by CM Raymond
She folded the paper and dropped it on the desk. Brooke knew better. She had a first-hand account.
Armageddon.
Having just been ditched on a date for the first time in her entire life—and by Elijah Branton of all people—she was present when the screams came.
Everyone ran to find shelter in the back of the restaurant, but not Brooke. She walked straight to the window, almost drawn to the destruction. The beast was a monstrous blend of fire and iron. But there was beauty in it as well.
Power.
Purpose.
And then it was gone. By the time she made it outside the thing had fled around the corner. And Rex—her ever faithful bodyguard—refused to let her go near. He had her bundled in the car and off the mountain before the cops arrived.
But that didn’t change the fact that she had seen it.
She turned to her computer and played the video. It was a short grainy thing. Panicked hands shook the camera. But just for a second, the beast came into focus. A creature, screaming to the heavens.
She played it again and again.
In the comments, someone complained that the video was clearly a composite, splicing together a B Grade monster movie with footage of an old foundry. Someone replied that it looked like a foundry that had grown legs.
Brooke was inclined to agree. The thing was a steel mill come to life. She pressed play again.
Despite the poor quality of the video and the changing form of the monster itself, she couldn’t take her eyes off the blurred shape stamped on its chest. Almost like a brand.
She paused the video and leaned close, squinting at the fiery lines, convinced she recognized them.
“Ms. Alarawn!”
Brooke jumped. Her assistant Laurie stood before her.
“I have that report you asked for.”
Brooke forced a smile. “Thanks, just drop it there.”
The young woman nodded, then left gracefully. Brooke looked at the document and sighed.
No way in hell it would be good news.
She scanned the top few pages, assessing the damage. Another failed quarter. The board wouldn’t be happy—except for Van Pelt. She could almost imagine his glee. One more nail in the coffin of her leadership. Another piece of evidence that she was as much a failure as her company.
Brooke looked at the grainy image again. She couldn’t help but imagine what it would feel like to have that kind of power. What she could do with it. What wrongs she could right.
Her mind danced around the thought of what it might feel like to have Van Pelt cower in fear before her.
She shook herself out of the twisted fantasy, then turned back to reading the report. There would be no magic bullet, no monster, no miracle that would save Alarawn Industries. Nothing but hard work.
And maybe...Elijah Branton.
There was still time, if Project Cold Steel was a success.
She smiled, thinking about their time at the restaurant. She felt different around him, at peace. He was unlike anyone else in her social sphere. Not a networker in a thousand dollar suit eyeing the next rung up. Just a man, passionate about his work.
She checked her phone again but resisted the urge to call him.
Focus, she urged herself. Or you’ll have a snowball’s chance in hell of saving this company.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
“How could you be so damned stupid, Willa? You operated publicly? Where anyone could see you? For an intelligent young woman, your recklessness astounds me.”
Her grandfather shouted across the table, drops of angry spit wetting the space between them. Willa had hoped that by meeting outside of his private office she could avoid a confrontation like this.
The diner was packed with college students, grabbing a bite before night classes began. A few heads turned, but an oddly animated old man was not uncommon in Oakland.
“What did you expect me to do? Nothing?”
His face grew brighter red than she had ever seen. She half-expected smoke to shoot out of his ears, Yosemite Sam-style. For a brief moment, the magician considered trying a reasoning spell on her grandfather.
She knew it would never work.
“That. Is. Exactly. What. You. Should. Do.” Every word was a dagger. His forehead wrinkled as his eyebrows scrunched down toward the bridge of his nose. “I’ve been telling you this for as long as you’ve had your powers. Yours came early. Mine didn’t manifest until my Ph.D. program, until I had gained some maturity.” Edwin slouched back in the booth. She had never seen him exhibit poor posture before. “I studied poetry for the love of verse itself, its utility unknown to me. When you demonstrated abilities so young, I knew I had to step in—the danger was too great. I didn’t want you to ignore the gift, but I cared too much to see you get hurt.” He paused, catching his breath. “And you told others about us, about what we can do. Don’t you see the danger in that?”
Willa fought the urge to lower her eyes. She couldn’t help but think of Sean, of his involvement with that masked man. Of the danger he was in, and how her revealing her powers to Chem and Elijah paled in comparison.
Then she remembered Elijah storming out of her apartment. Maybe he couldn’t be trusted. Maybe he and the Mask were working together.
Her resolve cracked, and she wondered if last night was a mistake. She watched her index finger circle the thick lip of the diner mug.
“At least,” her grandfather continued, “you didn’t use your own magic. Didn’t violate the Canon.”
Willa stared at him, surprised. She hadn’t told him that part of the story, about her father’s words and the way she almost used them.
“How did you know?”
Edwin laughed. “You’re not the first poet to be tempted in the face of danger. But it’s a temptation you must not give into.”
“I know, Master Weil. But—”
“No, Willa. You don’t know. You think you’re informed, wise even,” he said calmly, but with resolve. “But you know nothing. That’s how we all begin.”
