Rising Magic

by Tara Lain

  The vice chancellor’s eyebrows had risen speculatively. “Club?”

  “Yes.” Dash looked around, then regarded the thin man suspiciously. “It’s quite, uh, secret.” He stared at the vice chancellor. “But I’m sure you know, sir.” He half whispered. “It, uh, starts with an O.”

  The vice chancellor broke into a smile. “Of course, of course, my boy. We wouldn’t want you to be late for that. You hurry off, and we’ll talk more at a future time. Get to know each other. Go on now.”

  “Thank you, sir. You’re an inspiration.” Oh crap, Dash, lay it on with a trowel, why don’t you?

  “Run now, hurry.” The vice chancellor made a shooing motion.

  Set free, Dash took off and ran full speed toward the dining room, stopping only long enough to rip up his resignation and throw it in the trash. He had five minutes to get to Hillebrand. All thoughts about what the vice chancellor was doing in the chancellor’s office and what he’d been talking about would have to wait.

  JAZZ STOOD on the sidewalk and looked up at the apartment where BeBop, Khadija, and Fatima lived. He should be on a train to New Haven. He’d gotten all the way to the station and stood in line for a ticket—then walked away. He couldn’t do it. Calling Pop-Pop or Lindsey, showing up at the Vanessen building, discussing his options for the future with his family also seemed like a good plan. But nope. Here he stood, contemplating a visit with the Superordinary Society. Well, part of it.

  “Are you going to stare at the sidewalk or are you coming in?”

  The voice came from somewhere around him, and Jazz turned in a circle trying to spot it.

  “Up here, silly.”

  Jazz looked up. The exquisite Fatima leaned out the window of the sixth-floor walkup. She was grinning, her beautiful face framed in a white headscarf. How she’d managed to make her voice sound so close, he didn’t know, but there was lots of mystery to Fatima, even for a werewolf/mage to try to figure out.

  He smiled. “Can I come up?”

  “No. We have to converse like this all night.”

  That made him laugh. As a Dusan, Fatima had lived in a highly structured and formal female society with her “sisters.” Now, in her own apartment with only the quiet, but progressive, Khadija and sassy BeBop as companions, she’d become a regular little pistol. Of course since she could likely kill a guy in some secret way Jazz didn’t really understand, she actually was a weapon.

  The buzzer at the building entrance sounded, and he ran to push the unlocked door open, then started the long climb up the stairs. He took it at human speed to give him time to think. Why am I here? What do I want my friends to do or say? If he was after advice, he was going to have to tell the whole truth, and that was kind of sticky, but what the hell.

  Wait. With his foot raised for the next step, Jazz paused. The total angst he’d been feeling all morning since what he thought of as the stab in the chest was… gone. He still vibrated with energy that wasn’t his, but at least the anger and loneliness had dialed back. What does that mean? How does a guy go from one extreme to another so fast?

  He snorted. Give it a break. You’re freaked because he’s scared and pissed, and now you want to be freaked because he’s not?

  He slammed his foot on the next step and scaled the last floor at record speed. At the top, Fatima stood at the door, holding it open.

  Can a wolf look sheepish? “Sorry to barge in like this.”

  Fatima bowed her head. “May our home be your domicile, our food your sustenance, and our protection your comfort.”

  The ritualistic reply rang with the wisdom and truth of ages of voices raised in greeting.

  Whoa. “Uh, thank you.”

  She lifted her head and grinned impishly. “So come on in.”

  He crossed into the big room and looked around. “You’re here by yourself?”

  “Yes. Dij is on a project, and BeBop is teaching. May I get you some refreshment?”

  He smiled. She tried so hard to be modern, but sometimes the cloistered upbringing showed. “Sure. Whatcha got?”

  As she crossed to their open kitchen, he sat on the couch. She said, “I have vanilla cola. Want some?”

  “Oh heck yes.”

  Ice cubes rattled in glasses. “So you returned to town? You completed your thinking?”

  Oh right. That brought him back to where he’d left things only two days before.

  “Actually, I never left exactly.”

