by T. S. Mann
“The crystal is a teaching tool designed to help with that. While you sit and meditate, focus on the sound of the chimes. As you continue to focus your attention on that to the exclusion of all else, the dissonance of the chimes will resolve into a single, steady tone. Then, you simply tune out that sound without letting any other thoughts enter your mind. When you cannot hear the sound at all, your mind will be clear, and you will be able to cast your thoughts back to anything you have experienced with perfect clarity.”
Matt nodded and placed the crystal within his interlaced fingers, and then he closed his eyes and focused on the sound of chimes. After a few seconds, the jangling began to slow down into a clearer tone. Matt smiled ... and immediately, the dissonance increased even more.
“Yeah,” said Bryce with sympathy, “that’s the hard part. If you’re too pleased with yourself for making progress, that’s just as distracting to your inner peace as getting frustrated. The trick is to have no extraneous thoughts at all, to listen to the tone for feedback without being aware of it. It’s hard at first.”
“Indeed,” said Doc. “You should not expect to get close to a pure tone for a while. Just keep working at it though. It will allow you to remember whatever details you and I may have missed from your encounters with Lindsay. I think that’s the best thing you can do to help us and to help your brother.”
As he spoke, Doc made a subtle gesture with his left hand. Matt didn’t notice. Bryce did, and he pursed his lips tightly while trying not to glare at his mentor. Matt simply looked up at Doc with a grateful expression.
“Got it. I’ll keep working at it. I won’t let you down.”
“Good. Bryce and I will go back and work a few other angles. I want you to keep meditating on the crystal until I come back. I’ll check on your progress in about an hour or so, okay?”
Matt nodded and closed his eyes to focus on the sounds generated by the crystal. Doc and Bryce turned and left. Once out in the hallway, they headed back towards the Panopticon.
“So now what?” Bryce asked.
“Now we start trying to come up with those other angles I mentioned because I don’t actually have any. Did Electra ask you about contacting the Cult of Mammon?”
“Yeah, I said I’d get back to her.”
“Make it a priority. In the meantime, I’m going back to my house to spend some time meditating. I think I'm close to an enlightenment break-through. I can’t end the partition early, but maybe if I can just be free of distractions, it will end itself.”
“What about Matt?”
“He won’t leave the gym unless one of us comes to get him or unless he masters the crystal. And he’s not going to master the crystal any time soon. It took me eight months to get it, so I doubt he’ll do so in the next hour.”
“Alright. I’ll make some calls. Right after I buff up my psychic shields. Not that I don’t trust you or anything.”
With that, Bryce walked away in a huff. Doc called after him before shaking his head and heading back to the portal and his home. Meanwhile, Bryce made his way to a small office with a sign labeled Graduate TA. Once inside, he locked the door behind him and fired up both a laptop and a dual-monitor computer.
“Marvin?”
“Whaaat?!?” the computer petulantly whined over a nearby wall-mounted speaker.
“Disable sarcasm mode.”
A short, three-tone sequence played out over the loudspeaker. When the computer spoke again, its voice was clipped and professional. “Sarcasm mode disabled. How may I assist you?”
“I’m about to make a call. Please run a level-four voice analysis scan on anyone I talk to. Non-verbal readout fed to my desktop screen. Also, buff the empyreal, psychic, kinetic, and dimensional filters to maximum.”
“Acknowledged.”
A window opened on Bryce’s desktop. At the top was a sound-wave analysis device, while below was a text window. A second window also opened with a display indicating that all shields were operating at 100% capacity and the computer was not presently detecting any incoming magical attacks. Having prepared as much as he could, Bryce took a deep breath, buffed his personal mental defenses, and made the call.
On the second ring, the phone was answered by an inhumanly perky receptionist. For all Bryce knew, the receptionist might have literally been inhuman.
“You've reached the Law Offices of Bartok, Hannigan and Rowe. How my I direct your call?”
He glanced at the first screen. The voice analyzer danced as the female spoke, and after a second, the text box confirmed his own opinion.
