by Randall Pine
He actually felt its warmth.
“I do feel it,” he whispered, barely moving his lips. He was afraid if he moved too much, he would disturb the light, and it would evaporate.
“Good,” Llewyn nodded. “Now push it up. Let it melt into your bloodstream. Carry the energy through your entire body.”
With his eyes still closed, Virgil pictured the ball of light flattening and spreading, coating the inside of his body like a brilliant paint. He began to actually feel the warmth of the light tingle against his skin.
“Virgil,” Simon whispered, his voice quiet with awe. “Look.”
Virgil opened his eyes. It wasn’t just his imagination; his skin actually was lit up from the inside. His blood glowed with brilliant yellow-orange color, streaking through his veins and giving his skin a warm glow. As he watched, the light flowed toward his right wrist. He saw it drain from the fingers of his left hand and disappear up his arm, and he could feel the heat flushing across his shoulders and down into his right arm. The metal cuff began to draw the energy into itself, soaking in the orange light and glowing as brightly as fire. The color slipped from his skin fully into the manacle. He held up his wrist and gazed at the bright orange metal in awe. It was warm on his wrist, but not hot enough to burn. “I’m a sorcerer,” he breathed.
Llewyn snorted. “Not even close.”
Virgil inspected the glowing cuff carefully. He reached out with his other hand and touched it. The tip of his finger tingled, but it didn’t burn. “How do I shoot it?” he asked, mesmerized.
“Aim your wrist at the can,” the old man instructed. “The manacle is the chamber; your hand is the muzzle. Got it?” Virgil nodded. “Good. When you’re ready, focus all your concentration on the energy in the cuff. You’ll feel it build.”
“I feel it building,” Virgil confirmed, concentrating so hard that beads of sweat began to form on his forehead. And indeed, the cuff began to glow with even more intensity.
“Good,” Llewyn nodded. “Keep going. When it builds so much you don’t feel like you can contain it anymore, you push it out.”
“Push it out how?” Virgil asked. His hand was beginning to shake.
“Push it out from your gut. It’s like breathing out, hard.”
The manacle was so saturated with energy that the metal now appeared to be made of molten steel. It was actually humming with power; Simon could hear it, even standing six feet away. The power of it sent Virgil’s arm into tremors, and he struggled to keep his aim steady. “Okay,” he said through clenched teeth, “here I go.”
He squeezed his eyes shut, and he clenched the muscles in his stomach. He took a deep breath, and as he exhaled, he threw his whole self into the manacle, and the energy exploded out from the cuff.
There was a quick flash with a loud POP! as a halo of light burst out from the manacle. Then a small explosion, like a bottle rocket popping, burst in the air just above his hand. Finally, a bundle of orange light the size of a softball shot out from his knuckles. It zoomed forward, missed the tin can by ten feet, shot into the embankment, ricocheted off, slammed into the concrete on the other side of the ditch, and bounced again, shooting straight up into the air, rising higher and higher until it disappeared into the night sky, a falling star in reverse.
All three men watched quietly as the ball of light faded into space. It disappeared just to the left of the blinking lights of an airplane, cruising high above in the sunset sky.
“Well,” Simon said, clearing his throat. “That’s going to be on the news.”
“Next time, try not to miss so hard,” Llewyn grumbled. He nodded at Simon. “You’re up.”
Simon swallowed, hard. He took a few deep breaths to steady his nerves. “Okay,” he said. He stepped forward and lifted his left arm.
“You know what to do?” the sorcerer asked.
Simon nodded. He closed his eyes and thought back on happy thoughts. He was surprised at just how few and far between they were. But before long, he had collected a small set of them: autumn afternoons of his childhood, crunching through the hills of southern Pennsylvania with Virgil; rainy Saturday movie marathons with his mom; the bonfires during Homecoming, when he felt shrouded in night, and somehow both separate and together with the other people in his class; the way Abby smelled, like peppermint and gingerbread; his sister, Laura, driving him to the riverfront so they could watch the fireworks on the Fourth of July, singing along with the radio and laughing.
