts can be merciless. They can crush your beliefs in an instant and shake your convictions to their cores. I was walking down a sidewalk with a girl whose very nature belonged in the realm of fairy tales. The rules I knew weren’t holding up. Without them I couldn’t find my footing, and that scared me more than anything.

I smiled. My dad had actually been right about something. The outside world was way scarier than I could have ever imagined. Sure, he probably never anticipated me getting in the middle of a supernatural knife fight, but at the moment, his words were ringing true. I considered making a run for it. I could try and get back to Vegas and lay low. I could find some simple job that wouldn’t attract attention. I could live on cash, change my papers, and vanish. I thought about it…but it wasn’t for me. I was too damn curious. I wanted to know the real shape of the world. I wanted to know how it worked. And to do that, I needed to keep walking forward.

I looked up at the sky. The sun was falling fast, and long shadows were spreading across the landscape. I hustled to catch up with Rei. She had her hands jammed into her sweatshirt, and despite the shade, she kept her head buried in that giant soggy hood.

I frowned. Rei was feeling sad.

I thought I was bad at reading other people’s feelings, but hers were so easy to read. Grumpiness was oozing off her and dragging my own mood down with it. Without thinking, I grabbed her forearm and brought her to a stop. She glared back at me but didn’t amputate any of my limbs.

“What is it now?” she hissed. “We’re going to be late.”

“I have something to say,” I said, clearing my throat. “Hear me out, okay?”

She took off her sunglasses. “I don’t do heart-to-hearts, Resnick.”

“Yea, more like knife-to-hearts,” I said with a chuckle. “But I thought about what you said. You’re right. I have no idea what’s going on. I know there’s something abnormal about me. I know that people are dead because of it. But I’ve got no clue what I’m involved in. You’re right. I have no idea who’s playing this game. I don’t know the rules. But there is one thing I’m clear on, Rei. If it wasn’t for you, I’d be stone cold dead.” I forced myself to meet her eyes. They scared me now, but I needed to meet them. I needed her to believe me. “Rei, I don’t care who or what you are. You saved my life. Thank you.”

Rei’s eyes opened slightly. “How did you know what I was…?”

A rush of warmth filled my cheeks. I made busy examining a hot dog cart. I didn’t know how I knew. I just did.

Rei slid her sunglasses back on. “You are welcome,” she said stiffly. “But do not become confused, grub. I was merely completing my assignment.” Grabbing my forearm, she dragged me down the street. “We have already missed the last bus to New Haven, but there is a train departing Penn Station in approximately thirty minutes. We must beat our path in haste, Dieter Resnick, lest we miss the train as well.”

There was a new bounce in her step. I smiled. A weight had lifted off me too. It was strange, but Rei’s feelings mattered to me. Why, I didn’t know. I certainly didn’t know Rei well, and what I did know about her wasn’t exactly confidence building material. She had just finished filleting the most dangerous man I had ever met. Sure, she didn’t ooze killing intent like the man she had murdered; sure, she seemed to be on my side; but I had gotten more than one glimpse at that other thing inside her. There was something volatile lurking in there. Something she worked very hard to contain. I’d seen it in her eyes when she was torturing the tall man. The total lack of empathy. The not so subtle hint at pleasure. Those three men might have been stronger, but Rei had been the scariest person in the room. What if Rei’s ‘assignment’ had been a different one? What if I had been her target? I felt my tender ear. To be the object of her ire…that would be a very bad day.

As we hustled through the bustling crowd of New Yorkers so recently freed from their work, a sick thought smacked me in the back of the head. I had just given said vampiress a pep talk. What an interesting day.

Chapter 12

RAIL TIME

We got back to Penn Station right as the sun took its leave. The bus to New Haven had left long ago. I had no hope of getting a refund, so my cash situation was officially dire. As we rushed across the station’s beautiful marble floor, the cold sweat of poverty began to soak through my shirt. The Dieter Fund was nearing insolvency, and I wasn’t sure if I had enough money to cover the price of another ticket. Before I could freak out properly, Rei told me to wait in the lobby while she bought tickets for the train. She didn’t wait for my response. She just bolted off toward the ticket office. I bit my lip. I couldn’t pay with air, and we did need to get to campus. My pride would just have to suck it up until the first stipend check rolled in.

While Rei waited in line, I went over to the lockers and retrieved my duffel bag. My jeans were still soggy, so I took the opportunity to swing into the men’s restroom and change. Getting out of the wet clothes was the best thing that happened all day. (Okay, okay, maybe getting shocked back to life was a little more important, but what good is a pulse if you’re stuck in soggy drawers?) My boots were hosed as well. I tied the laces off on my duffel and switched to a pair of flip-flops. The East Coast establishment would just have to deal with my pasty white toes for the evening.

I was pulling up my pants when I noticed the commotion outside my stall.

“Hey girly,” a man snipped. “In case you didn’t notice, this is the men’s room.”

“Why yes,” a silky voice replied. “So nice of you to point that out. I commend you for your keen insight. However, I am waiting for my dearest brother. You see, he is a bit slow. He has a great deal of trouble following even the simplest of instructions.”

A pair of soggy boots clomped toward my stall.

“Dieter, dear, don’t forget to wipe like a big boy.”

My face flushed from embarrassment. Great…now I probably look tastier.

“Listen, lady…” the man grumbled.

“Leave,” Rei snapped. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on as she spoke.

The man’s footsteps receded out the door.

I finished zipping up my bag and swung open the stall.

Rei stood a few steps away. Her eyes were fixed on the exit.

“Resnick, do you know what is best about large crowds?”

Wonderful. A lecture. I tilting my head to the side and rolled my eyes.

“Oh, come off it, Rei. I was just changing my clothes.”

She glared at me with unmasked fury. A cold rush smashed into my Sight.

“Crowds are best because herds tend to notice when one of their number is torn limb from limb. It troubles them. They scream. They run about. They attract the attention of the authorities. They obtain wood, iron, and fire. They gang up on their assailants. They overwhelm them with sheer numbers.”

As I sighed, Rei’s body blurred. I sensed the incoming blow quickly enough to take a step back, but she corrected mid-strike with an extra step of her own. Her punch landed clean and blasted the wind straight out of me. I doubled over gasping.

“I have already told you once,” she said in a cold, steady voice. “You do not understand this game or its rules. You do not know what is after you or how it can hurt you. You are outclassed, underpowered, and inept. Stop being moronic.”

It took a moment to recover my breath. That punch had seriously hurt, and despite my better judgment, I really wanted to return the favor. I glared back at her.

Rei let loose a frustrated sigh. “Fine, Dieter—you know best—so perhaps you can explain to me why there is not a soul left in this ‘public’ restroom of yours.”

I looked around. Rei was right. We were standing in a public restroom during the evening rush and not a soul was inside. It had been jam-packed a moment ago. I hadn’t even noticed the change. That made me feel even worse. It’s one thing to have someone call you pathetic. It’s another thing when they prove it.

“How…” I asked.

“My will.”

I looked at Rei doubtfully, but she was deadly serious.

“Fine,” I sputtered angrily. “I’m a moron. I get it. But when do I start finding out what the fuck is going on? I’m grasping at straws here.”

“Straws?” Rei looked around in confusion. “I fail to see what straws you are referring to, but to your question, you will be apprised of your situation when we make it to Elliot. Perhaps I should say if you make it to Elliot. Now let’s get to the platform. The train to New Haven arrives in fifteen minutes.”

Rei was halfway out the door before I could respond.

Cursing, I snatched my duffle and hustled after her.

+

Elliot College was just North of New Haven, near Sleeping Giant State Park. The brochure said there was a train station conveniently located less than a mile from the campus. We took the 8 P.M. to New Haven where we would catch a local to the station near the school. Our train departed on schedule, and we settled into our seats. Rei receded deep inside her soggy hoodie, wrapped her arms around her feet, and stared out the train’s window into the darkness. Not to be outdone, I worked on staring a hole straight through the seat in front of me.

I actually wasn’t mad at Rei. Yea, my gut hurt pretty good, but a few hours ago she had rescued me from the goon squad, healed those terrible burns to my hands, and done my laundry. Plus, as much as I hated to admit it, the Queen of Darkness was probably right. I had been an idiot to wander off without telling her. I just wasn’t used to someone minding me. It hadn’t even crossed my mind to mention it to her. No, I wasn’t mad at Rei. My frustration was more general. It was the not knowing. I hated it.

It looked like magic might be real. The concept was exciting, but the more I thought on it, the more troublesome it became. If magic was real, why had I never encountered a ‘magician’ before? My talents aside, I had never witnessed anyone use magic or observed anything that could be confused for it. How could such a grand thing remain hidden? And that wasn’t all that was bothering me. Where exactly was Rei taking me? Did I even know if she was one of the good guys? I knew taking her on faith was a bit ridiculous. Why should I assume she was taking me somewhere for my benefit? There didn’t appear to be any good guys in this equation, just a bunch of people running around trying to kill one another. I considered running to the cops for help, but what would I say?

“That’s correct, officer, he was shooting lightning out of his finger tips. I nearly died, but then this young lady cut down two muscle-bound goons before torture killing their boss. Witnesses? No, sorry. Oh, and by the way, mysterious groups are out to get me. They’re probably going to try and capture me again, because, you see, I’m a pawn in a much larger conspiracy.”

Yeah, like that was going to work.

It was funny when I thought about it. Magic might be real, but it was dressed up like a clown. Whether it was in the movies or books, magic was always the ultimate contradiction to reality. The words ‘magic’ and ‘fantasy’ were basically synonymous, and a belief in magic was tantamount to denying reality. Claiming magic existed could get me a one-way ticket to a sanatorium. But Elliot College was another matter. How on earth could such a place exist without drawing the attention of the public? Elliot College was well known as a grand old university that had been in operation since the late 1700’s. Heck, it was one of the oldest schools in the nation. The school had powerful connections in the US and abroad. Its graduates were well placed at prestigious companies and institutions across the globe. That kind of success required an organization with a great deal of money and power, and if today was any indication, they also had some powerful enemies.

Whoever was behind Elliot College was only one of at least two groups in this unseen world, and neither played nice. Whoever sent the tall man was willing to kill to retrieve me. But was Elliot College any better? They sent Rei after all. She’d shown no compunction as she sliced her way through those men. And she had tortured someone. Cut him into bloody pieces for the sake of some intel. I thought back to that scene with a shudder. At least part of her was getting off on it. If she was Elliot’s agent…pot and kettle, no?

Whatever her intentions, Rei’s warning rang true. Information is power. At the moment, I knew just enough to be scared stiff but not near enough to do a damned thing about it. Without knowing which way was up, any action I took had a pretty decent chance of getting me killed. I needed a plan, and ‘follow the vampiress’ was the best option I could come up with.

I bit my lip. Yea, I was totally screwed.

+

The car’s wheels beat steadily against the rails as the city receded behind us. As the occasional house blurred by, I noticed candles flickering in their windowsills. I read about those candles once. They were based on old tradition passed down from colonial times. The lights served as beacons for the homebound traveler. It was a tradition that had survived for over 300 years. Just thinking about that sort of time span hurt my head. Life felt older here, more settled. Sure, it lacked the frenetic energy of Las Vegas, but it also lacked that clawing anxiety. Life was never intended for Vegas. Humans didn’t belong there. Water had to be piped in. Food, plants, and materials trucked. And if the flow stopped? Bust. The West was strewn with examples. Dried out ghost towns that once held tens of thousands of people, they were mournful reminders of boomtowns past. So we Las Vegans asked ourselves nervously, “Will it last?” as we hurried to build bigger buildings, plant more trees, and move in ever more people. There was a silent hope behind all that bustle. Maybe if we made enough noise, that possibility would never come true. But it belied a simple fact: nothing could truly settle in a desert, not settle like it had done here in the East. This land had roots. These homes had histories. Even the dirt told stories—European ones that stretched centuries, native ones that stretched millennia.

I looked out the window to the right. Somewhere out there was the Atlantic, the ocean my ancestors had traveled across long ago. My father’s family was German through-and-through. His family must have fled some terrible war or famine, and set out for the new hope of the Promised Land. How surprised would they be to find him dealing cards in a desert?

And my mother? Where had she come from? Europe, probably, but where? Better still, where had she gone? It would be easier to give her up, to pay her no heed, to forget that she ever existed, but all it took was the sight of a few silly candles burning on windowsills to remind me that there was no such thing as a home for me. I strained to recall her face, the color of her hair, her smell, or her laugh, but they had all faded away. There were no candles burning for me. My mother had blown them out long ago and left me fumbling in the dark.

I sighed. I was really starting to feel like shit.

“Wonderful,” Rei murmured. She knocked back her hood, dropped her boots to the ground, and squeezing past me. “I will return shortly. Please do not attempt to escape.” Her eyes narrowed. “You would fail.”

I nodded, trying my best to remain civil.

Rei ditched her hoodie, grabbed her pack, and strode down the aisle. Her long black hair trailed behind her like a cape. The men and women in the train car stopped what they were doing to gawk. Rei didn’t seem to react. Guess it was just another day in the life. A minute later, she returned carrying two Styrofoam cups and a danish. As she plopped down next to me, I did my best to ignore the numerous sets of eyes daring glances in our direction. My Sight was getting agitated. All the attention had kicked it into high gear. Their auras reeked of jealousy.

Idiots.

My Sight was getting easier to use. Why, I had no idea, but it sure was becoming annoying. Fortunately, it seemed I could force my Sight down by focusing attention on my other senses. That wasn’t so hard with the smell of coffee in the air. I looked over at Rei inquisitively. She looked rather uncomfortable. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, and her eyes were swinging back and forth between the cups.

“Are you done distracting the other passengers?” I asked with a smirk.

I thought I caught the start of a smile, but she killed it off mercilessly.

“Just take the damned cup.” She shot her hand out so quickly that the coffee nearly splashed out.

I jerked away in scalding fear, and her eyes shot wide.

“Sorry!” she exclaimed.

“No worries.” I took the cup of coffee out of her cool hand and an electric charge ran down my spine. “Thanks for the java.”

Rei looked pleased and tucked back up into her signature ball.

“I guess I’m addicted,” I said with a sigh. “If I don’t drink a few cups a day, I feel like I’m going to kill somebody.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” she said, taking a sip herself.

I narrowly avoided spraying coffee all over the car.

“The taste does grow on you,” she said. “It’s not my favorite hot beverage, but it does perk me up.”

“Cool,” I responded meekly. I really didn’t like being the other beverage.

“Maybe it will keep me from yawning,” she said earnestly. “That always gets me into trouble.”

“Good point,” I replied.

There was a moment of silence before we both started laughing like idiots. I loved the sound of it. It was light and warm. Nothing like the side of her I’d seen in the warehouse. But even when she laughed, Rei was careful not to open her mouth. In truth, her fangs weren’t incredibly noticeable, but I guess she still had to be on her guard. I frowned. That kind of vigilance must be exhausting.

“You know,” I said, “not being able to open your mouth must really suck.”

“Oh!” she said between gasps. “It totally sucks! I didn’t know you were so punny!”

Punny? I stared at her in disbelief. Was this the same chick?

“Seriously, though, how do you deal with it?”

After a few more gasps, Rei got a hold of herself. She looked at me quizzically. “Me? Please. How do you deal with it?”

“Deal with what?”

A flash of color rushed directly into my Sight. I had no time to react. Her fist was already flying at my face. I could tell she intended to stop it short, but the speed of it was astonishing. If it were for real, that blow would have sent me flying into the adjacent row.

Rei cocked her head to the side. “I mean, how do you deal with such vulnerability?”

I shrugged. “One punch at a time, I guess.”

She nodded in agreement. “And for me it is one smile at a time.”

“Fair enough.” I guess it was a stupid question.

Rei tossed the plastic-wrapped danish onto my lap. “Since you have not eaten all day, I inspected the packages,” she said matter-of-factly. “This one contained the highest number of calories. Oddly, it was not nearly as expensive as the sandwiches. I do not understand this, Dieter. Was this an oversight of some sort? Why do the calories not correspond to cost?”

I shrugged. I hadn’t eaten since last night, and my stomach growled its approval. I was already tearing into the package when I remembered my manners. No matter how hungry I was, it was rude to not offer her some…and then I remembered. I put down the danish and turned to her.

“Rei,” I whispered, “are you, like, really what I think you are?”

She took a sip of her coffee and smiled.

“Of course, magus…and of course not.”

Magus? I shook my head. “It’s unbelievably weird to hear that out loud. Magus? So, they’re real too?”

Rei giggled.

“Indeed. You are quite real. And so are quite a few other things.”

I looked down at my danish.

“And, Rei? Um, your diet…Do you actually, um…”

“Um, do I, um?” She rolled her eyes. “Do I need to spell it out for you?”

I nodded.

“My diet is human blood. I can make due on other sources for a while, but in the end, I need human blood to survive.”

I frowned. “It’s just weird. Here we are, talking normally, but I’d have expected your kind to be amoral killing machines. Lestat-style, you know?”

Rei cocked her head and the blue faded from her eyes. “That would be a very healthy assumption to make.” She gazed into me, and my heartbeat started to race in reply. Rei’s face had changed. The softness was gone. It looked like it was etched out of marble rather than flesh. She was cold. Lifeless. The voice that leaked out of her lips was devoid of humanity. The melodic timber was gone, replaced by that silky hiss. I could hardly draw breath, and an unreasonable terror clamped down on my body. An ancient part of my brain yelled shrilly: That predator. You prey. Back the fuck off.

But despite the fear, I felt like I was missing something. Something glaringly obvious. Something important. Earlier that day, I had been able to hear Rei’s thoughts. I decided to will open my Sight. Let it consume my other senses. Maybe her aura would help me understand.

The world faded away as my Sight flickered on…and I let out a tiny gasp. The auras I had seen in the past were small ephemeral clouds. What I was looking at now was on a vastly different scale. Rei’s aura outsized her body by three fold. It looked like a monstrous grey cloak. At its ends, long cloth-like scraps fluttered about. They moved like living creatures with wills of their own. Her aura seethed with power. Buzzed like a high-voltage power line. I gained a firm understanding of my place. She could tear the life from my body in an instant. It would be over before it started. But my Sight told me that wasn’t the whole story. Yes, her aura was overpowering, but it looked worn and tattered as well. A hulking beast that had been rent by decades spent in the elements. A tired thing. A wounded thing. There was no killing intent. It sat at ease, fluttering peacefully. It was scary, yes, but not aggressive.

Curious, I reached out to it.

My Sight obliged, but Rei’s aura did not. My efforts were met by a numbing emptiness…this aura didn’t like to be touched. It wasn’t used to it. I closed down my other senses and let my intuition guide me. I was drawn in by a strange need, and I wandered onward as though an invisible hand was guiding me. The effort was taxing. I was crawling further and further out onto a wavering branch. Soon, I sensed, it would no longer support my weight.

As I neared my goal, my Sight faltered. The budding intuition faded. The hand fell away. I flung the last of my will forward in desperation and staggered through a wall. My instinct had been true. I found something special, a true feeling buried deep down in her psyche. A simple need. A single faint hope. She wished I wouldn’t be afraid.

A warmth enveloped me, and my fear melted. It was a wish every being could understand. I smiled into her cold grey eyes—but before I could say a word, there was a shift, a blurring of colors, and I was standing in a hallway. I looked to my left and right in confusion. Where did my seat go? Where did the train go? More importantly, where did my coffee go? It was quiet in the hallway. No one was around. The hall was lined in rich, dark wood worn by decades of polishing. Mahogany, I guessed. Rare stuff. Expensive stuff. Portraits stretched the length of the hallway. The figures sat in regal poses; pale faces looking down at me with in disdain. The mere idea of sharing this hall with anyone else seemed to repulse them. Growing up in Vegas, I was familiar with big egos. These folks had them in spades. I walked over and looked at a few of the portraits. They shared Rei’s dark glossy hair, narrow nose, and faint blue eyes. Some wore clothes from the Middle Ages. Others, more modern dress. All were very pale. They looked like they could use a pint or two.

But how had I gotten here? I was supposed to be on a train, wasn’t I?

It wasn’t so clear to me anymore. The train seemed so far away, so foreign.

I went to take a deep breath, but with a shock, I realized I couldn’t. In fact, I wasn’t breathing at all. I tried to pinch myself, but discovered I lacked the necessary appendages. Looking down, I figured out the problem. I wasn’t exactly whole. The me in this place wasn’t corporeal. It was just a mere shade of my former self. A vague outline of my body was all that remained. That gave me a pretty good scare (metaphysically speaking).

I chuckled. Ghosts weren’t supposed to be scared of ghosts.

I was pondering the new lightness of my being, when I heard muffled noises coming from further down the hall. What were they going to do, vacuum me? I prayed it wasn’t Bill Murray and the rest of the crew, took a deep non-breath, and floated towards the sounds.

Halfway there, I ran across a massive tapestry. I’d never seen art like this outside of a textbook, but I recalled from AP World History that they were all the rage during the Middle Ages. The detail was fantastic. To think it was made up of threads of silk…

The tapestry portrayed a grand battle. A small battalion stood inside the walls of a castle on a hill. A black and white flag flew on their tallest bastion. I recognized the pattern. It was called the Crusader’s Cross—a relic from the Christian conquest of Jerusalem. Below the flag, at the center of the piece, stood two bulky men. They looked down from upon their battlement at the horde of men besieging them. The two must have been the main characters of this story. The first wore a set of scarlet armor and held an enormous black sabre. The second was dressed in heavy gray robes. He clenched a staff and pointed it at the heavens. I followed his hand into the sky. A horrific vision played out above them. Demons and angels clashed. Winged beasts swooped through the air, slashing at one another as they passed. The sky was a mixture of orange and red flames. Smoke and debris clouded most of the view. I stood transfixed by the scene. The tapestry drew the eye like a magnet. The artist must have been fantastically skilled…and I wondered who the two men were. They seemed reasonably badass.

My revere was shattered by a young girl’s screams. I left the tapestry and headed toward the source of the noise. Her shouts were coming from one of the rooms up on the right. As I closed, I heard some of her muffled words.

“No, no, no!” the girl pleaded. “I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry, Nana!”

Arriving at the door, I paused. I felt a strong urge to withdraw. This place was private. It felt like I was invading it. I hesitated until another roll of cries erupted from within, and the need to intervene overcame me. I went to grasp the door handle, and my hand went straight through. Visually disturbing, yes, but it didn’t cause any pain. I gave a spiritual shrug and walked straight through the planks of polished wood. The scent of blood smacked into my nostrils. Apparently my sense of smell still worked.

Why did it always have to be blood? I wondered.

Tyrone Nelson’s corpse flashed in front of me, but I fought the vision off. It wasn’t so hard; there was already a nightmare playing out in front of me. The little girl knelt on the floor. Her face, her long black hair, her light-yellow sundress—everything was covered in blood. She clutched the opened neck of a maid with burnt orange hair. In rhythmic pulses, blood surged past the girl’s little fingers to paint the room in red. Transfixed, I watched as the pulsing flows formed Rorschach blots across the young maid’s crisp white apron.

“I didn’t mean to!” the young girl said. “I’m sorry, Nana. I promise I’ll be a good girl. Just wake up, okay? Nana? Wake up, Nana.”

The young maid raised her hand to touch the little girl’s cheek.

“Nana?” The little girl froze.

The maid stroked her hair gently, soothing the little girl’s cries. Then her pulse lessened, and her hand faded back to the ground.

“Nana?” the little girl whispered.

No voice answered. The room became deathly quiet.

She laid her ear upon the young woman’s breast, listened intently, switched ears, tried again—and then burst into a stream of tears.

I stood frozen in place as the moments past. How had this happened? Why was I witnessing it?

Noises came from behind me, footsteps coming down the hallway.

Thank goodness, I thought. Someone had finally arrived.

The door opened and a woman gasped. “For crying out loud, Rei! Don’t waste it!” the melodic female voice scolded. Rei? I started to feel dizzy. I didn’t understand. Rei Bathory was an adult. Rei Bathory was my age.

The little girl started shaking. Her hands still cradled the young maid’s opened throat. She looked up and glared straight through me at the person at the doorway. Her face locked into a snarl.

“Never!” she screamed, white fangs gleaming. “Never, never, never!”

A cold blue surge of light shot across the room. My bones chilled. My ears popped. The wave touched me and I screamed. I stumbled backwards at the tremendous change in pressure, and with a rush of whiteness, my existence imploded.

+

It was like I’d been caught in a bomb blast. I flew backward through a roar of light and sound. I tumbled past things I couldn’t comprehend, let alone classify. What was left of my being twirled about in a helpless spiral. I despaired, assumed all was lost, until, just as suddenly, I slapped into a liquid-like barrier with a huff. My flesh stung from the impact, like after a belly flop off the high dive. And just like that, it was over. I was back on the train, sitting in a chair, holding a crushed Styrofoam cup.

I felt a remote pain issuing from my hand and pants, and I noticed that I was staring into a set of very confused blue eyes. She looked so old. What had happened to her? Rei Bathory was a young girl. Rei Bathory was like a little sister. What had happened to her body? It was so big now…

No, I corrected myself. This was Rei too. This was the Rei that shared the time and place of my body. I recognized the sensation. My head had cleaved into two parts. I had been in two places at the same time. Now the two pieces were trying to come back together.

The Rei that sat next to me drew back. Her body was trembling.

“What did you do?” she asked accusingly. Tears were welling up in her eyes. “What on earth was that sensation?”

I couldn’t speak. I was trying to re-identify my lips.

Rei wiped her blossoming tears away. She looked at the moisture and frowned. “Why am I crying?”

Still disoriented by the dual sensory feeds, my head spun. I felt the patter of the railcar, but could still smell the blood, still feel the steam rising up off the dead woman’s body. It felt like I had lost my place in a book. I was flipping through the pages of my mind, trying to remember where I had left off. And I needed fresh air. I needed it right away. The smell of blood had to go away or I was going to puke.

I stumbled to my feet. I was getting the heck out of here. I aimed for the aisle, but crashed into another passenger’s chair. Mumbling an apology, I struggled on. People were beginning to stare. I must have looked like a drunk loaded to the gills with booze. My Sight fired up in response to their attentions. The extra input added to my vertigo. Not puking was no longer an option. It was only a matter of time now. Reaching from seat-to-seat, I struggled down the aisle. Finally making it to the end of the car, I stepped out onto the gap just as my vision failed me. My knees buckled, and I lost my lunch off the side of the train.

“Ugh,” I groaned. “I didn’t get to enjoy that danish for very long…”

The thought of the danish threw me into another bout of puking. Finished with that lovely sequel, I sat down in heap and let the cool evening air wash over me. What the hell just happened? What had I done? My jelly brain wasn’t up to the challenge of figuring anything out right now. I was tired and frazzled and nearing my wits’ end.

I was staring down at the tracks when a sheet of long black hair blew into my face.

I jumped with a start.

“Damn it!” I pleaded. “Could you please stop doing that?”

She plopped down next to me.

“You deserved that one. Well, at least I think you deserved that one.” Rei sounded grumpy. “What spell was that just now?”

“Spell?” Those were real too? “I have no freakin’ idea, Rei. You’re the expert. You tell me.” I didn’t know what to say to her. I didn’t think the Queen of Darkness would respond positively to the news that I had been rummaging through her memories. A change of subject was most definitely in order. “Rei, when I woke up in the warehouse I noticed that part of that pool of blood around you was charred to a crisp…what caused that?”

The train bent into a turn. The wheels screeched in protest.

“You don’t know about that either?” she asked.

I shook my head.

“Seriously, Dieter, you can recall absolutely nothing?”

“Nothing.”

Rei frowned.

“Dieter, I find that impossible to believe. I shall respect your desire for discretion, but there is no way you are of the Imperiti. You performed a most complex transmutation. I watched you set up an extraction field and perform the permutations necessary for wefting with my own eyes—or eye, rather. The other retina was still mending.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I said putting my hands up in the air. “Partnering? Transmutation? Extraction fields? What on earth are you talking about? I hit that tall guy with the pipe, and it stopped my heart. When he was standing over me, I was just trying to flick the guy off. You know, give him a piece of my mind? It turned out that he was a walking defibrillator. The shock must have restarted my heart. I just got lucky. I didn’t do anything on purpose.”

Rei looked at me dubiously.

“Dieter, are you telling me earnestly that you cannot recall what happened next?”

I shook my head.

“This is most frustrating without glamour,” she grumbled. “And you have experienced nothing like this before?”

I was about to say no, but I stopped myself. “Oh,” I said quietly.

Rei looked at me expectantly. I knew I shouldn’t say anything. Telling Rei anything about that day would be foolish, illogical, and reckless. I would be admitting to a crime—a murder for goodness sake—but for some inexplicable reason, I knew I could trust her. (Besides, I was already an accessory to Rei’s three murders. What are a few more years to a death sentence?)

“Alright,” I said grudgingly, “I’ll try to explain, but I need you to keep this in confidence, okay?”

Rei nodded. “I swear it on Bátor’s grave.”

I took a deep breath and stared out into the passing darkness. “It happened during a schoolyard fight about eight months ago. I challenged the leader of the Splotches to—”

“Apologies, Dieter, but what manner of creature is a splotch?”

“A splotch isn’t a creature. It’s a regular run-of-the-mill person. The Splotches were a gang that bleached their slacks so that they looked splotchy.”

Rei frowned. “That is asinine.”

“Yea, pretty much,” I said with a shrug. “Anyway, I challenged their leader to a fight. I beat him, but then the rest of the Splotches joined in. I ran for it, but caught a rock to the back of the head. Tyrone—he was their leader—well, he got me alone. He tried to finish the job with another rock. When the rock came down, I sort of blocked the blow with my left hand. Then something happened, and I felt energy course through me.”

Rei nodded. “You absorbed the kinetic energy with an extraction field and conduited the energy through your body. A favorite tactic of cataphracts. What did you transmute the energy into?”

“Transmute? I don’t know what that means. I just grabbed Tyrone’s head with my right hand and then it sorta just blew off…along with part of the school building.”

Rei’s jaw dropped, which was discomforting. Her fangs were taking some time to get used to. “Do you mean to tell me that the next time you attempted a transmutation, you decided to point your hand at me?”

I cringed. “Um…sorry?”

Rei started laughing. “Truly, you are mad, Dieter Resnick.”

I couldn’t muster a laugh, myself. I was thinking of Tyrone. Tyrone was an asshole, but I hadn’t wanted to kill him.

Sure we did, a voice muttered in my head. And we loved doing it too.

I looked around in confusion. What the hell was that?

Rei’s laughter kinda died off. She looked slightly distressed. “Dieter, I do not believe you enjoyed it. And I do not believe you should feel guilty. You do not have any control over your faculties. Novice mages cannot manage manaflows until they are properly trained. Proper transmutations require focus and a clear image of what you want to accomplish.” Rei’s face soured. “Or so I’m told.”

“Um, Rei?” It was my turn to look confused. “I didn’t say a word of that out loud. How did you know what I was thinking?”

She shrugged. “It is a side effect of the partnering. Think nothing of it.”

I cringed. If Rei could sense what I was thinking, she might have a pretty good idea what I saw in her head. “Rei. I’m sorry for what happened in the railcar. I didn’t expect that to happen.”

“Again, my most uneasy parcel, I do not fault you. You are unskilled. A neophyte. I apologize if you witnessed anything…distasteful. Just avoid making eye contact. It enhances the link’s potency. Once we get to Elliot, we can distance ourselves and let the weft-link fade.”

Interesting. Rei didn’t know what I saw. It wasn’t a two-way street. Through this ‘weft-link’ you could see something inside the other person, but the other person didn’t know what you saw?

Creepy.

“Rei, what is this weft-link thingy you keep talking about? What is partnering?”

“A discussion would be meaningless. You don’t even understand the basics.”

“Come on, Rei, just start me on the basics then. Do you have anything more pressing to attend to?”

Rei sighed. “Partnering has to do with combat.” Pausing to collect her thoughts, Rei dangled her slender legs off the side of the railcar and began kicking them back and forth like she had done in the office. “There are two basic forms of fighting: close combat and ranged combat. Casting can pack quite a wallop, but very few of the Magi can cast effectively while engaged in close combat.”

Wallop? My grandma was the last person I heard use that word. I brushed that aside and tried to focus on her point. “So what you’re saying is that magic is like a long-range weapon?”

“Indeed,” Rei said, gesturing with her hands. “Distance can improve a cast’s effectiveness because a good cast requires both time and concentration to pull off properly. You can think of most mages like you do howitzer cannons. Howitzers can cause incredible damage at a distance, but they are most vulnerable if attacked at close range.”

“So if you were to engage a mage in combat, you would try to close distance with him. And if you were a mage…oh, I get it! In the warehouse, the goal of those thugs was to hold you at bay long enough for the tall man to cast at you from a distance.”

“Indeed,” Rei said, growing more animated. It was the first time she had taken the lead in one of our conversations. “The Magi often employ fodder to cover their casts. I was fortunate today. This ‘tall man,’ as you call him, was weak. His attacks were slow enough to dodge. Given the same amount of time, a stronger magus would have, say, blown my head off.” Rei smiled at me, but I was too distracted to catch the flattery. Had Rei just called that maniac weak? Stars above, if that guy was weak, what was a strong spell slinger like?

I scratched my head. One thing still didn’t make sense. “Rei, you just called those two thugs fodder. You didn’t call them partners.”

Rei laughed out loud. “Dieter, partnering is completely different.”

What did she mean? If a partner wasn’t merely there to cover your casts…

“Oh.” My eyes widened. “Do you mean to tell me you can cast spells on your allies too?”

Rei grinned. “Indeed. But it is not that simple, Dieter. Magic can strengthen bodies, harden resolve and keen senses; however, such work is not easy. Humans are complex beings, Dieter. They have many moving parts. Toying with them can have…unanticipated consequences.”

An image of a human puddle popped into my head.

“I’m guessing there’s a loophole?”

“There are a few,” Rei said with a nod. “A magus can circumvent these challenges by binding themselves to another. This harmonizes the flows. In the European tradition, the other was traditionally a knight. The binding forms a conduit between them in which mana can flow safely.” Rei smiled. “Conduiting mana in is this manner is most helpful in killing all manner of things.”

“Wait a minute, Rei.” A cold shiver ran down my spine. “You said a binding. Do you mean that you and I are like, stuck together somehow?” I didn’t know what a binding was, but I could use my imagination. The idea of being fused to another person was seriously creepy.

“Our weft-link is of a temporary nature,” Rei said stiffly. “It is incomplete, and as I have already told you twice, it will wear off with time and distance.” She stood and dusted off her pants. “The inconvenience will be over soon. You have nothing to worry about.”

Had I said something wrong? I didn’t get it. And Rei hadn’t even answered the most important part. “Rei,” I asked, chasing after her, “does partnering explain how you cut that guy in half? How did you do that, anyway?”

Rei checked her watch. “Enough talk. We are about to arrive in New Haven. Retrieve your bag, Resnick. We need to change to a local train at the station. Dean Albright will fret if we are late.”

My shoulders drooped. I guess it was back to business. Women confused me. One minute they were happily chatting away about how to crush your enemies and have them kneel before you, and the next minute they were ordering you off a train. I didn’t want to start an argument, so I followed Rei into the railcar and did as I was told. Besides, I was tired; it had been a long day.

