by B. B. Alston
“It’s this building,” I tell Maxwell, Elsie’s driver. He pulls the car into a spot right in front of my apartment and I reach for the door handle.
“Can I come inside?” asks Elsie.
My stomach does a flip. “Um, I guess.”
Elsie grins all the way to my front door.
I push it open and step inside. It’s so clean. I guess with me gone and Mama always at work, there’s no one around to make any messes. Elsie comes in behind me.
“I know it’s not much, but it’s home,” I say with a shrug.
Elsie looks around wide-eyed, a weird little smile on her face. She stops to check out the photos of me and Quinton that Mama has all over the front room. I look a hot mess in a few of them.
I’m so nervous I can’t stand it anymore. “What are you thinking?”
Elsie just looks at me. “It’s just . . . well, this is where my hero grew up. And where my best friend grew up too. I don’t know, it just feels really special being here.”
“Best friend?” I ask, my face flushing.
Elsie goes red. “Oh, I mean . . . I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have just assumed—”
“No,” I say quickly. “We can be best friends. It’s just that I’ve never had a girl best friend before. Or any best friend besides my brother, I guess.”
Elsie picks up a picture of me and Quinton splashing around at the rec center pool. “What’s it like having Quinton Peters for a brother?”
“Normal?” But then, after I think for a bit, I say, “To me, he was just regular old Quinton. But he was always looking out for me. I couldn’t imagine having anyone better.”
“I wish I had a brother or sister,” says Elsie. “I mean, my adopted parents are really nice, and I owe them so much, but they’re also really busy. It would’ve been nice to have someone to talk to or play with. I think it’s why I’m always in my head so much. Kind of sad, huh?”
“Not at all,” I say. “Being in your head so much is probably why you’re the smartest person I know. And besides, now you’ve got a best friend. And that’s almost as good.”
There’s a noise at the front door. If it’s Mama, she’s going to flip about me having somebody over without her permission. Not to mention the fact that I never even told her I was coming home this weekend.
But it’s only Maxwell. He’s such a big, muscular guy he could probably serve as Elsie’s bodyguard too. “I’m sorry, Miss Rodriguez, but your mother requested I bring you home immediately. She asked me where you were, and when I told her she got very upset.” Maxwell looks to me and then drops his eyes. “She doesn’t think it’s safe for you to be in this part of town. She threatened to fire me for even bringing you here.”
Elsie sighs. “And she’ll do it too, just to prove a point. I’m sorry, Amari, but I have to go.”
“I get it. It’s cool.” I do my best to hide how much Maxwell’s words sting.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Elsie asks.
“Mm-hmm. I’ll be fine.”
Elsie comes over and gives me a hug. “I put my number in your phone. Call me, okay?”
I stand at the window and watch as Maxwell opens the car door for her. And then they’re gone.
To keep from thinking about what happened back at the Bureau, I dig around in my bag for the spell book.
I place it on the table and stare at it for a while. I know I’m safe at home and that Mama is at work, but it still feels like having this book is wrong.
But maybe Dylan is right. Maybe it’s okay to explore what I am. Even after everything, I’m curious to know more about being a magician.
I flip open the book to a random spot. On one page is a really cool picture of the sun. The other page has a spell.
SOLIS
Create the outward illusion of blinding sunlight from within yourself. Cross your arms at your chest and throw them open while exclaiming Solis!
That’s it? Seems simple enough. I get to my feet and step back from the table. I throw out my arms and say, “Solis.”
A bright flash makes me jump, but it disappears as quickly as it came.
“Did it work?” asks a voice I recognize.
“Dylan?” I whip my head back and forth. “Where are you?”
“I’m kind of inside your TV at the moment,” he says. “I tried sending you messages on Eurg, then I tried calling your cell phone but it kept going straight to voicemail. So I thought I’d try a more creative approach. If you press the power button we can see each other.”
I grab my remote and turn it on. Sure enough, Dylan’s face appears on the screen. “How in the world are you inside my TV?”
“Tech magic,” he says with a grin. “Mind if I come over?”
“When? Like now?”
“Yep,” he replies.
“Um, okay, just let me—”
Dylan appears right in front of me and I fall onto my couch in surprise. He points to the metallic band around his forearm. “Borrowed my dad’s transporter. He has so many he won’t even notice.”
Mr. Ware used a transporter to get to my interview, I remember. Once I’m over my surprise, I slouch down into the cushions. “Are you sure your parents won’t get mad at you for being in this neighborhood?”
“Maybe,” says Dylan. “But I don’t usually make a habit of telling them where I’m going.”
“Must be nice. My mom might work all the time but she’s got the neighbors trained to keep an eye on me. Whenever I sneak out I know she’ll hear about it.”
He plops down on the couch next to me and looks around. I cringe when his eyes find my baby pictures. For some reason him seeing those pictures feels way more embarrassing than Elsie seeing them.
“Um . . . so I guess you heard what somebody did to my room.”
Dylan turns to face me, his expression serious. “You can’t let ignorant people get you down, Amari. I mean it.”