He opened his eyes. His manacle was ablaze with energy and light, glowing with a powerful aura the emanated from the metal.
“Good,” Llewyn said, sounding pleased. “That is very good.”
Unlike Virgil, Simon’s hand didn’t shake. His wrist didn’t feel taxed at all. In fact, it felt comfortable. It felt right. It felt like his arm had been missing the magic of the manacle his entire life, and was only just now becoming a whole appendage.
He pointed his open hand at the can. He felt a sense of calm wash over him, and the world came into a crisp focus, as if every single thing in sight was outlined in heavy black ink. He homed in on the can, and it seemed to grow larger as he focused. He felt the fire in his stomach, and he pushed it up, pushed it out, through his shoulder and down his arm. The energy in the manacle gathered itself and grew so bright that it was almost a second sun. He gave one more push, and the energy shot forward…but just as it did, he had a vision, a crystal-clear view of Mrs. Grunberg’s dark basement, of the demon sitting in his chair, with the porcelain baby mask squeezed tightly onto his face. It was like the demon was looking at him, was seeing him, even though he was on the other side of town. And then, in the vision, Asag said his name: “Simon.”
It all happened in a flash. Simon flinched, surprised by the dark vision, just as the energy burst out of his cuff. The ball of light went wide, slamming into the broad side of the shopping cart and melting the metal wire grate.
“Close,” Llewyn said, sounding impressed. He raised an eyebrow and stared at Simon with his one green eye. The blue light in the other eye socket dimmed into its dark crystalline violet. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah,” Simon lied. “Just—yeah. Fine.”
He could still see the afterimage of Asag burned into his vision.
Chapter 14
“I can’t keep the manacle?” Virgil asked, disappointed.
Llewyn grunted. “The manacles stay with me. When you earn them, you can keep them.”
“How long before we earn them?”
Llewyn thought about this, rubbing the thick stubble along his chin. “Three years, I think,” he said finally.
“Oh, come on,” Virgil complained.
Llewyn held open the pouch. Virgil sighed and dropped his manacle into it. Simon slipped his cuff into his pouch as well and handed it over to the sorcerer. “You’ve got talent,” the old man admitted, cinching the bags and tossing them into the trunk. “Both of you. But we’ve got a lot of work to do.” He closed the lid and turned to face the young men. He crossed his great arms, striking an incredibly imposing figure. “Come back tomorrow morning. Eight o’clock. We’ll train more then.”
“Eight?” Virgil asked. “I can’t, I have a job.”
“Quit your job,” Llewyn said simply.
Virgil laughed. “I can’t quit my job, I need my job.”
“He does need his job,” Simon confirmed. “Or else he can’t pay rent. I really need him to pay his half of the rent.”
“What about you?” Llewyn asked, turning toward Simon. “Do you have a job?”
“Sort of,” Simon said. “I walk dogs.”
“Simon doesn’t need a real job,” Virgil added, rolling his eyes like he always did when he talked about Simon’s financial situation. “He walks dogs because he gets bored just sitting at home. His grandpa invented the drive-thru window, and now he’s set for life.”
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br /> Llewyn looked at Simon, surprised. “Is that true?” he asked. Simon nodded, blushing with embarrassment. But Llewyn nodded seriously. “That is a good invention,” he said.
“Yeah, well, all my grandpa invented was bad jokes that were super racist,” Virgil said sourly. “So I have to work. I can come after.”
“Come at eight,” the sorcerer insisted. “Fighting evil is your job now.”
“That is a very cool job description,” Virgil admitted. “And it’s not like I love working at the plant. But I need that job. I’m barely paying my bills as it is.”
“It’s true,” Simon confirmed. “He’s not very good with money.”
“Fighting evil is your job now,” Llewyn repeated. He reached into the pocket of his blue coat and pulled out a worn leather wallet. He tossed it to Virgil, who caught it against his chest.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“It will fill with paper money for any expense that I deem reasonable,” the sorcerer said. “It’s payment for your training.”
