Rising Magic

by Tara Lain

  Berengaria snorted—loudly. “You’re seriously trying to decide between Arcantaria and Yale?”

  He gave her a look from under his lashes. “What? You always wanted to go to Yale?”

  She chuckled a little begrudgingly. “No, but I would have given my eyeteeth to go to Arcantaria.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  She frowned at him. “I wasn’t invited, for God’s sake. Why do you think?”

  He blew out a breath and wiped a hand over his hair. “Hell, I’m sorry, Berengaria. I just don’t know much about this stuff.”

  “Stuff?” Her weird eyes widened, and he expected to be a toad at any second.

  Jazz held up a hand. “Look, dammit, I’m just an ignorant werewolf, and I know shit about magic.”

  “And yet they want you at Arcantaria and not me.” She crossed her arms across her chest.

  “Not my fault.” He sighed again. “I really am sorry. About Arcantaria. About not knowing much about anything. I’m worried about a friend of mine, and it makes me even dumber than usual.”

  “That must be very dumb indeed.” The voice came from behind him.

  Jazz whirled and stared at Lysandra who stood in the archway to the living room. The elevator had definitely not opened. “Where did you come from?” The words popped out before he could haul them back.

  “Hartford.” She raised her eyebrows and entered the room, making a swiping motion with her finger toward Berengaria, who disappeared from the room like she’d been teleported, closing the sliding doors behind her.

  Jazz glanced at Lysandra, then back at the floor. “Sorry, ma’am. I’m just a little stressed.”

  “Sit down please, Jazz.”

  She sat opposite him, still wearing the white pantsuit she’d had on when she left to go to the MagiCouncil meeting. Wow, she was beautiful. Funny. When he’d first seen her, he thought she looked like an attractive, young, stay-at-home mom with light hair and hazel eyes. When she dropped her shields, he could see the eyes were cat gold, and her hair and skin glowed like sunrise.

  Jazz gazed at his hands. “What did they say?”

  “They’re deciding.” The words were even, but there was the hint of a crease in her brow. He’d never seen that before.

  “Deciding? I thought that’s what the meeting was for.”

  She leaned back in the upholstered chair but didn’t meet his eyes. “They couldn’t agree.”

  “About what?”

  “About whether or not you’re Arcantaria material.”

  “But you said—” Oh hell. Jazz crumpled back against the couch cushions. “I could have told you that.” He stood. “Thank you, Ms. Mason.” He started toward the door.

  “Jazz, sit down.” She spoke softly, but the command might as well have come from a drill sergeant.

  Jazz crossed back to the couch and sat.

  She leaned forward, intently but mostly staring at her folded hands. “They were very impressed with your accomplishments, but some of them simply felt you’re more werewolf than mage and that you wouldn’t feel at home at Arcantaria.”

  “They’re probably right.”

  “I told them you’re not more werewolf than mage—”

  “I’m not?” That was cause for a heart slam.

  She waved a hand as if this fact were the most obvious on earth. “No. Of course not. There’s no way you could do the things you’ve been able to do if you were mostly a shifter. Honestly I suspect you’re more wizard than werewolf.”

  “Seriously?” Man, can’t anything in my life be clear-cut and not f-ing confusing?

  “Yes.” The crease got deeper, and she glanced up at him. “I’ll confess, one member of the council’s being very, uh, recalcitrant, and I’m not completely sure why.” She took a big breath. “But I’m sure the others will be able to convince him. Now we need to wait and see what they decide.”

  He tried to hide his sigh. “I can’t wait very long, Ms. Mason. I have to go back to school.”

  “How can you go to Arcantaria when you’re going back to school?” She sounded exasperated.

  He dropped his face in his hands for a second then looked up at her. “I’m confused.”

  “That, at least, is clear.” Lysandra finally smiled, even if it was a little tight. “Why don’t you stay with me tonight while we wait?”

  Jazz swallowed. “I’ll miss classes.”