  She looked up, surprise on her face, and then carried the glasses to the coffee table in front of the couch. She picked up her glass and sat cross-legged facing him, giving him a bit more attention than he was craving at that moment. After a sip of cola, she said, “I’m thinking you’d prefer to tell us all at the same time?”

  “It might be easier.”

  “Yes, I can see that. So we need to make small talk until Dij and BeBop return.” She smiled, but then it faded. “Oh, we must include Carla.”

  “Uh, Fatima, it’s not that big a deal… exactly.”

  “Oh. What is it exactly?” She looked anxious to know.

  “I need advice.”

  She leaned forward. “Yes?”

  “And I…. Oh damn.” He wiped a hand over his hair. “I think we all better talk about this.”

  Like some kind of cue from the gods, the door opened and in came Khadija. She burst into wreaths of smiles. “Jazz. You came back. How lovely.”

  She drifted across the room and placed her palms together, bowing her head to Fatima. “My sister.”

  Fatima returned the greeting.

  Dij said, “So to what do we owe the honor of two visits in such a short time?”

  Unlike somebody else who might have given that question a heavy dose of snark, Dij actually meant it.

  Fatima said, “He needs our advice.”

  “Oh?”

  The door opened again and admitted BeBop, who wore striped slacks, a white shirt, plaid suspenders, white spats, and an expression that was half-freaked and half-bemused. “Hey, yo, Jazzster. How’s it hanging, man?”

  “Good, Bopster.” Jazz grinned.

  Fatima said, “It’s good you’re here. Jazz needs our advice.”

  Jazz nodded. “I have something to tell you all.”

  BeBop shook his head like he was trying to clear it. “Yo, well, I need your advice too, because man, have I got something to tell you.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “SERIOUSLY?”

  Dash glanced at Hillebrand with a raised eyebrow as the professor tried to wrap the blindfold around Dash’s eyes.

  Hillebrand gave a relaxed shrug that managed to say, “I agree but we have to go along with this stupid crap, don’t we?” and continued to wrap the blindfold.

  Dash sighed audibly but allowed the silk scarf to cover his eyes. As Hillebrand pulled it tight, Dash shifted. Instantly he knew he didn’t like the sensation of being in someone else’s power. He wouldn’t be volunteering for any BDSM adventures anytime soon. He snorted.

  Hillebrand said, “You okay?”

  “Yeah, but make it snappy, all right?”

  Hillebrand chuckled. “Oh yes, you’re not one to enjoy being out of control. But settle in. This will take a bit of time.”

  That thought almost made Dash hyperventilate, but he sucked in a breath and forced calm.

  For a couple of minutes, he stood in the blackness, noises and movement around him. Then someone took his hand. He yanked it back.

  A woman’s voice said, “I’m just putting you in contact with the person in front of you so you know where to go, all right?”

  He nodded tightly and raised his hand. Someone placed it on a clothed body part of another person. Probably a woman’s shoulder from the slender feel.

  A minute later the body part started to move, and he had to shuffle along to keep his hand in contact. The procession of single-file stupidity went on and on, up and down stairs, around corners, even over some low obstacles. A couple of times, Dash came close to ripp
ing off his blindfold and stalking away, but if curiosity killed the cat, he was one dead feline, because he wanted to know what the hell was going on.

  Finally, they seemed to enter a different room or space. The place smelled like essential oils, all overpowering odors of frankincense and musk. Dash wiped at his nose with his one free hand. Essential my ass. I could live forever without that smell.

  And of course there was spooky chanting. He wanted to laugh. But the tactic must work on someone because the shoulder of the person ahead of him tensed and quavered as if in fear.

  A soft male voice near his ear—Hillebrand—said, “How’re you doing?”

  Dash turned his head. “Seriously?”

  A soft chuckle warmed Dash’s neck, and then the professor was gone.

  A sonorous voice intoned, “Applicants, do not remove your blindfolds. If at any time you feel uncomfortable with any request, you are free to raise your hand and be excused. If that’s clear, please nod.”

  Dash nodded.

  “Repeat after me. I, say your name.”

