by Pam Uphoff
“What do you know about it?” One of them glared.
Gior sniffed. “There are two different purple genes. Well, it’s the same gene, just in a different position. One of them was put too close to a gene that’s only active during embryonic development, and turns off before birth. The other one stays turned on.”
Arno nodded. “The Peacock gene—either one—is one of the most important genes for dimensional work. There’s probably five or six more.” He reached out and grabbed a bubble, envisioning it small. Held it in the palm of his hand. “Can any of you see this?”
“What? A soap bubble?” The guy in the center growled.
The other two exchanged puzzled glances.
“You.” Arno poked a finger at the soap bubble man. “Should ask Captain Wolfson for magic lessons.”
He reached out and stuck the bubble to the man’s shirt. “And anyone else who can see that.”
He elbowed Gior to the side, and they walked around the puzzled men, all three staring at the one guy’s shirt.
“Thanks, Arno, that was quick thinking.” Gior looked sideways at him. “I don’t know why Ryol always picks on you.”
Arno shrugged. “That’s Ryol. She’s just . . . a verbal emoter.” He eyed the walkway, and headed for the pile of rock. “Just a couple more squares, and some long skinny bits to fill in here and there . . .”
***
“Because frankly? Mr. Iron and Mr. Enterprise are very poorly trained, and Enterprise is in competition with Captain Wolfson for number of offspring. In our case, the oldest are just ten years old.”
Ryol looked over from her Danish to the tall distinguished man talking to Yellow, the very misnamed witch, who worked in the pastry shop.
“Really . . . Lord Fidel Iron I’ve heard all about. Enterprise doesn’t ring a bell.”
“Ring a . . . how quaint. Ajay Enterprise.”
“Oh! Ajay. One of the Sea Wolves the Hors de Combat picked up.”
The man’s face went blank. “The . . .”
“Oh, sorry, old joke back home.” Yellow snickered. “The criminal gang . . . Both Western and Veronian witches, plus these . . . well, trained assassin prostitutes . . . none of them were great scholars, and when they heard the term . . . they adopted it as their gang name. The Whores de Combat. Then Rior—from the One World—found them and turned them into a really nasty bunch of cross-dimensional criminals. And they’ve been calling themselves the Black Island Gang for a while, but it just doesn’t have the same amusement value.”
The man rubbed his forehead like it was hurting. “In any case, we need to hire someone to train these children properly. If you know of anyone . . .”
“Hmm, what an interesting thought. Certainly, I’ll . . . hmm. I’ll check in Rip Crossing. They’ll be less inclined to kill Lord Iron on sight.”
“Thank you.” The man eyed Ryol. “You’re one of Wolfson’s kids, aren’t you?”
“Yep. And no use recruiting me, I’m just learning myself.” Ryol grinned. “And the only teachers I know are Oners, and they don’t do dimensional stuff. That’s what you’re after, isn’t it?”
“Yes. We’ve got Iron and Enterprise to do it now, but they have only the vaguest idea how to train the children in even beginning magic.”
“Eww! That can be a bit dangerous. I mean, we don’t have very good control when the magic suddenly starts. Even though we get meditation exercises and learn about it, it’s still really hard to deal with for a year or two.” The man looked skeptical, so she dredged up an old and massively stupid comparison. “It’s like puberty for boys. Your voice is all over the place and, umm, physical reactions happen that you can’t control.”
The man blinked. “I . . . see.” He was a little red.
Embarrassed because I mentioned puberty? Surely they teach teenagers what to expect . . . eww. I’m almost fifteen. It’s going to start pretty soon.
Ryol nodded. “So they really need people around who can block any surprises.”
“Thank you. That’s . . . very useful knowledge.” He headed for the road.
Yellow was giggling. “Oh my, I think you shocked the poor man. You are definitely Xen’s kid.”
Ryol eyed her. Red hair . . . Probably another relative. “You know him? Do you . . . I mean . . . never mind. I don’t want to know.”