She looked up and waited. She could feel a lecture brewing.
“All of your life, you’ve been protected from certain truths. Sheltered. First by your father, then by me. But it is time for you to know. He’ll hate that I am telling you this, but apparently, you distrust my warnings. Maybe the truth will grant you caution.”
Willa’s eyes were now glued on her grandfather. “I’m a grown woman.”
“That won’t make this any easier. On either of us.” The old man paused, then took a sip of his tepid brew. “It’s about your mother—and her death.”
“I know how she died. She came home during a break in. The thief panicked and killed her. It was a freak accident. End of story.”
“Yes,” he sighed. “You know that much. What you don’t know, what I never told you, was what came after.”
Edwin pursed his lips. “When I was your age, when all of this was still dark and full,” he swept his hand through his hair and over his beard, “I was a lot like you. I was finishing my dissertation by day and learning the craft of magic by night. I was good, but I lacked a guide.”
Willa nodded, willing him to continue. He rarely talked about his past.
“I lived in a tiny attic apartment. When the world slept, I would get to work on my true love. I memorized poems and explored their deeper magic. I got very good, very fast. You’re in that time now.” He took a sip of coffee. “I started asking the questions that you consider most apt. What use was this knowledge if I couldn’t use it? If I couldn’t help people? The answer I came up with at the ripe old age of twenty-six was: it was of no use. So, in my infinite wisdom, I started to walk the streets at night, looking to make use of the benign verses swimming in my head.
“I’d love to be able to tell you with a straight face that it was altruistic—that I only want to save the world. But that would be a half-truth. And half-truths are as nefarious as damned lies. The reality of my nighttime escapades was clear to me; I lo
nged to revel in my power. Not the power that can be appreciated in an upper room away from the world, but a power that could change the world.”
Willa had heard her grandfather speak millions of words during her lifetime. But none of them captured her as much as these.
“I hadn’t yet met your grandmother; I had no other family to speak of. I was unattached—the perfect vigilante. I still remember the first night I used the words and experienced the life of the hero. It was cold, a typical February night in Pittsburgh. I must’ve walked for miles, on the lookout for trouble. It wasn’t until a few hours after the third shift that I found it—or it found me. The story was relatively uneventful—a few young mill workers harassing some girls outside of a bar—but it provided the perfect opportunity for me to flex my muscle.
“I’d been rehearsing poems, three poems, which would give me options in a situation such as the one I stumbled into. I approached those guys and told them to go take a hike. They looked at me, a scrawny academic, and laughed. Their inebriation was fully evident. One of them, a barrel-chested brute, spat curses at me that I had never heard before. I asked them again, politely, of course, to desist. That’s when one of them took a swing that gave me this charming bend in my nose.”
Edwin removed his glasses to better display his battle scar. Willa had always wondered how he attained that particular imperfection.
“I had warned them twice, and it seemed that I—and maybe these women—were in danger. That was sufficient justification. I knew exactly which spell to use and I was positive it would work. So I started chanting:
“Do not be testing me as if I were some ineffectual
boy, or a woman, who knows nothing of the works of warfare.
I know well myself how to fight and kill men in battle…”
“Is that from Homer?” Willa asked, ignoring the sexism in her grandfather’s poem.
“Good,” her grandfather said, his eyes smiling. “It was simple, only took three lines. Suffice it to say I paid back their discourtesy, and then some.” Her grandfather laughed a deep laugh. “It’s what I was made for. Or so I thought.”
Willa enjoyed the story. Rarely had her grandfather spoke so openly about his past. But she was growing impatient; the disturbing truth had yet to reveal itself. “Okay, so what does this have to do with me, with my mom?”
“Context is everything, Willa. That night marked the beginning of the end. I marched home, victorious—a one-man parade. The power was intoxicating. You know that feeling, don’t you? Last night, you felt that sublimity. You want more.”
Willa didn’t break eye contact, nor did she answer. The question was rhetorical. The old man already knew the truth of those words. He was able to see inside of her, though she didn’t know how.
“That night began my righteous crusade to save the city. Sure, it started with a couple of drunk kids outside of a bar, but it escalated quickly. During that time I lived a dual life, teaching during the day, writing papers and poems, but fighting crime at night. And I didn’t work alone. There were others like me, and some distinctly not like me, who agreed that the city had lost its soul. As you now know, people with powers have a way of finding one another. There was a small group of us, meeting over drinks. Most of us, like you and yours it seems, were faculty members.”
“Why?” Willa asked.
The old man shook his head. “Chicken and the egg. Egg and the chicken. Had we developed powers because of our disciplines, or moved towards disciplines because of our powers?” Edwin threw his hands in the air. “I don’t think I’ll ever really know. But in my day, an inordinate number of champions walked the halls of the Academy.
“A group of us, from different fields, and different ways of life, had come together with a single purpose. Our group of heroes—we even called ourselves that, if you can imagine—looked more like the original University than anything we might find today. Sure, we were specialists, but we were working across the disciplines. Speaking the same language. Our fight against evil was a long one. I saw friends die. I myself came close—a few times—before I stopped.”