  “I, Dashiell Mercury.” Dash screwed his head around trying to get the blindfold to slip enough for him to catch a glimpse.

  “As a sincere applicant to the Olympus Club, I do recommit myself to the absolute secrecy of the club and shall share no information, imagery, ritual, knowledge, or any other detail of the club no matter how seemingly small or insignificant with those not initiated.”

  They all repeated the litany being recited. It was hard to tell how big the group was because the room echoed, and it was possible that older members were there too. He couldn’t tell. If he used magic, for sure somebody would know, so he stood there like a dumb human.

  The voice said, “As a member of the Olympus Club, I will dedicate myself to the aims and goals of the club, protecting magery and its champions.”

  On the surface, nothing about that promise should be controversial, but it still stuck in his throat. Sure, he’d protect magery, but who exactly were its champions and what other aims and goals did the club have? Chances were high each of them was being listened to, so he choked the words out. To a human, the promise might be a white lie, but a mage’s word held sway in the universe. Obviously, the leaders of the club knew that.

  Finally all the promises and swearing to secrecy were done. There was a portentous pause, followed by the sound of a huge door slamming shut. This time he couldn’t help it. Dash chuckled. Some finger poked him in the side, but whether it was the person next to him or Hillebrand or somebody else, he didn’t know.

  Silence descended. The smell got almost suffocating, and somebody definitely turned up the thermostat.

  “You may remove your blindfolds and reveal the truth.” The voice seemed to bounce off the walls.

  Dash shivered—which was stupid and embarrassing, but all the hocus-pocus crap was designed to produce an effect, and it succeeded. He ripped off the eye cover.

  Okay, good job, mages.

  It appeared they stood in a huge dark cave with a massive wooden door—hence the slamming—and a big fire in the middle of the stone floor, contained by a circle of rocks and a glowing ring of red light.

  Wonder where we really are? Was he weird that it was easier for him to believe in werewolf movies with bad actors in stupid costumes than in this immaculate magery? Of course he wanted to believe in the werewolves.

  Around him were about twenty people, at least fifteen of whom were dressed in some kind of robes with shawl things around their necks in various colors. That meant only five were new.

  Dash looked around the circle and spotted Anastasia on one side and Kitty on the other. He gave them both a grin, and Anastasia especially looked relieved to see him. She must have really been torn about leaving him alone.

  So only two other students had been chosen for the club, or at least only two others had applied. One was an older man with great posture and cold eyes. The other was a young woman, probably only a few years older than Dash, with long brown hair and eyes so pale it was odd looking at her across a fire ring, like her pupils were missing. Still, most people would have called her pretty.

  Some of the people in robes were familiar. He identified about six professors, including Hillebrand and the summoning professor, Dr. Sing. The others Dash recognized from the pictures on the walls and seeing them at meals. There were a few administrators, among which, no surprise, was the vice chancellor, Mr. Warden.

  “Prepare to receive your robes.” The big voice came from a professor Dash had seen but didn’t know. Dash glanced around. How exactly did one prepare?

  Somebody stepped behind Dash, and he glanced back to see Professor Hillebrand holding a black robe out for Dash to slide his arms into. He did, and the professor slid it to his neck, then gave him a pat for good measure. He said, “Turn.”

  Dash turned to face him. Looking very solemn, Hillebrand fastened the hooks on the front of Dash’s robe, then reached in his own pocket and extracted a yellow shawl and put it around Dash’s neck. Again, he gave a pat, looked at Dash, winked, and returned to where the obviously most senior people were standing.

  The big-voiced man threw his head back and bellowed, “Felicitations!”

  All the other people in robes descended on the five newbies, shaking hands and patting backs. Dash tried to remember who was who, but there were more of them than of the newcomers. The professors and administrators came first. The big-voiced man turned out to be Professor Fradell, the head of the spells department. While he appeared to be the head of the club, a lot of people seemed to defer to Vice Chancellor Warden and Professor Hillebrand even more, although Hillebrand was presumably the “new” professor. Wonder where he came from?

  Vice Chancellor Warden walked up and extended a hand with a self-satisfied smile. “Glad you made it on time, Mercury.”