Part III

ELLIOT COLLEGE

Chapter 13

FAILURE TO BLOOM

Elliot College was located just outside of New Haven. We caught the local train and arrived at our stop at around eleven in the evening. The school’s shuttle was done for the day, so we had about a mile walk ahead of us. The night had cooled off nicely, and the air was filled with the fantastic scent of evergreen and flowers.

Rei led me down a dark road leading into the trees. It felt like we were walking into a full-blown forest. (Then again, I grew up in a desert, so what do I know about forests.) Insects buzzed this way and that, and I could hear the high-pitched squeaks of bats above us. They swooped down occasionally to gobble up insects. At least they could tell where the heck they were going. It was a new moon and we passed only a few houses on the way. If I wasn’t following right behind Rei, I could have easily wandered off into a ditch. It was like walking into a closet and shutting the door. I was making a mental note to go buy a flashlight when I chanced a glance up at the sky.

“Wow,” I said, my mouth gaping. “Is that the Milky Way?”

Rei chuckled. “Have you never been outside a city?”

I flushed with embarrassment and kicked an unfortunate pebble across the gravel road. “My father wasn’t much of a traveler. We went to a state park a few times—but you could still make out the neon.”

Rei smiled and tilted her head up. “I love this about Elliot. I could not see the stars very well in Chicago, either. But here? It is staggering, no? Think how much there is left to explore.”

“Yea…” I wasn’t staring at the stars anymore. These past few moments, it was as though we had crossed an invisible barrier. Rei looked more relaxed. She wasn’t constantly sweeping for invisible enemies, and she wasn’t trying to hide her nature. I guessed we had some sort of tactical advantage now. I felt much better too. Her antsiness had been contagious.

“Rei, did you really grow up in Chicago?”

“Of course. Can you hear an accent of some sort?”

“No, but your…what do you call it…your vernacular is kinda funny.”

“Ah, yes. I believe this is because my family is very old.”

“Wait. Your kind has, like, families? Like with real kids and stuff?”

Rei rolled her eyes. That hadn’t come out right at all.

“Yes, Dieter, I have a father and a mother. And for that matter…” Rei took my hand and swept my fingers down the inside of her forearm. Her skin was as soft as silk. I shivered at her touch. She guided my fingers between the tendons above her wrist.

“Relax, fragile mortal.”

One beat. Two. A third coursed under my fingers.

“See?” she asked.

I raised an eyebrow. It was so unexpected. Her heart pumped blood. About half the speed of my own, but a beating heart nonetheless.

“No matter what your cinema might suggest, we are not zombies, Dieter. We too live, breath and die. It’s just that the supernatural world is no longer careless with its secrets. The Imperiti have lost the privilege of such knowledge. All the rumors and legends you have heard are—”

Rei stopped speaking and looked into the brush.

I heard it too…a rustling noise. Something large was crunching through the undergrowth, and it was coming this way. I cursed to myself. Was this day ever going to freakin’ end?

“Fine! What’s a few more?” I yelled to no one in particular. Flinging my duffle to the ground, I stepped in front of Rei and summoned my best Chuck Norris. Vampires, goons, black sorcery, third-degree burns, heart attacks, horrible flashbacks, two ruined pairs of jeans, two wasted cups of coffee, and one puked up Danish later I just wanted to find a bed and go to sleep—but if I had to kick in a few more teeth to get some, so be it. “Bring it on, bitches.”

Rei looked at me perplexed. “Dieter, there is only one—and he is a male.” She walked over to the source of the rustling, squatted down, clapped her hands, and in a mushy voice called, “Cumo! Come here boy.”

An absurdly massive bark erupted from the darkness.

Ah, so Rei owned a trained grizzly bear. I began to back away slowly. From the underbrush came sounds of struggle. The beast was coming closer, but needed to move some trees out of the way first. My Sight tingled, and I tensed as its aura struck me full-force. It felt like…well…it felt like a giant feather pillow dropped on my head. I had absolutely no idea what that meant.

“Gyere ide, Cumo. Say hello to the new grub.”

Three cubic feet of white dreadlocked hair lumbered out of the darkness. He thundered over to Rei, skidded to a halt, and raised his paw. Rei rubbed the beast’s giant head and mewed. The furry monster responded with a series of noises reserved for exuberant elephants.

Pointing a shaky hand at the white behemoth I asked, “What is—that?”

“Cumo,” Rei replied between goochi-goochies.

“Cumo?”

“Yes, Cumo the Komondor. He’s my most noble retainer.”

Cumo looked in my direction, let out a yowl, and bowled over Rei.

“Fasz kivan!” Rei yelped. “Cumo, no! Bad Cumo!” But it was too late. Cumo the Komondor bounded towards me with surprising speed.

I frowned at Rei. She hadn’t done anything to actually stop him.

Cumo launched to a rather impressive height and landed right on my chest. I stuck out my hand reflexively, but quickly thought better of it. (Best not explode the Queen of Darkness’ dog.) The wind knocked out of me, I lay pinned and dazed. Cumo barked in triumph and took a seat directly on my diaphragm. I wheezed as one hundred plus pounds of dog emptied out my lungs. Beside me, my left hand started twitching all on its own. Surprised, I clenched it tightly.

“Don’t hurt him!” Rei screamed. “I swear to God, Dieter Resnick, if you hurt my puppy I will throw you into a fucking tree.”

“Get—him—off—me,” I pleaded.

“Well, it doesn’t work that way exactly,” she explained. “You see, my most savage acquaintance, Komondors are guard dogs. They defend their territory against all intruders. And you were not even decent enough to greet him. No wonder he thought ill of you.”

Cumo barked in agreement.

Rei patted him on the head.

“Isn’t he gorgeous?” she continued. “The breed is designed to be white and shaggy in order to blend in with a flock of sheep. Most interesting, no?”

“Help,” I gasped.

“Goodness. You people and your incessant need for oxygen…”

Rei leaned over and started petting my head.

“Good boy, Dieter. Good boy,” she said.

Cumo’s dreadlocked head drooped down and sniffed me. Something inside all that hair appeared to be making a decision. With a deep sigh, he stepped off my crushed guts and gave my face a cursory lick. He paced a few feet off, curled up, and took a nap.

“Why?” I asked. ”Why do you own a polar bear?”

Rei crossed her arms and pouted.

I scratched my head. Okay, that was a new one. Vampires could pout. Noted.

“You intolerable twerp! Of course we can pout. And I will have you know that Cumo the Ko-mon-dor comes from the finest line of Hungarian guard dogs ever produced by my mother nation. One does not own a Komondor of such stature. The dog chooses whom he will serve. He is most impressive. As to be expected from his fine breeding, he likes working nights and has done a superb job protecting my sheep. Not a one lost in nearly two years. And unlike most other creatures, Cumo’s company is enjoyable.”

I struggled to my feet and dusted myself off. I guessed I was in the “most other creatures” category. “Okay. Fine. I take it back—but sheep? Huh? And you go to college here, right? How the hell does Mr. Cumo here even fit in your dorm room?”

“I keep sheep for their blood. They’re genetically modified to produce blood that’s much closer to a human’s. We call the product, Gen Mod.”

“This sheep blood, is it…close enough?”

Rei shifted uneasily.

“That would be a no?” I tried not to, but I shuddered anyway.

“If I was to use your plebeian vernacular, Dieter, I would say: Gen Mod tastes like shit.”

I started laughing. “And you’re telling me human blood tastes better? I mean, stars above, Rei, my own blood tastes nasty. I can’t imagine drinking someone else’s.”

“Yokel, do not think with your tongue. Blood tastes differently to me.”

I scratched my head. “Do you not eat solid food at all?”

“Correct. Fluids only. My body cannot digest solids just as your body cannot digest grass.”

I guess it made sense. I remembered watching a nature documentary on vampire bats. Blood is hard to process, and the transition to feeding on it requires dramatic physiological changes. Vampire bats consume a liquid only diet too. The bats have to handle large volumes of fluid relative to their body weight. As a result, their kidneys have become vastly more efficient than other mammals. And that wasn’t the only modification. A vampire bat’s stomach and intestinal structure are drastically different from other bat species.

“So what about Cumo?” I asked. “He’s the size of a couch. Do they let him live in the dorm with you?”

I felt a sharp twinge of pain as Rei walked over to her dog. She knelt down and started petting him.

“I am not allowed to live in the dormitories, Dieter. The other students are not comfortable with my presence. Dean Albright has granted me use of the groundskeeper’s cabin for lodging. I assume your feeble eyes cannot see it, but my domicile is only 100 meters in that direction,” she said, pointing into the darkness. “It is a reasonable compromise. The cabin is twice as large as a normal dorm room, and I am not greatly affected by the cold, so last winter was fine. Besides, I have Cumo. He keeps me company, so I am not at all lonely, and…”

She was babbling. I had only known Rei for about 36 hours. In that time, she had faced three men in a fight to the death, healed my wounds, and put up with all my stupid questions. She had even bought me a cup of coffee. Yes, a part of her was hideous. I could still sense the monster hiding inside her tightly managed exterior. That part of her was terrifying. I had seen it in action. She had tortured a man without an ounce of discomfort. Yet despite whatever urges Rei struggled with, she still managed to maintain some of that stuff called humanity. The mental fortitude that required must have been formidable. I found her efforts admirable, but I could sense her situation here at Elliot hurt her gravely. How did I know? I had no freaking idea. All that mattered was that I knew, and it made me furious.

“…and I have a yard too. I never tended a garden before. It is most amusing. I even went to purchase fertilizer at a home improvement market! You should see the Night Cereus that I planted. They are night bloomers, you see. According to the manual, they will do so in the next week. You should come over when they do and watch the—”

“Stars above, Rei, stop it!” I said firmly. I was physically shaking. I didn’t understand why, but I suddenly wanted to hurt something. I wanted to break it with my hands, to keep on hitting until nothing was left.

It took me aback. Since when did I have a temper like my father’s?

Shocked, I tried to get my emotions under control. “I’m sorry.” I took a few deep breaths. “It’s just…”

Rei eyed me, her face deadly serious. My behavior must have worried her, but I didn’t care. It just made me angrier. Why was she worrying about me? She should be the one who was angry. She should be the one demanding justice.

“Rei, I don’t give a damn what anyone thinks,” I said pacing down the road. “That policy is bullshit. It’s freaking discrimination. You need to protest it. And if they refuse, well, I’ll, I’ll—”

Not say another word? My voice had cut off as if I were choked. I tried to swallow but couldn’t. Confused, I turned to look at Rei.

“Silence,” she hissed.

It was Rei. She was somehow willing me silent. How the hell—

“You will do no such thing. This is none of your concern, you plebeian fool. What do you know? Nothing. You know nothing. You have no right interfering in my business. I did not ask for your help. I did not ask for your…pity.” Rei’s eyes burned. She spit the word out like poison. This was beyond mere annoyance. I had poured grease on a simmering fire. “How dare you? How dare you tell me what to do?”

The air around me dropped a good ten degrees. My Sight flared, and an icy burn raked my skin. I shivered. Rei’s aura was fluctuating and uncertain, but there was a part of her—and it wasn’t a small part—that wanted to tear me limb from limb. I understood now: Rei had her pride, and I was trampling on it. This was her battle. I had no business sticking my nose in it. It would probably hurt her even more if I did. And to hurt her like that…the thought of it was unbearable. A rush of shame surged through my body. I was being selfish and stupid. I was in the wrong. But still the rage remained. I felt drunk from it. It was taking a physical effort just to keep it under wraps. Desperate, I dug my fingers into my palms. The freshly healed skin winced in protest. I ground at my teeth to contain it.

Rei looked at me sternly. “You shall—”

“I’m sorry,” I said stiffly. “I wasn’t thinking.” I was acting just like my father. I didn’t want her to know it. It was shameful. “You want to handle this on your own. I respect that.” I looked away from her eyes. I still wanted to scream. Still wanted to deal out some pain.

Rei took a step back and gave me the strangest expression.

I kicked the gravel. Yeah, this whole conversation was getting a bit awkward. “Listen,” I said, “I’ve taken up a ton of your time—not to mention nearly getting you killed—what do you say, Ms. VPS? You need to deliver me somewhere, right?”

“VPS?” Rei crossed her arms and smirked. “Correct. I am to deliver you to Dean Albright so he might fashion you into something less embarrassing to your race.”

“Fair enough. Shall we?” I asked.

“Dieter?” she asked, her brow furrowing. “Do you trust me?”

“You saved my life, Rei. I consider that a confidence builder.”

“Then I wish to ask you for a favor first.”

“Sure, what do you need?”

“No, Dieter, it is not what I need, it is what you need. You are about to be given an offer. No matter what you think of the terms, no matter what your gut tells you, I want you to accept it unconditionally. I do not believe the alternative is available to you. Besides, you can always change your mind later when you are better informed.” She gave me a toothy grin. “And a faster runner.”

I shrugged. “Fine.” Why not? Rei hadn’t gotten me dead yet.

“Oh and Dieter, there one more thing—and this is for both of our benefits. Do not mention the weft-link to anyone. It would be most ill-advised. Just avoid close contact with me for at least a month. The link will dissipate on its own.”

“Alright. But what about the Night Cereus?” I asked with a grin. “You said they were about to bloom, didn’t you? Don’t you want me to come and watch?”

Rei looked in the direction of her home. “I misspoke. I often forget the limitations of your people’s senses. You wouldn’t be able to appreciate them.”

I was starting to recognize that tone. Rei was in I’m-done-talking mode. We walked the remaining quarter-mile in silence.

Chapter 14

WELCOME TO ELLIOT: JUST SIGN HERE

The first things I noticed were the coats. They were of a dark grey fabric, and funny looking wooden toggles cinching up their fronts. Giant hoods draped off the backs. They had lots of pockets, lots of chalk stains, and reached all the way down to the knees. Every student wore one, but it was the middle of the summer. I mopped the sweat off my brow and turned to Rei.

“What’s up with the coats?”

“What coats?”

“Those coats.”

“You mean those robes.”

“No, I mean those coats.”

“Dieter?”

“Yes?”

“Shut up.”

My shoulders sank.

“Okay.”

Dimly lit paths curved this way and that across the campus. A tranquil pond sat front and center, and a large lawn stretched out around it. The students were scattered about in little gatherings. One group had clearly just pillaged the votive candle section of Linens and Things. I counted three dozen. I had no idea why they needed so many candles, but the three students were going through the trouble of lighting every last one of them. I swatted the air in front of me. The bugs sure liked their offering.

We passed two girls crouched around a swirling flame. A little humanoid the size of a mouse stood at the center of the fire. At first I thought it had been set alight, but then I looked closer. The little creature was the one responsible for the blaze—like he was made of fire or something. I did my best to play it cool. I put on my best “why yes, I too have summoned fiery man-creatures from beyond” face and kept walking. Then it occurred to me that the existence of fiery man-creatures from beyond required that there be an actual “beyond” from whence fire folk came. This hurt my head.

Rei glanced over at me and nodded. “Exactly, Dieter. Just avoid having the cattle and keep walking.”

I cleared my throat. “A cow. It’s ‘don’t have a cow.’”

Rei frowned. “I fail to see why it must be a female.”

I stifled a snicker.

One of the two girls working with the fire creature looked up.

“Hey, Trish, a fresh grubby!” she said to her friend. “Howdy, newbie.”

Witches could have Texas accents? Who knew?

“Ma’am,” I said, tipping my invisible hat.

The heavily freckled Texan witch started giggling, but once she noticed Rei, she suddenly became very interested in the ground.

Trish waited till we were further down the path before she drove the stake in.

“Lucas isn’t monitoring her anymore?” she whispered. “Gods…they should just get it over with and slit all our throats.”

I considered giving Trish a piece of my mind, but Rei jabbed her finger into my side.

“Forward, grubby,” she teased. “We voyage to them-there buildings.”

As we approached the towering building at the center of campus, I started to get anxious. There were more people here, and my Sight kept flaring. Waves of curiosity coursed over me. It felt like I was being poked and prodded. I double-checked the fly on my jeans. The attention was making me paranoid.

A guy that looked like he belonged in the NFL caught my eye. His huge frame was hunched over a little clay man, and he was laughing and waving his hands about. The clay thing was making its way through an obstacle course constructed of stuff borrowed from someone’s desk. I watched it jump up and down on a stapler like it was a diving board. It looked like the clay thing was getting ready to leap over the adjacent in-out box. Mr. Super-Jock broke away from his work to watch Rei and me walk by.

“Aw, shit…she managed to escort him without snacking?” His voice was a freakin’ gravel factory. “Damn. There goes my beer money.”

The muscular blond crouched next to him frowned.

“Roster, do you always have to be such an asshole?”

“Sorry, shug,” Roster said, bursting into another round of laughter.

The little clay man splattered to the ground.

“Oh, damn!” Roster shouted. “Man Dough ate it on the front summersault. Medic!”

Roster and the blond busied themselves re-attaching appendages. But while Roster might have lost interest, the other students hadn’t. His comment had opened the floodgates. A kid ran around chasing a girl using his fingers as fangs. The other girls pointed and chuckled. Growing bolder, he drew his dark grey outer garment around him like a cape.

“I vant to suck your boobs!” he shouted.

I imagined ripping out his trachea.

It would be simple. Just dig the ‘ole fingers in, wrap them around the tube, and yank.

I wiped off the beads of sweat beading up on my brow.

Whoa, I thought. When the heck did I ever think like that? I dropkicked the thought out of my head with a nervous chuckle. Only then did I notice Rei’s hand wrapped around my left arm. She might have looked calm, but her jaw was taut. I tried to focus on something else. I made busy identifying buildings.

In front of us, at the edge of the lawn, was the main one. It was an ancient looking three-story stone monster. It looked just like it did on the brochure. It was called Central Hall and was where most of the classes were held. To the right of Central were the large circular auditorium, cafeteria, and student lounge. I could see throngs of students eating, studying, and relaxing inside. On the other side of Central sat the massive library. A trickle of students made their way in and out its large bronze doors. Strange…

I checked my watch. Near midnight. Vegas was a 24-hour town, but wasn’t it a bit late for rural Connecticut?

I knew that Elliot’s living communities (aka dorms) were behind Central Hall, but we weren’t headed there yet. Rei led me into Central and up three massive flights of stairs to a door labeled Administration. To my surprise, the whole place was buzzing with activity. A number of well-dressed men and women hustled about the office.

The receptionist stood to greet me, but her pleasantries were cut short when she caught sight of my escort.

“Oh…” the old spectacled lady said, her earnest smile growing forced. “Hello, Ms. Bathory. Good to see you decided to return for another semester. I respect your…tenacity. And this must be the famous Dieter Resnick! Goodness me, I’ve heard a lot about you! My name is Betty Strouse. I manage this little madhouse.”

It occurred to me that Ms. Strouse’s make-up looked like cake batter.

Rei stifled a giggle.

I walked over to shake Ms. Strouse’s hand. It was coated in sweat.

“Nice to meet you Ms. Strouse.”

“Please have a seat, you two,” Ms. Strouse said, retreating to her desk. “I’ll page Dean Albright.”

Rei and I sat—awkwardly. Rei had taken on a formal posture and didn’t seem to be in the talking mood. She flipped through a small newspaper called The Daily Manangler with practiced indifference. “Classes Start with a Poof!” was the headline.

The administration’s office was adorned with some serious art. I was almost positive I’d seen the one with three women picking up hay somewhere before. It was painted in a palette of dreamy pastels that made me feel woozy. The furniture must have cost a mint too. Ms. Strouse’s desk looked like something George Washington might have snored on. There was a computer sitting on top of her desk, but a large fern was draped over the monitor. Ms. Strouse was busy banging at the large plastic box next to it. The label said “IBM Selectric.” This “Selectric” seemed to create letters by driving pieces of metal into a ribbon of ink.

A man wearing an actual bowtie approached her to discuss a piece of parchment.

Their conversation was in rapid-fire Latin.

I stared at my flip-flops and beat-up military duffle. My boots were still dangling off the bag by their laces. I decided to tuck in my western. I had never met a dean before. Should I have dressed up more? I sat and listened to the tick-tock of the grandfather clock. Stars above, what was I doing here?

I felt bad for Rei too. She probably just wanted to get this chore over with. Then she could go home, drain a few sheep, and kick back with her dog. I wondered if she microwaved the blood…

Behind her newspaper, Rei chuckled.

Ms. Strouse and bowtie guy tensed (preparing for the Carrie sequence, I presumed).

“Have you ever tried microwaving milk?” Rei asked.

“Then how…?”

“Like chocolate.”

I smirked. Sometimes this partnering thing could be fun.

+

Five minutes later, Joseph Albright burst onto the scene, and what can I say, the man had presence. He looked to be in his mid-thirties and had the looks of one of the Euro-footballers that ran around with their shirt off after every goal. His curly black hair was immaculately coifed, and his broad grin boasted a 10K smile. I had just enough time to stand before the dean was grasping my hand with two of his own.

“Dieter Resnick, I presume. Great to finally meet you!”

The dean of student affairs had tumbled out of a fashion magazine. I was too busy envying his fine wool suit to speak.

“Now I must apologize for the nature of your enrollment—truly a terrible situation we put you in—but your case was a rather unique one. Oh the strings we had to pull. Had the whole office in an uproar. Betty was plain pulling out her hair! Had to go so far as to meet with de Rais herself. Plead the case, as it were.”

“You met with her?” Rei asked, wide-eyed.

Ms. Strouse cleared her throat.

Dean Albright raised his hands in surrender.

“Right, right, the NDO. I’d forgotten. Thank you for reminding me.” Albright rocked back and forth on his toes. “But I’ve digressed!” Albright spread his arms wide. “Welcome to Elliot, Mr. Resnick. I know things must be disconcerting at the moment, but I think you’re going to love it here. The things you’re about to see…the adventures!” His vibrant eyes met mine. I guessed this was the part where I talked.

“Well, sir, to be honest, I’d appreciate if things would just slow down a bit. It’s just been one big shock after another.”

Rei snickered once, tried to catch herself, snorted, then lost it altogether.

The girl liked her puns.

“Ah, Ms. Bathory!” Albright said, finally taking note of her. “Thank you so much for meeting up with Mr. Resnick.”

Rei cut her own giggles off midstream and did her best to stand tall.

“Thank you, sir. It was my pleasure, sir.”

I raised an eyebrow. It did seem to be a pleasure.

“No troubles I presume?”

“Well…” Rei frowned. “I’m afraid so, sir. I have a contact incident to report.”

The steady flow of Ms. Strouse’s keystrokes faltered.

“Go on.”

“Yes, sir. As instructed, I intercepted Mr. Resnick outside of Chicago. He was unaware of my status, and I tracked him under close contact protocol to Penn Station. Upon arrival, contact occurred almost immediately. One Tier 2 magus and two minor trolls were sweeping the station. Their tactics were simplistic. The magus discharged an aggressive aura in the hope of spooking the target.” Rei looked at me approvingly. “But the tactic failed. Mr. Resnick did not spook. I decided to take the initiative. I deployed myself as bait and—”

“Oh, God,” Albright said. He leaned against a wall. “Ms. Strouse, please contact the embassy and—”

Rei cocked her head to the side. “Sir, the men weren’t ours.”

“Are you certain?” he asked, doubtfully.

Rei bristled, and I experienced a bitter taste in my mouth.

“Of course I am, sir. They were mere mercenary scum. Not even the Loki would send shite like that into the field.”

Albright looked uncertain but nodded. “Very well, Ms. Bathory. Continue.”

“Well, the three of them engaged in pursuit, and I proceeded to New York City Containment Point Gamma. That is when the first complication arose, sir. Unbeknownst to me, Mr. Resnick decided to pursue the hostiles.”

Albright turned to me. “You didn’t know Ms. Bathory’s nature at the time?”

“Nature?” I was still trying to figure out what a Containment Point was. “Oh, you mean the whole vampire thing? No, sir, but I had concluded that she was a weirdo.”

“Ah, damsel saving…” Dean Albright looked a bit nostalgic. “Once, when I was a boy, I—”

Ms. Strouse cleared her throat again.

Albright frowned at her. “It was related. Please continue, Ms. Bathory.”

“Yes, sir,” Rei said, her cheeks slightly red. “Once I arrived at CP Gamma, the men demanded I hand over my charge. This surprised me. Such information is confidential, no?”

“Did they ask for him by name?” Albright asked.

“Yes, sir—and they knew most of his personal details. I refused their demands, of course, and I deemed the threat level to Mr. Resnick was critical. Then I decided I should kill them.” Rei paused. “That was okay, yes?”

Albright nodded.

“Oh. Good. Anyways, I lacked sufficient weaponry, but I engaged them with intent. I immobilized one troll before the second one staggered me. Things were looking manageable, but then the magus deployed an ACT device. He launched a rapid electric-based counter that temporarily disabled me.” Rei sighed. “Then things just sort of went to splinters, sir. The second troll succeeded in collapsing my lung and shattering my cheekbone while—”

“Good God.” Albright found a chair. “Ms. Strouse, call the embassy and—”

“Not to worry, sir. Mr. Resnick engaged them in the nick of time.”

“What?” exclaimed Albright and Strouse.

“It was hard for me to see, as I had lost the function of one eye, but it appeared Mr. Resnick used a pipe to temporarily disable the magus. This left Dieter stunned, but his actions gave me sufficient time to recuperate, terminate the second troll, and apprehend the magus for questioning.”

I glanced over at Rei. There were some slight oversights in that retelling. I bit my lip and let it go. She had told me to keep my eyes open and mouth shut. I decided to trust Rei knew what she was doing.

“I’m sad to report that the results of my interrogation were poor, sir. The magus was given blind pick-up instructions, tracing was impossible, and he claimed to have been wiped. It does seem that his mind was damaged in some way. He exhibited bouts of uncontrollable laughter during combat, demonstrated zero adaptability, and glamour didn’t work on him at all.”

“Sounds like a scrambling technique,” Dean Albright replied. “I’ve seen it before. Whoever it was probably breeched mental tampering prohibitions to ensure an impregnable wipe. When you scramble a mind in such a manner, you not only disconnect the conscious mind from its memories, but you rearrange those connections as well. It is a very advanced technique…and irreversible.” Albright shook his head. “And the ACT device had reactive countermeasures? Wonderful.”

“The ACT device?” I asked. “You mean that pendant thingy?”

Albright nodded. “ACT is an acronym. It stands for Artificial Conduit Technology. ACT devices are nasty doohickeys. For now, just think of them as magic wands made of plutonium. They give a mage added power and control, but there are horrific downsides to their use. No sane mage would use such a device. It might even explain the brainwashing.”

Albright turned back to Rei.

“Apologies, Ms. Bathory, but policy requires me to ask: Do you have any contamination or infection to report?”

“None, sir,” Rei said, firmly. “Anything that mixed with my blood was incinerated.”

InfectiWHAT? I started to feel a wee-bit dizzy—and yet it occurred to me that what Rei had just said wasn’t quite a lie. My hands had been burnt to a crisp. I scratched at my scarred palms nervously.

“Good stuff, Rei Acerba. I’ll be sure to write your father on this.”

“Thank you, sir!” Rei said, beaming.

“Magus Bathory, you are herby relieved from active duty. Complete your debriefing with Lucas when he returns. And study hard this semester. I want to see a conduit out of you by fall.”

Rei’s shoulders drooped. “Yes, sir,” she said, bowing slightly. She turned to me next. “Mr. Resnick, it was a pleasure to meet you. I hope you make the right decision.”

With that, Rei turned and left.

Not a whisper from the carpet.

Not one single sound.

“Goodness, I hate how quiet they are,” Ms. Strouse muttered.

The aged wood creaked beneath my feet. I had forgotten that Rei had been making extra noise. Forgotten because she had been so diligent in making it. The thought of that…it made me feel nice.

Albright excused himself to make a phone call. The dean left his door open, and I overheard him talking to someone about upgrading transit security. “Talmax. Yes, most likely,” he said in agreement. I should have been paying more attention, but instead I kept getting the sinking feeling that I was forgetting something important. It was the same sensation I got when I misplaced my keys. I was busy digging through my duffle ticking off items on my mental checklist when Albright called me in to his office. I put down the pile of underwear I was shuffling through and let out a sigh. My obsessive-compulsive tendencies would have to wait till later.

The dean’s office was as immaculate as he was. A pristine desk stood at its center with three neat stacks of paper in one corner. IN, PENDING, and DONE read the labels. Books lined two sides of the room. They were ordered with precision under detailed sub-headings: Frame Science, Hex Defense, Calvin and Hobbes, The Ethics of Alteration and so on. And in the fourth corner—sitting all by it’s lonesome—a Clover.

I stared at the machine in awe.

In the history of coffee, there have been only a few major advances: 1) the discovery that coffee beans could be ground, 2) the shift away from men’s hosiery as filters, 3) the invention of the espresso, and 4) the Clover. Pure stainless steel. Temperature control to within 0.5 degrees centigrade. A timer that talked in milliseconds. With the Clover, man had finally achieved what had eluded him for centuries: Total Brewing Control…and all for the low, low price of one mid-sized car.

Albright noted my revere with a nod. “It appears we have a common interest.”

“Yes, sir,” I mumbled through dollops of fanboy drool. (Some people like ogling cars. Some like collecting stamps. I like brewing beans. Mind your own hobby.)

“Would Tanzanian peaberry suit you?” Albright asked.

“Oh, that would be well within the realm of acceptable, sir.”

Dean Albright performed the ritual with the precision of a Kabuki actor.

“You seem to know a great deal about coffee, Mr. Resnick.”

“Yes, sir. I sorta had a crush on this barista…”

“So you learned everything you could to impress her.”

I raised an eyebrow. It hadn’t been a question.

“Yes, sir.”

Dean Albright poured one cup at a time into pre-warmed mugs.

“Land the babe?”

I accepted my mug mug. “Na, she started dating a muscle head—but I got myself an addiction.” The first sip was magical. My exhaustion released as I exhaled in bliss. It was the single best cup of coffee I had ever tasted. By a mile too. If the dean was trying to seduce me, it was working.

“Sir? Is this just coffee?”

“What a compliment! Yessiree. Unadulterated. Far cry from the old range brew…however, I am working on a fascinating new bean that imbues the user with a number of elemental fortifications. I just have to figure out what’s making the test subjects pee like racehorses. But I digress, again. We’ll have more than enough time for fun stuff later. Please take a seat.”

I sunk down into the incredibly comfortable leather chair across from him.

If I could just nod off for a bit…

I shook my head and took a bigger sip of Albright’s coffee. It was Life Decision Time.

Albright took a sip and set his coffee down.

“Mr. Resnick, let me first say that I owe you an apology.”

“Sir?”

“You were not rejected from all the schools you applied to. In fact, Harvard and Duke were in a bidding war over you.”

I wasn’t drowsy anymore. I sat up in my chair.

Albright flipped open a folder. My folder. It had photos I never recalled providing, let alone taking. Me going to school. Me with my friends. Shots of the destroyed chemistry lab. Newspaper clippings. Hospital records. Rowan dosing schedules. Didn’t they call that kind of thing a dossier?

I gulped.

“Your scores in biology and chemistry are most impressive. It looks like you hold the new state records. And your paper on yeast metabolic thermoregulation was absolutely fascinating. How you managed to keep them thermostable at such a high working temperature is beyond me.”

I felt warm inside. Academi-speak was as sexy as I’d hoped it’d be.

“Maybe I can interest you in my alchemic workgroup in the future.”

I mussed my hair and looked away. Not that I didn’t like the compliments, but what the heck did Albright mean? How did this school have the power to interfere with other schools’ admissions?

“Thank you, sir, but if I wasn’t rejected, then what happened?”

“We interceded.”

“We?”

“DOMA, Mr. Resnick. The Department of Mana Affairs. The Department is a pseudo-government agency, a collection of private and public interests. We are engaged in the development, instruction, and protection of the techniques oft defined by the lay as magic. We also enforce the laws and regulations pertaining to mana and defend both Magi and Imperiti populations against its misuse. The Department has other roles, but at the moment you lack the knowledge necessary to comprehend them. And please don’t be offended, Mr. Resnick. I don’t mean to say that you lack the potential for comprehension, just the tools.”

I shrugged. “I’ve gotta agree with you there, sir. I’m still waiting patiently for this nightmare to end. But, sir, are you saying Elliot College is a front?”

“A front? No, Elliot College is an accredited degree-granting university. It’s just that our best subjects are most certainly not the sciences.”

“And how do I fit into this picture?”

“You are being given a recruitment offer. We want you to join up.”

This was getting a bit loony. “Do I get a license to kill like Rei?”

Dean Albright frowned. “You misunderstand. We do not normally have to kill three men in order to make a recruitment offer. Current circumstances are most unusual. But let me cut right to it, son. You’re not sitting pretty right now. You’ve killed a man.”

“I didn’t—”

“Intent doesn’t matter, son. A boy is dead.”

My face felt hot. To hear it spelled out like that…

“Under Tenet Law, you have two choices: You can choose to join up. You will be enrolled at Elliot College and trained by the finest minds in magic theory. If you graduate with honors, you will be granted a modest lifetime pension in return for part-time service. Think of it as the National Guard with unicorns.”

“Unicorns?” I asked. Riding unicorns sounded way better than prison.

“Oh yes, but you don’t get to actually ride them or anything. Nasty beasts. Best to wrangle them from a distance. Anyway, if you choose the first path, I must warn you of the risks. The world we operate in is much more hazardous than that of your average Imperiti. I like to compare it to the difference of living life as a civilian versus that of a soldier.”

I was trying my best not to hyperventilate.

“Oh! Pardon me. You do know what Imperiti means, yes?”

“Non-magic folk?”

“Sharp as advertised. Nearly correct, Mr. Resnick, more specifically, Imperiti refers to those lacking knowledge of the occult. The Conscious world is not limited to just those who can manipulate mana, so saying ‘non-magic folk’ is not a sufficient definition.”

I nodded.

“If you choose to join up, you have one year to change your mind. Beyond that point, there is no turning back. You would be bound for life by the additional laws prescribed by the local DOMA.”

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.”

I nodded, and we walked on. More than anything, I was grateful to get away from the stench.

“Sir, you mentioned someone named Lucas? Is he an upperclassman?”

“Ah, yes, my apologies. Students here are assigned into groups of twelve. That part of the brochure is true. We try to assemble these groups so that individuals with different talents can learn from one another. There are actually very few resident faculty here at Elliot College. The majority of your education comes from your fellow students. Our motto is: ‘See one. Do one. Teach one.’ It’s just like that medical drama on the tube staring George Clooney.”

“Got it.” I’d had to teach myself for a long time. I was cool with that.

“There are twelve learning groups total. Each group is assigned a Greek letter designation. The group back there in that sticky situation was Beta. You were assigned to Lambda. Come to think of it, you’ve already met two Lambda members: Mr. Fukimura and Ms. Bathory. That is why Ms. Bathory was assigned to escort you.”

“But Ms. Bathory doesn’t live with the rest of Lambda, right?”

“No, she does not. Ms. Bathory lives on the other side of campus. Safety concerns and all.”

I held my tongue. I was getting mad again, but, thankfully, this time it didn’t come with that strong desire to cause bodily harm. I guessed I was just too tired to get all riled up.