“What happened?” Willa asked.
“Well, I met your grandmother. It wasn’t long before I shared with her my secret life. She was a practical woman. Your grandmother encouraged me along the path, but it became impossible when your father was born. So I gave it up. Hung up my cape, so to speak.”
His eyes lost focus—bewitched, for a moment, by sweet nostalgia. But the moment couldn’t last.
“It’s time, Master Weil. Tell me the truth.”
“Your mother—when my son met her—amazed me. I loved her like she was my own daughter. And her death...I couldn’t forgive myself. Couldn’t erase the feeling that I was somehow responsible. So once again, I took to the streets. Searching for justice. At least that’s what I told myself. Your mother’s killer was never found, not by the police. But I never gave up the hunt. And it took me to dark places, Willa. Very dark places. I did terrible things. Nothing was off limits. Nothing. You understand?”
The way he looked at Willa could melt concrete. And she knew then exactly what he meant.
“You broke the Canon.” It wasn’t a question.
“I needed to find him, Willa. And find him, I did.”
He stared down at his hands. They shook as he spoke.
“I’d like to say that I made the honorable choice. That I took the hero’s path. But I didn’t. I did what felt right, what felt good.” He looked up at her, not even trying to fight the tears. “You see, Willa. The thing is, that when you have power like we do, you can try to change the world. But it’s the world that changes you.”
He shook his head. “Once your mother’s killer was dead, I couldn’t stop myself. I went out again and again, night after night, doing what appeased my desires. Letting my hunger for vengeance carry me...consume me. And I used whatever poems were at my disposal, the Canon be damned. The old words are powerful in their own way, but sometimes they aren’t enough. New words are needed for new times, and they grant new power. Power I wielded without boundaries...until they came.”
“The Guild,” she whispered as if one of them might hear.
“Yes,” he replied. “They nearly killed me then and there. They are not known for their mercy, but that night something stayed their hand.”
“What was it?”
He shook his head. “A vow. I promised to never use magic again. Your father took you and left Pittsburgh, trying to put me and everything about this place behind him.”
She stared at the broken man in front of her, trying to put the pieces together. “I don’t get it. I’ve seen you use magic a thousand times.”
“It’s a risk I was willing to take, for you. To keep you safe—from yourself, from the dangers of this world, and from them.”
The truth in his words couldn’t have been more clear. “The Guild, they don’t know about me, do they? About our training?”
“No.”
“I...I don’t understand.”
He sighed. “You showed the gift at such an early age. I knew that, left to your own devices, you would pursue the same paths that I did. So I took it upon myself to protect you. I am not without power, and I used that power to shield us. Here, under my tutelage, you could learn magic and I could protect you from The Guild’s eyes, protect you from their influence. It is not without its dangers, but as long as our practice was theoretical, as long as it didn’t disrupt the order of things here…”
“As long as I didn’t use my magic in public. As long as I didn’t use magic on others. And as long as I didn’t use it to fix the world.”
Edwin nodded. “My rules, designed to keep you safe. To give you the freedom to explore magic without making a scene. And more importantly, to keep you from falling down the same slippery slope that nearly destroyed me all those years ago. Magic...it does not want to be tied down. As long as you keep it theoretical, you can keep it contained. Keep it pure. But once you start meddling in curre
nt affairs, the urge to break rules is overwhelming. You continue down this heroes path, and you will inevitably end up where I was, forced by virtue of necessity to rely on magic outside of the Canon. That will ring a bell I cannot silence, and alert The Guild to your presence.”
“I’m not afraid of them,” Willa said, and she meant it.
“You should be. But it’s not them that truly frightens me. It’s the fear of losing you. The urge to break rules always results in the need to break bones. You will lose yourself, Willa. Lose yourself to the power and the sense of purpose that our gift can bring. If you walk this road, you will hurt people. Badly. And on the day The Guild has finally had enough of your infractions, part of you will be grateful that they are there, to put an end to it all. To put an end to you.”
He reached across the table and took her hand in his. The single most intimate gesture he had ever presented. He paused, licked his lips, and said, “Love the magic, practice it. Love the words, teach them, and write them. But don’t meddle in the affairs of the world. I see the goodness that is in your heart. The good you want to do. But the evil that is in this world is far greater. If you try to fight it, it will destroy you, like it nearly destroyed me. Working with you, Willa, it has brought meaning back into my life. I can’t lose you like I lost her. Like I lost your father. Like I lost myself. I know that it is hard, but staying away from this all...it’s the only way. No matter what happens next, you cannot involve yourself.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
“Many of you are here, I imagine, because you had a cool history teacher in high school. Or maybe your dad always had the History Channel on. Then again, that’s mostly science fiction and reality TV nowadays.”
Elijah Branton never sat to lecture. He learned from his mentor that such a posture was unbecoming of a faculty member. Oddly, the historian had given up on nearly every other aspect of teaching excellence except that one. He had refused to teach sitting down, until that day.