Virgil stared at the wallet in disbelief. “Seriously?” he said.
Llewyn nodded.
“Holy Hamburg, I love fighting evil,” he marveled.
“Do you require one as well?” Llewyn asked Simon.
Simon shook his head. “No, that’s okay,” he said. “I’m good.”
The sorcerer nodded. “Come back at eight,” he said. “Come ready to focus. Asag’s power grows, and if he isn’t stopped, he may soon plunge all of Templar into darkness.”
Simon sighed. “Do you really think we’re the best people for the job?” he asked.
Llewyn shrugged. “You’re the only people for the job,” he said gruffly. “I’ll keep sending out a beacon, try to draw others to our aide. Until then, you are the heroes of Templar.”
Simon and Virgil looked at each other. Virgil smiled. Simon frowned.
“Until tomorrow,” Llewyn said. He raised one hand and turned it in a wide circular movement. The air began to ripple and swirl, like water being spun down a drain. Then it turned color and became a dark purplish circle as the sorcerer opened up a portal to another part of town. Through the portal, Simon could see the flashing neon lights of the Pop-A-Shot and Whack-A-Mole games in the Squeezy Cheez.
“So we just…step through?” Simon asked uncomfortably.
Llewyn nodded. “That’s how portals work.”
Virgil tapped the leather wallet against his palm as he walked into the portal. “See you tomorrow,” he said happily, and he popped through the circle, stepping into the Squeezy Cheez on the other side.
Simon nodded. “Tomorrow,” he said. Then he followed his friend through the portal.
The sorcerer looked after them for a few seconds, his face marked with a grave and worried expression. Then he waved his hand, and the portal closed, severing the tie between them.
Chapter 15
“So? How did it go?” Abby asked. She held a spray bottle in one hand and an old, stained rag in the other. She misted the countertop and gave it a half-hearted swipe with the rag. But her eyes were alive with a brilliant light behind her oversized glasses.
“It was…weird,” Simon decided.
“Definitely weird,” Virgil confirmed.
“We shot magic from our hands.”
“We did shoot magic from our hands.”
“Virgil almost hit a plane,” Simon said.
“I’m going to be on the news,” Virgil smiled proudly.
Abby’s eyes grew wide with interest. “You two have actual magic?” she asked.
Simon frowned. “You don’t have to sound so surprised about it,” he said, sounding hurt.
“It’s just, you know magic is rare, right?” Abby continued wiping at the counter. “I know it seems sort of normal, because Templar is some weird evil-spirit hellstorm, but in most of the country, in most of the world, magic is super rare. The fact that you two have it is…” She shrugged. “Well, yeah, it’s sort of surprising.”
“You have magic, too,” Virgil pointed out. He was only half-listening to the conversation. His attention was being drawn away by the bright lights of the Skee-Ball machines along the far wall. He was, for the hundredth time, trying to calculate how many more points he would need to score total to get enough tickets to finally, finally get the Nerf gun.
“I know I have magic. It’s just surprising that you have magic.”
“I feel insulted,” Virgil said, not sounding one bit insulted. “Do I have time for a game?” He started walking toward the Skee-Ball machines.
“No,” Abby said, “We’re closed.” She moved to the computer and tapped on the screen a few times. The bank of dim ceiling lights above the Skee-Ball games went completely out, snuffing that side of the room into total darkness, except for the ever-flashing neon lights from the games.
“Aw, come on,” Virgil grumbled.
“Sorry, pal,” Abby shrugged. “Time and Squeezy Cheez wait for no one.” She put away the spray bottle and rag, and she gathered the trash bag out of the can next to the counter. “Besides, we have somewhere to be.”
Simon started. “We do?” he asked. “I sort of thought we’d all go home and…maybe just sort of…process.” He indicated the entire world with a sweeping motion of his hand. “Process everything.”
“No time to process,” Abby said, shaking her head. “We’ve got work to do.”
“More work?” Virgil groaned. But the groaning was just for show. Energy-shooting magic-hero work was a lot more fun than what most people traditionally thought of as “work.”