“Each learning group elects a captain and a lieutenant. Lambda’s captain is a wonderful young man by the name of Lucas Wright. He comes from a long line of talented mages. He will be in charge of getting you up to speed on your coursework. Your case is quite rare. You have no magical lineage, and so we didn’t discover your capabilities until recently. The Conscious are normally only born into families with a history of magical talent. The few that aren’t usually discover their talents early on and demonstrate only low-level abilities. DOMA detects and trains these prospects early in their childhood, well before they are sent for training at a DOMA college. I must be honest with you, Dieter. You have a lot of catching up to do, but judging by your academic acumen, I think you’ll be up to the challenge.”

Oh. Wonderful. “I’ll try my best, sir.” I sighed. Maybe I should have chosen the lobotomy.

Albright chuckled. “You’ll do fine, son. Your talents are impressive. You wouldn’t have qualified for a top-tier institute if they weren’t. And never forget that success in magic—like in so many other endeavors—is rooted in doing things smartly. Take Mr. Fukimura back there. He is an incredibly gifted mage with tremendous mana reserves. If he had desired, Mr. Fukimura could have forcibly breached that frame juncture, but he chose not to.”

I thought about the way Fukimura had spent time thinking through his cast.

“You mean he identified some sort of weakness and exploited it?” I asked.

“Correct. That particular circle was for summoning…never mind, that’ll be too complicated. What’s important is Mr. Fukimura remained calm, assessed the situation, consulted with his fellow practitioners, and selected a simple, non-taxing spell. It was KISM, as I like to say.”

“Keep It Simple, Magus?” I guessed.

Albright laughed, “Actually, it’s Keep It Simple, Moron, but that works too, doesn’t it?”

I mussed my hair. Egads.

We arrived at a large circle of grass behind the school. In the center, there was one of those sunken circular amphitheaters used for Greek theater. In fact, that's exactly what a group of students was doing right now. (It looked like a scene out of the Odyssey, but they were talking in Greek so I wasn’t sure.) Around the circular amphitheater stood three large dorm halls, an activities center, and a gym all connected to each other by cement paths. All the buildings were equidistant from the center. The layout must have been carefully thought out.

Dean Albright led me to one of the three dorms. Above the large door were etched the Greek letters: Ι, Κ, Λ, and Μ.

“Iota, Kappa, Lambda, and Mu?” I asked.

“Yep,” the dean replied. “The students pronounce it ‘eye-cam.’ That’s some nasty sounding Greek, but you’ve got to give the kids some allowances. IKΛM will be your new home. I hope you like it.”

Chapter 15

ΙΚΛΜ

We entered a large central hall arranged like a living room. A waif of a girl was playing "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star” on the piano in the corner. Two guys paused in the middle of their game of pool to wave hello. I noticed there was a ping-pong table too. I rubbed my hands together. I loved ping-pong.

As we climbed a staircase to the second floor, Albright described the practice facilities and how to use the laundry room in the basement. We walked down a corridor to a thick wood door labeled with the bronze Λ for Lambda. Across the hall was a door labeled I for Iota. I heard a hearty female laugh coming toward the door. It swung open to reveal a girl my age with a huge white grin.

“Joshua or Dieter?” she asked.

“Dieter…if that’s a good thing.”

She peeled off a sticky nametag and stuck it on my chest. The dot on my ‘i’ had a smiley face. “Welcome to Lambda, Dieter!” She gestured to her own nametag. “My name’s Monique Rice.”

Monique was someone I instantly liked. She put off such nice vibes.

I shook her hand. “Dieter Resnick. Nice to meet you, Monique.”

Dean Albright yawned. “Okie dokie, I’ll leave you to Lieutenant Rice. Your bed is already prepared. If you need any school supplies, you have an account at the student store. Your scholarship will pay for anything you need within reason. Maria Espinoza handles all of Lambda’s orders. Ask her if you have any questions.” Dean Albright turned to leave. “Have a good night, you two.”

“Joe, any word from Lucas yet?” Monique asked.

“Nope, no word yet,” the dean replied. “There’s a transport strike in Philly. He’s probably just delayed. I’ll let you know when I hear.” He continued to walk down the hall.

Monique frowned. She looked a bit troubled, but she turned her attention back to me. Snatching my duffle, she dragged me inside. Lambda had a nicely appointed common room with a big screen TV, couch, some chairs, and a galley kitchen to the side. The furniture wasn’t too fancy (in other words, ten times nicer than anything I had ever had), and the walls were plastered with movie posters: the wicked witch from The Wizard of Oz crushed under Dorothy’s house, Gandalf toking some choice weed, Apprentice Mickey in his oversized robe, on and on they went. I was about to protest that the poster of Emperor Palatine was out of place when I remembered the events of the past 24 hours. Freakin’ lightning fingers…the Sith lord was probably the most accurate portrayal up there.

Monique went over the fridge rules (name and date your food or it gets tossed), the chore schedule (1st years: Monday-Sunday), and then grabbed my hand and dragged me up a spiral staircase. The loft had a long bench to one side full of all sorts of random ingredients. A copper pentacle engraved inside a circle lay in the corner.

“This loft serves as our workshop,” she continued, “No hazardous casts up here, okay? We just finished paying off the damages from Maria’s attempted translocation of her mamma’s paella.” Monique shuddered. “You wouldn’t believe how bad saffron stains—not to mention the fish smell. I dumped like a gallon of Febreeze up here and it still took weeks to go away.”

Actually, the smell hadn’t gone away, but I nodded anyway.

“Not that we’ve got much to worry about out of you. You’re still just a grub, right?”

“Um, if grub means inexperienced, then yes,” I offered.

“Don’t worry. You’re a grub now, but one day you will be a beau-ti-ful 4th year butterfly like me,” she said, laughing. “Lucas’ll guide you through the basics. Just promise me you’ll do your first conduit outside. That’s what the lawns are for. You wouldn’t believe it, but sometimes the first few casts backfire and set off explosions. Don’t worry, though, it’s just like an M-80 going off, nothing major.”

I gave a strained smile. Thank goodness Monique hadn’t read my personnel file.

I must have looked a little pale, because Monique sensed something was up. She frowned, and I felt a gentle push of energy extend into me. It felt nice, like the excitement of telling a friend about a funny movie you just saw. But then it struck me—the sensation was similar to the time Rei had demanded that cup of coffee—except this time it wasn’t a command, just an incredibly tempting offer. An alarm bell went off in my head. Monique was using some sort of mind-based magic on me. She was trying to pry information. I panicked. I wanted her out. I pushed back, slamming the door in her face.

Monique reacted with a jolt and took a step back. When I looked up at her, I noticed she was blushing. I didn’t know the rules, but I figured I had just caught her doing something bad. What really scared me was that if Rei hadn’t already used glamour on me—if I had not recognized its signature—Monique would probably have succeeded.

“Well, anyway, that’s the workshop,” she said, heading down the staircase. “Let me show you your room.”

I thought about letting it go. This was my first night here. I didn’t need to start out on the wrong foot. And Monique had failed, right? That gave me a bit of confidence…but how about when I was sleeping? Rei had left out a number of details in her report. Clearly, she thought it best that no one know about what really happened in the warehouse. I didn’t know why that was, but Rei had just spent the last day saving my life. I owed her my confidence.

I grabbed Monique’s arm and she startled. Her reaction told me all I needed to know: Monique had done something wrong. And she’d underestimated me. Now she was dealing with an unknown quantity. Keeping my eyes level, I decided to bluff.

“Monique,” I said coolly, “I would appreciate if you did not attempt that again. I’ve had…problems in the past. If I’m not careful, my response can hurt, badly.”

Monique nodded. “Sorry. It’s force of habit. I won’t do it again.”

Monique was trembling under my hand. I felt like an ass, but this sorta thing had to be nipped right quick. I let her go and smiled.

“So where's this room?”

We walked down through the common room to a hallway with three doors on each side.

“Girls to the left, boys to right, potty dead ahead. Your room is the first on the right. Jules and Sadie are across the hall. Your roommate’s name is Jay Dante. He goes by Dante. He’s a real nice guy, but kinda shy.”

Monique knocked on Dante’s door, and a few moments passed. I sensed the room was empty, but Monique kept waiting. Then, with no forewarning, the door swung open. I tensed. For the second time today, someone had managed to sneak up on me. A wiry kid about two inches shorter than me stood in the doorway. His wispy brown hair was all mussed up. Bleary eyed, he looked out at us from the dimly lit room.

“Oh, hey Monique, what’s up?”

“Earth to Dante, earth to Dante, new roommate arrives today.”

“Oh, right. I forgot which day it was. Man-Dough deadlines. Sorry about that.”

“Dieter Resnick, nice to meet you,” I said, extending my hand.

“Nice meetin’ you too,” he said. “Your bed’s all set up.” Dante’s voice had a twang to it that I couldn’t quite place.

“I’ll let you get settled in, Dieter,” Monique said. “I have to go catch up with Sheila and Roster. Gotta make sure that fool isn’t making Man-Dough jump off Central Hall or anything.”

“Roster?” I asked. “You know that guy?”

“Of course. Roster’s a Lambda too. He’s your next door neighbor.”

“Oh…I see.” I said, gritting my teeth. “I saw him earlier working with, Man-Dough, was it?”

“Breaking it, more likely.” Monique rolled her eyes. “I’ll see you two later.”

+

Dante was polite but quiet. He seemed to take the measure of his words before he bothered airing them. I managed to get that he was from near Corbin, Kentucky, and that this was his second semester at Elliot. Dante said he was good at shrouding (whatever that meant), but that he hadn’t decided on his specialty yet. He had a bunch of books out and was working on something for Lambda’s Man-Dough project. Apparently, each learning group had assignments they had to complete together, and Lambda’s current task was to perfect that little putty guy I’d seen on the lawn.

I let Dante get back to it and examined my new digs. They weren’t bad at all. A window was placed opposite the door with a view of the forest, and each side of the room had a desk, raised bed, dresser, and a small closet. A large bundle of sheets sat on top of my naked mattress. I unpacked my duffle first and then turned to the bundle. After undoing the twine, I set the towel, pillow, set of sheets, and heavy comforter to the side. That left one of those charcoal grey ‘robes,’ a little toiletry dolly, a swipe card (with my photo already on it), and three small books.

I hung the robe in my closet and then took a look at the books. They were pocket reference guides. A red warning label on the back of each book read: “Incineration Warning: Do not photograph, scan, copy, or transport more than (1) mile from Elliot Pond.” I examined the titles. There was Do’s and Do Not’s, Wright’s Pocket Reference Guide to Basic Magery, and a laminated red one entitled In Case of Emergency. I flipped to the first chapter of Do’s and Do Not’s:

In the Salem Pact of 1694, the Magi of Northern America agreed to formally abandon the magiks of 1) chimerism 2) mutation of living tissues, 3) necromancy, 4) alchemical reactions leading to the creation of precious minerals, and 5) unsanctioned mental assaults on the Imperiti. These five laws are in accordance with the pact signed between the Knights Hospitaller and the Church, and serve as a reaffirmation of the Five Tenets set forth by the arbitrators of antiquity:

1. Thou shall not merge the souls of beast and man,

2. Nor corrupt the flesh,

3. Nor compel the dead,

4. Nor profit from mana,

5. Nor assault the mind.

6.

Though much of manalurgical law has evolved with the times, these five basic tenets have guided magiks in North America and abroad for hundreds of years. It is because of their vital nature that the Department of Mana Affairs of North America remains comfortable dispensing the death penalty when they are breached.

“Yikes,” I muttered. That was enough light reading for the night. I finished making my bed and grabbed my toiletries. Monique was on the phone in the commons. She waved as I made my way to the bathroom. To my right was a door labeled “Roster Dreg’s Full Service Lady Chamber, Lucas Wright, Butler.”

I shuddered.

Across the hall, a crazy collage of photos announced Monique and Sheila’s room. I recognized Sheila right away. She was the tall blond girl seated next to Roster in the quad. In one photo, Sheila, dressed in this funny white uniform, was holding a big trophy in front of a banner that read: “Intercollegiate East Championships”. Then I did a double take. In the corner of the photo was Rei, in the same white uniform, looking rather miffed. I filed that away and moved on.

The next door to the right had a perfectly centered single sheet of copy paper. “I. FUKIMURA” was printed in the center followed by Kanji symbols below.

The last door on the left was almost entirely covered by a giant poster featuring handmade tissue paper animals. I would have laughed, but whoever had made them had serious talent. In the center, “Maria Espinoza” was written in beautiful script. Maria Espinoza…? Ah, yes, this was the Paella Bandit that Monique mentioned.

I sniffed the air…was that garlic?

Sure enough, a giant clump of the stuff was hanging above like mistletoe. Judging by its pungent odor, it was fresh. Below it, a flier from some sort of animal rights group was posted:

Stop Sheep Abuse NOW!

DID YOU KNOW?

There are over 20 sheep at Elliot College.

During their SHORT LIVES, these sheep suffer attacks by vicious dogs, forced bloodletting, distress, fear, pain, and DEATH.

The SECRECY surrounding these sheep prevents us from finding out exactly what is done to them, but WE must DEMAND ANSWERS!

SSA-NOW believes it is morally wrong to deliberately inflict pain, suffering, emotional harm, and death upon sheep for whatever purpose. Bloodletting is, by definition, cruel and inhumane.

Remember! Vampires only exploit animals because they cannot exploit human beings.

They SUFFER for US!

Additional information can be obtained by emailing maria.espinoza@elliot.edu

I sighed. The explosive font made my head hurt.

I shuffled into the men’s bathroom, showered, shaved, and brushed my teeth. It was hard to believe I’d been hosed in blood just a few hours ago. New York felt so far away. I was staring at my own bleary eyes in the mirror when I heard Roster coming down the hall.

“How the hell was I supposed to know Man-Dough couldn’t make the jump? Shug, it was only four stories. I could do that in my sleep.”

Roster burst through the bathroom door and stormed over to the urinal. I noticed Dante out in the hall. He was rubbing his temples in frustration. Face flushed, Monique was in fast pursuit of Roster. She didn’t stop at the door. I double-checked the cinch of my towel and made busy brushing.

“Damn it, Roster,” Monique yelled. “Do you have any idea how much time its going to take to recast all those spells? Long-acting golems take for-ever!”

Indifferent to Monique, Roster shook off the last few drops and pulled up his sweats. “Sorry, shug. Don’t worry about it. Ichi can fix him up in no time.”

“That’s not the point,” Monique yelled. “What are you going to learn if you just lean on Fukimura whenever you screw up?”

“Whatever,” Roster said, rolling his eyes.

Monique banged her hand against the counter and finally noticed me standing there.

I was busy scraping off my remaining enamel.

“Oh, hi, Dieter. Roster, this is Dieter Resnick, one of the new grubs. Dieter, this is Roster Dregs, abject failure and bane of my existence.”

Roster eyed me with a devilish grin. “Yea, I saw Dracula Light bring him in. Rumor is she killed like five people on the run. Drained every last drop. That lady is rackin’ up quite the body count.”

It was three, asshole, I thought to myself. Spitting out the toothpaste, I glared at him.

“Looks like she didn’t get a bite off of Dieter here…” Roster lunged over and grabbed the towel off my waist. “Unless she went for the femoral!”

Monique shrieked and covered her eyes, leaving a rather obvious gap in her fingers. I had expected a punch or something—not this. Johnson flying free, I yelped and commenced reddening. Down the hall, a small, olive-skinned girl turned the corner to stand next to Dante (who was still busy rubbing his temples). She froze, stuck out her hand, and pointed.

“Oyé, Dante. A naked man,” she said. “One of the new guys?”

Dante sighed. “Yep. Dieter. Oh, and Maria, Roster broke Man-Dough again.”

“That’s okay, ” Maria said with a giggle, “there's still plenty of man ‘dough’ to go around, no?”

I jumped for my towel while trying to shield my loins from Monique and Maria. It was a fine balance, and Roster’s six and a half foot frame made reaching the towel near impossible. I considered a tactical retreat to my dorm room, but that would require dashing between the peepers. I would be caught in a naked pickle—not a viable option.

“Aww,” Roster said, dodging, “it looks like you’re clean. Not even one nibble? You must taste really bad, dude.”

“I doubt that,” Monique muttered.

I had to be honest with myself. This situation was rapidly spiraling into an utter disaster. I had no friggin’ clue what to do, and I had a very bad feeling that my reputation was going to be a bit too colorful for my tastes, but as I tensed for another try, I did a double-take. The towel in Roster’s hand had simply vanished.

“What the hell?” I muttered.

“Damn it, Dante.” Roster moaned. “Why you gotta ruin the fun?”

With a pop, Dante appeared right in front of me with my towel in his hand.

I mumbled my thanks. So that’s what Dante meant by ‘shrouding’…cool.

Dante shrugged and walked back to our room.

“Seriously, Roster. You are so immature,” Monique lectured.

“Oh, come on, shug. It was just a little fun. Besides, I needed to make sure our newest member wasn’t going to turn into an infected, blood-sucking, maniac while we slept. It was a public service.”

Maria giggled.

“Damn it!” I snapped. “Shut the fuck up.”

Everyone froze.

Monique covered her mouth in shock, but I wasn’t even close to done.

I glared at Roster. “Rei saved my life, asshole. She got her face kicked in for me. She got a collapsed lung because of me. She got fucking electrocuted because of me. Despite all that, she spotted me for a new goddamn train ticket. She even bought me a cup of coffee and a Danish…and…” I gasped for some air. “…and it was three…it was three, not five.”

They were all staring back at me in shock, but I was having none of it. I had spent my day in a battle royale. Them? Molding Play-Doh. Fuck them. Frustrated beyond belief, I brushed passed Monique and headed back to my room.

“Dieter,” Monique asked, her voice uncertain, “what do you mean by three, not five?”

“I mean three people. Rei didn’t kill five people. She only killed three. If you’re gonna be assholes about it, at least get your numbers right.” I thought back to the report Rei gave Albright. “One Tier 2 magus and two, uh, minor trolls.” Minor trolls…I felt ridiculous saying it. “Just don’t ask me what the hell any of that means. I have no freaking idea.” I continued to my new room and threw on pair of shorts and a shirt. I had had enough. I was going to sleep. I wanted to talk to Rei tomorrow morn—evening and ask if that cabin of hers had an extra room. The moderate risk of nocturnal blood loss sounded way better than dealing with these jerks.

Finished dressing, I turned around to find the whole group of them huddled in the hallway.

I turned even redder.

“Can’t you people let me change without staring at my ass?”

“Dieter, did you just say two minor trolls?” Dante asked.

“Yea,” I said, throwing off my bed’s comforter. It was bedtime.

“Everyone, common room, now.” Monique ordered. “Maria, recall our people.”

“Trato hecho!” Maria said as she sped up to the stairs to the loft.

Fifteen minutes later the rest had all shown up. I recognized Ichijo Fukimura and Sheila Mordred from the quad. There were two new additions: a stodgy looking blond wearing wire rimmed glasses, and an elfish girl with spiked purple-black hair and giant knee-high boots. Jules Nelson and Sadie Thompson, I presumed. Eight in all.

Monique asked Maria where Rei was.

“You said recall our people.”

“Maria, ya fockin’ thicko,” Jules said, pushing back her glasses. “Can’t ya follow a simple instruction? A recall means everyone, ya dimwit.”

Sadie giggled and blew a giant pink bubble. She cracked the gum with her teeth.

Maria was about to respond when Monique slammed her foot down. “Stop it,” she hissed. “This is serious.” Tendrils of energy coursed off of her. I wanted to do nothing more than crawl under the couch and hide.

Monique turned to me, and I swallowed.

“Dieter?”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“I want you to tell us everything that happened, please.”

I regurgitated the censored version that Rei had told to Dean Albright. They asked the occasional question but generally just sat still and listened. By the end of my tale, Roster was staring at the wall, clenching and unclenching a fist. Dante had returned to rubbing his temples.

“You’re totally sure Bathory said minor trolls?” Sadie asked.

“Come on Sadie, what else could have cave in her face?” Roster interjected.

“Maybe a baseball bat,” Sheila offered. “An aluminum one full of lead.”

“Exactly,” replied Roster. “For God’s sakes, she’s supposed to be a Pure.”

“Perhaps a bat made of Hawthorn would work better,” continued Sheila.

“Oh, come on Roster, Pures don’t exist,” Sadie said, waving her hand dismissively. “They’re either born or dead. The rest is just fo’show.”

“Enough,” Monique ordered. “Dieter, did the administration suspect anyone?”

I mussed my hair. I was confused. I had assumed this was all business as usual for these folks. What the heck was going on exactly? “I overheard Dean Albright on the phone. He mentioned something called Talmax.”

“Aw man, that’s just another stupid rumor,” exclaimed Sadie.

The room erupted at that claim. The members of Lambda argued amongst themselves, rehashed old debates, pointed fingers, and flicked one another off. It boiled over into a shouting match. Maria was jumping up and down saying, “I told you! I told you!” Roster looked like he was going to burst a blood vessel.

“I knew it,” he muttered. “My moms said there’s been some weird shit goin’ on in LA.”

Ichijo Fukimura sat in a corner chair, his face unreadable. I wondered what was going on in his head.

He must have noticed me staring. He smiled warmly and walked over.

“You have not slept for a long time, yes, Resnick?”

I nodded.

“Then you should rest, yes?”

That was the most sensible thing anyone had said all day. I stood, and Fukimura walked me to my room.

“It is good you are strong, Resnick.”

I yawned despite myself. “I’m sorry, Fukimura?”

“She would have perished if you were not. I would have been sad. My best chess opponent. She is most difficult to predict. Decisive, quiet, and honorable…these are good traits, Resnick.” He paused and looked me up and down carefully. “You two might make a good match.”

Fukimura’s eyes pinched closed as he smiled.

I tensed. I had given the sanitized version of the story. I hadn’t slipped up in the slightest. Monique may have sensed I wasn’t telling the whole truth, but this was different, it felt like Fukimura had seen straight through me.

“I don’t know what you mean, Fukimura…but thank you for the compliment. I’m glad Rei’s still around too. I have to pay her back for that train ticket.”

“I also despise unpaid debts…yet life requires us to carry many of them, yes?” He bowed slightly and took a step back. “Good night, Resnick, see you tomorrow afternoon.” He bowed again and shut the door gently behind him.

“I think I was just skull-fucked,” I muttered to myself.

I was settling into my bed when Jay Dante’s mild twang made me jump.

“Fukimura’s a bit weird, but he’s good guy.”

“Jesus, Dante, how long were you there?”

“Um, the whole time. I hate big groups. Specially big feudin’ groups.”

“Fair enough,” I said. “Oh, thanks for the towel retrieval by the way.”

“No sweat.”

Dante returned to his books. The only noise was an occasional page flip. A silent roommate was going to be a serious plus. I rolled over and stared at the ceiling. I wanted desperately to sleep, but now that my mind was free to wander, that nagging feeling had returned. I was forgetting something. Something important…

My socks?

No, I just put them away.

I sighed. I would have to try and remember what it was in the morning.

+

I was in that same room, but now it was so foggy that I could hardly see. The blood was gone. A new carpet had been laid down. A mellow yellow pattern that reminded me of the sun. The little girl was playing next to a dollhouse, but I couldn’t make out what she was doing.

I strained forward. My body protested the effort like the last mile of a race. But I wasn’t breathing. My physical body was far away again. This was a different kind of strain. Exhausted from the effort, I finally reached the girl and peered over her shoulder. Inside the tiny model house, a Barbie doll was laying flat on the kitchen counter. The doll had a maid outfit on. All around Maid Barbie lay Barbie’s favorite things: a hair dryer, a Pirate Barbie treasure chest, an Astronaut Barbie EVA suit, a Secretary Barbie typewriter. The little girl had something in her hand…another doll…Summertime Barbie. And Summertime Barbie was holding…oh! Those were the Limited Edition Dorothy Barbie’s ruby-red slippers. Only a few hundred slippers were ever made. Father had waited in line himself…

I frowned. This knowledge was bizarre. How did I even know that? I had never so much as held a Barbie in my life.

The Barbie doll in the little girl’s hand was wearing a fine summer dress, but it was dripping wet. I was having trouble seeing the colors, so I strained my eyes to will the color back into being. I immediately wished I hadn't. Blood. The little girl had dunked Summer Dress Barbie into a glass full of blood like a cookie. She marched the sopping red doll forward, humming a familiar tune between sobs.

With each step Summertime Barbie took, blood splattered across the new carpet.

A feeling of revulsion broke my focus. The dream began slipping away. I looked around the fading room. It was frustrating. I was missing something. Something important.

Chapter 16

MAN DOWN

By the time Dante shook me awake, the sun was high in the sky.

I glanced at the clock on the wall. Twelve-fifteen? Yikes.

“Wake up, Dieter. You need to hear this too,” Dante said.

I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes and stumbled out of bed. “What’s wrong?” I asked. I was starving. When was the last time that I ate exactly?

“Lots. Get your clothes on. We’re meeting in the common room in ten.”

“Sure,” I replied. I grabbed my last pair of jeans and headed to the restroom to wash up. I leaned over to splash water on my face and winced. Rei had hit me hard yesterday. Looking in the mirror, I discovered a black and blue mark just below my sternum. It was the kind of hurt you feel right through to your center. I could even make out Rei’s knuckles.

You are outclassed, underpowered, and inept.

Those words stung worse.

I stared at myself in the mirror. That punch of hers, how she’d been able to compensate for my dodge, Rei had taught me something. My Sight was a great asset, but it was of no use if it could be outpaced. Entering this world was like moving up a weight-class. Mistakes I used to be able to cover with my Sight could now get me killed. Openings were no longer allowed, that was her real lesson. I needed to act smarter. If I didn’t, I might not survive. Rei seemed more aware of the state of affairs than the others. I trusted her words. They were harsh, but harsh rang true. Bending into the pain, I hit my face with water.

After I grabbed my boots and a newish white t-shirt, I swung into the commons. A very sleepy looking Sadie stood in the galley. Her fluffy pink bathrobe matched her pink bunny slippers nicely. Ms. Thompson had a very bad case of the sleepy hands and was struggling to open a packet of coffee. I peeled the packet open for her, and then took over the process of making the pot.

“Thanks, Dieter,” she yawned. "I’m not a morning person.”

I smiled back. “It’s past noon, you know?”

“Yeah, but my classes don’t start till 2PM.”

“Why is that anyway?” I asked, pouring water into the reservoir.

“Come on man-o, you might be a straight, but haven’t you ever heard of witching hours before?”

I shrugged. “Sure, but why?”

Sadie rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and sighed. “The moon and the stars, that sort of stuff matters. Plus you can sense the leyflow easier at night. Sunlight is powerful and cleansing, but it interferes with a lot of what we do. Sorta washes everything out.”

“And the reason you all work outside? Don’t tell me it’s because of thresholds.”

“Good guess, actually.” She rose up on her toes and poked me in the nose. “Point goes to the newbie.”

I stifled a sneeze.

“Places where people or animals live have this inherent build-up of mana.”

“Huh?”

“Think of it like static electricity and carpet.” She shuffled about in her bunny slippers. “The more people walk around on this carpet, the more electrical charge builds up. The mana hangin’ around a home is sorta like that. Most of the time the mana is unfocused, but add a few tweaks, and a well-lived in house becomes a big ole barrier. Straights don’t realize it, but that’s why Christians pray: Dear Lord, protect this house and all the people in it.”

“Weird…”

“Yeppo. Now let’s say you come bursting into someone’s house, casting up a storm.” Sadie shuffled back over and touched my nose. A charge arched and forced me to sneeze. “You’ve just discharged energy in another person’s sphere. The buildup of energy will probably release just like that. That’ll be bad. It’ll fry your cute little tookus good.”

I blushed.

She giggled.

“Aside from all that, the weather’s really nice right now, so casting outside is the tops. During the winter, we have to work in Central’s basement.” Sadie frowned at the thought. “It smells like socks down there.”

The coffeemaker let out its last gasps of steam. I looked at the mugs hanging above the sink: LA Lakers mug, Kiss-Me-I’m-Irish mug, Kentucky Fried Chicken mug (gross, Dante, just gross), and so on. I guessed at the pink one with bunny ears and poured her a cup.

“Another point for the newbie!” she said, poking me in the nose again.

One-by-one, folks stumbled into the common room in varying stages of dress, only to fall back asleep on the couches and chairs. Each and every one looked exhausted. I guessed the Man-Dough project was taking its toll. Sheila flipped through the channels before settling on SportsCenter Europe. I sat awkwardly between her and Roster waiting for the meeting to start. Monique came in through the front door a few minutes later. She was still wearing the same clothes she had on last night and had a bad case of raccoon eyes. She walked over to the coffee maker, poured out half a cup, mixed in a bit of cold water, and drained it.

Yuck.

When Monique turned around and looked at us, there were tears in her eyes.

“Lucas is dead.”

Sheila dropped her glass of OJ. Roster managed to grab it before it shattered on the ground. Maria started shaking, stood up, looked this way and that, started crying, and then sat back down.

“I’m to replace Lucas as captain. Dante, you’re our new lieutenant. I can’t say anything more right now. Chancellor Eikhorn called for a quorum. You’ll be briefed there along with rest.” Monique turned to the rest of us. “Jules, I’ve never had to do one before. Would you mind?”

Jules nodded and stood. It was the first time I’d taken a good look at her. Jules was wearing a dress similar to the one she had on last night. A faded blue, it had certainly seen better days. It was covered in chalk marks and probably one size too big. A Jules’ hair was a mess of blond tangles draped over a pair of round wire-rim glasses that she wore low on her nose. She didn’t look very formidable, but when Jules took in a deep breath and closed her eyes, the entire room went silent. In a clear airy voice two sizes too big, Jules sang a song in a language I’d never imagined at, let alone heard:

Ādittaṃ rāg'agginā dos'agginā moh'agginā,

Ādittaṃ jātiyā jarā-maraṇena,

Sokehi paridevehi dukkhehi domanassehi upāyāsehi ādittanti vadāmi.

Jules’ voice cut right through me. The syllables were crisp and brittle, like the sobs of a wounded bird. She repeated the lyrics twice more, and some of the others joined in on the third.

After they finished, Sadie leaned over and whispered, “It’s a Dhammayut chant. South Indian. It goes: Aflame with the fire of passion, the fire of aversion, the fire of delusion. Aflame, I tell you, with birth, aging, and death, with sorrows, lamentations, pains, distresses, & despairs.”

“It’s nice,” I replied. I didn’t know quite what to say, really. I wasn’t religious. When you were dead you were dead as far as I was concerned. Mourning the dead seemed a bit self-serving.

“Meh,” Sadie replied, “I prefer the Luciferian ones myself. They may be a bit rough around the edges, but they’re more earnest.” I near spit my coffee across the room. I made the mental note to stop sipping hot beverages whenever these folks started talking. It only led to trouble.

After a moment of silence, Monique told us to prepare for the quorum, and my dormmates shuffled off to dress.

“Dieter, you were given a robe, correct?” Monique asked.

I nodded. (Actually, I was given a coat, but whatever.)

“Good. Put it on. Lucas was supposed to bring you and the other initiate up to speed once they arrived. We’ll have to make new arrangements now.” So Lucas was escorting the other initiate…

“Monique, why is someone attacking Elliot students?” I asked.

“I can’t answer that,” she said, curtly. “Wait for the meeting.”

I was about to object, but considering how exhausted she looked, I let it pass.

“Listen,” Monique said, “in place of Lucas, I’ll assign Sadie Thompson the duties of orienting you. Right now, just get your robe on and follow along.”

+

Once we got back to our room, Dante and I put on our robes. Albright was right; the giant duffle coat looked heavy but was as light as a feather. I fumbled with the big wooden toggles and cinched up the front. Dante hadn’t said a word all morning. I went to ask him what was next, but he had paused in front of a photo at his desk. Sensing he needed space, I ducked out of the room.

Fukimura nodded to me as he made his way down the hall. He was wearing some sort of skirt with a black cloak thingy on top. A fuzzy ball hung down low by his naval. I was about to ask him what was with the getup when Sadie waved me over. Apparently, there was certain protocol to this quorum thing. Sadie told me to stand next to her and do what she did. We were to walk in a procession with Monique and Dante in the lead. Sadie and I were to fall in behind. The others would do likewise. I found myself wondering if Rei would be coming…probably not, it was the middle of the day.

I was happy to leave the dorm. Jules’ song had sent a chill through me, and afternoon sunlight felt great on my face. Maybe it was the coffee kicking in—or maybe it was just getting outside—but I felt much better. Taking the steps one-by-one, we walked out onto the path leading to main campus. It was then I noticed the dark figure standing in the shade of a tree.

“What the hell is that?” I whispered to Sadie.

“A vampire, dumb-dumb. She was kinda like your escort, remember?”

“I know that. I mean what the hell is said escort wearing?”

Sadie’s face became unreadable. “Formal court attire. It’s a mourning dress.” I’d never seen anything like it. The jacket—with it’s hook-and-eye front, puffed shoulders, and tall rigid collar—fit as tightly as a glove. The full-length lace skirt was made to match. Topping off the ensemble was an intricately embroidered bonnet with a matching black parasol. It looked straight out of the Victorian Era. The only concession to modernity was the pair of oversized black Ray-Bans resting on her nose.

“Wow,” I whispered. How the heck could showing off less skin make a girl hotter?

Sadie flipped up the enormous hood on her robe. “Girls that don’t sweat have all the fun,” she grumbled.

I felt a bit giddy when Rei walked over to join our group. To say I was homesick was an understatement. It was nice to see someone I sort of knew. Maria groaned as Rei approached. She whispered a curse in Spanish and made to spit on the ground. A red flash of anger fired off in the back of my head, but remembering our little ‘discussion’ last night, I did my best to ignore it. Instead, as Rei drew near, I readied a hello. Roster beat me to it.

“Sorry to drag you out of the coffin, princess,” he said with a smirk.

Rei didn’t flinch. She flowed past him to the back of the group.

I let out a sigh…what was Rei doing out in the sun? I remembered how weak she looked as we walked to the train station. I wanted to make it better. Offer her a nice cool glass of iced blood or something…but that was my stupid machismo talking. I reprimanded myself. No one could force Rei to do anything she didn’t want to do, and besides, what did I know? Lucas might have been her friend.

Snickering came from across the lawn. Two students from another group were gesturing at Rei and laughing. I clenched my fists. If I was expected to just stand by and let this crap slide, I was going to need to go out and buy a punching bag.

Monique and Dante led us toward campus. Other groups joined the procession as we walked. Once we got to Central Hall, we followed the path toward the strange circular building that served as Elliot’s main auditorium. There were no windows on the building’s smooth, circular perimeter. The cold grey stones that formed the structure were pressed so tightly together as to not leave a hint of grout. The sole entrance was comprised of a single set of bronze double doors. Two students stood waiting, clipboards in hand. Monique stopped our procession and approached them alone.

“Please state your group and its members,” one of the boys requested. His voice squeaked as he spoke. I could tell he wasn’t used to giving orders.

“Registrar, Adept Monique Rice reporting for group Lambda. We stand ten strong. Emissary Rei Bathory, Apprentice Jay Dante, Apprentice Roster Dregs, Apprentice Maria Espinoza, Adept Ichijo Fukimura, Adept Jules Nelson, Apprentice Sheila Mordred, Adept Monique Rice, Apprentice Sadie Thompson, and Initiate Dieter Resnick all reporting as ordered.”

Monique stomped her left foot when she was done.

Sadie nudged me, and we repeated the gesture as a group.

The boy examined his clipboard and frowned. “Moni—I mean, Adept Rice, your group is not in order.”