  She didn’t seem to hear him. “You can have Dash’s room.”

  Whoa. That made his heart beat to a different drummer.

  “That way, you’ll be here to find out what the council says, and you can make your critical life decisions on the spot. I promise to feed you first.”

  Why was the idea of snuggling into Dash’s bed so appealing? Not like they’d ever been in a bed together. His cheek muscles flexed into a grin. Not that he wouldn’t like to be in a bed with Dash.

  “Is that a yes?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “The grin. Is it a yes?”

  Jazz opened his mouth, but before he could speak his mind went back to that moment at his home when Dash was standing there asking Jazz to wait for him—not to date any other guys or kiss any other guys. Dash had said he knew it was unfair, but he didn’t care. He’d turn Jazz into a toad—and not even an alpha toad—if he looked at another guy. He couldn’t give up. If Dash needed him, he had to go.

  Lysandra said, “You’re smiling again.”

  Jazz nodded. “That’s a yes.”

  DASH SAT on the edge of his tiny, single bed wearing only his sleep pants and stared down at a whole new definition of morning wood. Wow. All night he’d dreamed of Jazz. The two of them had been rolling around in his big bed at Lysandra’s, doing things he didn’t even have names for, but when he thought of some, they’d definitely be adopted as gay porn. Funny. Mostly he thought of Jazz as the one who could comfort him, make him laugh, make him feel young and filled with joy, cure his loneliness, join him in adventures. His feelings included affection, admiration, and love, but they usually weren’t prurient. At least not triple X-rated. Sure, he was eighteen, had more than his share of hormones, and when he fantasized about someone in the shower, it was always Jazz, but still. The previous night’s dreams set new records in horndog.

  He snorted. He was horndogging a werewolf. At least Jazz’s energy was humming away under his skin this morning. Wonder if Jazz can feel me? That might give him something to think about.

  Dash stood with his cotton pants looking like the set for Dumbo and stepped into the miniscule bathroom. He turned on his shower and glanced at his phone. Hell! His porno dreams had made him oversleep. Breakfast had already started, and he was supposed to meet Anastasia in ten minutes.

  Quickly, he turned the water off, grabbed the wet washcloth from the little rack in the shower, and wiped it over his groin.

  Yikes! It was bloody freezing!

  With a quick swipe of his finger, he warmed the cloth up to slightly above body temperature and continued his sponge bath. Yes, he wasn’t supposed to use magic in his room or anywhere else outside the classroom or the obstacle course, but a frozen dick was an excuse in extremis. He yanked open his chest of drawers, pulled out clean underwear, his jeans, and a sweatshirt, dressed, then ran both damp hands through his long black hair.

  No shave, but despite being dark, his beard grew in very fine and didn’t show until after a couple of days. It would have to do.

  In the bedroom he picked up the application from his desk. A shock of electricity sparked up his arm, and he almost dropped the paper.

  Is that a warning? If yes, the question was from whom? Was that his intuition warning him off the Olympus Club, Jazz sensing he was in danger, or the club rejecting him?

  No time to think about it now.

  He opened his door and stepped into the hall, holding the application. The fact that the paper had appeared on his desk while he was out made him want to cast a quick spell on his portal. If not an actual lock, at least a little snooper
that would tell Dash who was entering his room. But what good would that do? He knew any member of the faculty or administration, especially those involved with the Olympus Club, might be prowling around in his stuff. It didn’t really matter which one. He had to make sure he didn’t give them anything to see.

  He closed the door and set the mechanical lock, then took off like a bat down the stairs and ran full speed toward the social hall with students and faculty staring at him. A couple of them smiled. They must recognize the club application and think he was trying to beat the deadline, which he was—sort of. Mostly, he wanted to see Anastasia. Maybe he wanted her to talk him out of it.

