“It caught on fire, didn’t it?”
She tried to stifle a giggle.
“Come on, it was a little funny when it crashed into the firehouse and burned it to the ground, wasn’t it?”
Grisella started to laugh and Edgar joined her. Like magic, the tension disappeared again.
“Oh, Edgar, I wish I could have seen the look on Shadwell’s face, but I…”
“You were at the front of the parade on the cheerleader float.”
A frown darkened her face. “Yeah. Up front with the boring people.”
“Like Skippy.”
Grisella slugged Edgar on the arm. “I asked you not to call him that.” It was a half-hearted blow, almost flirtatious, and Edgar instantly read too much into it.
“I’m sorry. The boring people, like Lancelot Breedlove.”
She slugged him again, harder.
“Lance wasn’t boring. He was just, well…”
“Uninteresting.”
Grisella laughed. “No, silly. Lance was just, well, Lance. He was an interesting guy once you got to know him.”
“You know, I spent years being tortured by him and his football team henchmen until I learned how to cast the Spell of Protection. That’s when he shot me in the back, so forgive me if I didn’t find him very interesting.”
“We all have our roles to play, Edgar. Even you.”
On cue, a Senior Prom picture appeared. Lancelot and Grisella, arm in arm, beaming into the cameras. Lance’s expression was one of smug self-confidence, and the way he wore the Prom King crown cocked down over one brow screamed pretentious ass. Giselle was the epitome of chastity in her gleaming white gown and diamond-studded tiara. Edgar slapped his forehead and made a noise in his throat.
“What’s wrong, Edgar? It’s been five hundred years. Don’t tell me you’re still steamed about the prom?”
“Not a chance. I didn’t attend a school function in twelve years, do you think I’m upset I missed the prom? No, I’m just amazed at how fake it all was.”
“What do you mean, fake? We won the voting.”
“I don’t mean that. I mean that smarmy look on Lance’s face. Like anyone would vote for anyone but him?”
“You took care of him with the Most Likely to Succeed balloting, didn’t you?”
“Damn right I did, and I’d do it again. My favorite memory of my time imprisoned in this dump is the day Shady announced that he canceled the election because of fraud. I laughed so hard that I almost cried.”
“That’s hateful, Edgar. You started a war over a high school election.”
“It wasn’t just an election, and you know it, Grisella. Most Likely to Succeed is the one award every Wainwright student covets, and I wasn’t about to let Skippy have it. Anything but that. Besides, I didn’t start the war. I messed with the ballot, but someone else started the war. I’ve just been fighting it.”
“You denied Lancelot a nice honor out of pure spite.”
“An honor he didn’t deserve. He was a Breedlove, for Pete’s sake! He wasn’t 'likely to succeed', his success was guaranteed. You deserved it, not him.”
Grisella frowned and stared down at her punch glass.
“What’s wrong, Grisella? It’s been five hundred years. Don’t tell me you’re still steamed about the election?”
Her annoyance at having her own words thrown back at her was visible, and Edgar thought maybe he’d gone too far. Instead, she drained the last of her punch and held out her glass.
“Be a dear and get me another glass, would you?”
Edgar tossed back his own glass and went over to the punch bowl. When he turned back to the table, he saw Grisella at the karaoke machine.
“Put those down and dance with me, Edgar!” she cried.
Edgar broke out in full-body goose pimples. The girl of his dreams who shunned him for centuries wanted to dance with him?
I’ve never danced before.
“Uh, hey, Grisella, why don’t we just sit and act like normal people? I promise I’ll try to be nice.”
“Oh no you don’t, Edgar Campbell. March your butt out here right now and dance with me.” She stamped her foot. “Your Prom Queen commands it!”
Edgar put the punch glasses down on the table and walked out onto the dance floor. His legs were wooden, and his mouth dried out.
“Look, I don’t want to disappoint you, but I—” He felt a magical sensation, the tug of a spell cast on him, and he immediately dissolved it with a defensive counter spell. He glared at Grisella, who laughed at him.
“Relax, silly. I was trying to help you dance. You think I don’t know that you’ve never danced before?”