“Yes, Registrar. Adept Lucas Wright and Initiate Joshua Wilco have fallen.”

“Fallen?” he squeaked. “Lucas?” The Registrar looked over at his friend. The boy had gone as white as a sheet. After fumbling his pen, the Registrar made a few notes on his ledger. “Heard and noted, Adept Rice. Proceed, Lambda.”

“Yes, Registrar,” Monique replied. I looked at the boy as we passed. The registrar looked even younger than me. I didn’t need the help of my Sight to sense his fear.

We entered the auditorium as a group, our footfalls echoing as we walked. In the middle of the room, a single flame was burning at the center of a large sunken circle. Stadium seating rose up around it. The seats were divided into six distinct sections, creating the appearance of a sliced up pie. Each section was labeled with two Greek letters. Monique led our group over to the Iota-Kappa section, and we sat and waited for the remaining students to arrive.

“This auditorium is where we hold quorums—and Bio 101,” Sadie explained.

I frowned. Bio 101? I hoped I could test out of that.

“Wait, you do know what quorum means, right?”

Great, she thought I was retarded. “Yea, it’s the minimum number of voting members required present before a meeting is considered valid.”

“Rights. Good,” Sadie said, looking a bit relieved. “In matters of great importance, all students on campus are summoned to a quorum. We don’t actually have to like vote or anything, it’s just required that all be present to see and hear. More eyes make attempts at deception or distortion much more difficult.”

“Distortion?” I asked. “You mean like Jedi mind tricks?”

Sadie nodded gravely. “Distortions work best on groups of ten or less. The mana required to subvert a group grows exponentially after ten. It’s why we Catholics lock all our cardinals up in a conclave to elect a new pope. All sorts of mischief can happen if you don’t. And besides the sheer numbers attending, Elliot’s quorums are always held in this building. Its design makes distortions nearly impossiblo.”

I looked around. “Does it have to do with the symmetry?”

“Right on, newbie. Have you noticed what this place resembles?”

I shook my head.

“Don’t just give up,” Sadie said with a sigh, “use your noggin’ for something other than shaking.”

“Fine.” I wasn’t one to back away from a challenge. I examined the auditorium again. A circular room with perfect symmetry and a central point marked by a flame. I examined the walls. Gold points that matched the flame’s housing appeared around the circle six times. Six points plus a central…“Oh! We’re inside a circle. The circle is inscribed at six points. If the lines cross at the central flame, you can draw a unicursal hexagram.”

Sadie smiled. “Yeppers. Good work, grub. I’m gonna buy you a cookie at lunch. It’s gonna have chocolate.”

“Mazal tov.”

Sadie rolled her eyes. “You goober. We’re a cabal—just not that cabal.”

I shrugged. “So what’s the room designed to do?”

“Almost anything. Unicursal forms are super-dooper flexible. Today, this circle is gonna work as…let’s see…hey, you ever watch Get Smart?”

I cringed. Were all nerds required to watch the same TV shows?

“The cone of silence?” I asked.

“Right on, man-o! I love that shit. Max is like, ‘Chief I can’t hear you.’ And Chief is like, ‘What did you say, Max? …99, tell Max I can’t hear him.’” Sadie started giggling to herself, completed the rest of the bit in her head, and then looked at me seriously. “Don’t worry though, we’ll be able to hear each other, this one actually works.”

“Good to know.”

Sadie nodded and nibbled at a fingernail. She had chewed each and every one of them down to little nubs, leaving the tips raw and irritated. (That’s what happens when you don’t force-feed yourself Ulysses on long bus rides.) To avoid gagging, I turned my attention back to the design of the room. Each of the six seating sections had exactly twenty-eight seats. That gave a grand total of one-hundred-and-sixty-eight. Each section’s first row had four seats. Those looked like they were reserved for faculty. After the first row, each successive row expanded in number by two, with the last row containing ten seats. We were only using half the room. Above the first tier of seating, there was a second one that offered a lot more space. The entire building probably sat well over six hundred, but the stairways to the second tier of seating were all roped off.

“So what happens next?” I asked Sadie.

I’d caught Sadie mid-nibble. She looked up and around. “Once all the students arrive, the faculty will enter and close the circle…but hopefully that won’t happen anytime soon.”

“Why?” I asked.

“We’re still missing over twenty students.”

“Oh,” I said quietly.

Three loud clacks echoed across the hall.

The students quieted.

A line of men and women in more traditional robes appeared at the entrance. Dean Albright was among them. I counted twenty-four in all. The faculty, I presumed. They descended the stairs quietly and sat in the first row of seating.

“Shitzos,” Sadie muttered. She returned to her nails to brood.

When the older folk had settled, a woman in a brilliant silver robe—and matching silver hair—made her way down the steps next to me. She must have been blond once. Her face had the weathered look of years spent outdoors, but her body was full of vigor.

Bare feet pattering against the cold marble, she swept past me.

The air around me tingled. It almost made me sneeze.

The woman plopped down on the last step and gestured for Albright to proceed.

Albright nodded, stood, and walked briskly to the flame. He drew back his robe’s arm and calmly extended his hand right into the fire. To my horror, the flames lapped about his skin, melting his flesh with their touch. My mind flashed backwards. The tall man was standing over me laughing. I extended my arms to protect myself. My palms melted from the searing heat.

Waves of phantom pain surging over me, I yelped in shock and went to collapse in the aisle.

Fortunately for me, Sadie was faster. She grabbed my shoulder and steadied me. My heart was pounding. My palms throbbed. I waited for Albright’s screams. I could sense the excruciating pain enveloping him…but I didn’t hear any screaming. The only thing rising into the air was murmurs.

Embarrassment replaced panic. Taking three deep breaths, I forced my eyes open.

The students in the row ahead of me were all staring backwards…but not at me. No, their fear-filled eyes were focused on the aisle next to me. I turned my head slowly, not sure if I wanted to know what kind of punishment my outburst had earned.

Rei was squatting on the step, her head mere inches away from me. I felt her cool breath brushed against my cheek. Behind the mask of lace, her face was tight with concern.

Sadie squeaked and hid behind me. Nervous talk erupted from all around. The guy across the aisle scrambled over his companions to get away.

Ignoring the burbling chaos, Rei grabbed my hands with her gloves. I marveled at the lacework. Even a mouth-breather like myself could admire the fine workmanship that had gone into them. Turning my hands over, Rei’s face transitioned from concern to confusion to mild annoyance. She huffed and rolled her eyes.

“Uh, false alarm?” I managed.

Rei stood and swept back up to her seat next to Fukimura. I could have sworn I caught the bastard giggling, but I was distracted by the overwhelming sensations pouring into my Sight. Hundreds of individual emotions were pelting me like tin cans: Bewilderment. Shock. Interest. Disgust. The mix of sensations gave me the chills. It felt like a rush of cold water rushing down my back. What was I? A psychic umbrella? I wanted to squirm into the hood of my robe, hide under a rock, vanish—anything to get away from all the attention—but the room had erupted into hurried conversations.

“…yea, the one she saved …a snack for later …totally screwed …gross …she creeps me out …the new kid …but that dress is awesome …from Vegas, I think …”

I felt my ears go red.

“What the hell was that about?” Sadie whispered. Her grip on my arm had gone white-knuckled. She was trembling.

“Nothing,” I said. “I freaked. Flame paranoia and whatnot. Sorry.”

“Not that, you idiot. What was she doing? Why was she playing with your hands?”

“No idea,” I replied. But I had a very good idea. It was the weft-link, wasn’t it? My eyes caught those of the lady in silver. She was still sitting on the bottom step, her back arched in a lazy C. An expression of amusement danced across her face. She gave me a friendly nod, then turned back to Albright. My Sight was still going haywire from the psychic onslaught, so when I looked at the flame, I saw it for what it was. The flame wasn’t a fire at all. It was made of the same stuff that Fukimura had drawn out of the ground before turning that beautifully manicured lawn into a magnet for flies. The substance wasn’t burning Albright’s hand. It was swirling around it.

“Continue, Christopher,” the lady in silver said. Her voice was like a breeze through the leaves.

With a flick of his wrist, Dean Albright directed the surge of energy straight into the top of the dome. My ears popped as the pressure changed. The air felt charged like in a thunderstorm. When Albright walked back to his place seat, his steps were devoid of echo.

“The Cone of Silenceee,” Sadie announced.

The lady in silver stood and paced once around the flame.

She examined the marble floor, her bare toes taping out a beat on the ground.

“Greetings, students of Elliot College,” she said in a clear, crisp voice. “For those of you who don’t know me, my name is Ellena Eikhorn. I am the chancellor of Elliot College. For those of you who don’t know, that’s academic-speak for boss lady.

“I would like to say it is wonderful to see you all, I would like to greet the new students and welcome back the old ones, I would like to say a few bad jokes about the food at the cafeteria, I would like to urge you to study hard, conduit safely, and make sure to join a club or two, I would like to say these things, but sadly, darkness has commandeered this glorious commencement day.”

The chancellor paced the circle a second time. The room stayed completely silent as she did—and I could tell why. Behind Eikhorn’s easy mannerisms, I sensed an incredible compression of power. It was on the same order of magnitude as that ragged cloak of energy enveloping Rei, but of an entirely different nature. It was as though all the life around Chancellor Eikhorn was constantly pressing inward. As she paced around the strange golden flame, it flickered toward her, drawn like iron to a magnet. Eikhorn was a coiled mass of magical power. I didn’t need any education to know it, just like you don’t need a geologist to tell you when there’s been an earthquake.

“Today we received word that members of our community have fallen. As you all know, yesterday was admissions day for this semester’s initiates. Eighteen young men and women were granted the opportunity to join our community, learn the craft from the very best, become instruments of good, and make their families proud. During their travels, sixteen were attacked by an unknown group.”

The plump redhead across the aisle gasped.

“Six initiates are missing. Nine are confirmed dead. In addition—”

Voices rose in outrage. Over 80% of the entering class had been wiped out.

I leaned back in my chair. For not the first time, I wondered what the hell I’d gotten myself into.

A clap of thunder exploded as Eikhorn slammed her bare foot down on the ground. “Silence!” Eikhorn shouted above the ringing in my ears. “You will maintain the order and dignity expected of Elliot students.”

We all sat rock still.

“Six of these initiates were attacked before their escorts arrived. The location of these initiates is unknown. Nine escorts had already intercepted their initiates prior to being attacked. Emissary Rei Bathory and her charge survived,” Eikhorn glanced at me, and I found the floor. “Captain Susan Collins of Iota, although gravely injured, is expected to live as well. All the rest have fallen. We shall not soon forget the sacrifices of those we lost, and we are grateful for those who survived.”

I felt the stares of my future classmates and shuffled uncomfortably in my seat.

“I have a request for those of you who know Susan,” Chancellor Eikhorn said. “Please visit her in the infirmary when you get the chance. Grafting on a new limb can be incredibly painful; she needs all the support we can give her.”

“You can do that?” I questioned Sadie.

“Sure,” she whispered, “but it’s never quite the same. They always seem to remember their last owner. I think it’s some sort of muscle memory thing. Susan better pray the donor didn’t like to pick her nose.”

I was still working that one through my head when Eikhorn resumed her speech.

“The history of our people is replete with persecution and death. The Conscious have powers that are both feared and coveted, our methods are often misunderstood, and even within our community, some are feared for their very nature. This was not always so. Long ago, the Conscious served as a crucial pillar of society, the only defense against those horrid beasts from beyond the frame. The stakes in those dark times were high: Freedom or servitude. Life or death. The precipice of oblivion bred clarity in men. For the first time in history, the many strands of our kind found common purpose. The Great Religions and Old Orders united. Armies rallied to their calls. Knights and mages entered the fray as one. They smote those who would shatter our autonomy, crushed their bones under heavy boots, and cast their smoldering remains back through the closing frame.

“But I ask you, young magi, at what cost was this victory won? Did we not abandon our dignity? Did not some of us sell our very souls? To understand where we stand today, to understand why we have so fallen, we must reflect back on our distant past, and bear witness to our parents’ follies. Their slide into darkness began with the first clumsy attempts to mimic our foes. Hexes. Curses. Mass effect spells. They stumbled along, learning what they could, and stealing what they could not. Miscasts were common. Some of the Magi were incinerated. Others vanished from the frame forever. Desperation drove them. Their friends and families were perishing. Their churches and temples were burning. And with anguish and grief consuming them, the Magi delved ever deeper into the craft. Rules were broken. Tenets trampled. They constructed something truly horrible—and they did not flinch from using it.

“The Catastrophe of the Ten, we call it now. We know not the full extent of the damage, for we know not of a single voice that survived them. But the unforgivable collateral damage gave not a single mage pause. Oh no, young ones, the Catastrophe only encouraged them. What if they could refine the horrors? What if they could harness them to their wills? And so, ever darker arts were fashioned by the hands of men. Necromancy was perfected. Then chimerism. Then dread foremutation. True, these new horrors were the source of victory after victory, true, without them humanity might have fallen into the abyss, but we, the children of those that abandoned the Ancient Tenets, have born a harsh burden ever since.

“Yes, for a time, the Magi grew wealthy, and the Old Orders flourished. Seats of great power were obtained. Prestige was piled steep. But with the new wealth came new sloth, with the new power came new arrogance, with the new admirers came new negligence. The Magi drew inward. They obsessed over the wonders of their spells and shoveled disdain on the ignorant filth called the Imperiti. They never thought to share. They never thought to care. With each generation, our ancestors became more and more disconnected from the humanity that lived around them.” Eikhorn looked out into the crowd and raised an eyebrow. “Like some of you with your computerized games…”

“Oh, right, me playing Mario Kart is gonna lead to genocide,” Sadie grumbled.

“Geno-what?” I asked.

“Shh,” Sadie whispered, “Eiky’s getting to that part.”

I shuffled uncomfortably in my chair. I wondered if I should be taking notes. Most of the students remained at attention. It was like someone was singing the National Anthem. This must have been a story they’d heard many times. A history their parents told to them as children. A story they put stock in. The deaths of their friends had shaken these people. You could smell the fear in the air. I figured Eikhorn was reminding them of who they were by re-connecting them to their past. Perhaps she hoped they would draw strength from this shared heritage…von Herder would be proud.

“The Magi were not alone in their negligence! The cataphract knights became fat and lazy as well. They forgot their skills and hired others to fight in their stead. And what was the result? The Imperiti grew fearful of our power, suspicious of our secrecy, and disgusted by our vices…and I tell you, young magi, their appraisal was correct.

“With blood in the water, the rest was predictable. In Europe, the Church no longer saw the need for co-existence. To them, we had always been their enemy’s enemy—never a friend. The Church coveted our lands, wealth, and leylines. But we rested easy, confident in our power. We had bested those from beyond the frame; what threat could mere Imperiti pose? But all the power in the world is worthless if you cannot bring it to bear, and a sloth is still slow even when it desires haste.

“And so, on Friday the 13th of October, 1307, the ashes of the Templar Knights filled the skies of Europe. The most powerful humans on the face of the planet had been caught unprepared. Their charred bones serve us as an eternal reminder: Vigilance, students. Vigilance or death.

“The Old World’s ley network, upon which our ancestors had built the grand cathedrals, was turned against the Magi. Deprived of the power of our leylines, we fell one-by-one to the hunts. The Long March began. The Teutonics fled east. In their desperation to survive, they succumbed to the worst of our temptations. They captured slaves. Perverted them. Compromised their souls. And what did it buy them in the end? Eighty more years of inhuman existence. Perhaps we should rejoice that they were crushed at Tannenberg.”

Murmurs arose from a section of the auditorium across from us. Eikhorn ignored them.

“The Knights Hospitaller fared better. They played the few cards they had wisely and made themselves invaluable in the defense against the Muslims. But their path remained bloody. How many times over the centuries were their numbers halved? And then the fall of Rhodes. 7,000 men against 200,000. Hexes that cracked open the heavens. Six months of horrors ending in The Sacrifice of the Twelve.

“For their bravery, Charles V granted the surviving Hospitallers the island of Malta. That lonely island became the last bastion of our kind in Europe. I myself traveled there as a girl to find shelter from the Church’s persecution. In return for Charles V’s protection, our raiding parties harried Muslim shipping lanes. We sent their supplies under the waves again and again. We frustrated their entrance into Europe. We goaded them until they launched an assault upon us. The Siege of Malta began. We signaled for aid as planned, but our messengers were silenced. Our promised reinforcements were withheld. Philip II abandoned us. 550 Hospitallers and 8,000 brave Imperiti soldiers were left to face the entire Ottoman army alone.

“The horrors I witnessed…the plagues, the starvation, the unending assaults. Battles raged for weeks on end. I remember days when a snared rat was considered a gift from the Gods. I remember days when a glass of water was worth twice its weight in gold. The months passed like one long smear of blood. Both sides withered from the barbarity. Our carefully laid fortifications were rent to dust. We feared all was lost. The Ottomans encroached. Siege towers launched, their rushing hordes clamored for our blood. And in the midst of this madness, under more strain than you children can ever imagine, Jean Parisot perfected confoundment, and our entire world changed…

“With the stroke of his wand, the Ottomans despaired. The pashas' grand army fled in confusion. Nary 600 souls survived that siege, but at long last, we earned the favor of the Church. The Grand Master of the Hospitallers was granted cardinal rank. The Ancient Tenets were codified. The Conscious agreed to never again employ the dark arts, root out those who did, and forever practice their craft in secret. In return, the Church agreed to end the pogrom. The war ended. Our future was secured. Yes, some persecution has continued. Yes, some of the Tenets are chafing. But the return to them has ensured our very survival. Never forget, children. We draw breath because of them.”

Eikhorn stopped walking and looked out into the crowd.

“We will do everything in our power to ensure the safety of this school, but take heart, children, the Conscious have faced worse. Trust in the Tenets. They are the source of our strength. Trust in them, and they will help guide you through the difficult times ahead.”

With that said, Eikhorn walked back to her step and plopped down. What an odd message. What did such a lengthy history lesson have to do with yesterday’s attacks? At a time like this, why was Eikhorn so concerned about rules and regulations?

Behind me I thought I heard Rei yawn.

Dean Albright stood and cleared his throat.

“Thank you, Chancellor. Now we shall honor the memories of the fallen with a moment of silence.”

The students and faculty bowed their heads forward.

This kind of thing always made me feel uncomfortable. What did the dead care? I tried to take stock of my situation instead. Of the sixteen initiates attacked, I was the only one not captured or killed. If Rei hadn’t been around, they would have gotten a hold of me for sure…but then what? What was the point? Why try to capture a bunch of inexperienced spellcasters? I sighed. Rei was right. I had no clue what was going on. Heck, I didn’t even know where to start. All I knew was that I didn’t like my odds.

I risked a peek behind me. Rei was two rows back. She wasn’t praying so much as struggling to stay awake. Her head bobbed up and down like a slow-mo yo-yo. Ichijo Fukimura sat next to her. Pressing his palms together in front of him, he was murmuring quietly to himself. He completed the ritual with three firm claps of the hands. Rei startled awake, her veiled head darting about in confusion. Discovering the perpetrator, she needled Fukimura in the side. Fukimura let out a little yip and jumped. I smiled. A Shinto priest and a vampire…there was a joke in there somewhere.

“In light of this incident,” Dean Albright announced, “all students are to remain on campus. Any suspicious activity is to be reported to a captain or a member of the faculty. And everyone, please no do-it-yourself fortifications or counter-hexes…”

A collective groan came from the student body.

“I mean it,” Dean Albright said sternly. “We don’t need any more buildings burning down. Classes will begin as scheduled. We will update your group leaders with any new information as it becomes available.” Albright placed his left hand on the earth and the pressure in the room released with a pop. “Thank you for your time. You’re dismissed.”

I made my way out of the auditorium with Sadie at my side. It was a bit chaotic at the entrance. Students hustled this way and that. Some clumped together to trade gossip. Others stood around looking stoic. To my astonishment, a group of girls had already made a get-well banner for Susan Collins, that girl Eikhorn mentioned. It read: “We’ll all give U a hand, Susan!” A line was forming to sign it.

I waited for Sadie to finish talking with her friends. (No one seemed much inclined to talk to me.) The sun was high in the sky and the humidity thick. Most of the students had already taken off their robes. Searching around, I spotted Rei and Fukimura. Fukimura had Rei under his arm. He was helping her off in the direction of the groundskeeper’s cabin. The sunlight must have been taking its toll. Concerned, I went to run after them.

“Hold it grub!” Sadie shouted after me. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“To help Rei, of course,” I said, irritated. She knew damn well where I was going.

Sadie dismissed the thought with a wave of her hand.

“Ichi’s got it. We’ve got to start your remedial lessons.”

“But…”

“Nien!” Sadie said, stomping her knee-highs. “It doesn’t work that way here. I’m in charge of your worthless, uneducated, and, according to Maria, kinda cute posterior. In case you didn’t notice, there’s some kind of war on. Leave Ms. Fangtastic be. She just needs her deadtime. Here’s the plan: first we get some grub, then I train some grub. You see what I did there? I turned a phrase. I’m already brightening up your dim-dim little world.”

My stomach growled at the mention of food. When was the last time I ate, exactly? I gave Rei and Fukimura one more glance. I was getting the feeling that I had forgotten something again…but I couldn’t put my finger on it. Maybe that was because I was starving to death. I bowed to Sadie and followed her to the cafeteria.

Chapter 17

TRAINING DAY

The food was pretty good—the freeness was even better.

I let Sadie do most of the talking and downed about five pounds of pancakes. Sadie seemed nice, if not a little scattered. She tended to talk too fast, and her body was in constant motion. Her short punky hair and clunky knee-highs made her look like an emo princess. I could hear Sadie’s headphones from across the table. They were pumping out acid metal.

Sadie snagged the sugar dispenser and liberally sprinkled her Cheerios between bites. She said she grew up in New York City. She said she came from the Irish tradition like Jules, but that she and her family were practicing Catholics, not Druids. Both her parents were mages working for the Department of Mana Affairs. Their jobs required them to travel quite a bit. Sadie said they were currently stationed in the Pacific Northwest investigating a series of murders.

When Sadie finished her sugary O’s, the conversation switched to a discussion of our learning objectives. First she wanted details about what I knew. I described how I could sense a person’s intent if their thoughts were directed at me, and that I once caught a rock and redirected the energy. She basically just sat there staring at me vacantly.

“Why they put you in Lambda, I have no idea,” she commented.

“To enhance the education of my peers?” I offered. “I can teach you how to brew beer.”

Sadie shook her head. “Lambda is a combat squad, Dieter. We need more firepower, not a scryer who’s good at bumper cars.”

I stared at her blankly. “Combat squad?” I had no idea what she was talking about.

Sadie rubbed her temples. “Rights. Fine. Fuck-me-in-the-ear. How ‘bouts after you finish eating the school’s supply of pancakes, we hit the basement and start with the basics. The Irish already saved civilization once. Alls I have to do is fashion a demon-fragger out of this Imperiti moron.”

I inhaled one last delicious carbo-cake and followed Sadie out of the cafeteria. We walked the path toward Central Hall. There were student groups setting up tables outside. One poster read: “Students for the Ethical Treatment of Endoplasmic Entities.” I wanted to stop and gawk, but Sadie was having none of it. Inside Central we passed by the Social Sciences Department, where a bulletin announced, “PsyOps 331: Glamour in the Urban Environment is now considered a pre-requisite for all members of Witch Information Protection (WIP) teams. Contact Dr. Walberg or TA Monique Rice to enroll.”

Thumbing my finger at the sign, I asked, “Is that what I think it is?”

Sadie nodded. “Yea, WIP teams are like the lid on our can of worms. We’ve come a long way from Jean Parisot’s time. Had to really. My parents said that when cameras became more common in the forties, it really made their lives miserable. And don’t even get me started on handheld video. I mean, could you imagine the uproar that bigfoot footage would have caused if it wasn’t hexed?”

I swallowed. “Oh. So they do—”

“Rights. Big hairy hermits. What, you think George Lucas pulled Chewbacca out of thin air? He got a load of heat from the Department on that one.”

“Lucas?” I asked, astounded. “You mean—”

“Oh come on, Dieter. Use your head a bit. His company’s called Industrial Light and Magic for God’s sakes.”

Sadie led me to the same stairwell Rei had taken me up last night, but this time we headed down. To my surprise, the stairwell descended over five stories.

I was really starting to regret that last pancake when Sadie said, “Sorry, the elevator’s out. Roster got a little carried away two weeks ago and…well, it’s a long story.” I didn’t care to consider what that implied.

After what felt like ten minutes, we reached a crowded little room at the bottom of the stairs.

“Nice broom closet.”

Sadie walked over to a set of double doors and swiped her keycard. The mechanism beeped its approval, and I followed Sadie through the doors.

“Oh. Ok. Wow.” It had to be at least 500 square yards of open space. Someone had leveled the floor with cement, but it looked like it was a natural formation, a cavern of some kind. To one side there were a number of contraptions, temporary walls, and devices you would normally see in a gymnastics studio. There was even an observation deck mounted into the cave’s rocky wall. On the other side of the cavern, multiple large circles filled the majority of the space. The circles looked like modified wrestling mats. They were made from the same foam material.

“Wow,” I said. “Our very own Danger Room.”

“Meh,” Sadie said holding her nose. “More like our very own Bat Cave—complete with stinky bat dung.” She pointed to the darkness at the end of the concrete. “This chamber is part of a larger limestone system that stretches out under Elliot’s campus. The native shamans had been using it for centuries before us Euro-trash invaded. The administration hollowed it out a bit back in the 1840’s.”

“Why’s it so special?” I asked.

“Simple. Spellwork is much easier when you’re closer to the ley. Mana-slingers like this place because it gets you as close to the leyflow as possible.” She made a sweeping gesture. “Right now the ley is flowing all around us.”

“The ley? People keep saying that.”

“Omygod, Dieter, you remind me of my little brother. Okay, listen up. Leylines are conduits of pure mana. There are thousands of these leyflows coursing around the planet. They’re like the power lines of the magical world. Any Tier 2-plus mage worth their salt can draw mana from a leyline. And if you work real hard, you can transmute the leyline’s mana and generate all sorts of cool effects.”

“Like what?”

“Each person is better at certain types of transmutations. I’m real good at transmutations called counter-hexes and fortifications, but even within a single talent base, there’s plenty of diversity. For examps, Sheila and Roster are good at fortifications too, but they’ve adapted their craft to produce the rapid casts needed for close-combat battlemagery. They’re aimin’ to be cataphracts; I’m more of a stand-back-and-blast-em. Anyway, leylines are great, and you, my poor little dodo bird, need to learn how to use them. Why, you ask? I’ll tell you why, grubo. It’s because if you can draw in mana from a leyline, you don’t have to spend your own mana reserves to make your casts.”

“My own mana reserves?” I asked. I felt my belly. “I’ve got a fuel tank?”

“Hold your phonso.” Sadie led me over to one of padded circles. “Rights, every living thing has a pool of mana inside them. Us mages have bigger mana reserves than normal humans, but our reserves aren’t limitless, either. That means it’s OK to spend your own mana casting some spells, but that you need to be careful. For some reason, mana and life are tied together. If you dump too much of your own mana into a cast you’ll whiteout. It’s almost like you’re eating into your own life to fuel the cast. The medics say whiteouts are bad for the brain cells, but we all push our limits every once in a while. Then again, if you were to get really carried away…”

Sadie cracked her thumbs.

I nodded. I could figure the rest out myself.

“Your mana reserves must recover, right? How does that work?”

“Rights. Mana comes back into your body gradually. It returns faster with rest and meditation, and instantly if you execute a direct leyline draw. There are some other ways to obtain mana if you’re desperate, but we won’t be covering them.”

Sadie kicked off her boots (revealing knee-high cat-skull socks) and stepped inside the circle. She jumped up and down on the soft surface. “Bouncy. Bouncy. Okay, grubo, enough theory, lets get to the doing part, ‘kay?”

I kicked off my own boots (revealing worn white tube socks) and joined her.

“So what do you want me to do?” I asked.

“First we need to set up containment. A containment spell makes sure what happens in the circle stays in the circle.” Sadie giggled. “Just like your hometown motto, rights grubo?” I rolled my eyes. Vegas jokes. Why did people always have to start in on the Vegas jokes?

Sadie repeated the same process Albright had used in the auditorium. After a moment of focusing, she reached down and drew a translucent gold strand out of the ground. The mana crawled into her chest, and after another moment of quiet concentration, she pointed her right hand into the air and discharged a pulse of invisible energy straight into the circle. I guessed that the pressure change indicated that the circle had sealed.

“Dieter, don’t go walking out of the circle while it’s closed. This is a non-binding fortification. That means it’ll breakdown if you cross the threshold.”

I nodded.

“Rights. First things first. We’re going to practice self-conduiting mana. I want you to try and draw out mana from the ley and discharge it into my containment circle. Extraction of mana from the ley is done with the left side of your body. Transmutation of mana is done at the core of your body. Discharge of your cast is done through your right side. There are tons of variations to that theme, but we’re going to be keeping it real simple today. I don’t even want you to transmute the mana into anything. Just let it flow in one side and out the other, ‘kay?”

Still thinking, Sadie paused to nibble on her thumb. (Apparently, it wasn’t sufficiently red and raw for her liking.) Nodding to herself, she took a deep breath. “Dieter, starting out can be, like, really frustrating. It’s probably going to take us a few days to get this right. I just want you to remember three things: First, magic is all about visualization. The more you focus, the clearer the vision. The clearer the vision, the more effectively you can extract mana, transmute it, and discharge your spells. Second, magic is like playing an instrument. At first you have to focus on where the keys are, but as you practice, the locations of the keys become, like, engrained in your mind. When you aren’t thinking about where to put your fingers, you can spend more time focusing on other aspects of a composition. The same goes for casting. At first you’re going to waste a lot of mana just executing the basics, but as you practice you’ll become more efficient in your mana use. You’ll be able to dedicate more and more mana to different aspects of the cast, and cast more often because you aren’t wasting as much. Lastly, if you lose control of a cast mid-sequence, things can go to Jersey pretty quick. The spell might fizz, or it might distort, heck, it might even like explode and take someone’s head off or something.”

I must have gone a bit white, because Sadie took one look at me and giggled.

“Relax, Dieter, you’re not going to be able to generate anything that big. Just extracting the mana is going to take everything you’ve got. But if things start goin’ south, just point your right hand at my containment circle and let her rip. I designed it to reabsorb the discharge and ground it back into the leyline. Hit it as hard as you’d like. You ain’t gonna breach it.” Sadie took a little bow. “Thank me later for my awesomeness, ‘kay?”

“‘Kay,” I said, my head whirling from information overload. “How do I start?”

“MJ style, yo. Left hand down. Right hand up. Visualize the flow of mana being drawn into your hand. When the mana comes, just let it flow straight through you and out the other side. It’s all about feel, grasshopper. Repetición is king. Wax-on, wax-off, and whatnot.” Sadie walked over to the inside edge of her circle and plopped down Indian style. She drew a juice box out of her backpack and started fiddling with the straw.

I closed my eyes and focused. I didn’t want to lose control again. One death on my hands was enough. I took a deep breath. I could have taken Albright’s offer of a wipe. I could have walked away. But knowing magic existed, I just couldn’t bring myself to live the rest of my life with my head in the sand. I had chosen option number two. I had to work hard. I had to develop control.

“Stupid straw,” Sadie mumbled. “Gimme my juice.”

I turned my attention back to the task at hand. Sadie said to visualize the flow, but I had no idea what a manaflow even looked like. At first, I tried picturing a mountain stream gurgling with a golden flow, but that image fit like a bad pair of shoes. No, I told myself, if Fukimura had drawn mana from the quad, and Albright from the auditorium, the leyflow under our feet had to be much more broad and expansive.

Broad and expansive…I could only think of one thing. As a child, my dad took me to visit the Grand Canyon. He was sober that day…happy even. I remembered the stupid giant sombrero he’d picked up at the dollar store, and the bus ride with that group of crazy Italian tourists. We had a great time, laughed a lot, and took the donkey tour down to the canyon floor. The power that carved that whole canyon out—it was incomprehensible. The vastness had to be seen to be believed. Power on that scale…that's what I needed. I imagined massive strands of the stuff Fukimura pulled out of the ground last night surging like rapids under the ground beneath my feet, imagined their roaring power tearing through the bedrock, and in that instant my Sight engaged.

I Sighted the flow with the same type of dumbfounded awe as when I heard Mozart for the first time. It resonated inside me, reminding me of needs I wasn’t even aware I had. Thousands of golden strands intertwined beneath me. They danced with one another. Merged and fractured. Performed a fantastic ballet inches below my toes. And as if by instinct, I knew what to do. I called to them. I imagined one of the dancing streams rising up to caress my hand. The streams sang out in riposte—a thousand of them leapt forth in reply.

Power surging, my eyes shot wide. The entire basement was filled with gold.

Sadie’s circle was rebounding the blue sparks bursting from my hand. I looked forward to see her shouting at me, but the waterfall of sound and color was washing out her voice. My left hand felt heavy, like it had sunken into a vat of honey. Confused, I looked down and discovered that I was waste deep in a golden stream. I couldn’t see my legs. I couldn’t feel them. The rush in my ears was making me dizzy. I vaguely recalled that I needed to do something important, but I felt so woozy that I could hardly think. I looked up lazily. Sadie was still screaming, but now she was pointing her right hand into the air. I giggled. She was still holding that juice box, but she still hadn’t managed to get that silly straw in…hilarious…but…but she looked distressed. I couldn’t figure out why she kept throwing her right hand up into the air. A new sort of game, perhaps? It did look kinda fun. I giggled again. I’d play too. And then I would help her with that juice box. I wondered what flavor she liked. Personally, I liked grape. With a smile, I thrust my right hand into the air.

The world went white.

As the energy flowed out, clarity returned to my mind. I recognized this sensation. I had felt it two times before. Sadie. Stars above, no. And then the darkness took me.

+

I was so embarrassed. I must have wet my pants. Even my socks were soaked. Totally soaked. A liquid was coating my face, entering my mouth, and tickling my nose. A sweet taste came with it. I opened my eyes. They burned terribly, but I could make out a blurry figure floating head down in front of me…

Sadie? But how did we end up in a swimming pool?

Wait—not a pool—a circle, we were still in the circle. Stars above, the circle, the circle filled with water, we’re going to drown.

I forced the terror out of my head. There was no time. Options. I needed options. The circle was containing the fluid and drowning us at the same time. If Sadie didn’t dispel her cast, we were screwed…

But Sadie was floating limply, and judging by the burning sensation growing in my lungs, neither of us had time to host another quorum. My heart quivered. I was on my own. I didn’t know any magic. I didn’t know the first thing about containment circles. What the hell was I supposed to do?

I told myself to calm down. Told myself there had to be a way. What had Albright said? Magic was like anything else, right? You had to use your brain. I just needed to keep it simple. I needed to identify the threat and find its weakness. There was nothing more to it. I fumbled through my memories. What had Sadie said? This was the type of circle that would break if you cross the threshold, right? The threshold was at the edge of the mat…and that was about twenty yards away.

Could I make it?

There was only one way to find out. I kicked toward the fringe, struggling to cover distance in my saturated clothing. Every kick met resistance, and my lungs burned fiercely. My supply of oxygen was running out—and fast. I passed Sadie’s lifeless body on my way. Her short black hair floated about her face. If she died, it was on me. That just made me kick even harder.

