“So you never learned?”
“Naw, dad offered, but he also wanted a lot in exchange for it.” Junior busied himself putting his watch on as he spoke. “He wanted me to go to school, work at the shop, and follow in his footsteps.” John let it go because he sensed there was much more to the story.
“Can you open it? We can't sell the property with stuff hidden in the walls.” Wilson wanted to get to work.
“We also need it open because, in the instructions dad left, he said his deed for the property was in the safe. Can you open it?” Paula pulled herself up and sat on a work bench, looking like a little girl.
“I'll try.” John examined the wall, and its pattern. It was thin, but he could see how it was hardened and would most likely survive the destruction of the building. There was no opening it unless you were a mage who knew how and John was not sure he knew how. Melting concrete walls wasn't something Owen had taught him. There was no hint in the pattern and no damage to the wall itself, but he could see where they had been hitting it with sledge hammers.
“He can't do it.” Junior said knowingly, after a few moments.
“Do you want me to bring the whole building down or blow it up? Cause if I do it wrong, that's what's gonna happen here.” John was annoyed, and distracted himself by looking at the wall again. There had to be a simple way to do it, something that was in keeping with Owen's direct but different approach to things. Then he realized he was looking at parts of the wall, not the wall as a whole. He stepped back and looked at it again.
Sure, the wall was tough as steel, but it had a honeycomb kind of pattern, all interlocking cells within the pattern, but they held empty spaces. He tried collapsing the pattern in different ways, folding it this way and that, as gently as he could. The wall rippled and emitted a deep humming noise. He stopped, but he was convinced he was on the right path. So he tried collapsing all the cells to the right. To his amazement they folded flat against each other, creating a super dense layer along the floor and revealing the safe.
“So cool,” whispered Wilson.
Junior crossed his arms and said nothing, but his silence was thunderous
“Wow!” Paula clapped and bounced off the table to start spinning dials on the safe.
“You guys take care. I'll show myself out.” There was a different sense here than the one he had felt going through his father’s things. This lacked respect and smelled of a treasure hunt, and he wanted nothing to do with it.
“John, wait a second,” Paula called over her shoulder. The safe clicked open, and she consulted a sheet of paper from her pocket. She pulled out a couple of bundles and a colt .45, placing them on the bench next to John. The brown paper bundles had his name on them. “Dad, said to give these to you.”
John checked to see if the gun was empty; it wasn't. He clicked the safety on. He pulled back a corner of the paper on the two bundles and saw money. He tucked them both in his coat. “Is there a holster in there?”
“Ummm . . .” Paula pushed Junior out of the way to look into the safe. “Yeah, here you go.” She handed him a soft leather holster that would ride high on a belt for easy concealment.
“This is some cool shit!” exclaimed Wilson, as he pulled an assault rifle out of the safe. John could only guess what else was in that safe and had no desire to wait around while it was vivisected. He left in silence, and as he climbed the stairs out of the basement, he heard shouts of joy as Owen's children found his hidden fortune of gold and jewels. John was unaware that eventually they would find the tablet, the fragment of a Primer, and it would bring them nothing but misery.
Chapter 52
The Conclave was to meet at a place called Pheasant Run Resort that was located a good ways outside of the city. It was not what John had in mind when someone said “resort.” First of all, it was a long ways from anywhere, not counting the tiny airport that it sat adjacent to, but that had to be a selling point to busy mages traveling from out of town. There was a tall building (by suburban standards), attached to a sprawling collection of convention centers, comedy clubs, and indoor pools. He had no doubt it was expensive and well beyond anything that he could afford to stay at. He was fine with that.
The limo pulled up to the front door and a body guard, who clearly did not work for the resort, approached the driver's window. The features that made it clear he had nothing to do with the hotel were the sunglasses, the poorly concealed gun under his coat, and his hulking frame in general. John was getting used to goons by this point. The FBI had goons, the Chicago Police had goons, other mages had goons, and they were losing their shock value on him. It is a helpful life lesson that you can spend years getting used to the sight of a shark swimming next to you, but you have a very short amount of time to get used to it eating you. When the goon was done talking to the driver, he walked over and politely opened Conrad's door. Another goon surprised John by opening his door and addressing him.
“Sir?” A hand held to the side indicating he should leave the safety of the limo and accept the reality with the sharks.
“Thank you.” John stepped from the limo and tried to look as dignified and powerful as Conrad did.
“They're waiting for us, John.”
John was happy to fall in next to Conrad; he was finally starting to get the idea that he did need someone to show him how to navigate this strange society.
They were brought through the lobby to an elevator with military precision and speed that left observers confused and uncomfortable. The goons left them in the elevator alone; a fresh group met them at the top floor and escorted them down the hall to the door of a conference room. Outside the door, a small table was set up with a large glass bowl filled with water.
“If you would, sir?” said one of the goons. He had a heavy accent that John couldn't place.
“Of course.” Conrad stepped forward and placed a hand on the outside of the bowl. John watched him alter the pattern of the water and in a flash it was frozen solid. Conrad stepped aside and looked at John expectantly.