“What sort of work?” Simon asked cautiously.
Abby hauled the trash bags toward the back door, stopping to peek her head inside the back room and tell whatever manager was back there that she was clocking out for the night. “Come on,” she called to the guys, and they trotted after her, toward the back exit. “We’ll dump the trash, then I’ll follow you over.”
“Follow us over where?” Simon asked.
“To the old lady’s house,” Abby said, shoving open the door with her hip and stepping out into the alley. “I want to see this demon.”
Chapter 16
“Is this a good idea?”
Simon was hunched nervously over the steering wheel of the old Pontiac. His eyes darted between the dark road ahead and the rearview mirror above, where he kept a close watch on the headlights of Abby’s truck behind him.
“No. It is very obviously not a good idea,” Virgil said, as if this were the stupidest question he’d ever heard. “I don’t know if you remember, but last time we confronted the demon, he teleported me out of the house and showed you his face that was apparently so ugly it made you black out.”
Simon remembered the flash of the demon that he had seen during the training session with Llewyn just an hour earlier. He shuddered. “We’re not confronting the demon,” Simon said, his voice resolute. “We’ll show her the house, from a safe distance, she’ll see the red light, and we’ll go.”
“Yeah,” Virgil said, nodding enthusiastically, “Abby definitely seems like the kind of person to just sit back and do whatever you tell her to do.”
Simon sighed. “Yeah,” he said, shaking his head. “I don’t feel good about it, either.”
His hands were sweaty against the vinyl covering of the steering wheel, and he wiped his palms on his shirt, one after the other, so he could get a better grip.
“So, hey...did you catch what Llewyn said? About Abby?” Virgil asked. He watched Simon’s face closely for his reaction.
“About her magic?” Simon replied.
“Yeah.”
Simon nodded. “Yes. I caught that.”
“He sounded kind of weird about it, right? I mean, that’s not just me…is it?”
“No,” Simon confirmed. “It’s not just y
ou.” He raised his eyes to the rear view mirror again. Abby’s headlights were close on his tail. “It sure sounded like she might be more than just an empath.”
“And he also sounded kind of scared of her, didn’t he?”
“I don’t know,” Simon admitted. “But yeah. It sort of sounded like maybe he was.”
They drove on in silence for a while, navigating the crowded streets of Templar, heading west. When they were just a few blocks from Mrs. Grunberg’s house, Virgil cleared his throat and said, “So you like her, right?”
Simon’s cheeks burned. But he knew there was no sense lying to Virgil. His best friend knew his own thoughts almost as well as he did. In some ways, they were practically the same person. “Yeah,” he said. “I like her.”
Virgil nodded. “Thought so,” he said. He sat back in his seat and lost himself quietly in thought. Eventually, he added, “She might have enough magic to literally rip you in half.”
“Yes, Virgil, thank you, I understand that,” Simon said, irritated.
Virgil nodded thoughtfully again. “Just making sure,” he said.
“Thanks.”
He turned onto Evergreen Street and pulled the car into an open spot at the side of the road, a block and a half south of Mrs. Grunberg’s house. Abby pulled her truck in a few spaces down.
“Okay,” Simon said, exhaling as he turned off the ignition. “We stay on this side of the street, we show her the house, and then we go,” he said.
“Sure,” Virgil agreed. “Sounds good to me.”
“Okay.”
He popped open his door. Abby was already walking up to the Pontiac. “Is that the house?” she asked, pointing up the road toward Mrs. Grunberg’s house. “It is, isn’t it? I could feel it half a mile away.” Simon opened his mouth to speak, but Abby didn’t wait; she checked for traffic, then jogged off across the road, heading toward the sidewalk on the other side.
“Well, this is going well,” Virgil observed.
“Shut up,” Simon muttered.
The guys followed her across the street. Abby came to a stop at the corner. Even though it wasn’t far, Simon and Virgil were both breathing hard by the time they reached her. “If you two are going to fight evil, you might want to hit the treadmill every once in a while,” she said, but not unkindly. She walked briskly toward the house.