Yellow laughed. “Don’t worry. Never even kissed him. He’s, oh, about seven years older than I am, so I was one of the teenage witches who had school girl crushes on him. He avoided us whenever possible, and we all got over it. Well. My generation. The Farmer Girls were just a couple years younger than he was, and pursued him relentlessly. Sometimes I wonder if they’re responsible for him joining the Army.”
“The Farmer Girls? With capital letters?”
“Yep . . . Four of them, with two kids each.” Yellow jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “You’ve met them.”
“Oh! I see. I think. Did they, umm, like the Smuggler Sisters . . .”
Yellow nodded.
“And did Q . . .”
“Yep. Purple bunnies, with a trap spell. It was pretty funny . . . now that we’ve got more perspective on it. At the time everyone was pissed that any witch could get away with that, and some people talked to Answer.” Her eyes widened, probably at the memory. “Answer just said ‘Can’t trust that rogue family’ and then she gave this nasty smile and said ‘and in this case those idiots deserved it.’ And everyone slunk off home, and the spells wore off after a couple of months.”
“But . . . what about their babies?”
“Oh, they were a couple years old by then . . . see, Xen had been injured again . . . and they tried to sneak in, again. That’s when Q got them.”
“Eww!”
“Yeah. Idiots.”
***
And another last day, with beach practice on control and Master Xen practically begging them not to accidentally kill anyone. And then they went home again.
Arno and Ryol had a limo to themselves, the driver looked bored.
“I’m Okte. Montevideo Enclave, right?”
They chorused “Right” back at him. He closed the door on them, walked around to his door and started off.
“Aunt Rael didn’t come home with us, again.” Arno looked back. She’s still standing there, watching us go home to . . . our parents.
“She’s a Directorate Analyst, she can’t just take time off whenever she wants to.” Ryol glared at him.
“Yeah. I hope watching the lessons is work, and not vacation.” I hope . . . for world peace and harmony. Or at least a dearth of hitting , screaming, or lawsuits in the family.
Mother, what were you thinking?
Chapter Thirty-one
Bank Vault
They were just finishing dinner when the buzz of Dad's comm interrupted Mother’s offer of desert.
Dad listened for a long moment, worry lines starting between his brows. "I'll ask if there's anything either of them can do." He set the comm down and looked from Ryol to Arno. "The police have a problem that you two might be able to help with.
"Some bank robbers have managed to seal themselves into a vault with their hostages. The timer on the vault won't allow anyone to open it until morning—by which time the oxygen in the vault will be exhausted. They've tried every kind of drill . . . it's shielded magically as well as being physically as hard as it's possible. Can either of you do anything dimensional?"
Ryol scowled, shook her head. "We could call Master Xen."
"They figure they've got half an hour's air left, if that."
Arno hunched his shoulders. "I've done a tiny little corridor . . . once."
Dad picked his phone back up. "We can try. Be right there."
The bank was lit so brightly it hurt the eyes. His dad hustled him inside quickly, muttering about reporters.
A worried looking man in a suit herded them down two flights of stairs and through four propped open security doors. The vault door was huge. Towering overhead in the h
igh ceilinged room. There were scratches and scorch marks on it. They all looked superficial.
"How . . . " Arno cleared his throat and tried it again in a less horrified tone. "How thick is the door?" He looked around. Not much furniture.
"Eighty centimeters." A pudgy fellow frowned down at him.
"I'll need something that size, or a little bigger, something we can climb across, maybe that chair? And another?"
Arno turned to the vault, sat down in front of it, closed his eyes.
Electric blue. Full of bubbles, like a fizzy drink. He imagined it moving closer . . . reaching out and catching that bubble, right there. He opened his eyes. Got it!
He leaned carefully eased open a hole and stuck it down to the vault surface. Stretched it across, then scrambled to his feet and stuck down the top corners.
He turned; his dad was holding the chair.
"Shove it in, it's elastic and you have to turn it sideways and jam it across the hole . . . " Arno tipped it on its back . . . "It may not be wide enough. Is there another one?"
