by K. M. Shea
Magical Beings are about as politically savvy and underhanded as the most cunning US Congressman. In the MBRC alone there were warring political factions. They typically limited themselves to insulting each other. Occasionally, though, there were outside political forces—like Weller Goblin Enterprises. Weller Goblin Enterprises wouldn’t hesitate to kidnap a person, or two, to blackmail a MBRC politician.
“Are Weller Goblin Enterprises causing trouble again? They have a meeting with the MBRC board this weekend,” I said.
Madeline shook her head. “No. Haven’t you seen it in the Magic Journal Sentinel? There’s an anti-human group raising a ruckus over the sudden popularity of centers like ours.”
“An anti-human group?”
“Yeah,” Madeline said, squirming with discomfort. “Not everyone in the magical community thinks we should rejoin human society.”
“Oh.”
“The majority thinks we should,” Madeline was quick to add. “It’s just a few power hungry nuts here and there. You know, politics.”
“Yeah,” I agreed, happily distracted when Asahi bound up to us. “What did you need, Asahi?” I asked.
“I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind starting off today’s lecture with a question session. The students came up with some excellent questions yesterday that are beyond my knowledge,” Asahi said, his various earrings and bracelets jingling.
Although Asahi is a high elf, he persists in dressing like a genie. He usually wears a colored vest with gold embroidery and a few gaudy jewels, puffy pants, and these funny looking, pointy shoes. Kinda weird, right? He pretty much shines in a crowd thanks to all the bling he wears. But it suits Asahi, oddly enough.
“Sure,” I agreed.
“Also, Aysel wants to speak to you. He said he would be waiting outside after you finish with the class,” Asahi said.
“Sure,” I said with a lot less enthusiasm.
Madeline patted my shoulder in sympathy. “If you’re lucky it will be over swiftly,” she said.
“Thanks,” I said, stifling a groan as Asahi hurried to the podium at the front of the room to arrange his notes.
“You’re welcome.”
“No, reading levels don’t indicate higher or lower status in the classroom. It’s a tool educators use to gauge what level of books their students should be reading. A child that starts the school year with a low reading level may finish the school year with the highest reading level. There are no side-effects to this change besides the level of book the kid can read,” I said, comfortably leaning against the podium.
This was my second semester of “teaching” Introduction to the American Education System, and after teaching my advance placement class for two full years I was pretty comfortable standing in front of a room packed with strangers, explaining human stuff. A nice side-effect of this comfort was my grade in my senior speech class. My teacher kept trying to recruit me for the debate team and the forensics team because I was such a good speaker.
“Yes, the dryad in the back corner,” I said, pointing to a student who had his hand raised.
“Professor Fae, when is ‘show and tell’ no longer a part of classroom activities?”
I tilted my head back as I thought. “It varies from school to school, but it is acknowledged as an elementary school activity. I would say the final grade that you might see the occasional show and tell session is fifth grade. Generally it’s found in kindergarten through second grade.”
“Does show and tell impact a student, psychologically speaking?”
“In some ways, yes. Show and tell is all about kids bringing something they find interesting into class. If they manage to dazzle everyone their popularity will increase for a few days,” I said.
“What is something worthy of a popularity increase? Ancient artifacts? Gold?” the dryad’s companion, a leprechaun, asked.
“No. Kids do not bring valuable items to show and tell,” I said. I folded my arms as I strained my memory. “When I was in first grade a kid brought in his Labrador puppy. He was the class favorite for a week.”
“Animals? Children can bring animals to show and tell?” the dryad asked with interest.
It seemed I had unintentionally started a heated topic. I winced and glanced at the clock. “Occasionally, with parental and school permission. I apologize, students, but that is all the time we have today.”
“Thank you Professor Fae,” the class of fifty-something students chorused. (I always felt like a poser whenever they called me professor, but in spite of my best intensions they seemed stuck on the title.)
I winced as I stepped away from the dais.
“Thank you, Morgan,” Asahi said.
“No problem. I’ll see you in class in…an hour?” I asked.
Asahi nodded. “Until then.”
“Yep,” I said making my swift exit. I slipped outside the door to find Aysel waiting in the mostly abandoned hallway. He looked magnificent as usual—the stark opposite of his twin brother in looks and temperament. While Asahi had brilliant blonde hair and gold eyes, Aysel had dark hair matched with silver eyes. He dressed more like a stereotypical elf from a Lord of the Rings movie, and he was about as warm as an ice storm.
“Aysel, hey,” I said, bracing myself.
“Morgan,” Aysel said, one eyebrow arching in ire. “We need to talk.”
I groaned. “Do we have to?”
“I have no wish to spend time in your presence either, but there are events you need to be informed of,” he said, looking up and down the hallway.
Besides us the only being in the area was a tall, waxy guy leaning against the wall about forty feet away.
Aysel frowned at the man. “Let’s step into my office,” he said, turning to go back to the MBRC government wing.
While Asahi was interested in humans and teaching his fellow magical beings about them, Aysel was more business minded and was following in his father’s administrative footsteps. I’d be surprised if, by the end of the decade, he wasn’t an MBRC board member. He was already an assistant or secretary or something for his dad. (I swear his title changes on a weekly basis so I haven’t bothered learning it for a while.)