  “Me too, sir.” He grinned back.

  “From what I hear, you’ll fit right in with our model.”

  “Model, sir?” Dash tilted his head and tried to look clueless.

  “You know. Up and comer. Talented and ambitious yet able to fit into a group with a unified purpose.”

  Dash flashed his dimples. “That last part may be the hardest for me, sir. But I’ll try to quell my maverick genes.”

  Warden’s eyebrows rose, but he said, “Good, good. And we’re always looking for natural leaders. Eustace says you have those qualities to spare.”

  “Eustace?”

  “Oh, sorry, Professor Hillebrand.” He cocked a tight smile. “Hear you’re a natural combatant. A real brawler.”

  Dash shrugged. “I battle on the obstacle course mostly to let off steam. I’d always prefer to find a peaceful solution to a real problem.” Sort of.

  “Um. Well, excellent luck to you, Mercury. I’ll watch your progress with interest.” He turned and stepped to Kitty, extending his hand again with his big phony smile.

  Anastasia scooted over to his side. “I was so relieved to see you here. When Professor Hillebrand walked me and Kitty away from you, I thought they weren’t going to accept you.”

  “Me too. In fact, I was planning on leaving, but then I got to my room and there sits Hillebrand, acting as though my acceptance was a forgone conclusion.”

  “He was in your room?” Her eyes were wide.

  “I’d left the door unlocked when I, uh, went out for a minute.” Did he want to tell Anastasia and Kitty that he’d actually resigned? Should he share what he’d heard in the chancellor’s office? Better not. After all, they were members of the Olympus Club, and he had no idea what their feelings were on the subject now that they’d made their pledges. Damn, I wish Jazz and Carla and the society were here.

  Anastasia said, “That makes sense, I guess. But how did he know the door was open?”

  Dash tried to not sound like he was paranoid. “I guess I figured that the professors are free to come into our rooms. The applications were on our desks, right?”

  “Oh. I assumed they manifested them there. It
never occurred to me that they physically entered.”

  “I guess you could be right.” He looked through his lashes. “Probably doesn’t hurt to hide the diary, though.”

  She looked startled.

  “Just kidding.”

  “Well, well, I should have known.” The snide voice came from behind Anastasia.

  Dash looked over her shoulder at the dark-haired man with the beard who’d insulted Dash on the stairs. He wore a black robe with a blue shawl. Funny, Dash hadn’t noticed him in the group.

  Anastasia stepped back, and Dash smiled politely. “Hello, I’m Dash Mercury.” He extended his hand.

  The man stared at Dash’s hand like it might contaminate him. He paused long enough that he had to be considering refusing to shake hands, but finally he reached out and touched fingertips.

  Dash grasped his whole hand and shook it heartily. The man had a fair amount of energy, and all of it was mean. As soon as Dash loosened his grip, the man pulled his hand back and clutched it with his other one as if he’d been hurt. Dash said, “This is Anastasia Jones.”

  The guy wanted to look down his thin nose at her, but since Anastasia was quite tall—almost as tall as Dash—and the asshole was short and stocky, the attempt fell flat. He said, “Oh yes, hello.” He didn’t offer his hand, and Anastasia didn’t seem to want to touch him.

  She did say, however, “And who are you?”

  It could have been perfectly polite, but the man clearly got the kernel of snark she’d wrapped the question in.

  “Oh yes. I’m Childers Gerd. I thought perhaps you knew.”

  “Oh?” Dash put on his most innocent face. “Should we have?”

  Gerd’s face got even colder. “Some new recruits make a point of learning the names of the more prominent members as soon as they get here.”

  “Whoa. No kidding?” Dash shook his head. “Since they took our blindfolds off fifteen minutes ago and nobody gets to tell any nonmember about the club under penalty of death, I’m not sure how they do it. Photographic memory?”

  “Yes, well, I just arrived, since I was doing important business for the vice chancellor. I was unaware that this was your reveal. As I say, I’m Childers Gerd. I’m sure you’ll learn more in the near future.” With that he turned and marched away toward Vice Chancellor Warden.