Fifteen yards to go.

Black spots populated my vision. The diving reflex that had kept Sadie and me alive while we were unconscious was faltering. If I lost consciousness again, it would be overridden. In its last gasp at self-preservation, my body would suck down fluid. That was the point of no return.

Ten yards to go.

I tried to kick harder, but my legs were growing numb.

Five yards to go.

I willed my limbs forward, but I wasn’t moving. My desperate brain was sending orders, but my body wouldn’t cash them. I was spent. My lungs screamed surrender. My vision faded. It was so frustrating. Five stupid yards. I tried to kick forward using my anger as fuel—but it was no use. Five stupid yards. I was five stupid yards short. Waves of guilt and sadness washed over me. Sadie’s death was on my hands.

Dieter.

A voice.

We do not quit.

A female voice?

Ever.

Familiar.

We stand back up. We stand back up no matter what.

Who are you?

Push.

My arms wouldn’t work. My legs wouldn’t work. My vision was gone. I had seconds left and no more physical energy to call upon—and I was still thinking like an Imperiti.

I was no Imperiti. I was a mage, and a mage could still push.

I closed my eyes. I didn’t need them.

I relaxed my limbs. I didn’t need them.

I ignored my lungs. I didn’t need them.

I felt out for the streams of power below me. I focused on the smallest strand I could find. It had to be small. It had to be small or it wouldn’t matter. In an effort of pure will, I commanded that lone strand to my hand. I didn’t ask, I didn’t request, I commanded.

The fine gold strand snapped forth like a whip.

I couldn’t control a transmutation. I had no idea how. But this spell didn’t have to be pretty. Willing the mana in, I let it do as it pleased. Just as Sadie had predicted, the mana went haywire inside me. It bounced around my insides like an unattended garden hose. Intense shots of pain scoured their way through me. Sadie had said that I needed an image for a transmutation. A vivid one was best. I thought back to Tyrone and my first cast, how it felt, my state of mind, the terror. It didn’t take much effort. I had plenty of terror to work with. And when it felt right—when it felt just as it did that day—I extended my right hand behind me and willed the spell loose.

If you read The US Navy Diving Manual (and yes, for some reason survivalists in the middle of the Nevada desert have copies of it), their only advice about protecting yourself from underwater explosions is keep as much of your body out of the water as possible. What does an explosion feel like? Imagine a punch to your face. One of those juicy wet ones that breaks your nose and gushes blood all over your shirt. Yea, a good ol’ fashioned fight-stopper. Now imagine that crunching sensation all over your body—and imagine it doesn’t stop. See, you’re made of water too, so that punch is going to flow deep down into your core. Every organ is gonna take its share. Every nerve. Every cell. And it’s not done there. You see, shock waves do something called spalling too. At any spot in your body where there’s air inside you—lungs, gut, ears, or belly—the wave decelerates and shreds tissue. Your body doesn’t feel that kind of pain right away. It’s simply too much to handle. Your brain has to itemize it first. It’ll send you the bill later.

But the spell worked. The blast nudged my body forward, and my limp form floated across the circle’s threshold. The invisible structure buckled, the containment spell fractured, and thousands of gallons rushed out in every direction. My body plummeted five feet to meet concrete. The impact knocked the wind out of my lungs. I coughed and gagged for air at the same time I spit out mouthfuls of blood.

I wiped a hand across my face. Blood was seeping from both nostrils, and my ears were playing two dissonant rings. The damage to my body was bad. I wasn’t going to be walking away from this one. Another bout of coughs brought up more blood and tiny pieces of tissue. I didn’t know what they were, but was pretty sure I wasn’t supposed to be spitting them out all over the floor.

The pain was astonishing, but I was breathing. My limbs slowly returned to life. I looked this way and that. There was no one around. Only Sadie. I crawled over to the soggy lump lying on the floor beside me. Sadie had fallen face down. That had saved her life. The vomit had ended up on the floor rather than backing up into her lungs. Weary as I was, I managed to flip her over on her back. Her face was a mess, a mottle of burst blood vessels and rapidly developing bruises. I tried to check her breathing, but I couldn’t hear anything over the ringing. I was cursing in frustration when I felt the second wave of puke shoot into my ear.

Gross, yes, but damn good news for the both of us.

I rolled Sadie on her side so she wouldn’t choke.

Sadie lay there gasping for a few moments and then curled up into a ball. Another good sign. She could still move and feel. She wasn’t paralyzed. I looked down at her hand and smiled. Sadie was still cradling the juice box. I shook my head, after all that, she had still managed to hold on to it. Taking the juice box from her hand, I grabbed the straw and punched it through. It was oddly cathartic.

The adrenalin draining from my body, I passed out on the ground.

+

I woke with a gasp to the sound of ruffling paper.

I was in a strange bed…again.

Under nice crisp sheets…again.

In a lot of pain…again.

It felt like I’d gotten worked on by a jackhammer, but I could hear the ruffling of paper. I sighed in relief. The blast hadn’t deafened me.

“Ah, so you finally awakened. And not deaf either—only dumb,” she said dryly. “I was beginning to worry. This periodical was an amusing read the first two times through, but I feared boredom would seize me on the third.”

I coughed to clear my throat. It tore like Velcro.

“That would be totally unacceptable,” I whispered. “My company is many things, Ms. Bathory, but boring? Never.”

Another series of coughs cut my pithy banter short.

“Water please,” I begged.

“What, not coffee? Dieter, I am shocked,” Rei teased.

I opened my eyes. Even that effort hurt, but the pain’s rewards were substantial. Rei was wearing a summer dress straight out of the J. Crew catalogue. The soft black cloth pressed in against her skin in all the right places. As she returned from the sink, her milk white skin soaked up the dull moonlight. The sight made me wonder if blowing myself up hadn’t been such a bad idea.

I drank the water with care. I could barely manage to swallow.

When my throat was agreeable, I asked how Sadie was.

“Alive, breathing, and cursing you,” Rei replied. “Not actual spells, mind you, but she holds you responsible for her dance with death. She calls you a reckless maniac.”

I sighed with relief.

“Dieter, she was less injured because she had the common sense to wear her robe. They did tell you they are charmed, yes?”

I stared at Rei blankly.

She shook her head in disbelief. “One wonders how you have survived so stupidly so long. That blast should have killed you. You are most fortunate, Dieter.”

“No, I’d be fortunate if I was attending Harvard right now…and by the way, what gives?”

Rei cocked her head.

“No nurse’s outfit? Rei, I mean come on, give a guy a break.”

“I’d be delighted, Dieter,” she said with a broad smile. “How many breaks would you like?”

I shivered. Her fangs still made me freak.

“What time is it?”

“3AM. You have been unconscious and vulnerable for the past twelve hours.”

“Okay,” I said rising. “Enough lying about then.”

Rei leaned forward and pushed me back into bed. “Hold still, my most fragile ex-package. We can’t have you dying of internal bleeding…people would talk.”

“Internal bleeding?”

“Indeed,” she said, gesturing to bag of light red fluid. “You pee blood as we speak.”

I felt down to my nether regions and blushed. There was a tube in my wee-wee. Rei smiled gleefully.

“You know, Rei…”

“Yes, Dieter?"

“Well I’m like totally cool if, you know, if you wanna take a swig. I mean, no judgment.”

Rei’s smile cooled. “They say you are bruised all over, but with the vigor of your tongue, I have trouble believing that.” Rei looked at me mischievously, and with a flash, slapped me on the chest. The pain from my many bruises soared to a new level.

“Ooouuch!” I whined.

Rei giggled to herself. “Oh shoot. The medics were telling the truth.” She shook her head sadly. “To think of all that clotted blood—such a waste.”

Rubbing my chest, I looked over at the nightstand.

“What are you reading anyway?”

“A monthly called M. A. D. Magazine.” I raised an eyebrow. She had pronounced each letter of MAD independently. This girl needed a cable TV subscription, ASAP. “During our last fencing practice, Sheila informed me that my humor was a bit…stale. I am endeavoring to update my jargon with this journal on modern humor.”

“They still publish that thing?” I asked. “You should read The Onion instead.”

Rei scrunched her nose in disgust. “I am allergic to onions and uninterested in their affairs. I will stick with this M. A. D. Magazine.” Pouncing on her pronunciation was oh-so-tempting, but I decided to let it go.

“To each her own, I guess. Hey, I didn’t know you fenced.”

“Dean Albright insists that I attend club activities. I would have preferred to join the kick-boxing club, but my tryout did not go as planned.”

I cringed at the thought.

“But I have no worries. Fencing is most amusing. I learned sabre techniques as a child, but Sheila convinced me to attempt épée this season. I never imagined I would so enjoy poking things.”

“Yea. Imagine that. Still, it’s good to hear that you managed to carve yourself a niche.”

Rei stifled a giggle and shrugged. “It is not that enjoyable. Most of the opponents are slow and stupid, and dueling Sheila is most…annoying. I participate because Dean Albright insists.” Rei glanced at the clock. “We have talked for too long. The nurse already thinks I will be harmful to your health, and you must rest and recover if you are to not flunk out of this institution.

“Fine,” I grumbled.

“Dieter, I do have one last question before I release you to your slumber.”

I yawned.

“Sure, Rei. Shoot.”

“Well, I am most curious about your choice of transmutation…”

“What about it?”

“Why did you choose the juice of grapes?”

Oh, for the love of…

“Well, somebody already did water to wine,” I said burying my head under my pillow.

“Indeed,” Rei said with a frown.

Chapter 18

SICK DAY

A breeze greeted me when I woke the next day. The sun was trickling in, and I could make out the room better now. It was a step above the hospital in Vegas. Two nice leather seats for visitors. A plasma TV hanging from the ceiling. Even a fan. And it looked like I was still on campus. A large ‘E’ was carved onto the door to my room. Eikhorn had said that Susan Collins was in the school’s infirmary…I was probably in the same place.

How many serious injuries did they have to deal with around here?

I tried to lift myself up on the pillow, but moving around still hurt quite a bit. My body felt like it had rolled off the side of a mountain, and my skin was mottled with bruises. An IV of clear fluid dripped into my arm, and that ‘other’ tube was still reaching into my bladder. Fumbling around, I found the patient call button and pressed it. A few moments later, a nurse came in and asked how I was doing. She even offered to take my lunch order.

My gut felt broken, so I declined, but I did ask her how Sadie Thompson was doing. She said Sadie was doing all right but was bruised up like me. Hearing that, some of the tension left my body. I couldn’t bear the thought of another death on my hands. Sadie would probably never want to talk to me again, but at least she was okay. The nurse told me I would have to stay for another day. They wanted to make sure the bleeding had stopped before releasing me. I thanked her and spent the next few hours fading in and out of sleep. A knock on the door roused me later that afternoon.

“Come in,” I said wearily.

I heard the latch turn, followed by a big thump, and then the door was knocked wide open. I lifted myself up. It was Sadie. She was sitting in a wheelchair. Her face was a mixture of blacks and blues—but she was smiling.

“Holiest of shits, Dieter,” she exclaimed, “that was freakin’ awesome!”

She spun her wheelchair in a circle.

I looked at her uncertainly. “Um…thanks?”

“I thought you were just a newb! What systemic did you use for that transmutation? How did you manage to conduit that much mana without erasing your modulation matrix? And most importanté, why grape juice?”

Not the response I’d expected. It looked like Rei had been pulling my leg…stupid vampire.

“I’m really glad you’re okay,” I said.

Sadie waved her hand about as though she was dismissing a fly. “That’s why we wear robes. Now come on, tell me!”

“Sorry, Sadie,” I said with a shrug. “I don’t know any of the words you’re using, and I really didn’t plan the whole thing out like that. I just did what you said and visualized the manaflow. At first I imagined a little trickle, but that didn’t feel right when I tried it. I realized the leyline was way bigger, like a river or something.”

Sadie nodded eagerly. “Yea, that’s because the leyline here is epic. You can feel it can’t you? The campus is built right on top of the largest manaflow on the entire East Coast. It’s called The Great Eastern Flow.”

“The Great Eastern Flow? Huh. Well, anyway, I just visualized mana coming up into my hand. I guess I should have picked a single strand. I didn’t know that so much of it was going to, um, respond. Is that the correct word?”

“It’s a pretty good way of putting it. What you did was construct an extraction field. Life is like a natural magnet for mana, but the strength of that attraction is usually really weak. One thing that makes a mage a mage is our ability to direct our own internal supply of mana around our core. An energized core attracts nearby mana by resonating with it. When you resonate, we call it ‘forming an extraction field.’ You can focus the field on a single strand mana or scoop a bunch of strands at once.”

“So it’s like electrifying a magnet with current?” I asked. Electrifying a magnet makes it many times stronger. All you have to do is wrap it in copper wire and hook the wire up to a battery. You can even attenuate the magnet’s strength by modifying the flow of the current you pass through it.

“Rights. It’s just like electrifying a magnet with current. The same basic principles apply, but the equation is different. So what did you do next? Explain what you were thinking.”

“Well, I was focused on attracting the mana stream, and—”

The door banged open again. The whole gang stormed in to the sound of sticky shoes. Monique stood huffing and puffing at the fore. Angry eyes danced between Sadie and I. Sadie started to wheel away towards the window. A tangle of tubes and wires, I had no such recourse. I pulled up my covers instead.

Monique raised a finger into the air. “A swimming pool worth of grape juice?” she asked rhetorically.

Dante was hiding just outside the door. He was stifling a laugh.

The bastard.

“We just spent our morning mopping up a swimming pool worth of grape juice.”

Fukimura sloshed over to the sink, removed his shoes and socks, and started rinsing them out.

“Well,” Sadie offered, “at least it wasn’t as stinky as the paella.”

Maria glared at her. “Oh, sure. Fine. You always bring that up. ‘At least I’m not as bad as Maria.’”

“That’s not what I—”

“Bitch! I hate you,” Maria screamed as she stormed out of the door.

Roster shrugged. “That paella was some stank-ass shit.”

Sheila joined Fukimura at the sink. She dumped a pint of my juice product out of her left boot. “I hate the start of the year,” she grumbled.

I looked around guiltily. “Sorry guys. My bad,” I said.

“It wasn’t bad, Dieter!” Sadie said from her new secure position behind my bed. “It was a success! A triumph! And on your first try too. It’s a testament to my totally rockin’ talent as a teacher,” she said, beaming.

“No,” Monique said, “it means that instead of pillow time, the entire squad got to spend the morning mopping up the basement. And…and…why the hell are you both in the hospital? I mean, my God, look at you two, you’re like two little smurfs.”

“Yea, well you see, the circle was filling with juice, and we were drowning, and I had to get to the threshold, so I set off a minor explosion and—”

“A minor explosion,” Monique sputtered in horror.

“Nice,” Roster said. He gave me a thumbs up.

“Dieter, you should be careful employing explosives underwater,” Sheila added. “If you refer to the Navy Diving—”

“Enough!” Monique shouted. “Sadie, you’re fired. No more training Dieter.”

“But he’s my star pupil!” she moaned.

“If I leave you two alone, you’re probably gonna unleash the Marshmallow Man on downtown New Haven. No way. No how. Dieter, you’re with Jules from now on. Her parents run an elementary school in Ireland. You two are a perfect fit. And no more casting. We take you through the basics first, bookwork and observation only. You got that, Jules?”

Jules frowned. “You want me ta teach the nutto? Monique, I was gonna TA this year.”

Monique glared at her.

Jules pushed the drooping pair of golden-brown spectacles back onto her nose and sighed.

“Got it,” she muttered. Her hair was even frizzier than yesterday.

Monique turned to me.

“Yes, ma’am,” I replied quickly. “No more casting till you say so.” I thought being a mage was supposed to be fun.

Chapter 19

WOODWORKS

Sadie and I got out of the hospital two days later. Classes had already started, so I was already way behind. Life got real simple. Every morning I was up at eleven and out the door after a quick breakfast. Three hours of Standards started at noon. I picked English Composition, 20th Century American History, and Introduction to Molecular and Cell Biology because I knew I could ace them. The Standards were great. They gave me plenty of time to catch up on my sleep.

After Standards, I got an hour off for what everyone lovingly called linner. Each afternoon you could count on hearing Sadie and the rest of the Linnerets (some sort of school tradition—don’t ask) singing, “It’s not quite lunch / it’s not quite dinner / you won’t get thinner—but there’s fruit punch!”

Personally, I believed afternoons were best-spent unconscious on a hammock, but the good stuff followed linner, so I would pound down a liter of coffee to stave off the impending food coma and rush off to an hour of Magic Theory I with Dr. Greenberg. Magic Theory was a kind of catch-all of the science behind conduits, circles, frames, leylines, and alchemy. Most of the students thought the topics were beneath them, but I sat at the front of the class burning through the notebooks. Basic Defensive Magic was next. It was equal parts the Art of War and spellcasting. I was struck by how many inventive ways the Conscious had developed to pierce, slash, burn, freeze or otherwise transmute their foes. It made me want to go out and buy some pepper spray.

My last class of the day was Introduction to the Political Science of Magic, or Polimag for short. Polimag was a total snore. Professor Simons droned on in a steady monotone. He was like an inner tube leaking air. Words slid out one after another, and the concepts melted together like chocolate in the midday sun. Were we talking about tort or a law? Was it an edict or a verdict? Who knew? Who cared? Serpentine tangents were the norm. Caffeinated beverages outnumbered students two-to-one. I spent half my time in the book’s index looking up arcane terms and hastily scribbling them in my notebook. It was hopeless. One day I went thirty minutes thinking the Department of Mana Affairs had signed a treaty with the US Navy SEALs to not throw out dried bread in the forest only to discover that SEAL was actually spelled SEELIE, and that while Navy SEALs were as tough as nails, forest Seelie could be killed by them. The only thing that made Polimag bearable was Dante. We sat together in the back, and he taught me some basic illusions like shroud-the-pencil and thumb-through-the-ear. I sucked terribly—my illusions only held for a second or two—but it was a great way to pass time.

After classes ended at 7PM, most of my fellow first-years got to go and hang out. Maybe they grabbed a coffee. Maybe they hit a bong. (You know, college stuff.) The first semester coursework was designed to get everyone on the same page. A lot of the material was old hat to them. Their biggest concern was passing biology. The first semester was a time to join a few clubs, summon a few demons, and get plastered. I wasn’t so lucky…

Jules Nelson was a tyrant, and I, her humble serf.

Every single day Jules Nelson would be standing outside of Central. She’d be wearing one of her dreary chalk-stained dresses wrapped up in an Elliot robe, books in one hand, notebooks in the other, blond curls going every which way. Every single day she’d adjust her glasses, say, “Right then, Dieter, off to the library witya,” and drag me to said hellhole.

Every. Single. Day.

Jules liked Structure.

Jules liked Repetition.

Jules liked Consistent Results.

From seven to nine we sat in the library and studied our coursework. This was followed by a trip to the cafeteria for plastic wrapped sandwiches. Our thermoses filled—mine with coffee and hers with a half milk, half Darjeeling concoction Jules called a “cupan tae”—we headed off into the forest behind the dorms. Once we entered the forest, I had to follow Jules closely. We were headed to a place past students had nicknamed the Woodworks. The Woodworks was particular about the type of company it kept. If I didn’t stick to within an inch of Jules’ robe, I would end up straying off into the darkness. The Woodworks found Jules kosher—but me? Me it sent into mud puddles.

That’s hallowed ground for you. They’re like the ATM machines of the magical world: oft sought but rarely found. Such dark places want to be left be, but we mages want to find them. Mana flows differently within their borders, altering which spells can be cast. Each hallowed place makes certain magiks easier and other magiks harder. Each hallowed place has its own groupies. The Woodworks was suited for healing crafts; another site on the opposite side of campus was great for enchantments. Individual hallowed places really only share one thing in common: they absolutely hate visitors.

So how are hallowed places found in the first place? Every once in a while, a lucky someone is granted entrance. Most of the time they don't even realize it. Sure, they sense something’s odd. The colors are a bit unusual, the air a bit too still, but they merely scratch their head and move on. And yet the memory sticks with them. Years later, the experience still seems vaguely important. Jules says that’s because they’ve been offered an invitation. The ground had something to show them, something important, something life altering, but they missed it. Still, even if the poor soul saw whatever they were destined to see, they probably wouldn’t be able to comprehend it’s meaning. Hallowed places have their own logic. Few mortals can ever hope to grasp it.

The same was true for this small circle of grass before us. It was an opening in the trees just large enough to allow the stars to poke through to say hello. Why had no trees bother to grow here? No one knew. Who first discovered it? No one knew. Had it always been here? No one knew. It was the Woodworks. It was a piece of land that had pinched itself off from the rest of reality. It just was. That was that. I didn’t find that explanation very satisfying, but not knowing was a big part of my life now.

Approaching the space, I took Jules’ hand and we squeezed through the taut air. Clear of the threshold, I walked over to the moss covered picnic bench and put down my pack. As Jules spread out her supplies and shined her long polished reed, I set up the gas lamp and adjusted the flame. When it was to her liking, she would turn to me and nod. Sure as sure, she would say, “Right then, Dieter, let’s get on wit it,” and we would get to work.

Jules had started her training when she was nothing but a toddler. The Dru commit none of their knowledge into writing. Everything has to be passed down from mother-to-daughter or father-to-son. The process started before you even learned to walk. You became one link in an unbroken chain of knowledge that stretched back over a thousand years.

Jules referred to mana as “Awen,” the Dru word for flowing spirit. To Jules, mana wasn’t just a substance to be molded; it was the living embodiment of a god-like entity that danced through our lives. During the first few weeks of school, I learned there wasn’t a single path to becoming a mage, nor was there even one right way to cast a spell. Only one thing was consistent across the many schools of magic: the root of all spellmaking was the formation of a mental image. The clarity of that image, and the amount of focus you could commit to forming it, were the key components to a spell’s effectiveness. Conviction was what mattered most. Beliefs, rituals, drawings, songs, and faith could all help strengthen a mental image by fortifying a caster’s resolve, and so the caster’s culture, upbringing, and belief system strongly influenced their style. Jules’ style was steady and methodical. My training followed suit.

After settling in, we would meditate for an hour to eliminate intrusive thoughts.

We were “cleaning the canvas,” as Jules put it. “Imagine a parfect black sphere,” she would say. “Move yer mind’s eye around that dark globe like a satellite. Spin it. Admire its parfection. Eliminate everything else from yer mind…”

Sounds simple? Well try doing it for a moment. The crack of a branch, a rustling of leaves, any little thing would knock my focus. Jules didn’t seem bothered when I bungled it. She just patiently repeated the instructions, and I would try spinning my little black brain ball yet again. The absence of attention, it was an esoteric concept. How can you ignore the events transpiring around you? How can you be of the moment rather than in the moment? Hour-after-hour, day-after-day, I pondered it. I meditated so much that I dreamt little black spheres.

Jules had smiled when I told her.

“When you can’t recall dreamin’ em you’ll be ready, Dieter.”

The weeks passed, and I began to improve. The absence of thought became familiar, less abstract. The nothingness arrived quicker when I called for it. I realized that Sadie had been right. Moving mana required talent, you couldn’t get around that, but mana could only be refined into something useful through an insane amount of practice. You needed to learn the basics so thoroughly that you didn’t even have to think about them. Then and only then could you step up to the greater challenge of preparing a transmutation. Nothing in my life had ever come free. I found magery was no different. I took comfort in that. It meant I could earn it.

After our meditation sessions, Jules conducted her assignments alone. My role was simple. I just sat tight and observed. But watching wasn’t easy. When I told Jules about my Sight, she didn’t respond with Sadie’s indifference. She called my Sight auraception, and she wanted me to strengthen it. While Jules worked, my job was to will open my Sight and keep it focused for longer and longer periods of time.

“‘Fraid pain is gainful on this one, Dieter,” she’d said. And Jules was right. Holding my Sight open was incredibly taxing. I got juicy headaches, and from time-to-time throughout the night, I would have to return to the meditation exercises Jules taught me to regain my focus. Exerting my Sight was painful, but watching Jules work was worth it.

Jules’ craft was altogether different from the magic I’d seen so far. She didn’t use her body to conduit mana. Instead, Jules cast using circles. And she didn’t just work one magic circle at a time. Jules’ workspace consisted of three stone circles resting against one another to form a shape called a trefoil. The three circles served as the entrapment fields of the Druid style. The three circles touched at three distinct points. To the Dru, these three points represented the times of transition: sunrise, solstice, and equinox. These points served as three independent sites of transmutation. Because the three circles didn’t overlap, there was a gap formed at the center of the trefoil. This was Jules’ workspace. It served as the black canvas onto which she painted her craft.

Jules explained that she too could cast by forming a conduit within herself, but that she avoided it like the plague. Jules disliked the instability of the human body. She argued that it always contaminated your transmutations to some degree. Thinking back to my previous experiences, I could see her point. Simply noticing Sadie’s juice box had corrupted my own simple mana extraction to terrible effect. With Jules’ method, that risk was eliminated. You could draw up mana, generate conduits, and cast spells while keeping them free from mental contamination. Better still, the Dru style let Jules focus on each component of a spell independently. After completing a component, you could just step away from it, leaving it humming like a car in neutral. Only after the three entrapment fields and three transmutation points were completely tuned did Jules began the chant that un-dammed the flows. Her style afforded tremendous control and gave Jules the confidence to practice a craft that many others remained wary of—casting on life. On the first night of my apprenticeship, Jules explained the risks:

“Listen now, Dieter. Life’s a fragile balance. Any organism—even the simplest worm—is an incredibly complex array of movin’ parts. Squelch the flow of nutrients, compress a nerve, or disrupt the flow of air and the symphony we call life will come a crashin’ down around ya. Destroyin’ flesh is fockin’ easy. There’s a million ways to wreck a body. Just stick a wrench in here or there and you’ll be splatterin’ guts everywhere. For that same reason, any endeavor seekin' to improve a body’s function, or repair a body’s damage, is an imposin' feat.”

“Fine,” I replied. “I’ll buy that, but how do you manage the risks?”

“It is like fixin’ a car’s engine as it’s a speedin’ down the highway,” she mused. “There can be no half-measures. No false starts. Actions must be precise and executed with conviction. The best way is to execute all the interventions instantaneously. If ya achieve all yer objectives in one fell swoop, ya eliminate the most nasty variable of all: time.”

I scratched my head. “Okay, but how on earth do you do everything at once?”

“Aye, Dieter, that’s the crux. The problem lies with the human mind. It’s the limiting factor in all casting. No matter how sharp yer noggin’, ya cannot possibly moderate the manaflows, execute transmutation after transmutation, and apply the treatments fast enough in series. You’ll reach the limit of usin’ yerself as a conduit well before ya cure what ails the patient. So the answer be simple: Stop usin’ yer cluncky self as the conduit. Prepare all the components in advance. Hit ‘em with everything at once.”

I gestured at Jules’ trefoil. “So in exchange for taking more time in the setup, you’re able to execute a spell that no one could ever achieve using only their body as a conduit?”

“That’s along the right lines, Dieter, but yer thinkin’ be too narrow. A single complex spell? Me style uses three points of transmutation. Usin’ a trefoil, I can cast three complex spells simultaneously.”

“Okay, I’ll give it to ya, that’s pretty cool, Jules.”

“Of course it be pretty cool, Dieter,” she said smiling. “The Dru saved civilization, after all.”

And so it went night after night. Meditation and observation. Learning the craft without so much as casting a spell. I wanted to try my hand at my own, but Jules would have none of it. A month passed. Another. Summer died away. We traded our thin summer robes for more substantial woolen ones. As the intensity of my studies increased, hours past like minutes. Work occupied all my time. I gave up any hope of a normal social life. I joined no clubs. I read nothing but textbooks. I knew the neighborhood squirrels better than I did my dormmates. I stopped reading the paper. Didn’t pay heed to any of the rumors. All the concerns of the world dissolved from my mind. I was a machine with one concern: I’d catch them. I’d catch them, and I’d pass them.

At the start of October, Monique gave the go ahead for me to start casting again. Lambda threw me a Madonna party. Sadie mixed spiked Shirley Temples while Roster sang, “Like a Virgin / Casting for the very first time.” The whole group hung out into the wee hours of the morning. I had a blast. It was the first party I’d been to since I started school.

Jules started my casting slow. I would manage setting up the circles’ extraction points as Jules worked on the more complex transmutations. To charge circles, the goal was to extract a set amount of very pure mana and trap it inside. Drawing mana from the leyline was easy for me—I had shown a natural predilection for it—the challenge was keeping the mana pure and in control.

Purity required an empty mind. Mental images could contaminate the flow and render the mana worthless for the larger spell. The meditation techniques Jules had me practicing daily came into play here, and those sessions were paying off. Within a week, I was getting it right about half the time.

“Good enough for a grub,” Jules said.

Quantity was the larger problem. Each part of Jules’ spells required a set amount of mana. Like in baking, quantities were critical. Where my natural ability to collect mana made setting up extraction fields simple, it worked against me here. Jules said I was like the volume control on an airplane headset. I had two settings: Very Hi and Very Low. Even three weeks in, Jules had to go through all my circles and bleed off mana. But I was learning, I was getting better, and that was good enough for me.

Chapter 20

RED ALERT

I blew breath over my freezing hands. It was 2AM in the morning, one week before Halloween, and Jules and I were hovering over a rose bush.

“Cut it clean, Dieter.”

“Stars above, Jules. I’m using shears, how could I not cut it clean?”

“Oh, you’ll find a way. I’m sure a’that ya butcher.”

I snipped off the stem and took a knee.

“For you, my love. A rose by any other name would still smell as sweet as your feet.”

Jules smacked me on the back of the head.

“Oi! Cut the crap, Dieter. Put the rose in the workspace and get ta the extractions. The longer we wait the harder it’ll be ta re-fuse.”

I rubbed my freezing fingers together. Tonight’s assignment was to graft a cut rose back onto it’s stem. The dean had handed Jules and I this special assignment in place of helping with Lambda’s Man-Dough project. If we could re-fuse a rose, maybe with fifty years more work, we could re-attach an arm like the pros did for Susan Collins. Fixing plants is much easier than fixing folks. Veggies are resilient. They don’t mind if you accidently lop off a few leaves. Humans? Not so much.

Tonight, I was in charge of setting up the extraction fields, and as usual, volume control was an issue. Standing over the first circle, I tried for the nice steady strand of mana sweeping through the ground below me. I came up with the Big Whopper instead. The power surged, and the circle groaned in protest. Dust started whipping up around me. I struggled to dump the flow, but I was too slow about it. The surge cascaded into the adjacent transmutation where Jules was working. The surge overloaded it, the spell ruptured, and Jules jumped backwards as the field discharged where her face had just been. Her robe kicked up of the ground and blew over her head.

“Fockin’aye, Dieter!” she exclaimed.

I had no energy to spare on a response. I was still struggling to force the massive boulder of mana back into place. The rose at the center of the trefoil withered to dust. The blades of grass around it doubled in size.

“Awen’s Ghost…” Jules eyed the bizarre transmutation. “You’re about as delicate as Shiva.”

“A little bit of help?” I asked through a grimace.

“Aye. Aye.” Jules hustled over to bleed the flow.

A beautiful stream of flame sprung from her hand into the night air.

“Oooh, violet,” I remarked, watching the brilliant purple geyser soar high above the tree line. “That’s a new color, right?”

Jules looked at me in exasperation. “That it is, Dieter. And you know what? That’s officially the last color in the fockin’ rainbow. I’ve diffused so many of yer near disasters that I’ve mastered every last hue.”

“Maybe you should try for a rainbow next time. We could lure a Leprechaun. Get us some gold.”

Jules planted her hands on her hips. Her ill-fitting spectacles slid down to the tip of her nose. “Haven’t you been doing yer readings? Like we would want to be attracting one a’them shysters.”

“Oh. Right.” Leprechauns had a rather bad reputation for mischief. They did little stuff like swipe your bankcard and liquidate your assets. Professor Simons estimated that they were responsible for at least half the identity thefts in the United States alone. To me, Leprechauns seemed rather harmless. Then again, I had nothing worth stealing.

Jules began massaging her temples. “Dieter, that’ll be enough for tonight. We’re out of roses—and I need a drink.” Jules walked to the edge of the clearing and yanked the tarp off a collection of tanks and tubes, grabbed two plastic cups, and after a few pumps of a plunger, filled them full of imported Irish ale. It had taken Jules some doing to get a keg of her hometown ale shipped all the way across the Atlantic, but Ms. Nelson was nothing if not persistent.

“But, milady, what of the purity of yer vessel?” I asked in my best Irish accent.

“Dieter Resnick, any hope of purity died when you arrived on the scene,” Jules replied in a perfect Midwestern drawl.

“Proud product of the City of Sin, me darlin’,” I said, accepting a brew.

“Let’s get going. It’s nearly three, and I’ve got an exam tomorrow.”

We gathered our things for the trek back to campus. Jules and I trudged through the moist multicolor leaves that carpeted the ground. Growing up in a desert, I didn’t think much of the seasons. It got a bit cooler, then it got a bit warmer, but not so much as a leaf changed. East Coast seasons were another story. They went all out. Full costume changes and whatnot. No expense was spared. So far I had watched the dark greens of summer transition to the reds, yellows, and browns of fall. Soon, I would get to see my first snowstorm.

Sleeping Giant forest was a truly beautiful place, so beautiful that it had been designated a state park. The craggily mountain that the park was named after loomed off in the distance. Dante said you could climb to the top of it and see for miles. (I’d never done so. Jules made good and sure any free time I had was spent training.) Sleeping Giant forest was also a great place to practice magic. No camping was allowed, and all the normal visitors had to leave the parking lots by dusk. From then on, Elliot students had the few square miles of forest all to themselves. There were practice facilities all over the place, but I’d only visited the Woodworks.

I paused for a moment, my shoulders sagging. We’d been doing this crap for three months…

“You know, Jules, I don’t think I’m cut out for this kind of work.”

Jules giggled. “What a remarkable conclusion, professor. Of course yer not. That’s the point. Without addressing yer weaknesses, yer never goin’ ta get anywhere.”

“And after we get this volume issue under control?”

“Then I can finally get some work done! Greggs is up my arse about this rose fusion bit as it be.”

My frown deepened. Jules was right. I wasn’t the only one suffering. Training me was eating up all of Jules’ time too.

She gave me a playful shove. “I just be jesting, ya thicko. I ain’t plannin’ on breakin’ up our little coven. After we fix the volume thing, we start refinin’ yer craft. You know, expand on what yer good at.”

“Says the adept to the initiate.”

“Hey now, Dieter, don’t be that way. It takes me about a minute to set up an extraction—and I’ve been trainin’ since I was a toddler. You waltzed onto campus and turned Central’s basement into a sugary ocean on yer very first try.”

I pulled off my wool cap and mussed up my hair. “What can I say? Me mongo. Me smash.”

“Na, that be a sack-a-bull, Dieter. You may not be able to control yer quantities yet, but yer executin’ an extraction every darn time. That’s more consistent than that Tiger Woods be at free throws.”

I cringed. Sports weren’t Jules Nelson’s strong suit.

“Thanks for the encouragement, Jules, but I…” That was strange…I looked left and right. “Hey, Jules? Do you feel something funny?”