The magical sensation returned, and this time Edgar allowed it to engulf him. His limbs loosened up, and he could feel the beat of the music. Grisella swayed to the music, and Edgar tried to mimic her movements. He gave up and just let the music move him, and soon the pair danced and whirled under the twinkling disco ball.
After several songs, Grisella laughed and grabbed his hands. “Edgar, we have to stop,” she exclaimed breathlessly. “I’m exhausted.”
The spell broke, and Edgar discovered his legs were trembling and his own breath came in short gasps. He nodded, and Grisella led him back to the table where they collapsed into their chairs and gulped their punch.
“That was fun,” Grisella said as she fanned herself with her hands. “I can’t believe how well you dance.”
Edgar chuckled. “That was the magic and you know it. I should let you cast spells on me more often.”
The irony of his words cooled their conversation, and they grew quiet. The slide show had looped around to the beginning, and Grisella’s school career began anew.
Finally, Edgar gestured around the room. “You did a nice job with the decorations. This place looks great.”
Grisella blushed. “Thanks for noticing, Edgar. I know it’s not your cup of tea, but I think it’s important to set the right mood.”
“It’s… uh… festive.”
Their eyes met, and after a long second she realized he was teasing. She smacked him on the arm and they both started to laugh.
Edgar decided that he enjoyed making her laugh, and he resolved to make their evening together last as long as possible.
“Do you remember—”
“I always wondered—”
They both stopped and giggled.
“You first,” said Grisella.
Edger shook his head. “Not a chance, m’lady. I insist.” Any other time, Edgar would have chosen death rather than effect an exaggerated British accent, but it didn’t feel stupid with Grisella.
Grisella giggled again. “I was going to say, I always wondered what you guys studied down in the Dark Arts wing. Care to share any secrets, five hundred years later?”
Edgar scoffed. “Sorry, I’m sworn under pain of death to keep the secrets of the Dark Arts.” It wasn’t too far from the truth, actually. Still, he looked around the room and leaned forward until their faces were almost touching. “We learned the basic spells along with some eye of newt, hair of toad stuff,” he said in a conspiratorial stage whisper. “Dark, evil stuff.”
“Don’t be silly,” she replied. “I’m serious.”
Edgar thought for a second. “Okay. If you must know, we learned the same stuff you did, mostly. We just hid it behind the mystique of the dark arts label. It was boring.”
She gave him a skeptical look. “Okay, Mr. Cryptic Secrets. I believe you, I guess.” Her face brightened. “Your turn. What were you about to say?”
“Hmm. I don’t remember.”
“Liar. C’mon, what was it?”
“Okay. Do you remember when the football team’s tackling dummies started tackling the players back?”
Realization dawned across her face. “That was you?”
Edgar smiled. “That was my very first animation spell ever. Freshman year.”
Grisella clapped her hands and laughed. “Ha ha. Lance suspected it wa
s Bezel Ramshead, but he couldn’t ever prove it.”
“Nah. Bezel wasn’t much for spells. He was more into potions and concoctions. That’s probably why he, eh, never mind.” Edgar kicked himself mentally for talking. He was usually stoic and restrained, and suddenly he couldn’t keep his thoughts to himself.
“He what? What did he do?”
“It’s nothing.” Edgar shook his head. “Pretend I didn’t say anything.”
“Oh no, no way.” Grisella nudged him with her elbow. “We’re having a nice time, chatting like friends are supposed to, so tell me. Bezel what?”
“That’s probably why he was so easy to kill.”
“You killed Bezel Ramshead?”
“No, not me. Skip—er, Lancelot did. Ambushed him, shot him in the back.”
“That’s absurd. Lancelot Breedlove didn’t shoot Bezel in the back. Lancelot wouldn’t do that. He was an honorable sorcerer.”
“Ha! That shows what you know about dear old Lancelot. I know he shot Bezel in the back. I saw it.”
“You saw it? How?”
“Bezel and I were friends, remember? We teamed up to take out Lance.”
“Since when do Masters of the Dark Arts team up? Aren’t you guys supposed to be angry loners?”