He climbed in, under the sagging roof of his tiny corridor and pushed the far side out a bit and very carefully opened a hole. Dull metal on the far side. Still inside the door.
He turned at a poke, grabbed the chair as it was sucked in and shoved it past the one he was standing on. The next hole opened to darkness, stale air. He reached a finger out to pin the hole's corners as men in respirators crowded in.
Arno shoved back against the elastic skin of the bubble and let them past. Then he turned for the lights and fresh air. Tried to not show how much he needed that hug from his dad. What if it was all too late? What if there were dead people in there, in the dark?
"Good job, kid." One of the policemen thumped Arno's shoulder on the way past.
"Let's back out of the way for a bit, Arno." His dad steered him away. "We'll have to hang around to close that . . . does it close?"
"Yeah. The vault will be fine."
The pudgy man looked over at them. Wringing his hands. "You . . . you got into the vault in four minutes."
His dad snorted. "It's going to be interesting, figuring out how to secure . . . damn near everything."
The man bobbed his head, then suddenly darted back toward the vault. A stumbling figure, a middle aged woman in a rumpled suit, staggering, supported by two men.
"Jyeh! Oh, thank the One!"
Then a man on a stretcher, oxygen mask over his face . . .
Arno was shepherded out of the way and didn't see too much of the other people being removed. Tried to not listen to the hasty commands coming from medical types, and the wails of ambulance sirens as people were whisked away.
Finally stuck his fingers in his ears. "I don't want to hear if anyone died."
His dad squeezed his shoulder.
After what seemed like hours, the police decided they didn't need back into the vault. "Can we take the chairs out?"
Arno scrambled to his feet. "Let me shut the far side first. And watch out, sometimes things shoot out kind of fast once they're halfway."
He peeled loose the corners inside the vault and let that hole seal, maneuvered the first chair around and let it fly . . . got shoved out himself by the second chair, then reached back in to free it and got flattened.
Then he unpinned the bubble and let it go.
It was all over the news the next morning.
Half of the headlines called him "Endi Dewulfe's Bastard Monster."
An hour later, they'd added Ryol to the headlines. "The Enemy's Children Living Among Us!"
"I hate you! How could you do this to me!" Ryol had tears running down her face.
Arno walked out of the dining room and crawled back into bed. Covers over his head. Until quiet footsteps stopped beside the bed, his desk chair creaked.
"Your dad says you just had a brutal lesson in the cost of doing the right thing." Master Xen's deep tones.
Arno stuck his nose out. "Dad called you? Dad called you!"
"Yep." A hint of amusement. "Said he'd hit me later."
Ryol screeched from the hallway. "It's not funny! My picture is all over the Grid and they're calling me a monster! Why are you always so stupid, Arno!"
"Ryol?" Master Xen's voice was quiet. "Would you prefer to have a brother who would let eight people die to avoid inconveniencing you?"
"Well . . . no . . ." A huffed out breath, then something thumped his feet. "I'm glad you . . . were brave enough to do that. But why didn't you put a bag over your head!"
Arno sat up. "Yeah. But what do we do now?"
Master Xen grinned. "Go across the street and build sand castles."
Ryol's eyes got large. "In public? In front of everyone?"
"Yep. Show the world you've got nothing to hide, lots of talent, and that you can defend yourselves." He glanced out the door at their parents. "That you are proud of who and what you are."
"But . . . " Mother was the hand wringer now. "People will think they are dangerous."
Master Xen nodded. "They are dangerous. They are also learning to control themselves and not harm anyone. You've raised them to be honest, law abiding, and nice. They'd no more deliberately harm someone magically than they'd borrow their dad's gun and shoot them."
"What about accidents?"
"That's why they need training."
***
By the time they had their castles half built they had an audience.
Xen was pleased to see most of the people keeping a wary distance.
Until friends ran up and stopped short.
"Can we come closer?"
Xen glanced at the adults behind them. "May I put shields on them? Just to minimize the damage in case of accidents?"
"Minimize." The wiry muscled man glowered.