Jules stopped walking and listened. We were at the fringe of the forest looking across the lawns at the school dorms, but the once familiar space felt…off. The flows of mana are part of the natural landscape. You’d notice if I were to remove a tree from out front of your house. The same goes for mana. Jules and I knew this forest well. We walked it every night. I could sense the magical fortifications and counter-hexes as they drew power from the leyline (didn’t know what they did, mind you, but I could sense them). I could feel the rumbling leyline as it rolled through the bedrock just beneath my feet. And I could notice when something was altered. Right now, it felt like someone had rearranged the deck chairs on our front porch.

A branch cracked, and an owl fluttered off into the night. Grabbing my shoulder, Jules dropped us both into a crouch. Good rule of thumb: if the animals spook, so should you.

“Féach,” Jules whispered. She pointed into the mist ahead of us.

The hair rose on the back of my neck. Jules rarely slid back into Gaelic. I strained my eyes against the light sheet of fog. Failing at that, I threw more energy into my Sight at the expense of my hearing and smell. I let out a steamy breath. There where five darkened figures hustling away from IKΛM. They were dressed entirely in black—and were heavily armed.

“What the hell?” I whispered.

“Something’s not right,” Jules whispered back. “They don’t look like students.”

No shit, Sherlock.

“That, or we’re going to have to give Maria a hard time for not scoring us some grenades and body armor.”

The five men hustling across the lawn collected around a sixth. He wore a dark black robe, and I could sense the magic on him. He was working an incantation. As we watched in silence, a slit appeared in the air in front of him.

“A translocation?” Jules whispered. “Translocation magic isn’t supposta be possible inside Elliot’s gates. A ton of counters are cocked’n ready. That’s why Maria’s paella-portation failed. You should have seen it, Dieter. The neddy nearly lost her arm for her troubles.”

I had never seen a translocation before, but whatever the mage was casting was consuming some serious energy. No wonder we had sensed it. The slit in the air quivered. The ethereal blue edges began to peel apart—but the air seemed resistant to the effort. The mage poured forth even more mana from the leyline. He was dousing the incantation with a fire hose, but even then, the slit only peeled open slightly. Cursing, the mage grasped at something around his neck. For a single instant the blue light emanating from the gate flashed across the ruby red pendant.

“ACT,” I said in shock. “Jules, that son of a bitch has an ACT device.”

“How the hell do ya know about artificial conduits?” Jules exclaimed. “I haven’t even covered that topic in Advanced Countermeasures.” Her eyes narrowed. “Are ya hidin’ books from me?”

“The tall man, Jules. The mage Rei killed in New York. That dude had one.”

Jules’ eyes widened. “Bloody hell, Dieter. Are ya sayin’ these are the people behind Lucas’ death?”

“Bingo.”

Jules ran a shaking hand through her tangled blond frizz. Taking her pack off, she fished out the small red book entitled: In Case of Emergencies. My own heart was beating in the high double digits. I had been so buried in my studies that I hadn’t spent much time pondering the goings on of the outside world. Sure, oodles of rumors had been floating around; I just figured that they were about as reliable as the ones going around about Rei and me. But as Jules and I crouched in the leaves, I deeply regretted not at least reading the Conscious papers…

I shook my head clear. This was no time for mulling over regrets. The blue gap was growing wider. Despite the invisible opposition of Elliot’s wards, the mage was making progress.

As Jules shuffled through the pages, a sudden energy rebound issued from the gate. With a crackle, the portal snapped closed, and the mage landed on his ass. I smirked. The wards surrounding the campus had given the mage a love tap. From their gestures, I could tell his compatriots were none too pleased. One of the five was yelling something while pointing at his watch. It didn’t sound like he was speaking English.

What was the rush? I wondered. The man pointing at his watch looked different from the others. He had a much smaller weapon, and he was carrying two bulky satchels…

“Oh,” I muttered. Panic crackled through my bones. I grabbed Jules by the shoulders. She was still struggling to read the manual in the dark. “Jules, listen to me. You need to do one thing and one thing only: You need to run as fast as you can, get to IKΛM, and pull the fire alarm. We need to get everyone the hell away from the dorms.”

Jules glanced at the man wearing the satchels. Realization dawned across her face. “Awen’s Ghost,” she muttered. “Those are just like the ones the Provos used ta use. But, Dieter, how are ya gonna—”

“Don’t worry about that. There isn’t time. I’ll set up the diversion. You’ll know it.”

I didn’t give her any time to argue. Jules tended to think too much. I ran off through the tree line moving at an angle from the group of men. To be honest, I was scared shitless. I hated guns. Guns shot bullets, and I hated bullets even more than I hated guns. But I needed to give Jules a window. She had to get our classmates out of the building. We probably still had some time. In my last encounter with these bastards, they seemed really concerned with secrecy. Why else would they have wiped the tall man’s mind of any information that could lead DOMA back to them? These guys were pros. They would have added some cushion into their calculations, enough time for them to escape without a trace. I prayed I was right. Otherwise, I had just sent Jules to her death.

I kept glancing across the field as I ran. The gunmen were urging the mage to hurry up and try again. “Keep him distracted, fellas,” I whispered to myself. “Buy me some time.” The men were shooting themselves in the foot. You can’t rush magic. It’s like yelling at a guy who’s trying to sink a putt.

I wanted to stay well back behind the tree line, but I figured I needed to get within fifty yards. I couldn’t trust my accuracy beyond that point. Thankfully there was a light breeze. The rustling leaves and thickening fog helped mask my footfalls. My heart was racing. My last encounter with a mage using an artificial conduit had left both my hands covered in third-degree burns. I was going to have to manage better than that. More importantly, I needed that image out of my head before I started casting.

I crawled the last ten yards through the brush. I did it as quietly as I could manage. (I didn’t have any desire to attract the attention of five AK-forty-somethings.) Reaching my range, I brushed away the matted leaves and smoothed out the dirt. With a shaky finger I drew three circles touching at three points. It was time to show Jules what I had learned.

I closed my eyes. I struggled to clear my mind, but the memory of my scorched hands interfered with my focus. I grimaced. Time was running out. No one would be alerted until Jules could set off the fire alarms, and Jules wasn’t going anywhere if I couldn’t distract them. I cursed. The image of my scorched hands wouldn’t go away. My adrenalin, mixed with the prospects of facing another ACT wielding mage, was causing too much interference. I couldn’t clear my head. The need for focus cut both ways. My opponent was getting distracted by his squadmates; I was getting distracted by my demons.

Wait a minute, I thought to myself. Why was I trying to suppress the flashback? I could work with it. I did the mental calculus in my head. I’d never tried a spell like this one before, but there was no reason I couldn’t use magic like it was a chemistry set, right? I built up the extraction fields one at a time. I rushed the job, sloshing mana into them with reckless abandon. I could afford to be sloppy. Causing a mess was the whole point.

The three circles charged, I turned to the transmutations. Transmutations are formed using mental images. The images must be vivid. The more senses you draw on the better. In Magic Theory I, Professor Greenberg recommended choosing three distinct images that shared the desired trait. That way, distinct aspects of each individual memory wouldn’t interfere with the desired effect. I chose carefully. For the first point, I thought back to the dry air of my home, the slow wheeze of gas as the tube fed my lungs in the hospital, and the first gasping breath I drew after nearly drowning with Sadie. For the second point, I thought of the smell of auto repair shops, my failed attempts to fix an old dirt bike, and the time I was siphoning fuel and it squirted straight into my mouth. For the third point, I thought of cheap coffee cups, the excitement of opening a package, and the mess Victor’s dog made when he tore through his bedding.

Done, I crept away from my work. Like a tree house made by an eight year old, my casts were totally unstable. I didn’t dare breathe on them. Fortunately, all that was left was to prime the reaction. I turned my attention to the darkness at the center of the cascade. I thought of my hands griping the pipe. The swing. The shock. I thought of my flesh instantly charred through. I let the panic rush over me. The smell of burning flesh returned to my nostrils. The horrendous waves of heat-stoked pain raked my veins. With a grunt, I pushed it all into the final cast.

The formulation quivered, the components teetering like dominos. Only the slightest nudge and the spell would go off. I was sweating from exhaustion. The strain from the seven casts was taking its toll. I flipped up the hood of my robe, tucked my hands into its long sleeves, and took in three deep breaths. What I was about to set off was extremely dangerous. It might even kill some of the men. But anything less risked Jules’ safety. She would be running across open ground—and the men had machine guns. They couldn’t be allowed to open fire.

My hands shook from the adrenalin. This was the first time I’d ever faced a decision like this. I stared past the men to IKΛM. About forty friends and neighbors were about to die in an explosion. It was an easy call. I gave my cascade a nudge—and I ran like hell.

I could feel the air begin to suck inward as sprinted, and I strained to pick up my pace. One of the men shouted, and a round zipped past my ear. My bladder tried to empty. I looked back to see three of them running in my direction. Flashes were bursting from their muzzles, but that was fine with me. Those were three fewer guns trained at Jules. She was going to have a chance; I just hoped she didn’t freeze up.

I first realized I’d used too much mana when I noticed I was flying through the air. That clack and roar arrived later, as I slid through a sloppy pile of leaves. I curled up into a ball, cowering under my heavy robe. They said the robes were fire retardant; I was about to put that claim to the test. I turned to face the men. Instead, I found an inferno. The trees where I once stood were fully engulfed. All around me, small fires were erupting. The gunmen were in chaos. Screams filled the air. Two men were on fire. The first was trying to get his shirt off, his arms coated in a flaming gel. The second was fully engulfed. He tried to stop, drop, and roll.

It won’t help, I thought guiltily. Napalm doesn’t work that way.

The mage in black wasn’t faring any better. Distracted mid-cast, his translocation had malfunctioned. Some property of the half-opened portal had been altered. Rebounding casts could be nasty; Jules had warned me about that. The severity of the rebound depended on the amount of mana you spent. Tearing into space had required a ton of energy, energy that very much didn’t want to be compressed. Question was, what would happen now that it’d been freed?

Staying low in the leaves, I focused my Sight. The gate’s borders were vibrating with unstable energies, but a massive flow of mana continued to conduit through the mage into the gate. My mysterious adversary was struggling against some unseen force, one that was contracting the space between him and the gate. The mage dug his heels into the ground. He seemed very disinclined to let the blue fringes of the gate touch him. But why was he being drawn toward the gate in the first place? I had never read about anything like that before. Miscasts tended to cut manaflows; they didn’t normally increase them. Plus, no one else was affected. Only the mage was getting pulled in.

A red shimmer caught my eye.

The ACT device!

The ACT device was pulling him by the neck. It was dragging him towards the gate like a high-powered magnet. But why? I knew next to nothing about how artificial conduits worked. Since that conversation between Rei and Albright, I’d only heard whispers. I lay in the leaves, transfixed by the scene. Of the three men who were chasing me, two were burning, and one was struggling to his feet, dazed. Another two stood next the gate and argued about what to do about the mage. They seemed very disinclined to touch him. I looked in the direction of where Jules was lying in wait. I couldn’t see her. She must have made her move…at least there was that.

The mage in black cried out in frustration. He was losing his battle with the gate. I wondered what would happen when his flesh touched the angry blue vibrations.

Three more feet and I’d find out.

I shook my head. I had caused this fiery nightmare. Two men might already be dead. A third was being dragged to his death. I was shocked by how easy it had been. I had the trap up in less than thirty seconds—and using only my hands. Roaches vs. Raid. They hadn’t even seen it coming. The lopsided odds made me feel a bit dirty. Shouldn’t I have given them a fairer shake?

A tree, fully engulfed, crashed to the ground. What an incredible amount of power. Through my disgust, past my shock, I found that part of me wanted to keep watching. This was my creation—the embodiment of all my fears and doubts turned back against my enemies. My mouth was watering. My heart was racing. I swallowed. Watching this terrible scene unfold was…stars above…it was making me excited.

A little part of my brain told me that there were important things to attend to. People were in danger. My people. I needed to help evacuate the dorms, I needed to help protect my friends—but those concerns seemed rather trivial. Something vastly more important was unfolding right in front of me. These three months of training had been so dull. So empty. They had lulled me to sleep. I had stopped paying attention to that fuzz gnawing at the back of my skull, that little voice that told me I was off course. That I had somehow lost my way…

With one last snatch at the grass, the mage in black smacked into the vibrating wall.

He screamed in anguish; I sighed with relief.

When I was a little boy, I knew this kid named Frank. Frank liked to kill bugs. Frank liked killing bugs so much that he spent whole mornings on his belly with his boy scout issue emergency magnifying glass burning ant after ant into oblivion. He said if you listened hard enough, you could even hear them scream.

One day I was playing at Frank’s house. We goofed around in the pool, ate lunch, and watched some TV. Even then I hated TV. TV gave me headaches. TV burned my eyes. So I was relieved when Frank got bored and flicked off the migraine box. He bounced off the couch and said he had an idea.

One other thing about Frank: Frank had a computer. He was the only one of my friends that did. And so when he said he wanted to show me a website, I got really excited. I never got to surf the web; I really wanted to give it a try. The site in question was dedicated to pictures of dead bodies. You clicked on each link, and a photo loaded slowly from top to bottom. The delay gave you time to anticipate the horror as it crawled across the screen. I knew we were doing something sorta bad by visiting it, but I told myself that no one was getting hurt. After all, we weren’t doing anything. We were just looking.

Frank took me through the photos one-by-one. He paused on the ones he liked. Offered commentary. There were mutilated people, shot people, stabbed people, burnt people, and suicides galore. There was even a video of a monk setting himself on fire. Poured gasoline right on his freakin’ head and everything.

On and on they went. Looking at all the strange scenes made me feel funny. They didn’t look real. They looked like big practical jokes. Still, seeing so many of them made me feel queasy. I kinda wanted to leave, but I didn’t want to be uncool. What if Frank told everyone I chickened out? Even at that age, I knew I couldn’t let that happen. So I stuck it out. I looked at every photo. Laughed when Frank laughed. Smiled when Frank smiled. Still, when Frank said we had arrived at the last photo, I felt relieved. Looking at the pictures made me feel sorta tired.

Frank said that the last photo was his favorite. That he liked saving it for last. It was titled, “Man Run Over by Tank,” but as the picture loaded, I frowned. The image didn’t make sense. It looked like a photo of a big fat dog-log someone had stepped in. The features didn’t register. It was all just mush…and then I found the eyes. My brain did the rest. Features clicked into place. The skin, the cheeks, the bones, the lips…they were all there if you looked for them. It struck me like a sledgehammer. This paste had once been a man—a living breathing man—and now he was nothing but a pair of eyes looking up at me through a pile of goo. I gagged. It was a total mockery of the human form. Bones lay twisted and broken. Innards squirted about like jelly. A mockery of life.

I could hear my heart pounding off the inside of my skull. Sweat beaded on my skin. Overwhelmed, I did the only thing I could do. I ran. I ran out of the room. I ran down the stairs. I ran straight out the door. I sprinted block after block in a daze. I don’t even recall breathing. Home, I hid under my blankets for hours. No matter what I did, that puddle of a man refused to leave. He hid under my eyelids and visited my dreams. I pictured friends crushed just like him. My father. Santa Claus. The President. That life was that fragile—that my life was that fragile—it shattered me. I never talked to Frank again. I turned straight around every time I saw him. I couldn’t forgot how he sat there smiling as I ran from the room.

There’s actually a term for what I saw. It’s called getting pulped. And as the mage in black struck that malfunctioning gate, I watched a man get pulped before my eyes. He went feet first. It gave him plenty of time to scream. In a matter of seconds, the gate had chewed through his feet, carved up his calves, and ground through his knees. A puddle of steaming human goop gathered below. The vibrating orifice’s inner workings groaned in protest. It was as though his body was gumming up the works. The entire process slowed. Like putting too much paper in a shredder. To my horror, I was forced to suppress a giggle. The mage’s screams ended. Crimson streams of blood leaked from his mouth and nose. I glanced down at his guts. The gate was processing them into a cloud of steam and sludge. The mage’s arms shuddered and went limp. His eye sockets oozed a grayish jelly. The gate had crunched halfway through his chest, the mage was dead ten times over, but still the mana continued to flow. It didn’t stop until the pendant finished its grim procession to the gate. The conduit shattered the instant the two met. The gate imploded, and with a pop and a fizz, the red jewel burst into flames. What was left of the mage’s torso splattered into the puddle of flesh below.

In the quiet that followed, I watched stray muscle fibers twitch about on the ground. The remains looked like an oversized chunk of meat roasting in a stew. One of two men left standing started screaming. (Watching your escape plan turn into steaming barbacoa can be a bit taxing on the average thug.)

A rush of pleasure shot through me. I let out a tiny gasp.

Clearly, something was amiss. My rational brain was telling me this reaction wasn’t normal. I should have been screaming my head off too. So why was I getting aroused? Had I fowled up my cast? Jules had warned me about something called mental contamination. It was a side effect of psych-spells. Psych-spells were risky. They could cause unanticipated feedback into the caster’s mind. In especially bad cases, the feedback could cause psychotic breaks. Heck, just last week, a forth year from Mu studying for his WIP practical was committed for a few days after one of his spells backfired. His group members found him in a hall closet. He’d been working his way through the wall with his fingernails. But I hadn’t been messing around with that kind of magic. Psych-spells were a highly advanced class of magic. I didn’t understand the nature of such spells, let alone how to set them up. Yet here I was, lying in the leaves, going giddy when I should have been gagging.

I was running through my spell again—trying to think of where I might have erred—when I heard the crinkling of leaves behind me. I froze. I’d missed one of the men. He had me dead to rights. I braced, waiting for the bullet.

“Dieter, perhaps you should consider moving. The leaves are ablaze,” Rei noted casually.

I sniffed at the air and coughed. Rei was right. Smoke was billowing up around me. Jumping to my feet, I brushed off the smoldering leaves. If I had not been wearing my Elliot robe, I would have probably gone up in flames. “Thanks,” I managed.

Her own robe hanging loosely, Rei was busy pulling her long black hair into a pony. She gestured to what was left of the mage. “The man-pudding over there, was he wearing an ACT device?”

I managed a raspy, “Yes,” before I near spit up my lungs. My throat was bone dry. I hadn’t realized it, but I’d been sucking down a lot of smoke. “Jules and I…we…we were coming back from training.”

Rei tapped her finger against her chin. “Ah, yes, that tiny Druid was assigned as your keeper, was she not? She is to ensure that you do not drown the school in high-fructose corn syrup.”

I frowned. That legend just wouldn’t die.

“Would you still be Ms. Mockenstein if I could do blood?”

“Blood?” Rei raised an eyebrow. From the few times I had seen her since Jules commandeered my life, I had learned that people generally handled Rei Bathory in one of two ways: by A) cowering or B) leering. I guess I spoke to her more casually than anyone else. “Ah! Like in that most excellent Stanley Kubrick feature, The Shining, I believe it was called.” Rei sighed. “A girl can dream. Did you know that the English term ‘bloodbath’ was inspired by a Bathory?” Another thing about Rei: it was really hard to tell when she was joking.

We turned our attention back to the gunmen. In a fit of terror, one of the masked men had accidently stepped into a pile of napalm. He was struggling to get his pants off before the rising flames made their way through his boots.

“That one won’t be getting far,” Rei commented. “Then there is Mr. Pudding, a third whom is burnt to death, and a forth unconscious from his wounds.” Rei frowned. “Goodness. All these fires makes therming most difficult.” She sniffed the air. Squinted. “Only two remain.”

I rubbed at my scared palms. It was like Rei was ticking off items on a grocery list.

“My most lethal acquaintance, I am not one to judge, but I am most curious: what did these masked men do to incur your wrath?”

I was about to ask Rei how she had even found me when IKΛM’s fire alarm sounded in the distance. Jules must have succeeded. The alarm snapped me back into focus. “We spotted these guys running from IKΛM. Mr. Pudding, as you so nicely described him, was working on a translocation spell.”

“That is an impossibility,” Rei said with certainty. “If the Department’s defenses were so weak, they would have been overcome long ago.”

“That’s what Jules said too, but the proof is Mr. Pudding. I distracted him while he was forming some sort of slit in the air—that’s the result. Anyway, one of the other men kept checking his watch and telling Mr. Pudding to hurry up with the spell. I assumed that we were dealing with a bomb. I told Jules to pull the fire alarm while I created a diversion.”

Rei stroked her chin and scanned the scene. A hundred different blazes reflected off the lines of her face. Half the lawn was covered with smoldering globs of napalm. The forest was starting to go up in earnest. Three men lay dead or dying. A fourth (sans pants) was crawling away from the flames. The two who could still stand were making a run for it.

“Dieter, you do not paint with a fine brush,” she said quietly.

I ignored her. My attention remained on the two men darting into the woods. They had tried to kill my friends, and I wanted nothing more right now to chase the bastards down. “Complain about my arts and crafts later, Rei. The last two are getting away.” I couldn’t wait for the looks on their faces when I—

Rei placed her hand gently upon my shoulder. Her touch sent tingles down my spine. She cocked her head and smiled, her ivory teeth glistening in the flames. “Getting away?” she said with a laugh. “Hardly. I shall mop up here. Go fetch Albright, he’ll know what to do. Besides…” Rei pouted, her tiny fangs protruding over her lower lip. “You already hogged all the fun.”

I watched the two men as they disappeared into the woods.

“My first fresh game in months…it is only fair to give them a thirty second head start,” she explained. “Say what they will about you, Dieter, but you are proving most entertaining.”

My jaw tightened. Fun? She thought this was fun? And more importantly—what were people saying about me? Did I have bad breath or something? I shook my head. Time was wasting. I clutched the cold hand on my shoulder and stared into Rei’s cold blue eyes.

“Fine. Just don’t get dead, okay?”

Rei batted her lashes and cupped her cheek with her hand.

“Okie-dokie, Dieter. I’ll try to not let the bad men get me.”

Rei rolled her eyes and flashed off into the woods.

I took a deep breath and coughed up more soot. I wondered if all vampires were cocky assholes. Wheezing, I struck out in direction of the faculty lodge. I set an aggressive pace and stretched out my stride. I needed to cover the quarter mile to the faculty lodge as quickly as possible, but the smoke had done its work. My lungs were burning in protest, and my legs were already protesting the lack of oxygen.

By the time I sprinted past IKΛM, it looked like the evacuation was almost complete. Fire drills were taken seriously at Elliot. You never knew what someone else might have cooked up, and you definitely didn’t want to hang around to find out. Monique was organizing the effort with Iota’s leader, Susan Collins. Susan had just returned to classes last week. It looked like the replacement arm was settling into its new digs nicely. I caught Dante’s attention as I passed. He patted Monique on the shoulder and set off after me. His lanky strides made short work of the distance.

“Yours?” he asked, gesturing to the fire.

“Yea,” I huffed. “Did Jules fill you in?”

“Yea. We’re evacuating all the buildings. She said you two saw an ACT device on one of them?”

I nodded.

“Son of a gun…so it’s the same guys? How’d ya figure they managed to pull this off?”

It was a good question. The outside world could prove to be a dangerous place for a Conscious human, but behind their magical defenses, the Magi were quite powerful. Elliot was not your average campus. Sure, you couldn’t see the weaponry, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t there. Eliot was built on a leynode, a point where two or more leylines intersect. The magic community coveted leynodes. Nodes enhance the power of magic. They turn your standard mage into a 300lb gorilla. In the past, churches, temples, and fortresses were all built atop leynodes. A node granted tremendous defensive advantages. Fortification specialists could set up near-permanent wards that fed off the endless supply of mana. More than a dozen such wards protected Elliot College. There were counters for hexes and curses, shrouds to distract attention, and primed offensive volleys. Elliot was regarded as the crème de la crème of such nodes, the magical equivalent of Fort Knox. That anyone uninvited could even manage to cross the campus threshold was astonishing. Heck, the whole point of sending upperclassmen to escort freshmen was they couldn’t get onto campus without talismans (aka, their student ID cards). Last year, two students tried to breach Elliot’s threshold without their ID cards. They left their ID cards at the train station and ran for Elliot’s gates…the faculty tracked them down two weeks later on a freighter bound for China. They had decided to open up a noodle shop together—in Beijing. How had these gunmen managed to breech Elliot’s defenses? It was a very good question.

“We worry about that later,” I huffed. “Let’s get to the dean first.”

+

The faculty lived in an old colonial governor's hunting lodge. The thick wood-walled cabin predated the Declaration of Independence by a mile. I once told Jules that it blew my mind that a building that old was still standing. She scoffed. Said her dresser drawers back in Ireland were older. Said everything in America was brand spankin’ new.

Stupid Europeans.

Dante and I arrived at the entrance and he swiped his ID. Only captains and their lieutenants were granted access to the lodge. Dante was my direct superior, but it really didn’t matter much. No one really pulled rank unless there was a crisis…although he did order me to stop complaining about his snoring.

Once inside, Dante told me to watch the door, and he moved swiftly up the stairs to rouse the faculty. It was my first time inside their lodge. Finally able to catch my breath, I spent a few seconds marveling at this real deal log cabin. A large hearth sat in the center of the room. It crackled with the last of the evening’s embers. The first floor had a cool communal setup. There were books all over the walls (interesting reading if you knew Sanskrit or Aramaic) and lots of comfortable looking leather couches and chairs. A huge picnic-style dining table sat off to the side. To the left was a kitchen full of brand new commercial grade stainless-steel appliances. I was slipping back to my days working in the kitchen, envying their setup, when I noticed an open carton of milk sitting out on the counter. I bit the side of my cheek. Wasting food really bugged me. Crisis or not, there was no point letting the milk spoil. I walked over to put it back in the fridge.

You might be shaking your head, thinking, Dieter, dude, you just took out four members of a raiding party by setting a state park on fire, but you’re worried about a carton of milk spoiling. What gives, man? Fair enough, but I’d spent my childhood stealing ketchup packets to fill in the gaps of my food pyramid. That has an effect. As I picked up the carton, my nose pricked. A mixture of sweet, sour, and rust filled the air.

“Shit,” I muttered. “The sun isn’t even out yet and this day is already crap.”

I rounded the counter quietly. It was going to be bad, I just knew it.

Little life preservers floated atop the red and white puddle spreading across the linoleum floor. It was Professor Simons. He was dressed in his PJs, a bowl of O’s in one hand, and a spoon in the other. I noted the gaping hole in the back of his head and stifled a gag. The side effect must have worn off—now I wished I could have the crazy back.

I knelt down to examine the body. I was considering whether to even bother checking his pulse when I heard a muffled thud from upstairs.

“Shit,” I cursed. The bad guys were still here.

I scrambled behind the counter. It blocked the view from the main stairwell, but did they know I was down here? Wood did a good job absorbing sound…maybe they hadn’t heard my blabbering. I paused to think. Should I try and make a run for it? Go for help before I got caught too? Or should I rush up there?

I bit my lip. “Damn it,” I muttered. This was freaking ridiculous. I didn’t even know what the hell is going on here. I kinda regretted not picking up one of the masked men’s guns…not that I could use one. Despite my father’s love of them, I had never learned how to fire a gun. Now explosives on the other hand…

I turned my attention back to Dante. The pipe vs. tall man incident should have taught me some sort of lesson, but when it came down to it, I wasn’t one for the indirect approach. Besides, these guys didn’t seem to show a preference for live-and-let-live. I didn’t want to have to break-in a new roommate. If I was going to save Dante, I needed to act fast. I rushed through my options. The main stairwell was a no-no. They would definitely be covering that. I needed another route.

The place was old, built back in the day they had servants, and servants never used main stairwells. The butler sloshing down the stairs with a chamber pot was just so unbecoming.

I crept to the back of the kitchen.

There it was: the rear stairwell.

First things first, I told myself. I huddled down close to the floor and closed my eyes.

The first rule of basic defensive magic is fortify-or-fry. Fortifications resonate with attacks to deflate them. That means they’re type specific. Mages don’t get to cast God Mode and repel every type of attack. They have to guess what’s coming or counter faster than the incoming volley. Which fortification to pick was easy. Poor Professor Simons made the decision for me. Anti-K it was. A kinetic defense is worthless against things like explosions, mental attacks, or lasers but perfect—in theory—for stopping bullets. I drew up mana from the leyline and tried to picture a set of body armor. (It wasn’t hard, I’m eighteen and male.) The transmutation formed in my mind, I placed my right hand on my chest and charmed my robe.

At my basic skill level, a fortification spell would hold for about ten minutes. Dunkin McWilliams, our defensive magic professor, said a competent battlemage could shift fortifications in under a second. Both Sheila and Roster excelled in these forms of magic, and Roster had been helping me in exchange for some biochemistry tutoring. I had a long way to go to go before I was switching fortifications on the fly, but Professor McWilliams did say I made one rock solid anti-kinetic charm. No surprise, really. Kinetic modulation had been the basis of my very first cast. I smiled. With the anti-kinetic charm in place, all I had to do was make sure I didn’t get shot in the face.

Thankfully, the stairwell was pitch dark. I prayed none of the steps would squeak, and started up to the second floor. I eased my way up the final steps, took a deep breath, and peered down the hall. A man with another AK-forty something was standing guard at the main stairwell. My gut lurched. No matter how good my anti-kinetic charm was I didn’t want to test it out against an assault rifle.

I went over my options again. I could go all out and conduit a simple explosion from the ground floor. That would take the gunman out easily, but probably eliminate half the second floor in the process. That didn’t seem like such a great idea. This was a rescue mission, not a group barbeque. A directed energy attack was another option. I needed a direct line of sight for that, like when the tall man had when he electrocuted Rei. The problem with that plan was I was on the second floor of a building. The manaflow of a leyline is tied to the surface of the Earth. My ability to attract mana decreased exponentially as I moved away from it. I would have to expend a tremendous amount of energy to attract the mana I needed. That would take lots of time and leave me exhausted. Now, if I thought that the dude was a lone gunman, I might have considered it, but what were the chances of that?

And why not just use some mana from my reserves? True, mages have their own internal reserves of mana, but I’d learned that my own internal reserves were pitifully small. At Elliot, I was a pen light in an ocean of lighthouses. My talents rested in attracting and conduiting large quantities of mana, not storing it. Big conduit. Tiny battery. Jules insisted that it’s the motion of the ocean that counts—but Jules is a terrible liar.

I rolled through more options:

If I were Monique, I would convince the fool to fall down the stairs.

If I were Dante, I would…

I scratched my chin. That just might work. There was even a certain symmetry to it. By training me, Dante (assuming he was still breathing) would save his own rear. And as my inspiration to learn the trick, Dr. Simons was about to get his revenge. I went over the transmutation in my head. It had taken Dante three weeks of Polimag lectures to teach me it properly. (It was a great illusion if you didn’t want to stick around for the last few minutes of class.) I just needed to combine Dante’s spell with a type of entrapment field I knew all too well. Now, Dante’s spells were never easy. He had a quirky way of thinking. Forming the conduit took me a full minute of focus.

With Dante’s transmutation prepped, one question remained: If I were a gunman, where would I aim?

What a freaking question.

My nerves were no good, and I wasn’t going to be able to keep the conduit stable much longer. I closed my eyes and tried to stop the shaking. I told myself that he probably had really bad aim. I told myself that if I screwed it up, I wouldn’t have much time to spend regretting it anyway. I took another deep breath, hoped it wouldn’t be my last, screamed, “Fuck it!” and swung into the hallway.

The gunman was well trained. There was no fumbling. He had his rifle trained on me in an instant. A round already chambered, he fired a single shot at my chest.

It came so damn fast. My hand outstretched, the round thwapped right into me. My body shuddered to a halt, but the gunman didn’t waste time. He followed with a triple-tap. The window behind me shattered as the bullets punched through my torso.

Heart racing and adrenalin pumping, I screamed, grabbed him by the jacket, and threw him down the stairs. By the time the gunman realized what was happening, he was already colliding into the landing. He should have wondered why the first round didn’t break the glass. He should have noticed the blur to his right as the real me continued down the hall. Mine was shoddy cast, but staring down the scope of a rifle had given him tunnel vision. I looked back at my dummy. Me 2.0 was losing its cohesion, and my own hands were gradually re-appearing.

My chest heaving from the effort, I leaned against the wall. I had bested the bastard, but I felt no satisfaction. In all likelihood, the guy who taught me that trick was dead. I needed to do whatever it was I planned to do next—and fast. Catching my breath, I rushed down the stairs. From the thug’s belt I swiped his supply of twisty ties and hogtied him good. Next, I grabbed the cylindrical grenades from his shoulder. I recognized the make. They used to have a bunch of disarmed ones at the army surplus store back home. They were called flash grenades. Big bang. Little hurt. Ideal for rescuing hostages. I grabbed his rifle next. The weight of the weapon surprised me. Pretending to know what the hell I was doing, I checked the bolt and safety. Red meant ‘on’ if I remembered correctly. I didn’t dare check the bullets in the clip. I had no idea how to get it back on. Gun at the ready, I hustled back up the stairs. I needed to hide somewhere and plan my next move, but on the top step I ran smack into nothing.

The nothing crunched off my forehead and swore.

“Damn it, Dante,” I said, rubbing my noggin’, “I thought you were dead!”

“Shhh!” he whispered. His invisible hand grabbed hold of my shoulder, and the world around me drained of its color. I could see him now. He had drawn me under his shroud. His lower lip was dripping blood.

“Sorry,” I whispered. “I, uh, didn’t see you.” Way to go Captain Obvious. I smacked my own head.

“Forget it, bud. Come on!” Dante urged.

We rushed into the nearest room and closed the door. I could hear footsteps and voices coming down the hall. They were moving from room to room. We stood quietly in the corner until our own door flew open. A second gunman swept the room.

My eyes met his, and I mouthed a “holy shit” to Dante.

Seeing nothing, the gunman yelled, “Claro!” and slammed the door shut.

“There are three of them left,” whispered Dante. “I got pinned between the gunman you took out and the rest of them. I was waiting for him to start walking down the stairs to give him a nudge when you did it for me. Nice dummy, by the way. I thought you didn’t have enough mana for that kind of spell.”

“I don’t.” I pulled the spent round out of my pocket and placed it in his palm.

Dante looked at me warily. “Bud, are you okay in the head?”

“Um…mostly,” I said, fully aware of the past hour. I gestured to my new toy. “And now I’ve got a machine gun.”

Dante shook his head.

“Anyway, what the hell is going on?” I asked. “And where’s Dean Albright?”

“Far room. It looks like the faculty managed to erect a barrier before they were overrun.”

“Professor Simons is dead, Dante.”

“Yea, Greggs and Conroy too.”

“Wait, the ones that teach The Healing Arts and Advanced Hex Defense? Weren’t they Jules and Sadie’s advisors?”

Dante nodded. “From the look of it, Greggs was surprised, but Conroy was able to buy the rest enough time to set up a barrier. A frameshift, most likely.” Frameshifting is a method of abstracting space. Once a frameshift is set in motion, anything within the range of the shift leaves the material world. Nothing can act on the shifted space, and vice versa. It’s an excellent method for containing extremely nasty things, but not so helpful as a defense. You have to shift back to normal space eventually, and then you’re at the mercy of whatever’s waiting for you.

“How long will the shift last?” I asked.

“No idea, bud. Shifts are extremely unpredictable. What matters is what happens when they do. The bad guys are setting up some sort of bomb.”

“A welcome home present?”

“Yep.”

“Okay, so we need to move before then, but how do we do that without getting Swiss-cheesed?”

“We need some backup. Let me—”

A tapping came from the window. The invisible me swirled around, Kalashnikov at the ready. Dante snatched a flash bomb and made ready to toss it.