  Chapter Nine

  DASH BOUNCED through the archway into the big hall and spied Anastasia sitting at a round table a few feet from the box where they were supposed to leave their application forms. It was a funny, old-fashioned receptacle, kind of like collection boxes people used for voting before it became electronic. Anastasia stared at the box like it was an alligator. Kitty sat beside her, patting her arm.

  Dash slid into a chair next to Anastasia. “Did it bite you yet?”

  Anastasia shook her head but never peeled her gaze from the box.

  Dash said, “We only have six more minutes before our time is up. Have you already submitted your form?”

  She shook her head again.

  “Are you going to?”

  Slowly she turned toward him. “Are you?”

  He rested his chin in his hand but never broke eye contact. “We both seem to get that this is a big deal, right?”

  She nodded.

  “We both sense that this club could be, for lack of a more explicit term, bad.”

  She nodded again.

  “But if it is, wouldn’t it be good to have some whistle-blowers? People who could reveal corruption—if it’s there of course.”

  Her eyes widened. “What if we get sucked in?”

  “Sucked in?” He cocked his head at her.

  “What if they brainwash us, and we get lulled by all the great lessons and can’t see the evil right before our eyes?”

  Dash couldn’t help it. He laughed, and Kitty joined in.

  Anastasia scowled at them. “All right, you two.”

  Dash held up his application. “Whaddya say?”

  “You think we should?”

  “I think if we don’t, we’ll always wonder, and it will drive us crazy.”

  “That’s true.” She stared at him with big eyes.

  Dash stood and walked to the application box. He took a deep breath and slid the form through the slot. He half expected horns to blast and confetti to fall from the ceiling.

  Nothing happened except that Anastasia jumped up, hurried to the box, and stuffed in her form, seconds before the time ran out. Whirling, she faced Dash and Kitty with wide eyes, and then they both returned to the table and sat. For a second, nobody said anything; then Anastasia said, “What do you think will happen—”

  “I wonder what’ll happen—” Dash said simultaneously, then grinned.

  Anastasia blurted, “Jinx. You owe me a soda.”

  “What?” He laughed.

  “Sorry. It’s an old expression.”

  “The old ones are the most important. Hang on.” He went to the snack bar and came back with three colas, then went back for cups. When they all had their drinks, they clicked the plastic cups together, then sipped.

  As they drank, a female mage, one of the faculty who Dash slightly recognized, marched to the collection box, opened it, and withdrew the applications.

  Dash and Anastasia glanced at each other. As the woman departed, Professor Hillebrand passed her, approaching their table. He stopped and said, “Kitty, may I speak with you?”

  She glanced at Dash and Anastasia, then said, “Of course.” She got a funny little grin as she rose from her chair and followed Hillebrand to another table far from where they’d been sitting.

  When the two of them were left at the table, Anastasia leaned forward. “He’s going to invite Kitty to join the club.”

  “Yeah, probably. I guess we’ll get to see if she was serious about deciding to join.”

  They both sipped their sodas. Anastasia chewed her lip. “I wonder what kind of summoning lessons they have in the club?”

  He shrugged but didn’t reply. She knew he had as little idea as she did. He asked, “Who’s in the club?”

  “I don’t know. Kitty’s mentioned a couple names, but they weren’t people I know. Kitty meets everybody.” She smiled warmly. “But I know they wouldn’t be able to tempt Kitty to join if they don’t have a great potions curriculum.”

  Dash ran a hand through his hair. “But you said curriculum, and this is supposed to be a club. Why does a club have a curriculum? It’s confusing.”

  “I agree. I—” She froze as she looked up.

  Hillebrand walked toward their table with Kitty following him. He paused beside Anastasia.

  “Will you come with me, please, Anastasia?”

  “Oh sure. I—” She glanced at Dash.

  Hillebrand looked right at Dash too, gave him a polite but distant smile, and began walking toward the entrance to the social hall. Kitty sort of trotted behind him although she glanced back a couple of times, looking confused.

  Anastasia stared at Dash with a frown.