“Easy for you to say.” I roll my eyes and fold my arms. “Nobody even knows you’re a magician. Everyone wants to be friends with you.”
“I might smile and play along, but I know they’d treat me the same as you if they learned the truth. Maybe worse because of who my family is. Trust me, I know who my real friends are.” He sighs and crosses his arms too. “I wish Maria were here, I’d ask her how she dealt with having to lie about being a magician literally all the time.”
It never dawned on me that it might be just as hard to keep being a magician a secret. At least with me, everything is out in the open. Maybe I’ll never be popular but I know the few people who do like me, like the real me. Even the magician part.
“I wish there was some way we could just magic VanQuish home,” I say.
“If only.” Dylan cracks a small smile. “But, hey, we’re becoming Junior Agents, right? We can find them ourselves.”
My shoulders droop and a nasty chill spills down my back. “That drawing . . . They hate me, Dylan.”
“So you’re really just giving up? When you could be the one to find them?”
“Can we just not talk about it? Please?” I want to tell him that I’m scared to death of going back. But I can’t get the words out.
Dylan looks so disappointed that I can’t even meet his eyes. Finally, he says, “Well, all right then, let’s see that spell you were trying.”
My cheeks flush, remembering how easy Dylan said illusions are supposed to be for me. “I don’t know if I did it right.”
“Try again. I’ll help you.”
“Really?”
“Really,” he says. “I know you’re not a quitter. So let’s see that spell.”
I wish I was that sure. Still, I pull myself off the couch. After a deep breath, I throw open my arms and say, “Solis.”
This time the tips of my fingers begin to shimmer but that’s about it.
Dylan tips over, laughing.
“It’s not funny!” I say. But even I’m fighting back a giggle.
Dylan finally calms for long enough to say, “It�
��s just that you could try to be a little enthusiastic when you perform the spell. You sound like the last thing you want is for it to work. Remember, your magic is alive. It can sense your doubt.”
“Fine,” I say. I repeat the move, only this time I nearly shout, “Solis!”
My whole body suddenly feels warm and tingly.
Dylan’s eyes go wide. “It’s working! Look at your hands.”
I bring my hands in front of my face, and sure enough, they’re glowing. A few seconds later my whole body burns bright.
“Dispel!” says Dylan, holding up a hand to shield his eyes. “You almost got too bright there for a second.”
“That was so cool!”
“You think that was cool?” asks Dylan. “Check this out.”
He waves over the spell book and opens it to the last page. The only thing written on there is The End with a picture of a black leather book beneath the words. It’s the old cover, before I used Dispel to turn the book red. Dylan extends two fingers and waves them over the page. “Dispel.”
The book begins to shake and suddenly this isn’t the last page anymore, it’s closer to the middle. And more words appear under The End so that the page now says:
The End
of
Fair Magick
and the beginning
of
Magick Most Foul
Dylan turns the page.
That you have found these pages speaks to a willingness to wield more than what fair magick can provide. However, this pursuit comes with a dire warning. The foul magick contained on the following pages is not for the faint of heart. As I learned in their creation, uttering these spells will cost you. For once innocence is lost, it cannot be regained.
MAGNA FOBIA
Allows an illusionist the ability to pull the very darkest fears from your opponent’s mind to craft an illusion around them that they shall believe is real. As its name suggests, this spell can inflict great mental harm. Do not use it lightly.
Stare into your opponent’s eyes—
I slam the book shut. “Why would you show me that?”
Dylan blinks, his face flushing. “I know these spells sound awful. But we need to be able to protect ourselves. You saw how far people are willing to go because they don’t like us. I just don’t want anything to happen to you is all. Self-defense only.”
“I don’t care,” I say. “I don’t want to learn anything like that.” I didn’t realize my magic could be that dark. Is it any wonder people fear magicians?
“You might not have a choice, Amari. If you were ever to be challenged by another magician, you could have your magic stolen. Magicians don’t survive that.”
“I said no,” I say firmly. I get that he’s only trying to protect me. And maybe I’m being dumb, but the thought of having that kind of power over people scares me a lot more than another magician does. “I don’t want to learn magic to hurt people. I won’t be like Moreau and those other bad magicians. And you shouldn’t use that stuff either.”
Dylan raises his palms in surrender. “Sorry. You’re probably right. I guess I just thought—well, let me make it up to you. There’s something else I’ve wanted to show you. But it’ll mean using my dad’s transporter.”
“I don’t know.” Fair or not, I’d be lying if I said I don’t look at Dylan a little differently now.
“It’s about teaching you to use your illusions,” says Dylan. “Something that’s not in your spell book.”
“Fair magick, right?” I ask, remembering what the book called it. “Not foul magick.”
“Totally fair magick,” Dylan says. “I promise.”
Maybe I am being a little harsh. He’s only ever tried to help me. “Okay, then.”
“Grab hold of my arm,” says Dylan. “It’s going to feel a little weird the first time you transport.”
I nod and wrap my arm around Dylan’s. It can’t be that bad, can it? He reaches over and presses a button on his metal armband. Suddenly I get the strange sensation that I’m falling, my living room blurring around me. A moment later, there’s something solid beneath my feet, and a cool breeze whips across my face. It takes me a few blinks to shake my dizziness, but once it’s gone I stare out at a large lake that sparkles in the moonlight.