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” I said with relief.

“Hardly,” said a muffled female voice from outside. “However, I appreciate this new attempt at deference, my most vulgar junior.” Rei was staring at us through the window, holding onto—okay, so I wasn’t exactly sure what Rei was holding on to—the gutter, perhaps. She had ditched her Elliot robe in favor of the cap, tank, and army pants she seemed to prefer. Dangling by one hand she asked, “Can I come in?”

“Whoa,” I whispered. “Seriously?” The oddest question popped into my head. Outhouses. Did outhouses count as part of the domicile or were they fair game for vampires?

“No, my most contemptible walking swath of destruction, but I do not wish to bust in the window—bad guys with guns and all.”

Dante looked at me in surprise. “Hold up,” he whispered. “She has a sense of humor?”

“Debatable,” I replied, “but she is attempting to update her jargon with a journal on modern humor.”

I walked out from under the shroud and unlatched the window. Rei landed like a feather and crouched low to the ground. She looked in the general direction of Dante’s shroud and smiled.

“Good evening, lieutenant.”

“Lady Bath—I mean, prin—I mean—”

“Rei is fine, lieutenant. I am your charge.”

“Right. Thanks. Um, okay then, Rei, um, if you don’t mind, how did you find us? I mean you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. Just professional curiosity.”

“Not at all, lieutenant.” Rei pointed to her nose. “You’re shroud is perfect, but you two still stink. Mind, it’s mostly Dieter who stinks.” She turned to me with a cheerful smile. “My most flammable compatriot, the smell of napalm suits you.”

Strange, I thought, Rei was much more lighthearted than usual.

“A-n-y-w-a-y,” I whispered. “We still have a bit of a problem here.”

“Is Dean Albright in danger?” Rei asked. A flash of fury danced across her features.

“Not right now. The surviving faculty frameshifted. But there’s a bomb waiting for them when they shift back.”

“How many of the prey are left, lieutenant?”

“Prey? Oh…Dieter got one of them, so that leaves three by my count. There aren’t any mages among them. Imperiti only.”

“Then the task is simple enough. Lieutenant, can you provide me a shroud?”

“Whoa,” I objected. “Simple enough? They’ve got some serious firepower, Rei. Are you nuts?”

Rei smiled genially. “I do appreciate your concern, Dieter, however you suffer from some misperceptions.”

I was about to object when an ice-cold aura pressed against my throat. In the same instant, Dante’s shroud melted like butter. He stood frozen, his face a mixture of confusion and terror. I could understand why. The mask of humanity had slid from Rei’s face. Her features had lost their color, and only a cold, dispassionate stillness was left behind. I had to look away. Her expression burned my eyes. It was like staring into a blast freezer. All the while, the space around me was compressing. I recognized the sensation. Rei was hitting me with her glamour—and she was hitting me hard.

“Your error is understandable,” she explained in an emotionless hiss. “But, Dieter, you have vastly misgauged me. I am a Pure. What you witnessed in New York was merely a shade, a Nostophoros on her seventh day without food, awake well past her bedtime.”

I gasped for air, but my diaphragm contracted against my will. What the hell was going on? Rei wasn’t just denying me my speech. She wasn’t just denying me air. She was cutting of my capacity to form cogent thoughts. This wasn’t even in the same ballpark as the last time. This was major league power, I realized with a shock. Frustrated by my miscalculation, I struggled against the intense urge to remain silent.

Rei’s nose flared in response. She took one step forward, and my knees buckled, dropping me to the floor.

“I apologize, Dieter, but under no circumstances will you cast magic with me nearby. Is your memory that short?” She looked down upon me with disapproval, and then turned her attention to Dante. “Now lieutenant, if you wouldn’t mind.”

Dante wasn’t under Rei’s compulsion, but he was so scared he was shaking. Fighting through the terror, he began prepping another shroud. My own body had locked into an uncontrollable spasm. It wasn’t so much that I couldn’t move a muscle, as I couldn’t stop them from moving. Every last strand burned in protest as they contracted far beyond their normal limits. This was beyond glamour. This was beyond anything I had read about. Rei wasn’t trying to pervert my will. She had circumvented it entirely.

What the hell was had she done to me?

Furious, I lifted my head off the floor. She was going to try and handle the crisis on her own. She was going to put herself between the danger and me again. My mind flashed back to that first heavy blow. That wet smack. How she had slid across the ground, her cheekbone crushed, her face a mess of red. I trembled in frustration. This was unacceptable. I would not be told like this. My father told. ‘She’s never coming back, Dieter.’ ‘You’ll never get into college, Dieter.’ ‘She never loved you, Dieter.’ ‘An invitation to a summer insti-what? A bunch of eggheads and not a dime in sight, forget it, Dieter’ No. Not again. Not again. What if Rei died? A flash of rage pulsed from my gut. Deep inside me, something tore. Things were breaking, maybe important things, but I didn’t give a flying fuck. I wouldn’t be told. I wouldn’t stand aside. Not again. Not ever again. I forced the air out of my seizing lungs.

“Rreeehh,” I growled.

She turned to look at me. For a second, something flickered behind that icy mask. An ounce of Rei, the Rei I cared about, looked back at me. But it was gone in an instant. I Saw the blow before it came. I strained, demanding my muscles to release, but it was too late. Her elbow was already finished with my temple. My head exploded in a burst of stars. My useless body bounced onto then off of the bed. The blow shook my will, and in that moment of weakness, the spasms grappling my body strengthened ten-fold. I could do nothing but lie on my side and seize.

“Continue, lieutenant,” Rei urged. “That ruckus will have alerted them.” I stared at her from the floor, my jaw clamped shut like a vice, but Rei wouldn’t match my gaze. My heart sank. It was totally humiliating. Dante finished the cast, and Rei’s form dissolved into nothingness. The door opened and closed and away she went. I looked down at the floor, the steady thud of railroad tracks beating in my ears…

Indeed. Magic can strengthen bodies, harden resolve, and keen senses; however, such work is not easy. Humans are complex beings, Dieter. They have many moving parts. Toying with them can have…unanticipated consequences.

Down the hallway a barrage of gunfire erupted. The firing sounded wild. Dante dove on top of me as bullets tore through the wall. He whispered a fortification as the bullets flew by. Then came a strange sound—a thwap—as though someone had struck a melon with a bat. A man’s scream followed, then the snap of a twig, a tearing sound, and fluids splattering on the hardwood.

“One!” Rei announced from outside our door.

Another set of heavy footsteps came from the other end of the hall and halted near our door. “Padre nuestro que estás en los cielos,” the man mumbled as he stepped backwards. “Santificado sea tu nombre, venga tu reino, sea hecha tu voluntad, como en el cielo así también en la tierra. El pan nuestro de cada Día, dánoslo hoy. Perdónanos nuestras deud—” The man’s feet vanished with a crunch. I listened in silence to the sound of air wheezing in and out through a broken straw.

Rei finished the prayer. “Así como nosotros perdonamos a nuestros deudores, y no nos dejes caer en la tentación, mas líbranos del mal…” Another twig snapped. “Amén,” she cooed. There was another tearing sound, and it was suddenly raining in the hallway.

“Dos!” she announced as the corpse thudded to the ground.

“My God,” Dante whispered. “So it’s true. The born ones are on a different level than the Turned.” I ignored Dante. I could hear her breathing. It came fast and thready. It was almost like when I was watching…

A magus can circumvent these challenges by binding themselves to another. This harmonizes the flows. In the European tradition, the other was traditionally a knight. The binding forms a conduit between them in which mana can flow safely.

A metallic device bounced down the corridor. Rei picked it up. “An M-67?” she asked casually. “That won’t work at all. You’ll need at least an MON-200.” Her voice went cold. “Did daddy pack one of those with your lunch, little boy?”

“A grenade?” Dante stammered. In a matter of instants, he stood, tore the mattress from the bed, fortified it, threw it against the door, and jumped back on top of me covering us both with his robe. I could only lay there, bound by the spasms, as the door to our room blew off its hinges. Debris cut my face and clouded my vision. My ears rang from the blast. My body dumped adrenalin like it was going out of style. The surge of energy broke the binding. My fatigued muscles sagged from exhaustion.

“I’ll give you a minute to figure something out,” Rei called out to the gunman. Through the smoke and dust, Rei skipped into our room. She was covered head-to-toe in blood and plaster. Her clothing was torn. Her face was flushed. Hard nipples pressed out against her saturated tank top. “Pardon me, gentlemen,” she said, climbing over us and out the window. Her feet vanished as she flipped herself up onto the roof. I listened to the light pitter-patter of footfalls as she dashed across shingles.

The last man standing screamed and fired blindly into the air…

Our weft-link is of a temporary nature. It is incomplete, and as I have already told you twice, it will wear off with time and distance. The inconvenience will be over soon. You have nothing to worry about.

Rei laughed as the bullets tore through the roof.

I swallowed. It was there if I had wanted to see it. It was the same as in the office when she was interrogating the tall man. The glee, the giddiness…Rei didn’t care. It was fun. It was playtime. And when she was around—and only when she was around—I felt the same thrill. No wonder I had barely seen her since opening day. She had been avoiding me. The night we arrived, when she told me about her living arrangements, I’d gotten so mad that rage had overwhelmed my reason. She must have realized it then. I slammed my fist into the ground. I was such an idiot. That night, it wasn’t Rei’s pride that had been wounded. No, Rei had realized that I was at risk and acted decisively to stem the damage. My eyes welled up. Rei had extracted herself from my life like she was a tumor.

Dante rolled off me. His forehead had been gashed in the blast. He lay on his back, dazed. Amidst the chaos, I crawled over to put pressure on the wound. A crashing noise tore through the roof, and the pitter-patter of her footsteps intensified. Rei was in the attic now. The gunman responded by screaming even louder. He switched clips and launched another volley. One clip. Two clips. Three clips. Four. He was still screaming when his gun clicked empty. The poor guy was out of ammo…but that wasn’t the point.

Against my will, my heart rate was speeding up. The room was too bright; my eyes had dilated. I tried to focus on Dante’s wound, but we heard the rifle drop to the ground and shivered. We heard him drop to his knees. We felt the beat of his fists against the floorboards. Again and again he beat at the splintering wood. He knew we were coming. He knew it was over. He cried out a horrid lament. He surrendered his will to our own. That was the point. We trembled in excitement. Such a vibrant display of despair.

“My God, Dieter,” Dante said as he stared up at the ceiling. “What have we gotten ourselves into?”

There was a moment of silence before the screams began.

“I don’t know, Dante,” I said, my body shivering from the thrill. “They’re hitting students and they’re hitting faculty. You don’t do that to make a point. You do that to cripple an organization long-term. I don’t know the games you guys are playing, but it smells like a war to me.”

“Bud, pray you are wrong. They didn’t call them the Dark Ages for nothing.”

A dull thud reached our ears. Rei let out a hiccup.

“Well, at least she’s on our side,” I said.

Dante turned to me, confused.

“Sure, she is, but Rei’s the only one.”

I helped Dante sit up.

“What do you mean, the only one?”

“Her kind, man. The prin—sorry—Rei is the only one of her kind to ever join up with the Department. The rest of the drainers are rogue, bud. We’re just edibles to them. I should know. I come from a border state.”

“Oh,” I said swallowing. Not good. “Seriously, I need to enroll in History of Magic and Bestiary next semester. I can’t tell ass from mouth, Dante. This is getting ridiculous.”

“Hey man, ignorance is bliss. Don’t even get me started on dragons.”

“Dragons? They’re real too?”

“You poor grub,” Dante said, smirking. “Naw, dragons aren’t real.” Dante didn’t smirk much. Heck, Dante didn’t joke much. Maybe his change in humor had to do with the huge gash on his forehead.

Rei frolicked down the hallway and into our room. Her hair was tangled, and her clothes were in tatters. A huge blood smear covered most of her face. She looked like she had survived some sort of bloody baking disaster, and her fingers were playing over a bundle of brown candle sticks connected to a bunch of wires. “Heya, lieutenant. Watcha want me ta do with this?” she asked, tossing the explosive charge from one hand to the other.

Dante just sat there with a neutral expression on his face.

“You know what, lieutenant? ‘Do’ is a funny word. Dooo. Daaaaa. Deeeee. Dooooo. Daaaa…”

Rei sniffed the air and went rigid. Her dilated pupils latched onto Dante forehead.

“Ohhh!!! Lieutenant! You’re bleeding! Do you mind? I mean it’s cool if not, but I could totally go for a little Southern right now. It has to have been like five years. Sister tricked me, and he was soooo hot, and oh-my-God, he must have tasted like ice cream, or chocolate, or what else do beater chicks like? Caramel? No, that’s not right. I have observed that they do not enjoy caramel as much as chocolate but—”

“Um, yea,” Dante blurted, “I would be totally cool with that except I ate like a bucket load of garlic for lunch so it’s probably not the greatest idea.”

Rei crinkled her nose. “Gross, lieutenant.”

“Hey, Rei?” I said, watching the bundle of explosives exchange hands once again.

“Garlic is gross,” she said matter-of-factly.

“Hey!” I screamed, waving my hands in front of her. “Focus, Count Chocula, focus!”

Rei suppressed a hiccup.

“Ohhh! Because I am a vampire it is funny. Good one, Dieter!”

She jumped into the air and applauded.

It occurred to me that to applaud—my Sight imploded in an avalanche of color. I dove toward the bundle of death. Dante dove out the second-story window. (At least one of us had some sense.) Rolling onto my back, I slid to a stop under Rei’s legs and caught the bomb with my gut. Thankfully, my washboard abs were still a work in progress. The bomb continued to tick-tock pleasantly.

“Oh! Dieter! Naughty,” Rei said looking down at me. “No peeking unless I say so—then you can peek. Okay, I say so! Wait, now I say not so!”

“Women,” I grumbled.

Rei covered her mouth and started giggling. She seemed capable of amusing herself, so I made busy examining the bomb. Their number thirty appeared on the display—now twenty-nine—now twenty-eight.

“Dieter,” Rei asked. “I know he’s sneaky, but can the lieutenant fly?”

“He’s practicing,” I replied. “Hey, Rei? You know what would be like totally awesome?”

“Oh! What? Tell me. Tell me, tell me, tell me!”

“We should totally go on top of the roof. Can you give me a hand?”

“You are so right, Dieter. The roof would be totally A, W, E, awesome. We could watch the sunrise!”

I let that that one slide and rushed to the window. Rei hopped out onto the sill, grabbed my hand, and yanked. As I flew through the air, it felt like my whole right arm was coming out of its socket. (Nope, check that, it was out of its socket.) I flopped onto the roof cradling the bundle with my left. My right side screamed in protest. I’d worry about the pain later—fifteen seconds later to be precise.

Rei was skipping about next to me singing “Good Morning, Good Morning,” from Singin’ in the Rain. What the heck was up with Rei and show tunes? I searched the landscape frantically. Auditorium? Negative. Lawn full of students pointing? Negative. Albright’s red Corvette? Probative. Elliot Pond? Perfect.

“Hey, Rei?”

“Whatsit?”

“I bet you can’t throw this into the pond from here.”

“Oh, pu-leeease, Dieter. I am a P-u-r-e Nostophoros, not some mausoleum trash.”

“Then prove it, Ms. Puerile,” I said presenting her the explosives.

There were ten seconds left. If this didn’t work, I was going to have to take flying lessons with Dante.

Rei flexed her slender biceps. “Be awed, puny magus!” She snatched the charge, and before I realized it was gone, had hurled the bomb at the poor, unsuspecting pond. The explosives soared through the air with the greatest of ease and disappeared into the icy waters with a plop.

I sat down on the roof in exhaustion. My right shoulder was throbbing something fierce, and I really wasn’t looking forward to re-setting it. Rei plopped down next to me and leaned her head on my wounded arm. It was the second time she managed to paralyze me tonight. I fought the urge to scream.

“Dieter?” she said in a tone I didn’t like one bit. “I don’t feel so good.”

I cringed as Rei puked a few liters of blood all over my lap.

Bleary eyed, she looked up at me. “Sorry. I drank too much.”

I walked casually to the front of my brain and murdered my sense of smell.

“Don’t worry about it, partner,” I said patting her head.

“Hey…” she said, pointing an unsteady finger at me, “you…you don’t you call me that. That’s top-super-double-secret.”

“Sorry, partner. I won’t do it again.”

“You better not,” she mumbled, “cuz I’m a Pure.”

With a flash of light our three residence halls—and about three dozen innocent koi—were incinerated in giant balls of flame.

“Ooooh, pretty,” Rei remarked.

“Quite,” I managed. I was thankful my sense of smell was currently being chalk marked. Blood-breath isn’t an odor you’d care to sample.

Chapter 21

COMING DOWN

It took a bit of work getting Rei off the roof. It was thirty minutes to sunrise. That combined with her ‘overindulgence’ made Rei a drowsy mess. To make matters worse, my right arm was dangling about an inch too low. The professors’ had shifted back into the natural world at around the time of the blast. Now they were running about, pretending like they knew what they were doing. Helping us off the roof, Albright looked plain terrible. The deaths of Simons, Greggs, and Conroy must have been quite a shock. The faculty had been caught completely unawares. They seemed as surprised as the rest of us. Thankfully, not a single student died. At least they could take solace in that.

Albright told me to take Rei home and be back at Central in three hours for a debriefing. A huge crowd of students was waiting outside the faculty lodge. They broke out in applause as I emerged carrying Rei on my shoulders. I near gagged as my Sight exploded from the attention, so I was grateful when a few seconds later the clapping kinda died off. Heroes aren’t supposed be covered in plaster and blood-puke.

Sadie was standing in the middle of the crowd wearing her bunny slippers and robe. She was explaining to a group of Kappa’s how she’d taught me everything I knew. I smiled. As far as I was concerned, Sadie could say whatever she wanted. I’d nearly drowned and/or blown her up. That earned her plenty of capital. I gave her a grin and thumbs-up. Jules was less amused. She came running over with a concerned look in her eyes. She eyed Rei’s slumped form warily, and then turned her attention to my mangled limb.

“Your shoulder!” she cried.

“Don’t worry, Jules, I’ll be alright.”

“Of course ya will. But Awen’s Ghost, Dieter, let me practice on it! I’ve been workin’ on this new spell that’ll be just parfect!”

“Yay,” Rei mumbled. “Puppies.”

“How about you just throw it back into its socket?”

“With my hands?” Jules asked incredulously.

Roster walked over and lifted Jules aside. Her little legs kicked futilely in the air.

“Oi, Roster! I’ll kick yer ass. Put me down!” she screeched.

“Chill, cupcake,” Roster boomed. “Breaking bones is my specialty. I just have to do it backwards, right?”

A wince and scream later and my shoulder was back in the right place. Roster showed some promise as an orthopedist. The sun was gonna rise soon, and I didn’t want to dally, but before I left, I made sure to tell Monique where Dante was probably roosting. Roster’s eyes lit up when he heard the news. Fodder for at least a year of razzing, I presumed.

I ditched my blood soaked robe and wrapped Rei up in a spare bed sheet for coverage. As I walked through the crowd, I ignored the waves of questions bombarding me from every side. I even managed to brush off a snide comment from one of the Beta’s about vampire blowjobs.

Sheila didn’t. She clocked the asshole right in the face.

Mindless slaughter really seemed to bring us Lambdas together.

I trudged the quarter mile to the groundskeeper’s cabin alone. My shoulder ached from the dislocation, my lungs burned from the fumes, and my face throbbed from Rei’s elbow. Then there was the fatigue. All that casting had really taxed my reserves. Still, despite all the pain, I felt relieved. Sure it had been messy, but we had done something good tonight. People were alive that should have been dead. People I cared about. People who cared about me. It also helped that—despite being 5’10’’ and able to leap small buildings in a single bound—Rei couldn’t weigh more than ninety pounds. That got me thinking. I was trudging into a forest with a dangerous predator nestled on my back. I could feel her head resting on my shoulder. I could smell her (bad) breath as it tickled past my neck. I was toting a freaking vampire. She could wake with a start and have my life in an instant. That should have scared me senseless. That should have made me dump her and run. But I wasn’t scared. I felt at peace. Life felt more doable. More complete.

Forming that weft-link with Rei might explain some things: the intense blood lust that overwhelmed my senses, the surprise Dante expressed at Rei’s sudden interest in humor, the two flashbacks we had somehow shared, and even the strange visions I’d experienced. But those side effects weren’t my main concern. What troubled me most was the sense of emptiness I felt when Rei wasn’t around. Never in my life had the simple presence of another made me feel so good. I didn’t want that to be because of the link. A cold breeze rushed through the trees, and I shivered in my soggy clothes. What a horrible thought. What if my feelings for Rei were nothing more than the byproduct of some errant magic? Stars above, what if they were fake?

The sun crested over the horizon, and Rei tensed around my shoulders. Her grip became so tight that it hurt.

“Easy, now,” I whispered. “We’re almost home.”

“Okay, Nana,” she mumbled.

I listened to my feet crunch the gravel leading up to Rei’s cabin.

What was worse, fake feelings or no feelings?

Cumo bellowed a warning and came charging over in a giant white huff. He circled, eyeing the scene disapprovingly. At least I thought so. The guy had so much hair you couldn’t really see his eyes. Working the handle with my elbow, I stumbled through Rei’s door. Cumo planted himself on the stoop, his body guarding the doorway like a hockey goalie. I smiled at him. Something told me Rei worried very little about being disturbed during the day.

I set Rei down on one of the two wooden chairs at her kitchen table and scoped out the space. Heavy blackout curtains covered all the windows; I had to turn on a lamp to see. Such curtains weren’t new to me. Plenty of folks worked graveyard shifts back in Vegas. Even my dad had a set. A small kitchenette sat to the right, a kettle and a few cups resting on the bare counter. A large silver refrigerator occupied one entire corner. The digital display on the front read 4°C. Just above freezing. Perfect for storing blood. She lives on human blood. That ridiculous statement kept bouncing around my head. The fridge shouldn’t have surprised me. Rei’d just puked blood all over me, but the cold metal appliance said, “This is what I am,” better than anything else I’d seen.

The rest of Rei’s tiny home was as understated as the kitchenette. A small bookshelf filled to capacity. I noted the usual campus lit, and a few older volumes from the library stacked on top. A signed poster of Brad Pitt occupied one wall. (I vaguely recalled that old movie. Wasn’t Brad the one who ate rats?) A little fireplace sat in the center. The standard Elliot dresser and bed finished off the left side.

I stared at the bed for a long time.

No coffin…it was a bit of a let down…but also a bit of a…

Rei muttered, “dog food,” from her seat face down at the table.

“Okay, this is not going to work.” I roused her from her sleep, and after a bit of effort, I managed to guide her rather stiff limbs in the direction of the bathroom and turn on the water. “You, stinky, that, shower,” I said fleeing the vicinity. It was scary in there. There was potpourri.

From the sound of things, there appeared to be some progress being made, so I grabbed a pair of PJs out of one of Rei drawers. Then I sorta froze up. I was stymied. Did girls wear bras to bed? How about panties? I doubted that porn was a reliable indicator (it did tend to mislead on the important things), so I hedged, grabbed three of each, and piled them high on top of the PJs. I knocked and announced, “I’m sending in a change of clothing now,” like a hostage negotiator to a madwoman. After receiving approval, in triplicate, signed and notarized, I cracked open the door and sent in the goods.

Retreating to the fireplace, I brooded. I didn’t know what to do. This type of high-tension scenario didn’t require napalm, floods of fruit juice, or exploding schoolhouses. I was entirely out of my element. I steadied myself with a hand on the mantle, but in my clumsiness, nudged something off onto the floor. I looked down to see a pair of Ray-Bans. The same pair I’d given her in New York. I replaced the sunglasses, stepped back from the fireplace, and fumbled for a chair.

In literally all belief systems, the hearth is the center of a home. In Ancient Greece and Rome, the first offering a family made in the morning wasn’t to Zeus. Nope. It was always to Hestia, the goddess of the hearth. She was a deity that far preceded the Olympian gods. In the Greek’s mythology, Hestia was given pride of place as Chronos’ first born. (Yea, that’s right, Zeus might have kicked Chronos’ ass, but Hestia was his first-born.) The pagans of Europe shared a similar belief, and those two cultures didn’t agree on anything.

I wiped the sweat from my brow. Why had Rei placed my sunglasses at the center of her mantel? Was I reading too much into this? Perhaps. But respect for the central flame was a constant across every single continent. Africa, Asia, North and South America, take your pick. Rei would be a person intensely aware of those conventions, yet her hearth was totally barren: no idols, no photos, no commemorative plates. Just a silly pair of sunglasses. In fact, the whole room was Spartan. Sure, Rei seemed to have a ton of clothes jammed into her closet, and I spotted her fencing bag by the door, but there were no stuffed animals, or letters, or care packages in sight. Even a dullard like me knew that normal people gave and received gifts from time to time. From Sadie’s bunny mug, to the Dante’s mom’s regular pie shipments, the Lambda common room was stuffed to the brim with random crud from friends and family. Heck, even my dad had sent me a gift. (Sure, it was only a voucher for a one-way ticket back to Vegas, but it was the thought that counted, right?) As I looked around Rei’s flat, I wondered. Did her family just not do that sort of thing?

Rei didn’t give me much time to ponder. She was already fumbling with the door to her bathroom. Her sunglasses were a little off kilter, so I leapt to my feet to right them. I was unclear on the consequences, but “do not fuck with vampire-hearth” was ringing in my ears. Rei opened the door, and I jammed my guilty hands back into my soggy pockets.

Mr. Duck PJ top? Check. Floral panties? Check.

PJ bottoms?

PJ bottoms?

I swallowed hard. Three feet of naked white legs were making their way across the tiny room. Eyes already closed, Rei fumbled for her bed.

Vampiress, I repeated to myself. Big. Bad. Vampiress.

Rei crawled on top of the covers and collapsed onto her belly with a sigh.

My head exploded.

Stars above, not the ass…do they even make asses like that? Like…like…little bubbles…that must be all muscle…I mean to flex like that…

I engaged countermeasures. I counted floorboards. Listed off prime numbers. Mapped out state capitals. It wasn’t enough. My libido went into open revolt. Desperate, I pulled out my hand and bit down on my knuckle. I gagged. It was a blood-puke covered knuckle…that did it.

“Dieter,” Rei whined. “I’m cold.”

I put my hands on my hips and frowned. I’d not be tricked so easily.

“Rei Bathory, you are a vampire. You spent all of last night walking around in a tank top.”

“Everybody likes warm covers.”

Damn it. That was basically irrefutable…

“Fine,” I grumbled.

Come on, Dieter, my libido urged, you already defused one bomb today…

I frowned. That guy was getting shifty. The key was no skin-to-skin contact. If I could avoid any skin-to-skin, I was golden. I grabbed the sheet by its corners and rolled Rei up like a taco. Withdrawing to a safe distance, I crossed my arms and examined my work.

Curses! The maneuver had covered her head, and unfortunately the part about vampires not needing to breath was false. I moved in again and peeled back the sheets. Rei turned to face me. Her sleepy eyes met my own. I dodged desperately.

Vampiress. Big. Bad—

“Dieter?”

She smelled faintly of lavender…it was a trap. The bite was coming. I just knew it.

“Yes?” I asked, preparing for the worst.

“My most rancid colleague, go take a shower.”

I raised an eyebrow. Her voice had changed.

“Hey, since when did you sober up?”

“Since you started stinking up my home. Bathe. You smell of sweat, gasoline, and stale Mexican hit men. Fetch a pair of sweatpants from my dresser. They shall offer a passable fit.”

“Sure thing, Rei,” I said, sneaking toward the front door.

“Dieter Resnick, I will glamour you so fast…”

“No fair, you sobering up.” I shuffled over to the drawer and looked through the sweats. They were all pink. “Oh, come on, Rei.”

“Dieter, I cannot have you walking around in public covered in our enemies’ blood. Relations are tenuous and appearances matter. There is washer out back. I must rest now, but we can talk tonight. Good day.”

“Yes, master,” I grumbled.

“Don’t give me ideas,” Rei shot back.

I walked into the bathroom and peeled of the disgusting remnants of my western and jeans. It took some effort. I couldn’t raise my right arm easily. The swelling and pain was coming on strong. Getting my shirt off, I noticed a huge welt was developing right above my hip. I stared at the mirror for a good thirty seconds. I’d been shot. Remembering to fortify my robe had saved my life.

The shower felt great. The heat worked like magic on my sore muscles. I watched as the water made a gradual transition from pink to clear, the lives of three men washing off with it. I felt nothing for them. Sure, I could appreciate the loss of life, the waste of it, but their deaths didn’t come with one ounce of guilt or shame. That puzzled me. I’d hurt a lot of people last night. I’d made a willful decision to kill. At least two had died by my own hands. And yet I felt nothing. I shifted uncomfortably. It was just like with Tyrone. But even that sore topic couldn’t hold my attention. There were larger concerns. Why were we attacked? Were the bastards coming back? My friends had nearly been murdered, and I did have feelings about that. I also knew an absolute truth: You couldn’t let a bully hit you and hope he’d go away. You had to make him bleed; that was the only way.

I decided to get moving. I cut the water and grabbed for a towel. There was only one.

“Great,” I grumbled. I didn’t see any other options, and I could just throw it in with the rest of the wash, so I just grabbed it and toweled off. The easy smell of lavender filled my nostrils. The smell of Rei…it was such a wonderful scent. It reinvigorated me like a cup of coffee. Finished drying off, I slid into the ill-fitting pink sweats, collected all the nasty garments, and opened the door to her room. Rei was curled up in a ball, and it looked like she was out cold. I crept across her room and out the front door as quietly as I could. Cumo raised his head, took a whiff of the clothes, and trotted a few yards down the road.

I smiled grimly. You know it’s bad when the dog thinks it stinks. Around back there was a sink, a tool cabinet, and an ancient washing machine. I scrounged around in the cabinet. The thing was full of all sorts of stuff. Some of the tools were for yard work and others for working with livestock. Being city folk, I couldn’t make heads or tales of most of it, but I did find some detergent and a can of black polish. I dumped the clothes in the washer and started it up. As it roared to life, I threw the two sets of boots into the sink and got to work.

Call me strange, but I love shining up shoes. You start with two dirty old sacks of leather and end up with something brand spanking new. I smiled as I hosed off the caked on blood. Rei knew her boots. Most people don’t. They buy some fu-fu pair made in China with cool colors and weird laces, but if you’re working full shifts on your feet, you better learn fast. A good pair of boots should have a simple design that’s easy to clean. They should be built of high quality leather so they’ll breathe and come with the best soles you can afford. It surprised me that Rei was in the know. I’d figured her for rich and clueless, but Rei wore the same brand that I did—except she had opted for the steel-toe version. I paused to rub the welt growing above my pelvis. Maybe Maria could order me a pair on the company card. After last night, it seemed a rather reasonable school expense.

I was finishing the buff on my own when the washer ground to a halt. All the clothes were salvageable, minus Rei’s fatigues. Military issue or not, no pair of pants was going to survive a jump through a roof. I tossed them in the trash and hung up the rest on her clothesline. I checked my watch. I still had an hour to kill before Dean Albright wanted me back. I decided to slip on my boots and jog back to IKΛM.

+

Visions of frosted flakes dancing through my head, I came running around the bend. IKΛM was missing most of its second story. The other two dorms were mostly rubble. Faculty and students plodded along, picking through the wreckage and recovering what they could. I sighed. Fridge Lambda was probably toast.

I spotted Monique standing in front of IKΛM and walked over to her.

“Hey, Cap’n. Have you been inside yet?”

Monique gestured at IKΛM’s caved in front door. Roster and a few of the Mu guys were working on the rubble pile. His shirt off, he was flexed against a crowbar. A group of girls sat off to the side, carefully supervising the effort.

“Try prying lower, Roster,” one of the girls shouted.

Monique rolled her eyes.

“Hey, nice sweatpants.”

“They’re temporary,” I grumbled.

Monique put her hands on her hips and looked up at what was left of the second floor. “No need to explain. None of us have much of a wardrobe now. On the bright side, I did find one of my bras.” She gestured to a nearby tree, where a pair of red C-cups was fluttering in the breeze. “Maria raided the student store. She’s handing out clothes and toiletries over by the amphitheater. There’s some oatmeal too.”

My stomach growled. Oatmeal…yum.

“Cool.”

“Yep. And Dieter, from what I hear, you did us proud last night. Good work.”

“Thanks, cap’n.” I glanced over to the smoldering trees behind IKΛM. A group of folks had cordoned off the area. Most were wearing yellow windbreakers with DEA printed on the back.

“The Drug Enforcement Agency? Monique, what are they doing here?”

“You don’t know? The DEA is the enforcement arm of the Department of Mana Affairs. The men and women in yellow windbreakers are fiscals. They’re like FBI agents. Now the fellow in the black fatigues…you don’t see his kind too often. He’s an alguacil. He’s probably the ICE representative for this incident.” Monique noticed the surprise look on my face. “What, didn’t you think that having both the FBI, the ATF, and the DEA was kinda redundant?”

I scratched my head. Come to think of it, that never did make any sense. I guess I should have been making an effort to learn more about the Department—especially considering I had signed up to work for them—but networking opportunities were scarce when your taskmaster worked in the woods. So far I hadn’t met anyone from the Department besides the faculty. I went over the names Monique gave me. Fiscal sounded like the Spanish word for prosecutor. That sorta made sense. But alguacil?

“Doesn’t alguacil mean bailiff in Spanish? What’s an officer of the court doing at a crime scene?”

“Dieter, an alguacil isn’t an officer of just any court.”

I stared at her blankly.

“The Court of Inquisition, Dieter. He’s an ICE freelancer.”

“Oh. Peachy,” I said with a gulp. The International Council on Evocation was like the United Nations of magic…except they were ruthless, not toothless. The ICE answered only to the Church. The Magi acquiesced to their will. “Didn’t they used to call those guys—”

“Witch hunters.” Monique’s jaw tensed. “But that’s not really fair, Dieter. Alguacils are equal opportunity savages. They’ll burn anything that gets out of line.”

This alguacil was short, stalky, and built like a Big Ten running back. A deep scar ran from below his collar to up behind his right ear. He was talking with two men in yellow DEA jackets. I squinted. I could have sworn I’d seen the two of them before.

Walking in front of me, a girl from Mu said, “Hiya, pinky.”

“Looks better on me than it would on you, fat ass.”

“Mature, Resnick,” Monique quibbled.

I only had forty minutes before I had to meet Albright, so I thanked Monique and hustled over to the aid station. As I waited in the queue, I couldn’t help but hear the whispers. They kept causing my Sight to flare up. The more people there were staring at me, the more difficult it became. While I worked on finding my happy place, Roger, a chubby kid I knew from Iota, wandered over and patted me on the shoulder.

“Good work, Resnick. You sure saved our butts last night.” Even more eyes on me. Great. “And I never believed any of that stuff people were saying about you, either.” He leaned in close. “But, dude, I wouldn’t go around wearing stuff like that, you’re gonna start other types of rumors.”

I smiled meekly. Roger was a nice guy, but capital-A awkward.

“Hola, Dieter,” Maria said, waving.

“Hey baby, you got what I need?”

Maria examined my sweats and giggled. “I’m guessing you want another pair?”

“Yes, please.”