"Life doesn't come with guarantees. Ryol and Arno are careful, not perfect."
The two mothers swapped glances and nodded. "Shields. Definitely shields."
Four of them approached, eyeing him. A fifth kid galloped up. "I'm not afraid. And I can do my own shields."
Xen eyed the boy. Physical and mental shields. Strong. He nodded. "If you get tired of holding them yourself, let me know."
A sniff, a scooped up handful of sand flung at Ryol's castle and the battle for the beach was on. Xen waved soft shields on the other four as they threw themselves into the game.
The seven kids kept it up until the castles were in ruins, and fast being eroded by the sea. Urfa, Rael, and reporters had joined the watchers. Rael and her sister grinned for the camera. Xen picked up enough of Rael's breezy chatter to recognize that she was claiming the twins, and laughing at the suggestion that she'd done it again.
"Oh no, the little kids are a hundred percent theirs." Rael grinned. "Even I am not that crazy."
Making the younger pair less of a target. Good.
She’s closed up tight, not showing anything. Bad.
A newsie got close enough to yell a question at Ryol, a microphone on a pole stretched out to catch her reply.
“What’s it like to be a half-native monster?”
Ryol turned red and drew in a deep breath.
Arno stepped up. “That’s Wolfson’s Withione bastard monster. Sheesh, get the insult right, will ya?” He shrugged. “And as for what it’s like? We’re learning to make corridors, and eventually gates. Then we—the Empire—won’t have to go begging to Disco for them. We’ll make them ourselves.”
Ryol nodded. “Yeah. And you know what? It’s fun learning a different kind of magic.” She turned her back on him and scooped up a ball of sand. Arno bolted toward his castle, but it was too late. Not that the sand ball mattered. The last tower slumped into the waves.
Then, show over, they herded all the kids and parents into the big house and up a flight of stairs to the big airy living room with the sweeping views of the ocean on one side and the graceful branches of a tall oak filtering the light from the other side.
Xen ducked into a lav long enough to slip into his apar
tment/stable fast-room to shower off sand and saltwater. Button down shirt, nice slacks and shoes. Then back out to meet the relatives.
Xen found himself chatting with Axhe—Ox—and Urfa. Which was rather interesting, in as much as Urfa was more interested in Rael's oft mentioned Brother-in-Law-the-Cop than Xen.
Ox was concentrating on Xen. “So how pissed at the family are you?”
“For myself, not much. I understand cross-dimensional diplomatic ploys. I thought I would never be involved with any of the children,” Xen tipped his head toward Urfa, “unless someone thought they could influence me. I think I’m pleased to say that that never happened. And a bit surprised to find myself training them. Expert level strategy, Director.”
Xen looked back at Ox. “I am worried about Rael, who is feeling betrayed by her family.”
“Oh.” Ox winced at that. “And the kids?”
“They’re worried, but they love Rael. They’ve decided I’m not horrible. They’re flexible.” So long as Rael doesn’t kill her sister.
Ox looked over to where Raod was talking to her friends, but her eyes and attention were on Rael, talking to the circle of kids. Winced a little.
Xen turned to Urfa. "Checking out your future gate makers?"
"Yes . . . that was a breathtaking demonstration of power, out there. Surprising in the boy, since he'd only just grasped power."
"Umm, I think he managed something rather unusual. I think he grasped power quietly, years ago, but only used the witch gene. Not something I've seen before, and I suspect not something you generally measure, or even notice. Mind you, he's now taken to using heat and light, but he's used to having power and doing some things without realizing he was using magic."
"I'd have thought you'd seen lots of witches blossoming?"
"Yes, but it's usually tough to get the boys to use gravity for power, when they've got heat and light as an option. It's usually their backup, not their primary source."
"And that's why he can make corridors, already?"
"Umm . . . that's more a matter of being quiet and careful. Ryol there, for instance, is just as strong, but her mind tends to jump around and not concentrate. Mind you, at their age, it's Arno who's the outlier and Ryol who's normal."