“We may be angry loners, but we’re not stupid. Lance was a braggart and a coward, but he also a skilled and potent sorcerer. Anyway, someone must have tipped him off about our plan, because he ambushed Bezel.”
Grisella’s eyes narrowed. “Someone?”
Edgar shrugged. “Okay. I tipped him off.”
Grisella sat bolt upright, and her rising anger was plainly visible. “You have some nerve, Edgar Campbell! You called Lancelot Breedlove a coward and a back shooter, and yet you sit here and confess that you set up your friend to be killed. What kind of sorcerer are you?”
Edgar plucked at his robe. “I’ve never claimed to be anything but a black hat, Grisella. That means I’m a cheater and a liar, and I’ll use every dirty trick in the book. I may lack honor, but at least I’m not a hypocrite like Skippy.”
If looks could kill, or if Grisella knew how to kill with a glance, she would have. As it was, Edgar imagined the heat from her glare.
It’s show time.
“You know what’s hilarious, Griz? How did Bezel know where to find Lance in the first place? It’s not like he was in the phone book.” Edgar stroked his straggly beard. “I wonder who could have given Bezel that information. My guess would be someone who Lance trusted, someone whose job it was to keep track of us all. Someone in charge of organizing a class reunion, maybe?”
Grisella’s mouth opened and closed several times as she struggled to respond. Her face contorted with anger and her skin grew blotchy and pink.
“You!” Spittle flew from her lips, and the veins in her neck stood out. “I’ve heard enough from you.”
Edgar held up his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, don’t hate me for speaking the truth. I thought it was a brilliant move, even better than setting up Bezel for Lance to kill.” He stood up. “All this dancing and chatting is making me hungry. Care for some nosh?” He walked toward the steam table. “Something smells de-lish.”
Just before he reached the steam table, Edgar saw a bright blue flash reflected in the polished stainless steel light hood. He cast Freeze Frame, and in the two seconds of time that the spell afforded him, he whirled around and dove to the side. Grisella’s Power Bolt sizzled overhead and slammed into the wall, and a shower of white-hot sparks and shards of concrete sprayed the area.
Edgar was up and moving as soon as he regained his feet. There had been a lot of power in Grisella’s attack, but he knew she had plenty of strength left. He scanned the room as he ducked along the wall toward the karaoke machine, but the white-clad sorceress was nowhere in sight. A greenish-blue ball of plasma skipped across the floor and splashed against the wall where Edgar had been standing. It was a Wait-A-Minute, designed to immobilize him if it hit Edgar’s feet.
“Very impressive!” Edgar shouted as he fired a low-energy Power Bolt at the ceiling. All the light fixtures exploded in a shower of sparks, and the balloons held by nets tied in the rafters poured down into the gymnasium. The only illumination came from the small spotlight focused on the disco ball hanging resolutely over the dance floor, and multicolored shafts of light danced around the room.
Edgar caught a flash of white along the back of the bleachers, and he ducked down into the pile of balloons and crawled back the way he came. When he gained the relative safety of the bar, he stopped and listened. The only sound was the strains of some long-forgotten love song from the karaoke speakers.
“You know, Griz, you never asked me how Skippy died,” Edgar shouted. He peeked around the bar toward the bleachers but didn’t see Grisella. “I’ll spare you the gruesome details, but I want you to know that he died screaming when I melted his face.”
Power Bolts crackled and hissed in all directions and Edgar was forced to take cover behind a Body Armor spell. He glimpsed where the Power Bolts came from, and he threw a weak Angry Bees at the spot. It wasn’t a spell she would expect, and it could be very irritating. Grisella shrieked.
“Very funny, Edgar.”
He chuckled at the obvious pain in her voice and peeked out from behind the bar. He saw a shadow move behind the bleachers, and he considered his options. Grisella was in a good position to defend against his attacks. She was difficult to see, so spells that required extreme accuracy like the Heart Punch and Brain Freeze would be ineffective. The heavy wood and steel bleachers would diffuse larger spells like the Power Bolt unless he put an enormous amount of power into them, which would leave him weakened.