“Alright, what do you want?” I said when we entered his lavish office.
“You need to be made aware of certain…issues,” Aysel said.
“Issues?”
“Recently an isolationist group called Fidem has made several threatening statements directed at the MBRC,” Aysel said.
“An isolationist group?”
“Magical beings organized and united under the belief that we should remain in isolationism, and cut ourselves off from the outside world.”
“Oh, yeah. Madeline and I talked about it right before class. They’re also anti-humans, right?”
“Yes,” Aysel said, his usual scowl deepening. “Due to the size and depth of Fidem’s power, the MBRC is following protocol and informing all human employees of the potential risk.”
“Oh, so you’ve told the human enchanters and magic users too?” I asked.
Aysel nodded. “I am aware of your…private security. However, it is MBRC law to inform all employees after receiving a threat.”
“What did these Fidem guys say?”
“Nothing of worth.” Aysel said. The impatient tap of his fingers showed how little he was worried about the situation.
“But what were the threatening statements?”
“The usual empty promises of financial and physical attacks against the Center if we do not begin reducing human contact.”
“The usual?” I asked.
“We received threats before you were hired. This is hardly new behavior.”
“Yeah, but ‘usual behavior’ has seen both of us kidnapped,” I said.
“It is unlikely Fidem will take any action. Isolationists are to magical beings what rednecks and conspiracy theorists are to humans. They are of lower intelligence and possess fewer numbers. There is nothing to fear.”
�
��Uh-huh. Well. Thanks for telling me.”
Aysel sourly shrugged. “It is protocol.”
“Right. Can I go now?”
“Yes.”
“You look really crabby. Do you know that?”
“Goodbye, Morgan.”
2
Considering My Future
The following day I met Fran—my best friend since elementary school who knows nothing about my unusual job—for coffee at McDonalds before school.
“Why do we do this?” I asked, grouchy and unhappy with the early hour. Between the MBRC, school work, and my pathetic excuse of a social life, I can’t say I get the recommended eight hours of sleep.
“Because it’s the only time we see each other outside of school and we can’t meet after because of my extracurricular activities and your work schedule,” Fran said, stirring her java chip frappe. (I have no idea how she can consume an iced coffee when it’s snowing.)
“We’re crazy,” I said, propping my head up with my hand.
“Possibly,” Fran agreed. “What are you doing this Saturday?”
“I’m available in the morning, but I’ll be working in the afternoon and evening.”
“Can’t you switch hours?”
“Nope. It’s a meeting I’m required to attend,” I said, looking at the customers around us. There was a cute, old couple eating breakfast together, and a guy with a purplish complexion sat at the table next to us, but otherwise most of the McDonald’s customers came in for their orders and marched right back out.
“I don’t understand how a doctor—even if he is a research doctor—can have so many meetings,” Fran said. Since my MBRC adventure started in our sophomore year, she’s been told I work for a doctor. Thankfully she isn’t terribly interested in my part time job.
“It comes with the territory,” I said, swirling my cup of hot chocolate. “How about Sunday?”
Fran bit her lip. “I have a date. But I could always cancel—,”
“Don’t you dare,” I said, smacking my hand on the McDonald’s table before I realized it was covered with sticky residue. “It’s with that Ethan kid you met a few weeks ago at Starbucks, right? Go on the date. He’s the first guy to lure you out since—”
“Do not utter his name,” Fran growled.
“Don’t mention whose name?” a silver haired boy with a track star’s build asked, plopping down on the booth seat next to me.
“Hey, Frey,” I said. One would never guess it by looking at his build, but Frey was a werewolf. (He was the same werewolf that introduced me to the MBRC after his assignment, Dave-the-fat-vampire, blew their cover. Dave was now a fulltime teacher at our school, which is why Frey was still my classmate.) “We were just talking about…” I trailed off.
“Brett Patterson, right?” Frey said.
Fran sat ramrod straight, her eyes transformed into narrowed slits. Her plastic cup crackled in her hand as she clenched it.
“Try not to say his name,” I muttered to Frey.
“Sorry,” Frey said.
“I still don’t get why you two haven’t dated each other, yet,” Fran said, brightening with the topic change.
“What do you mean?” I asked as Frey shook his head in distaste.
“You have the same part time job, you’re always whispering to each other and acting all secretive, and you’ve been great friends since Frey transferred here. You’re a perfect couple.”
Yeah, all because Frey’s werewolf instincts labeled me as a pack member, or in less convoluted terms: family.
“You’re reading us wrong, Fran. We’re more like…siblings,” I said.
“Yeah. Or a dog and its owner,” Frey said.
“I had better not be the dog,” I said.
“Plus try to imagine us actually dating,” Frey said.
Fran sipped her java chip frappe. “You would kill each other by the end of the week,” she said.
“Yeah,” I agreed. “Frey is a loner type.”
“Being tied down isn’t my style,” Frey said with a wolfish grin.