  Every fiber in him wanted her to say she wasn’t going without him, but he couldn’t do that to her. “Go on. Go. You need to know what he has to say at the least.”

  “Are you sure? I mean—”

  He forced a smile. “I have nothing to do with this. Go on. Go with Kitty. I’m fine.”

  “Well, okay, if you’re sure.” She glanced after her friend then back at Dash.

  He managed to keep the smile as she stood, gave him a one-armed hug, and ran after Professor Hillebrand and Kitty out of the social hall.

  Dash stared at the open space where they’d been.

  Just like that, the only two people at Arcantaria who had been friendly to Dash were gone.

  BEBOP LEANED against the back of the bench and lifted his face to the September morning sun. At least he’d get some vitamin D while he felt uneasy. The empty cup from his latte toppled over in the breeze, and he grabbed for it. Most of the people in the park moved fast on their way to work or class.

  Better get going.

  He had his honors mathematics class to teach in ten minutes. Still, he sat. Something ate at him. He’d been feeling it since he got off the subway at Washington Square and bought his coffee from his favorite vendor. An itch, like he was ignoring vital information right in front of his face. Something he had to know.

  He clasped his hands in front of his mouth like he did when he was trying to figure out a problem. After a couple deep breaths, he closed his eyes. Come on, Bopster, focus.

  “Are you all right, young man?”

  He blinked his eyes open and stared into the face of an elderly woman. He got the elderly data from a map of wrinkles on her cheeks and around her eyes, but it wasn’t communicated by the halo of almost-pink curls that surrounded her face.

  BeBop grinned. “Yes, ma’am, thank you. Just thinking.”

  “Good. You simply looked troubled.”

  He leaned back. “Do you ever feel like you’re missing something that should be obvious?”

  “All the time. Especially when I leave my glasses in the refrigerator.”

  He chuckled. “And how do you find them?”

  Her eyes twinkled. “I stop looking so hard. Then I think my glasses get desperate and find me.”

  They laughed together.

  “Are you a student?” She wrapped her fringed shawl a little tighter around her shoulders.

  “Always, but at the moment, a teacher. I’ve got to cram some math into the heads of a bunch of kids getting their master’s degrees.”

  “Hmm. Kids who are older than you are, I expect.”

  “That would be correct, ma’am.”

  “Well, good luck
, young man. Don’t forget what I told you.” She said that last bit with a smile, but her dark blue eyes bored into BeBop’s.

  “I won’t ma’am.”

  She turned and strolled away, her fringe swaying and ruffling around her. It was gold and made little patterns and sparkles as she moved. BeBop smiled at the way it tickled against her high-top Keds.

  Slowly he rose, still staring at her unusual fashion statement. Through the play of gold, he could see grass and flowers almost as if they were revealed by the light of a rotating disco ball. Mesmerizing.

  The lady disappeared around the bend, and BeBop looked up across the square toward one of the NYU buildings and—

  He gasped. There, where the building should be, were two buildings. Like one was superimposed over the other, shimmering and dancing like the fringe on the lady’s shawl. The edges of the image blurred and reformed, blurred and reformed.

  Am I seeing things? Hallucinations?

  He couldn’t help it. He blinked. The ghost building vanished.

  Damn. Something in him didn’t want to let it go.

  Gradually, like a shape appearing out of dense fog, the building came back. It was still formless and obviously superimposed over the building that was really there.

  Really. What does really mean? If that ghost building isn’t really there, then my brain or my eyes are going. Maybe both. But if it is there, then what the freak does that mean? His uncle and the Seekers of Fukurokuju might track all the supernatural creatures on the planet, past and present, but BeBop was just plain human. Smart human, yes, but not given to secret sight or mystical, magic experiences.

  As he stared, the illusion of the building slowly faded, giving way to the more than solid building he expected to see there.

  Razzberries! That would be the building in which he was currently supposed to be teaching a class in mathematics.

  Shaking off his strange musings, he ran full speed across the square and into the oh-so-solid university.