Maria handed me a new set of Elliot brand sweats along with a fresh toiletry set. I would have stopped to chat, but I had to get moving. Maria shouted, “Good work last night!” as I ran off to change.

Chapter 22

DISTRUST

Central was abuzz with activity when I arrived. Two men from the Department where checking ID’s at the entrance. They looked my battered frame up and down before clearing me. I hustled up to the third floor and was greeted by a very harried Betty Strouse. She was struggling to manage the bank of blinking red lights in front of her.

“Oh, Mr. Resnick,” she said over the incessant ringing, “Dean Albright is in his office. Go right on in, dear.” Then she went right back to the phones. “Yes, Mrs. Carter, your son is fine …Yes, all the students are fine …No, none of the students were drained …”

I shuddered. Panicky parents were the eleventh plague.

Dean Albright was behind his desk talking to someone on the phone. From the look on his face, it wasn’t a pleasure call. Albright motioned for me to sit down. His desk was piled high with papers, and a map had been hastily thrown up across one of the walls. It was covered in red, white, and blue thumbtacks. The white ones were grouped in nearly straight lines stretching North and South across the continent. One of them marked the location of Elliot College. I didn’t have to guess at what they were. They were the leynodes of North America; we were expected to memorize their locations in Magic Theory I.

Leynodes are turbulent intersections where converging flows of mana slow to a crawl. Even the Imperiti are attracted to them. Cities are almost always built on top of them. That vibrant energy you feel when you visit the Big Apple? It isn’t just because of the hustle and bustle. The ground is literally buzzing with the churning mana below. But where are the leynodes’ precise locations? The best tip is to head to the nearest cathedral. Places of worship are usually constructed right on top of them. That explains why when a new religion comes to power, they knock down the old holy places and replace them with their own. For the last two thousand years, the Catholic Church has made it their business to plant their flag atop as many of these nodes as possible. They’ve been so successful that if you want a halfway good map of the ley network, all you have to do is plot down all the Catholics' cathedrals and start connecting the dots.

I scratched the stubble on my chin. The ley network explained the white pins, but what about the others? The blue ones occupied the majority of the East Coast, some of the Midwest, and all of Canada. The red ones swooped down from Oregon, deep into Mexico, and all the way across Texas. But it got even stranger. Most of Florida, and every single Mississippi River State, didn’t bear a single colored pin.

The dean delivered an “I agree” into the receiver and snuck over to his car-priced coffee machine. He kicked out two cups of joe, and I accepted one gratefully. Albright finished his conversation with, “I’ll get right on it, sir,” and leaned back in his chair.

“That didn’t sound fun, sir.”

“Assets, Mr. Resnick, must always be covered.” Albright gave me a tired smile and took a sip from his mug. I couldn’t help but notice the fat bags camped out under his eyes and the smattering of blood on his shirt.

“You don’t look so good, dean.”

He waved his hand, dismissing the thought. “I’ll be alright, son, but thank you for the concern. We really dodged a bullet last night. We owe you and Adept Nelson a huge debt of gratitude. If you hadn’t been on your game…”

I leaned forward in my seat. It seemed like Albright had the wrong idea. “Sir, Jules and I just stumbled into those soldiers. If Rei and Dante hadn’t been around, we’d have both been toast. And it was Monique and that Susan Collins girl who thought to evacuate all the dorms. And how about you, sir? You managed that frameshift under fire.”

Albright looked grave. He turned to look out his window.

“Initiate, none of the faculty cast that spell.”

“But—”

“Didn’t you think it odd that the explosives went off the instant the frameshift ended? Following a shift, a mage’s Ki is left unbalanced. His spellcasting ability is stymied. Initiate, the goal of that shift was to snare us like hogs and send us off to slaughter.”

My eyes widened. That could mean only one thing.

“There was another mage.”

“Exactly. A mage talented enough penetrate all of Elliot’s defenses and distort space and time.”

“Sir…” I fidgeted in my seat. “Automatic weapons? Hit squads? Explosives? I’m feeling a bit out of the loop, here. What the hell is going on?”

Dean Albright nodded. “All in good time, initiate. But first things first. I want to hear everything that happened from the top. Jules and Dante have already been debriefed. Give me your version of events.”

I sank down into my chair. It was standard procedure, but I didn’t care to relive it. I told Albright how Jules and I had been leaving the forest after I messed up the spell. I described the six men we saw, how I had made the diversion, how Jules managed to set off the fire alarm, and how Rei showed up to handle the two men who escaped. I told him how Dante and I went for help and found Simon’s body, and how Rei had arrived in the nick of time. He nodded as I spoke, took some notes, and asked a bunch of questions about the ACT device Jules and I had seen. Then he followed up with questions about the gunmen. Did their Spanish have an accent? Did it look like someone was in charge? I didn’t think I was of much help. The last night was a blur.

Finishing up, Albright kicked back from his desk and checked his watch.

“Good enough. They should be here soon anyway.”

“Who, sir?”

“The DEA reps.”

Before I could ask why, the phone rang and Albright told Ms. Strouse to have everyone sent to the conference room. As he put on his jacket, he turned to me. “Initiate, I’m sorry that we’ve been keeping you all in the dark, but there was good reason for it. We’ll bring you up to speed now, I promise.”

We walked down the hall into Elliot’s boardroom. At the table sat all of Lambda (minus Fukimura and Rei) and two men from the DEA. I gulped. It was the same two from the hospital, and they had brought a friend. It was the man in the black fatigues.

Jules waved. “Conas atá tú, Dieter?”

“Tá mé go maith,” I replied.

Jules looked mortified. She was trying to teach me Gaelic as part of the Grand Dieter Improvement Project, but right now I was feeling a bit scatterbrained. I must have murdered the reply. I took my seat and sagged. I really needed to grab some sleep. One of the two investigators was fumbling with the projector screen as Ms. Strouse went around the table offering coffee and tea. The investigator looked at Albright and shrugged.

“Wrong adapter. Do you have a memory stick?” he asked.

“You know, John,” the second DEA man said with a smirk, “scrying pools may not be able to run PowerPoint, but they don’t crash either.“

As Albright went over to help, I took the moment to check out the alguacil. His face was a weatherworn map of a life spent outdoors, but like with Albright, I couldn’t figure his age. His compact build had none of the girth men often piled on with the years, but his eyes looked older. He still had all of his hair, and he wore it in a precise cut that screamed military. The scar stretching from the alguacil’s collar to his ear was his most pronounced feature. You only got scars like that when a wound didn’t heal right. (You know, like when you have floss for stitches and whisky for antibiotics.) I pondered out a few scenarios. None of them were nice. And the guy felt wrong too. I willed open my Sight but couldn’t sense an aura. That baffled me. Even animals had auras. (Sure, it was mostly hungry-hungry-hungry, sex-sex-sex, but there was always something for me to read.) Jules had stated unequivocally that every living creature produced an aura. It’s a natural byproduct of their emotions. Figuring I was messing up, I decided to probe deeper. I flexed my Sight, sacrificing my hearing and smell. I pushed so hard that my normal vision began to break down, leaving only dark outlines behind. I figured if I couldn’t see this man’s aura, I could at least take a peek at his Ki.

Your Ki is an amorphous ball of mana swirling around your core. Normally, the haze of your aura shrouds it, but Jules had managed to show me hers. She had meditated for a straight hour to clear her mind of emotions, and with her aura suppressed, she had told me to activate my Sight. Time swept by without me knowing. Thirty minutes later, Jules slapped me out of my stupor. She accused me of spending the past half-hour ogling her boobs. I didn’t want to offend Jules (or her respectable bosom), but it was her Ki that I’d found so fantastic. It was like the Milky Way on a cold, clear night. I got lost in it. I wanted to get lost in it. But that certainly wasn’t the case now…

As the alguacil’s form slipped away the little bugger took shape. My smile melted faster than it formed. There was something wrong with this man’s Ki. A sleek black spindle was jabbing deep into its core. It raked through the swirling mana. Sheared it. Broke its flow. My head throbbed from the exertion, but I wanted to know more. Careful to maintain my focus, I traced the single black spindle up towards his neck. I didn’t understand what I was seeing; but I knew something other was there, something that most definitely didn’t belong. And then I found the its source. A bundle of thin black spindles clung tightly to his neck. Tiny little spider legs. Crackling. Twisting. Twitching. Their motions were like fracturing ice. They chilled me to my core.

The image distorted as the outline of the alguacil’s hand rose to scratch his nose. The man made a subtle gesture in my direction, and before I even knew it was happening, I tumbled backwards onto the floor. My normal vision returned, dancing full of stars. Red-faced, I disentangled myself from the chair.

“Sorry. I, um, slipped,” I said to the circle of stares.

The alguacil was biting back a smile.

I frowned back at him.

“Totally uninsurable,” Jules remarked to Monique.

Dean Albright cleared his throat. “Let’s get started, shall we?”

Catching his drift, I found my chair.

“First off, everything said in this room is confidential. As per DOMA Code 925, talking to any unauthorized personnel about these proceedings is grounds for dismissal from this institute and imprisonment. Second, I have asked Mr. Masterson to take this from the top. Some of you know the score, but others…others are still trying to find their feet.”

If I could have turned any redder I would have.

“Right, then.” The man named Masterson stood up to start his presentation. With a click of the keyboard, an image of North America overlaid with the ley network appeared onscreen. So Masterson knew keyboard shortcuts. That placed him somewhere between 20 and 50 years old. “My name is Agent John Masterson, and this is my weft-partner, Ralph Collins.” I sat up in my chair. Weft? As in weft-pair? “Some of you may know Ralph’s daughter, Susan Collins. She is Iota squad’s current captain. And last, but not least, the dour looking man over there is Gaston Spinoza of the Alguacil.”

Gaston Spinoza of the Alguacil nodded, dourly.

“As most of you know, the North American Ley Network is a complex set of channels filled to the brim with mana. These channels prefer to travel in straight lines, but various geological formations influence their paths. Let’s break down the big ones.” Agent Masterson fumbled for his laser pointer. “First, there’s the Great Eastern Flow, which rises out the Gulf of Mexico near Tallahassee, runs northward through Atlanta, Charlotte, Richmond, Washington, Baltimore, Philadelphia, New York City—passes below the ground where we stand—and then on to Boston proper where it returns to the ocean floor. Second, we have the Great Mississippi Flow. This flow starts off as two branches near Chicago and Minneapolis, which then merge into one near St. Louis. Nice power center there; love to visit it some day. The flow then chases straight down the Mississippi through Memphis, Jackson, and New Orleans where it dives into the Gulf.

“It is estimated that these two great flows account for well over 80% of the mana present in North America. There is no major flow on the West Coast. There are many theories as to why this is the state of affairs, but nothing close to a consensus. In general, we can state that mana and biomass are strongly correlated. We need only look at the tremendous but incredibly unstable flows in the Brazilian and African rainforests along with the severe mana droughts observed in the Sahara and Arabian deserts to observe the extremes of this trend.”

Masterson flipped to the next slide. It was titled: “North America c. 2000.”

The same white dots covered this map. I reconfirmed that most of the white dots were at the sites of large cities. This Map was colored, but it looked different from the map in Albright’s office. Only Mexico and Central America were red on this map. The Mississippi River States were shaded black. Southern Florida was colored silver. The rest of North America was saturated in blue.

“I’m sure you all are very familiar with this map,” Masterson continued. “DOMA North America’s holdings are highlighted blue. DOMA Mexico’s are in red. Your grade school teachers probably had you color it in. This map represents the state-of-affairs as of last year. It is no longer accurate.”

The other members of Lambda looked at one another in confusion. I smiled. It was nice not being alone in the dark.

“What I am about to reveal is classified. Leaking this information to the Conscious Community of North America would result in mass panic. Normally the DEA would never dream of revealing this type of information to novices, but Command has authorized us to make an exception in your case. Trainees, I want to be crystal on this. I don’t want to see any of you hung at high noon. If you can’t keep your mouth shut then get out of this room.” As if to emphasize the point, Masterson glanced over at the alguacil. Satisfied that we were scared shitless, he continued. “Four years ago, a group of mages under the leadership of one Diego Carrera, exploiting the instability caused by the Mexican Government’s decades long war on drugs, successfully executed a coup d'état against DOMA’s sister agency in Mexico.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Sadie interjected. “What are you talking about? Diego Carrera was elected Counselor General four years ago. There wasn’t any coup.”

“And that is what the Department believed as well, Ms. Thompson. That was until one of our attachés at the NSA processed this image.”

Masterson advanced to the next slide: “Color-Corrected Managram - Mexico City and Surrounding Area - August 31st.” A blue haze of color with its epicenter around Mexico City stretched throughout most of the country. The shape kinda reminded me of a hurricane.

“My God,” Monique exclaimed. “That’s a Parisot cloud.”

Masterson nodded. “Very good, Ms. Rice. As to be expected of the winner of the Cerberus Grant.”

“A Pari-what?” Roster asked.

“A Parisot cloud,” Monique replied. “It was a technique developed by Jean Parisot, the father of modern PsyOps. He invented it during the Siege of Rhodes. Chancellor Eikhorn mentioned it, remember? The cloud confounds everyone inside its radius. It alters a single belief, no matter how strongly held. But to be honest, the technique is a relic. You need a massive nexus of power to generate it, over a month to prepare the array, and all that effort only changes a single belief. Worse still, it affects everyone inside, friend and foe alike, and it only lasts a week.”

I scratched my hair. “If it’s so lousy, why did Parisot bother casting it the first place? Eikhorn made it sound like Parisot turned the tide of the battle.”

All the heads in the room turned in unison. It was as though I’d asked for the sum of two plus two.

To my surprise, it was Alguacil Spinoza who answered my question. His voice was rich with a heavy Spanish accent. “Parisot applied 1 Timothy 2:5: ‘For there is one God, and one mediator also between God and men, the man Jesus Christ.’ The Christians bore their faith like armor and spent their lives for the glory of their Lord. The Moslems, their prophet cast down upon them, quaked before the awesome might of the Cross and fled…for a week.”

“Anyway,” Masterson said, “Carrera employed his own Parisot cloud on August 31st. At the time, he and his disciples were in charge of maintaining DOMA Mexico’s leynodes. Under the guise of a grand beautification project for Mexico’s cathedrals, the group prepared multiple spell nexi in secret. They unleashed the cloud two days prior to the election of the new Councilor General. Carrera’s two rivals were contesting the Mexican CG post evenly. Carrera was a distant third. Two days later, Carrera won handily.”

“How?” asked Lambda in unison.

Agent Masterson went red, but Spinoza was there to help him out: “For there are two men who shared the same bed, and their names are Councilors Rojas and Sanchez.” He shrugged. “Perfectly legal, mind you. A Parisot cloud can only change an established belief. In this case, the established belief was that Councilors Rojas and Sanchez of Mexico’s Department of Mana Affairs were happily married, upstanding members of the Conscious community. No one outside the Conscious community had ever even heard of Councilors Rojas or Sanchez. Thus, the Imperiti of Mexico remained unaffected. Since no innocent minds were harmed, none of the Tenets were broken.”

“Oh, snap,” Roster said. “That dude plays a slick game.”

“That was just the start,” said Masterson clicking to the next slide. “Using his new found power, Councilor General Carrera moved quickly. He and his associates established a corporation called Talmax. The objective of this entity was to consolidate the lucrative drug trade, and establish a base of wealth with which to solidify their power. Dissenters were eliminated. Government officials were glam—”

“Unproven,” Spinoza interjected. “It is the duty of the regional DOMA to investigate and report such incidents to the ICE. DOMA Mexico has reported no such incidents.”

“Or he had them killed,” Masterson added.

“Base murder is the jurisdiction of the Imperiti courts,” Spinoza retorted. “It is not punishable under the Tenets.”

“We did nothing?” Monique asked, outraged.

Collins, who had remained quiet up till now, slammed his fist down on the table.

“You know the rules, Ms. Rice. The DEA could only watch from the other side of the border. The pacts clearly stipulate that the DOMA of one region cannot interfere in the affairs of another region without the express permission of said entity.”

No one else raised an objection. We all knew this mess had nearly gotten Susan Collins killed.

“Right then,” Masterson said, readjusting his tie. He looked a little red in the face himself. “After Talmax solidified its hold on the drug trade, all was quiet for nearly two years. We continued to monitor the situation from across the border, but remained unable to intervene. Rumors swirled that Talmax was reinvesting its profits into an intensive R&D program—a program that was in direct violation of the Tenets—but since DOMA Mexico was under the same management, they were happy to turn a blind eye.”

“Again, not proven,” Spinoza said with a shrug.

Masterson ignored him. “The fruits of this R&D project became apparent last spring.” He flashed through a series of images. Brutal gangland killings: Men and women found dead in cars, homes, and offices. One showed the bodies of four DEA agents in singed yellow windbreakers…another of a man sweating blood.

I was standing before I realized it, my hands had clenched tightly at my sides. “ACT,” I whispered. “You mean they were developing artificial conduits. Those burns…I know those burns.”

“Que bueno, Mr. Resnick,” Spinoza said in his heavy Spanish accent. He turned to Collins. “This is the one, yes? He and the sucia managed it?”

Collins nodded.

“Excuse me. The what?”

Spinoza shrugged.

“Dieter,” Jules whispered. “Sit do—”

“Take it back,” I boomed.

“Cajones too. You found a good one, Ralph.” Spinoza bowed slightly. “I apologize, Mr. Resnick. I was unaware you cared for it.”

That did it. I kicked away my chair. “Alright fucknuts, how about I give your scar a mate?”

“Enough, Dieter,” Monique ordered. “Sit. Now.”

I scowled at her, but Monique’s interruption had given me a moment’s pause. What the heck was I doing? Wasn’t this exactly what Rei asked me not to do? I bit into my cheek and retrieved my chair. Stupid empowered females. Things must have been so much simpler back in the day. Get a nice big tree trunk and clobber your foes. I tried to lock my eyes on the projector screen, but I couldn’t help but see Jules miming deep, relaxing breaths.

“ACT,” Masterson continued. “Artificial Conduit Technology. Constructed of an unknown material, ACT functions as the magical equivalent of steroids, enhancing a user’s casting speed, accuracy, and potency. The devices we’ve encountered so far have shown numerous enchantments…including a frustrating tendency to self-destruct when removed from a user’s neck. To date, not a single device has been captured intact. As a result, we cannot prove to the International Council on Evocation that a frame breach has occurred.”

Surprised, Sadie said, “Hold the telephono, you mean a breach can actually occur?”

“Yes, breaches of the frame are theoretically possible. However, that question is well above your pay grade, apprentice. Such matters lie strictly within the purview of the Council.”

I frowned. The ICE was a black box to me. To evoke meant to summon or draw out. In fairy tales, an evoker was a type of mage who could call forth spirits or beings from beyond the normal plane of existence. Was that even possible? I thought back to Chancellor Eikhorn’s speech and a brand new ulcer got its wings.

“Let’s get back on topic,” Masterson requested. “Using ACT devices, Talmax has been able to secure a foothold across the West Coast of the United States. Their agents have infiltrated Phoenix, San Diego, Los Angeles, and San Francisco. The initial engagements have gone badly. DEA forces are outnumbered, and more importantly, outgunned.”

Roster raised his hand. “Mr. Masterson, how can that be possible? DOMA Mexico is dinky compared to us.”

“That’s a fair question, apprentice. Let’s take a step back. As you all know, only mages rated Tier 3 or above can obtain admission to the other three DOMA academies. The bar for Elliot is set higher. Only Tier 4’s and above may gain admission here. Yet despite the Tier 4 cutoff, only a small proportion of Elliot students will ever be capable of combat activities. Most mages are talented in fields such as scrying, evoking, enchanting, or alchemy. This is nothing to be upset about. We all love potions. But what’s an alchemist going to do in the middle of a castout? Throw a beaker?”

Albright cleared his throat.

“Pardon me, Joe, but you’re a bit of an exception. The point is, we don’t hand out the title of battlemage lightly. You need to get special training in an IKΛM squad and pass all the skills tests before we even think of letting you walk around with a badge. That gives us about ten to fifteen new DEA recruits each year. We don’t do this out of some sort of snobbery. If we accepted lower ranked mages into the service, we’d just be signing their death warrants. Most supernatural entities would just overpower them outright. But these ACT devices Talmax has developed; they’re game changers. Now, even the lowliest practitioner can pose a serious threat to a fully trained DEA agent. For instance, based on Ms. Bathory’s report, the individual that she and Mr. Resnick encountered was a mere Tier 2 mage.”

Dante sat up in his seat. His face was cut up, and his arm was in a sling, but he looked pretty good for a guy who had just jumped out of a second story window. “Pardon me, sir, but if I recall my magic theory correctly, a pureblooded Nostophoros is supposed to be able to fight a Tier 6 mage evenly.”

Spinoza chuckled. “Is that the number the textbooks are spouting?”

“Please, Dante,” Sadie chimed in. “Everyone knows the Pures are the same as the rest of the born vampires. They’ve just got bigger egos.”

Spinoza’s expression darkened. “I’ve got a few dead mates that would beg you different, little one.”

Dean Albright leaned forward and eyed him.

The alguacil threw up his hands in surrender.

Agent Masterson cleared his throat (he seemed to do that a lot). “Mr. Dante, Tier 6 is our best estimate. But it’s only that, an estimate. It’s not like the leadership goes around picking fights, now do they? But the Nostophoros menace is not our concern today. Talmax has quite of few Tier 4-plus mages. Try to imagine what an ACT device looks like in the hands of a true professional.”

I scratched my head. To me, everyone seemed sufficiently deadly. What was the difference if they were holding one stick of dynamite or ten? I’d get splattered either way.

“Ralph, shall we switch to strategic now?”

“Thank you, John.” Agent Collins stood up and straightened his tie. “Talmax has done an extraordinary job of exploiting the existing drug infrastructure to further their goals. The cartels always had an impressive array of weaponry and gunmen, but their problem was always loyalty. Now, thanks to their extensive use of wipes, Talmax has created a small army that is both loyal and fearless. If the gunmen don’t simply overwhelm our agents, the barrage of offensive magic does. And since Talmax doesn’t care if their Imperiti foot soldiers are killed, they can employ mass effect spells from a distance. In the first months of the conflict, before we fully understood the threat, we lost over one hundred agents in the fights to control Phoenix, San Diego, Los Angeles, and San Francisco.”

“Awen’s Ghost,” Jules muttered.

“Talmax attempted to capture Salt Lake City and Sante Fe as well. Fortunately, the Mormon Guard was more prepared than most. The Salt Lake Leynode was well fortified, and the Guard’s crackdown on drugs meant the usual narco infrastructure was nonexistent. The element of surprise lost, Talmax were forced into a face-to-face confrontation with a well-defended node. That freed up some of our forces. A second group of DEA mages then countered Talmax in Santa Fe. We managed to push them out of the city and set up a decent perimeter. After those two victories, we expected to be able to draw a line in the sand. We hoped to hold Talmax off until we could present evidence to the ICE that these ACT devices were illegal…then Talmax started playing dirty.

“You are all painfully aware that over this last summer numerous initiates were captured or killed during transit to Elliot College. In response to those attacks, we firmed up our defenses. You could say that our personnel went to the mattresses. The Department ended all travel without DEA escorts. Our academy in California was evacuated because its supply lines were at risk, but we were extremely confident of the fortifications at our remaining academies. Their defenses were designed by the best minds at the Department and Cerberus, and after their failures in Salt Lake and Santa Fe, we didn’t believe that Talmax would dare take a swipe at our infrastructure. Throughout their campaign, they had been at pains to avoid face-to-face fights.”

Agent Collins took a moment to look at each one of us.

“Trainees, we underestimated the enemy. Yesterday, Talmax launched a combined assault on all our remaining educational facilities.”

Sadie gasped.

“From what we can tell, Talmax employed a new form of translocation to insert forces past our defenses. The attack against Boulder College ended before it started. The members of the assault team, twenty-four strong, ceased to exist on arrival.”

Collins flipped slides to an image of a school cafeteria. A torrent of guts was strewn across the floor. I recognized the sight. I had created one just like it last night.

“They materialized half above and half below the cafeteria’s floor. Our best guess is that their mage miscalculated the altitude. What you see here was waiting for the janitor this morning.”

Collins adjusted his glasses and stared down at the table.

“Unfortunately, our luck ended there. Reports are still arriving, but we believe the entire Portland United campus was overrun. Talmax has taken control of both the college and the city.”

“My parents?” Sadie asked weakly.

Collins shook his head. “I’m sorry Ms. Thompson, but we just don’t know. Your mother and father were one of only two weft-pairs on scene. Their last transmission stated they were attempting to divert the incoming force and buy enough time for the survivors of the first wave to escape.”

Daggers of pain jabbed into my sides. Sadie was a powerful mage. Those sharp stabs were her aura’s response to the news. I wasn’t the only one who felt them. Jules and Monique, nearest her, nearly jumped out of their chairs. Sadie broke down into wave after wave of gasping sobs. I couldn’t bear to look. I stared down at the table instead. Sadie was a bundle of lighthearted energy. Even after I’d nearly got her killed, she only managed to see the positives. Now she’d been reduced to a shaking heap. It was infuriating.

To my surprise, Sheila was the one to take charge. She scooped Sadie up like she was a baby, carried her to the waiting room, and laid her down on the couch. Meanwhile, back in my head, on the back burner, simmering under low heat, a nasty stew was brewing. These people…murdering kids on their way to school…blowing up dormitories…killing faculty in their sleep…kicking Rei’s face in. I felt hot. I felt angry. I pictured my turn. What I would do to them. How fun it would be to—a steel-toed boot collided with my shin. I sucked in air as the pain rose to epic.

Across the table Spinoza was staring at me evenly. “Easy, diablillo.” His voice came unaccompanied by the movement of his lips. “You’ll have your chance. But if you storm into this brawl, your first and last victim will be the same.”

I looked down at the table. The glossy sheen had blistered around my hands.

Stars above, the assassin on the mind walkie-talkie was right. What was I doing? Would getting in a huff make anybody whole again? We had to be calm and cool about this. We had to be professional. We could do way more damage that way.

I looked up at Alguacil Spinoza and nodded. Then I turned to Collins. “Sir, I don’t know much, and this situation looks like a real clusterfuck, but I’m assuming you didn’t drag us in here to tell us a sad story. How do we deliver a nutter?”

Roster motioned his fingers back and forth between us. “I love it when you speak my language. Yo, Mr. C, lets get to the part where we show these Talmacks what hurtin’ is.”

Fukimura creaked forward in his chair. My face twisted up in confusion. I hadn’t even noticed he was in the freakin’ room. “The path is clear. They breached the realm. They have endangered us all. They must be killed.”

“Aku soku zan, baby,” Roster said. “I love that shit.”

Collins shook his head. “We are so quick to draw the blade; we forget how hard it is to sheath.” He turned to us. “But that is—I’m afraid—the exact reason we have brought you here today. We need new blades, and you are the only ones that will do.”

“It’s all because of a coincidence really,” Masterson explained. “Everyone in Lambda squad has something in common. You’re all resistant to glamour.”

“Well we all knew Roster was,” Monique said with a laugh. “The fool’s way to bullheaded to be convinced of anything.”

“Damn straight,” Roster agreed.

“But that can’t be a coincidence,” Jules objected. “Only one-in-ten mages are resistant to glamour. The probability of that happening by chance is…um…” Jules was more of a facts girl; her eyes were rolling up into the back of her head.

“About one in ten billion,” I offered.

“Oh.” Jules swallowed. “I get it.”

So did I.

“That’s cold, Albright,” Roster said, shaking his head.

“Well, it makes perfect sense to me,” Maria said, daring a glance in my direction. “Why anyone would trust one of those things is beyond me.”

My jaw tensed. That bitch. She looked so…vindicated. I thought about how Rei acted when she spoke to Dean Albright. It was always ‘yes, sir’ this and ‘yes, sir’ that. I thought back to how Rei could never meet Albright’s eyes. How she kept bowing her head. I bit down on my lip. Rei had a crush on him, didn’t she?

I felt deflated. Roster was right. It was just cold.

“Well, dean, I hate to disappoint you, but Rei glamoured me last night.”

“On the contrary, initiate. Apprentice Dante, would you repeat what you told me.”

Dante eyes darted about the room. He liked talking in front of people about as much as I did.

“Right…um, Rei and Dieter were arguing over something, which seems to be the norm…oh, uh sorry, Dieter.”

He wiped his brow and took a deep breath.

“So, Dieter was like, ‘You’re gonna go out there on your own, are you nuts?’

“And then the prin—I mean, Rei was like, ‘Don’t underestimate my power, puny mortal,’ and she hit us with the whammy. It was amazing, really. She wasn’t even looking at me, and my shroud melted.

“And then Dieter was like, ‘Over my dead body!’

“And I was thinking my roomie was about to get his wish.

“And then Rei got super vampy and was like, ‘Yield to my power!’

“And then Dieter started grunting and looked super uncomfortable.

“And then Rei took a step forward.

“And then Dieter dropped to his knees, but a moment later he started going ‘Reeee!’

“And I was like, ‘Oh, for the love of God, please don’t kill me.’

“And then Rei walked over and elbowed him in the head…

“That’s about it. Oh, and there were grenades.”

With a sigh, Dante sank deep into his chair.

“Thank you, Apprentice Dante,” Albright said, turning to me. “You see, initiate, you did resist her glamour. Ms. Bathory had fed recently, and she hit you twice, full on. There was also the time you laughed at her for demanding of you a coffee. She spoke to me about that. It irritated her. In both instances, you resisted her will and continued to think cogently.”

“The cogent part is debatable,” Jules chimed in. “Dieter, as my apprentice, I won’t have ya pickin’ fights with no drainers. If she wants a coffee, give her a fockin’ coffee. I’ve invested far too much time and capital to have ya turned into a fang-cushion.”

Collins nodded. “That’s resistant enough for government work. John, if you would.”

Masterson threw up a new slide. It had ‘classified’ written on it like 10,000 times.

“We called you in today because we have a job for you. Normally, only 3rd and 4th years engage in any sort of fieldwork, but an exception must be made. We’ve lost far too many agents. Mages resistant to glamour are in short supply, and as I am about to show you, resistance to glamour is critical for this job. Observe, if you would, Las Vegas, NV.”

“Las Vegas?” Maria asked. “But Las Vegas is a dead city.”

“Pardon me?” I’d had enough of Maria’s snark.

“Not infested like the Midwest, Dieter. Las Vegas just doesn’t have any leyflow. You can’t draw mana from the ground.”

“Oh. Wait. What do you mean the Midwest is infested? Infested with what?”

Maria facepalmed. “You hang out with one and you don’t even know their territories?”

“Territories? You mean the black parts of the map are—”

Masterson cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, initiate, but we have to depart within the hour. Let’s leave a discussion of the Fiefs for another day, shall we? And yes, Ms. Spino—”

“Espinoza,” Maria corrected.

“Apologies. Las Vegas is indeed a dead city. We believe that is the very reason Talmax has established it’s headquarters there. A dead city erases our advantages and enhances their own.”

Monique nodded. “With no leyflow, we would have to rely on our mana reserves for casts. You said these ACT devices enhance mana reserves. The Talmax mages would be able to cast a lot more, right?”

“Very good, Ms. Rice. Compound that with the number of hired guns Talmax employs, and you can understand why DEA Command scrapped any assault attempts using mages. We conducted a standard drug raid on their interests, but we came up empty handed. Carrera wasn’t stupid enough to get caught with white powder on his hands.” He clicked to a slide of the Las Vegas Strip. “And it get’s even better. A few months back, a Talmax subsidiary purchased a bankrupted casino resort called the Over the Top.”

“Why that piece of junk?” The Over the Top housed the tallest observation deck in the world, but it was old, run down, and reeked of cigarette smoke—a real classy joint.

“Junk is past tense, Mr. Resnick. Carrera has poured millions into a renovation project. The resort is slated to reopen on December, 15th.”

“Yo, enough background,” Roster pleaded. “When do we come in?”

“We have good intelligence that Carrera himself intends to operate out of this facility, and where Carrera goes, so goes Talmax’s supply of ACT. We want you to steal us some.”

I raised my hand. “Um, how?”

“Command believes we can hold out against Talmax in Salt Lake City and Santa Fe for a few more months. Our Intelligence indicates that they won’t be ready for a direct assault on the Mormons’ temple until Christmas at the earliest. We are going to send your squad in under the radar. You are going to obtain samples of ACT to prove they are illegal goods from beyond the frame. That should be enough to get the ICE to intervene. Correct, Mr. Spinoza?”

“If Talmax has indeed breached the frame, their punishment will be severe.” Carrera smiled on that last word; I very much wished he hadn’t.

“Fuck yea. We get a trip to Vegas, do some Bond shit, and save the day Armageddon style?” Roster said, thumping the table.

“Bud,” Dante said leaning over, “Bruce Willis dies at the end of that one.”

“I ain’t Bruce Willis!” Roster said laughing. “It was Dieter sayin’ ‘Now I got a machine gun’ last night. That boy’s the one who’s cooked.”

Jules slumped forward and cradled her head. “I’m surrounded by a bunch a nutto Yanks.”

Dean Albright stood up, “Alright, ladies and gentlemen, look sharp. We’ll go over a more detailed plan later. Central’s basement is your new home. Bring whatever you can salvage from the dorms, and the Department will provide the rest. We begin your accelerated combat training at 1200 tomorrow. You’re all off until then. Dismissed.”

End of Book 1

Acknowledgments

This book was an accident. I’d learned I’d been accepted to medical school, but I found it hard to celebrate. I was up at UC Davis researching burn care, and the love of my life was way down in Los Angeles. For the first time since we started dating, we were living far apart. Work at UC Davis was great, but I had no roommates, no television, and I was fresh out of Jim Butcher novels. The bar scene wasn’t for me, so I decided to start writing the novel I wished I could read. Zero Sight was the result.

My thanks go out to Dr. Kiho Cho and Dr. Tina Palmieri for teaching me how to think like a doctor; to Karen Lenkis, Mary Beth Lawless, Katrina Falwell, and Grace Chan for teaching me how to think like a nurse; and to UC Irvine School of Medicine’s class of 2013 for reminding me that the cure for great misery is great company.

I am forever indebted to my dear friend, Jon Steller, for editing this book’s manuscript during the middle of our second year of medical school. I am told by an authoritative source that he took it into bed with him every single night. Jon, sorry for stealing your sleep. Nicole, sorry for stealing your husband.

Thanks to Sarah Pedersen and Jordan Kimura for their hard work on the cover. You two were born with the eye for art that I was born without. And my deepest apologies to all my beta readers: Jai and Renzo Massari, Sheela Damle, Karen and Barry Shier, Jayant and Rohinee Damle, Stacy Brock-McLellan, Nicole Steller, Rombod Rahimian, Stefan Block, and Stefanie Mooney. I’ll try to spell better next time.

Lastly, I’d like to thank my biggest fan. When she said that this book was good enough, I was happy; when she said that I was good enough, I was overjoyed.

About the Author

The guy who wrote this finds it really weird to be writing about himself.

Brian Justin Shier was born in the great state of New Jersey, he was raised in the great state of Nevada, and he went to college in the great state of Missouri. When he realized he needed to make something of his life, he moved to the great state of California to seek his fortune. He did medical research for a few years before deciding he loved working with patients. He is currently pursuing an MD somewhere in Southern California.

For news about the author or The Zero Sight Series, check out (www.bjustinshier.com). There may or may not be cookies.