“Where are we?” I ask, my knees still a little wobbly from being transported.
Dylan turns to look over his shoulder where a huge house sits between the trees. “The old Van Helsing lake house. It’s been in the family for ages, but I’m the only one who comes here anymore.”
“Follow me!” He dashes toward the house.
I follow, excited to see what he has to show me.
We head through the front door and into a big, empty living room. Dylan leads me to a doorway near the back. “I may not be as strong an illusionist as you are, but it’s still my favorite kind of magic. Painting illusions is sort of my hobby.”
“Is that what you wanted to show me?” I ask. “One of your illusions?”
Dylan nods and pushes open the door, revealing a staircase leading down to another door. “I’ve been working on this one for a couple months now. I thought maybe you could add to it if you wanted.”
“I don’t know if I’m good enough . . .”
“Don’t worry,” says Dylan. “I’ll show you how.”
He opens the second door and I gasp. Dylan’s illusion is a whole forest of twinkling neon lights. Trees and bushes with shimmering leaves of blue and pink and purple. “I’ve got almost the whole basement covered. C’mon, I’ll lead you through.”
I follow Dylan down a little winding path, my eyes darting back and forth trying to see everything at once. A butterfly with red-and-gold wings flutters by my face, and squirrels with glittery silver fur race up trees when we get too close. It all feels so real that it takes a second to realize that I can actually hear the sounds of animals. I didn’t know illusions could do so much.
“You made all this?” I ask.
Dylan looks back over his shoulder and smiles. “Pretty cool, huh?”
“Really cool,” I say.
We continue until we reach the point where the forest ends and the stone basement begins. “This is as far as I’ve gotten. I thought this would be a great spot to put something of yours.”
“Of mine? Is there a spell for forest-making or something?”
Dylan laughs and shakes his head. “The spell book shows you how to create automatic illusions, but you can also paint them manually too.” He reaches out with his pointer finger and draws a glowing white bird onto my shoulder. It hops to life with a few chirps and then flutters off into the forest.
“It even sounds like a real bird.”
“Once you practice enough, there’ll be no sense you can’t fool. Your illusions can make sounds, have bad smells, or even feel real to the touch. I’ve never actually tried to taste one, but it seems like it would work.”
“Can you show me how?” I ask.
Dylan says the secret to making an illusion is to focus on an image in your head and imagine it pouring out of your fingers. He says to start off with something small and not alive, so we begin with making an extra button on his shirt. It takes me like thirty minutes, but finally a button appears just like I imagined it in my head. Painting manual illusions is a lot harder than the automatic illusions.
“Awesome!” says Dylan. “Let’s do one together.” He leads me over to the path and paints a tiny green sprout that grows through a crack in the concrete. “This reminds me of you.”
“How come?” I ask.
“Because you haven’t let where you come from or what you are make you give up. At least, not yet. You just keep fighting through it.”
I feel my cheeks flush and we’re both quiet for a while. Suddenly my hand reaches out on its own and with a twirl of my fingers, Dylan’s sprout grows and blooms with petals of sparkling clear glass. It twinkles like a rainbow in the neon lights of Dylan’s forest.
“That’s beautifu
l,” says Dylan.
“I don’t know how I just did that,” I say, staring at my hand.
“Sometimes your magic will take over for you if you let it,” says Dylan. “Hmm, how about we call it an Amari Blossom?”
I smile. “I think I like that.”
22
THE LAST THING I EXPECT TO HEAR WHEN DYLAN transports me back to my apartment is voices in the living room. A tall white guy sits in one of our kitchen chairs facing away from me—DETECTIVE written in big yellow letters across the back of his dark blue jacket. Mama sits on the opposite side of the room with her head down.
I push Dylan into the hallway before Mama can look up. “You have to go.”
“I will,” he says softly. “But am I going to have a partner on Monday?”
“I . . . I don’t know,” I say. “But you really have to go, okay?”
“I’m going. But I hope you do come back.” Dylan taps his armband and vanishes.
I close my eyes and lean my head against the wall. That was so close.
What in the world is Mama even doing home this early? Did the police call her? Could they have found something?
With so many questions bouncing around my head, I decide to slide to the end of the hallway and have a listen.
“I know it’s not what you wanted to hear,” says the detective. “But please don’t think we’re giving up on Quinton. We’re simply out of leads at this point. Our detectives have to move on to new cases. But rest assured that if anything new comes in, we’ll be right back on your son’s case.”
Mama nods. “I understand.” She looks so small, bunched up on the couch like that. So defeated. I hate it.
The detective leans back now. “You know, I’ve worked this neighborhood for twenty years, both as a beat cop and a detective. Seen the same pattern again and again. A son gets tired of seeing his mother struggle and decides to do something about it. Starts to participate in activities that ain’t exactly on the up-and-up. He don’t want his mom to be disappointed in him so he keeps it under wraps. Claims he got a job. You see where I’m going with this?”