“And you, sir?” asked the same goon. Without approaching the bowl, John altered the pattern of the water and the ice should have melted. Something was preventing John from altering it at a distance. “No, sir, we need you to touch the bowl and prove it was you and not someone else.”
John walked up, placed his hand on the bowl, and again altered the pattern of the water, this time bringing the water to a boil.
“Thank you, sir.” The goon clearly was unimpressed and had seen it all a million times before. Another goon opened the door to the conference room and let them in. John followed Conrad into the conference room and wondered if a den of hungry lions might be more fun.
Chapter 53
The room had a view of the golf course, the airport, and the green countryside beyond. There was, of course, a large table in the middle of the room surrounded by twenty or so chairs, each occupied by a well-dressed individual who looked at those around them with cold eyes. There were alliances and agreements here, but there were no friends. They had left two chairs empty by the door for John and Conrad; their backs would be to the door, and it was clear to John this was to make them uncomfortable. A younger man, wearing antique looking sunglasses, cleared his throat loudly.
“Now that we are all here, we can get started.” He stood up and knocked loudly on the table with his knuckles. “The North American Conclave is now in session. We have each been summoned to deal with the recent events in Chicago: the creation and destruction of a rogue mage and the murder of the regent, whom most of us knew as Owen.”
“I want to add to the list!” All eyes turned to Veronica. She was fashionably dressed, though most of the men present found her almost-exposed breasts a bit distracting. The venom in her voice was icy enough that most were able to overlook the distraction. “Owen's student attacked my student, unprovoked, and turned him over to the FBI.” There was a gasp from some and John heard a couple of outright giggles and snickers. “He has violate
d our most basic laws, and I demand he be killed, and I be given the Chicago territory.” All eyes turned to John.
Conrad leaned close to John and whispered; “Introduce yourself, and tell them what happened. Then shut up and sit down.”
John stood up, looked around the faces at the table, and thought about the raw power these people held over reality; the things they could do boggled his mind with the possibility to change the world. Yet they sat here and argued over petty territories they had no real dominion over and did nothing but hide. Their meekness made John feel bold as he stood.
“My name is John Carter; I was Owen's student till he was murdered. The rogue mage was my fault, and I fixed it with Owen's help. We did everything we could and were almost killed correcting my mistake. As to Peter, Veronica's student, he was not her student. He couldn't perform magic on his own, and used altered items to create the illusion that he could. He was stalking my girlfriend, and I suspect intended to kill her. I moved to defend her, and he attacked. The FBI was there watching because of Owen's murder, and they captured him after he was wounded.”
“What do you mean he couldn't perform magic? He has passed that door and sat in on past Conclave meetings.” John guessed the woman who pressed him for an answer was in her eighties, but her voice was confident and her eyes sharp.
“He had altered items that had patterns in them that he could activate at will, and it looked like he was a mage—”
'You lying little shit!” Veronica stood up and slammed her fist on the table. “Peter was my student. He can do magic! How dare you accuse me of this! Where is your proof?”
“Where,” said Conrad calmly, “is your proof that he was a mage? The fact is that the FBI still has him in custody, and my sources say he is alive and well. The last time a mage spent this long in custody, he had joined them and was soon after killed. It is at least clear to me that the FBI doesn’t think he is a mage and neither should we, if for no other reason than he has not escaped from the FBI.”
Silence fell across the table and eyes slowly came to settle on Veronica.
John sat down.
“Brace yourself she's about to go over the top,” whispered Conrad.
“Peter was a mage! He was not stalking this fools whore, and it is possible that John killed Owen over an argument after the rogue was killed—”
“I have it on good authority that the Chicago Police have verified Mr. Carter's alibi.” The man was bald and deeply tanned, his voice heavy and authoritative.
“I don't care what you think!” Veronica was so angry that her face was turning red.
“You had better care what I think, you greedy little girl!” shouted the bald man. “I've had enough of you. You cheat, lie, and manipulate to get your way in even the most minor things, and it is repulsive. I have a copy of the police report, and I have talked directly to the investigator, and there is no proof Owen's student killed him. It looks more like what happened in Florida and Boston.”
“Are you accusing me of something, Ray?” Veronica was in control of herself again, but not much, from what John saw.
“Not yet.” Ray sat back in his chair and casually scratched his jaw. “As soon as I have proof though, I'm coming after you.”
“Let me know when you get your balls back from your wife, Ray,” Veronica snarled and turned back to John. “In the meantime, I challenge him to a duel for the rights to Chicago and as repayment for the loss of my student.” Veronica pointed a very well manicured finger at John.
“John is still just a student, and he wouldn't be able to defend himself.” Conrad stood. “I would move that I be named as regent pro tem to Chicago and be allowed to fight in John’s place.”
There was again gasping, and assorted giggling around the table, but John took note of Veronica's smile as it widened slightly.
The guy in the sunglasses stood and knocked on the table for order and attention. “The law clearly states that this is out of the question, and it makes no allowances for a mage to be able to defend himself in a duel. It is only defined as a test of skill and knowledge.”
“Yes,” countered Conrad, “but John is still a student and has only rudimentary skills at best. He has not been tested, and he is not a full mage yet.”