I bet she scouted that spot out ahead of time.
Just then, Grisella jumped out from her hiding spot and hurled an orangish blob towards the ceiling. In an instant, the balloons spread across the floor whirled into the air in the grips of an invisible tornado and popped among the rough edges of the exposed steel roof girders. It irritated Edgar that he didn’t recognize the spell.
“Does that one rake up the leaves in your yard, too?” he called.
Edgar cast the Fog of War, and waist-high blanket of purple smoke rolled across the gym floor. His attempt at deception didn’t fool Grisella, and she blew the smoke away with the Gales of November.
The tit-for-tat battle of silly spells would not last forever, and Edgar knew that Grisella would eventually throw something big enough to destroy the bar and leave him with no cover. She would then have a significant advantage, because she was well hidden and wouldn’t need to use much power to defend.
Retreat and escape were unlikely. He couldn’t remember if there were doors behind the stage or where they led, and he knew he wouldn’t make it out the front doors. Somehow, he had to lure Grisella out from behind the bleachers.
The bleachers!
Edgar paused for a moment and emptied his mind. When it was blank, a tiny speck of red light appeared in the darkness, and it began to rotate as it grew in size and intensity. When the swirling red lights filled his consciousness, he stood up from behind the bar and focused his energy at the bleachers instead of Grisella behind them.
A narrow beam of red light illuminated the front row of bleacher seats. At first it was unfocused and danced along the top edge, but as Edgar released more energy to it, the ray intensified. Soon, the entire first row of seats glowed with energy. It was an awesome display of power concentrated in a spell Edgar had only ever read about. The Suicide Squeeze.
Boom! The first row of seats collapsed back against the second row. Boom! Boom! Boom! The gymnasium trembled with thunderous noise as the bleachers accordioned against the wall. Edgar sensed momentary resistance before the final row collapsed against the wall, and then the gym fell silent.
Edgar stood in the middle of the gymnasium floor with his head down and his shoulders slumped. The Suicide Squeeze had exhausted all of his energy. This was the moment of truth. If he had miscalcul
ated even a bit, he would have to live with his failure forever.
A ghostly white figure emerged from the deep shadows by the doors. At first, it shimmered in the darkness like a mirage, but as it came closer Edgar saw it was Grisella. Her robes glowed with bluish-white light, and sparks of lightning crackled from her fingertips. Her elegant beauty was so lustrous that tears blurred Edgar’s vision and he blinked them down his cheeks. His unrequited love for her, as intense as it was five hundred years earlier, fluttered his heart and burned his cheeks.
“That was an impressive spell, Edgar.” Grisella’s eyes twinkled in the light from the disco ball, and her voice was warm and soothing, without a trace of her earlier haughtiness and scolding. “It’s a shame you failed.”
Edgar smiled and braced himself for what he knew was coming. “I didn’t fail. I won.”
Grisella raised her hands in front of her, and a luminescent ball of cracking energy formed around them.
Power Blast.
She paused. “You’re about to die. How did you win?”
“You’ll see.”
Just before her powerful spell hit him, Edgar launched a final spell skyward.
Grisella’s Power Blast struck hit him full in the chest and threw his body across the gym and he crashed into the bar. The sound of the impact echoed throughout the gymnasium. After it faded, Edgar’s final spell landed. It was the Echo Across Time, and his voice boomed from the rafters.
“Grisella Youngblood, with my death I choose you Most Likely to Succeed.”
P.A. Piatt was born in the 60’s, grew up in the 70’s, matured in the 80’s, and has been regressing ever since. He is the author of The Walter Bailey Misadventures including Redcaps Rising, The Conjurer of Chaos, and Heretic’s Fork (summer 2020). He is also the author of the Abner Fortis Space Marine novels including Honor Flight, Cherry Drop, and China Mike (summer 2020), and stand-alone novels The Marchioly Project (vampire horror) and Father’s Son (sci-fi thriller). You can find links to all of his books and other published short stories at https://www.amazon.com/P-A-Piatt/e/B07BB1G9WL
Fantastic Schools: Volume 2 Page 40