“I have a theory that you just don’t know how to romantically treat a girl,” I said. “I mean, would you wag your tail at her?” I said under my breath so Fran couldn’t hear.
Frey scowled.
“That’s true. There appears to be no passion between you two,” Fran said. “You have your little inside jokes, and you tease each other, but you have no physical chemistry. I could see you two punching each other out, but I can’t imagine you kissing.”
“Gross,” Frey said.
I smacked the werewolf. “It sounds way awkward,” I admitted.
“I guess you’re right—it wouldn’t work out between you two. You really do fight like siblings—with all the name calling and childishness I mean,” Fran said.
“Hey now, I am not childish!” I said.
“Plus Frey is too much of a toothpick for you. You need a guy who at least has some muscle on him,” Fran said.
“I have muscles,” Frey said.
“You’re so skinny you could fall down a storm sewer,” I said.
“What? That is so not true!” Frey said.
“Yep, you can do better, Morgan.”
“Thanks, Fran.”
“Girls! And you wonder why I don’t date,” Frey grunted. “But you are missing an important detail. There’s no way I would date Morgan. Too many guys at work have a thing for her,” Frey said.
“What?” Fran asked, leaning forward in interest.
“He’s lying,” I hastily said.
“No I’m not.”
“Yes, he is,” I said, kicking Frey under the table.
“I’ll keep the coworkers in mind,” Fran said.
“Please don’t,” I said.
“We’re going to rectify this lack of a boyfriend, Morgan,” Fran said, leaning back in her chair. “This is our senior year. We have only a few months of high school left. You should live it up.”
“I’m uninterested in guys our age,” I said. “I find them immature and big-mouthed,” I said, eyeing Frey.
“So it must be Devin that you’re after, then?” Frey said before I elbowed him in the gut.
“Devin?” Fran said. “That’s Hot Garden Guy, right? You’ve brought him around a few times, but I thought you said he’s in a college program in the UK.”
“He is,” I said. “Frey is just being a rumor-monger. I don’t have anyone I like, Fran. I don’t have the time.”
“I guess that’s true,” Fran sighed.
“Besides, it’s not like I’m worth less because I don’t have a boyfriend.”
“Of course not,” Fran said, sitting up straight again. “Did someone tell you otherwise? They’re wrong, you know. I think it’s really impressive how you’re going out into the world, making connections, and networking for the sake of your future.”
“You’re giving me too much credit,” I said. “I don’t have a clue what I want to do after high school.”
“Did you look at the websites I sent to you for the college in Florida?” Fran eagerly asked.
“No. I’m so sick of looking at colleges I could puke. I don’t even know what I want to major in,” I said.
“Florida? Didn’t the—I thought our place of work offered to give you a scholarship if you attended a local college?” Frey said.
In other words the MBRC would help pay for college if I stayed local so I could continue teaching. Tempting, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to work such a time consuming job for the duration of my college career, as I was positive Administrator Moonspell would contractually obligate me to do.
“Yeah, but I don’t know if I want to stay in the area,” I said.
“You better make your mind up soon,” Fran said. “You need to get your college applications in.”
“I know,” I grumbled.
“You already know where you want to go, Fran?” Frey asked.
“My first choice is a college in Florida, but I have two back up schools in Illinois
incase financial aid falls through,” Fran said. “What about you?”
Frey shook his head. “Trade school. My Dad is an electrician and owns his own company. I want to inherit it—eventually.”
“Wow. That’s cool,” Fran said.
I took another slug of my hot chocolate. “I didn’t picture you as the family-business type.”
Frey shrugged. “I’m going to keep my job with the, er, doctor. I want to take some business management classes, so I’m still going to enroll in college after I learn my trade. I have a few years of school ahead of me, and I enjoy my job. It’s fewer hours for me anyway,” Frey said.
True, as Dave’s handler he did less and less with the chubby vampire. Dave was (slowly) getting better at fitting in with humanity.
“That’s weird. I swear Morgan has more hours than ever,” Fran frowned.
“Frey does a different type of work than I do. I help with the research. Frey is more…application-task orientated,” I said, scrambling for an explanation.
“Yeah,” Frey said, quick to agree.
“Oh. Well, I need more napkins. I’ll be right back,” Frey said, sliding out of her bench.
“That was close,” I said.
“Yeah. But you seriously haven’t made up your mind about what you want to do?” Frey asked.
I shrugged. “There are so many options. I don’t know if I should just shoot for the normal and mundane, or try to keep working at a rehabilitation facility. I’ve gotten job offers from just about every start-up rehabilitation facility in the states and the UK,” I said. “Everyone seems to be taking it for granted that I will attend college.”
“It’s become something of the social norm,” Frey agreed.
“It seems to be the only thing people can think of,” I scowled.
“You’ll figure it out. Good luck with your decision. I imagine you have a lot of outside pressure? Beyond your parents, I mean.”
“Yes.”
Frey shook his head. “Good luck,” he repeated.
“Thanks. I need it.”
When I opened the door to my MBRC office a young man in his early twenties stood just inside. He had a white smile, black hair with body in it most women would kill for, and eyes that were the yellow color of a full moon.