“This is true, the law is clear that students may not duel.” Shades paused. “I would put it to a vote then. Conrad may take on John as a student for two months to complete his training; once it is completed, he is to face Veronica in a duel. All in favor?”
There were scattered 'aye's' around the table.
“Opposed?”
There was silence.
“It is settled then: In two months, a place and time of the duel will be arranged and in the meantime, John is under Conrad's protection and tutelage. This conclave is concluded.”
“What about Peter?” Veronica was happy with the outcome but still had more on her agenda.
“What about Peter?” answered the man in sunglasses.
“He's my student; we can't leave him to the FBI. They need to answer to the law.”
“Veronica.” The man's voice softened a tone. “The law is clear that Peter is to be killed before he reveals secrets if he is a student. If he's not a student, then there is nothing we can do, and it will be up to you. Consider it a kindness that I am not tabling the issue.”
John watched Veronica survey the faces around the table. She had friends and allies but not enough, and it was clear that people were willing to inflict any injury they could. John enjoyed watching her confused, helpless, and angry. For a moment, Veronica locked eyes with him, and John wondered how a woman who was so shockingly beautiful could be so cold and ruthless.
“Come along, John. We had best enjoy our small victories while we can.” Conrad led John back to the elevator and once the doors closed he smiled and said; “That could have been a lot worse.”
“How?”
“They could have accepted my bid to fight in your place. That little bitch is scary.” Conrad laughed softly.
John was not amused.
Chapter 54
John, Conrad, and Eric (Conrad had finally introduced his driver/bodyguard) stood in the warehouse. It was awkward for John because it had also become his hideout; there were boxes with his clothes and things stacked next to a cot that John was using as a bed. John felt like he was squatting and was uncomfortable with it.
“So, let’s see what you can do, John.” Conrad leaned on his cane casually.
“Sure thing.” John stepped away from Conrad and Eric, took a deep breath, and launched into a display of his magical skills. Fire, ice, lightning, moving objects, augmenting his ability to leap and run. Once John got used to it, he enjoyed it and enjoyed the display of his skills. He finished up and turned to Conrad for approval.
“Is that all?” Conrad was unimpressed.
“No.” John felt like he had just failed his driving test because he ran a stop sign. “I have one more thing I learned, but Owen didn't teach it to me and it's dangerous.”
“Really?” Conrad cocked an eyebrow and looked at Eric who just shrugged. “My dear boy, magic violates all reason and logic. What could make it more dangerous?”
“Just keep a safe distance from it.” John walked to the trash and pulled out a greasy burger wrapper and pressed it into a tight ball of wax paper and day old burger drippings. He used a pattern to give it some weight and threw it across the warehouse. He took a deep breath and focused on finding where the paper’s pattern repeated and hooked back on itself, it was so much easier now. Bracing himself for the explosion, he unhooked the patterns and watched as the surrounding patterns withdrew from the explosion and the sudden creation of dark chaos.
John looked to Conrad for approval and saw horror frozen on his face. Eric was unimpressed with the explosion; apparently, he wasn't a mage and couldn't see the twisted patterns. John walked back over to the trash, pulled out an empty soda bottle, and threw it into the small patch of madness. It twisted, burst into f
lames, and briefly turned itself inside out before falling apart. He looked again at Conrad, and the look of horror was replaced by amazed curiosity.
“You figured this out yourself from what you saw?” Conrad gestured at the smoldering metal and glass remains that had once been a plastic bottle.
“Yeah.”
“I've read about something like it. I never thought I'd see it in person. I've never heard about what it did to objects that encountered the . . . aftereffects.” Conrad spoke carefully and slowly.
“What was it used for?”
“The book I found it in described using it as part of the defenses for a fortress or as a trap.” Conrad paused, and in the fleeting silence, John could only imagine the horrible things that would happen to a person who stepped into broken patterns. “The writer pointed out that it was horrific, and few mages had the stomach or lack of morality to use it. I've often thought that this was why the knowledge was lost.”
“Perhaps this all should be lost.” John was shocked to hear Eric say something so opposed to the interests of his employer. “I don't see it bringing about world peace or feeding the poor. Magic just makes screwed up people into screwed up people with power.”
“You are right in many ways, Eric.” Conrad shuffled over to the cot and sat down. “It has done little good for the world and I doubt it ever will, but I can't stand idly by while people like Veronica amass power. If nothing else, we must save the world from our own evils until this knowledge is finally lost.”
“Can't we be discreet? Make it rain during a drought—”
“Stop an earthquake from killing thousands.” Conrad interrupted John and carried the idea. “Undo global warming, disable nuclear weapons, heal the sick, and feed the poor. We have limits with the knowledge that is left to us and we have our own human limitations. We must also contend with the reactions of our fellow humans. As you are painfully aware, not everyone has forgotten that mages and magic are real. The FBI was quick to catch up with you, in hopes of recruiting you, and they are not the only ones. They would see our interventions as part of some agenda, even if there wasn't one. Then there is the average everyday person. They seldom take responsibility for their own lives and progress unless they learn the lesson through pain. If we save them from themselves what are we really doing?”
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