ASSESSMENT:
Highest probability (52%) is that speaker is a spirit bound into target phone network.
Estimated probabilities for alternative hypotheses:
Speaker is an unidentified anomaly (26%).
Speaker is an automated system granted self-awareness (12%).
Speaker is a stranger (9%).
Speaker is a mundane (<1%)
“Lionel Bartok, please,” the Collegian said as he considered Marvin’s report.
“And whom should I say is calling?”
“Bryce Caulfield.”
“Thank you. Please hold.”
The perky voice was replaced by soothing music which caused the computer to ping softly. It identified a light suggestion spell incorporated into the musical tones. Nothing major, just a compulsion to believe that the attorneys at the firm were honest, reliable, and likable, despite whatever past experiences the listener had with that particular firm or with lawyers in general.
The program also noted that the spell dissipated harmlessly against the psychic buffers, degrading them by less than one percent. After about ten seconds, the music abruptly stopped, and the avuncular voice of Lionel Bartok Esq. boomed out.
“Bryce, my boy, it’s wonderful to hear from you! How’s academia treating you?
“Oh, you know, Lionel. The usual. Overworked and underpaid.”
“Nonsense, Bryce. You academic types! You get great benefits and summers off and still you complain!” Bartok laughed loudly at his weak joke, and Bryce made a point of chuckling along. “Oh, by the way, before I forget, keep next Valentine’s Day clear on your calendar. I’m getting married again!”
“Really?” said Bryce, feigning interest. He glanced at the voice analyzer which indicated that Lionel was making the invitation mainly to throw him off balance and make him feel subconsciously indebted. The computer recommended minimizing the importance of the occasion.
“How many does this make now? Three?”
“Fourth time, for this Name, at least. Ninth time over all. What can I say? These interns get younger every day, unlike Mrs. Bartok or her predecessors.”
He laughed crudely. The computer recommended that Bryce laugh along to imply that he shared Lionel’s sexism. Instead, Bryce remained silent, and Lionel took the hint.
“But enough of my connubial bliss. I’m sure you called for something more interesting than that. What can I do you for?”
“Well, Lionel, I’m sure you’ve heard about some of the ... things that have been happening in the city.”
“Yes, yes. Well, I’ve heard a little. Nasty business that. Some nephilim running around doing awful nephilim things. The Church is up in arms over it. Not that I’m privy to the inner workings of the Church of the Unity Blade.”
The computer interpreted that as a blunt admission that Lionel was very privy to the inner workings of the Unity Blade but that he would not be sharing any sensitive information with Bryce.
“That’s why I called, Lionel. We want to find the nephilim before the Church does. We think we can resolve the situation with minimal property damage and loss of life, and we’d rather handle it than let the Church go in guns blazing. We were hoping that your order might be able to lend us some of its resources towards that goal.”
There was a beat of silence. “Lend implies an interest rate, Bryce. What sort of return can we expect on such an investment?”
Br
yce rubbed his eyes. He hadn’t really expected Lionel to get to the point so quickly, which indicated that the Cult of Mammon had been given this more thought than he’d anticipated. It probably also meant that the Cult had already done a profit-risk analysis and already decided which course of action would be the most advantageous. And if that analysis said that the best course of action was to do nothing, Bryce had very little to offer them as incentive to do otherwise.
“Well, what sort of returns are you looking for in this matter? Obviously, the Invisible College would be very grateful for any assistance you could give. It might even form the basis for a new understanding between our two orders.”
“Well, no offense, Bryce, but our present understanding is that we have nothing in common except mutual disdain for the Unity Blade. However, an open alliance against them does not seem feasible at this point because they’re probably powerful enough to take both our orders together, though they haven’t come after us yet because the damage they would suffer outweighs the likely benefits of having Boston under their exclusive sway. It might even leave them vulnerable to colonization attempts by the Ministry of Continuity out of D.C. or one of the larger New York cabals. Does that comport with your own analysis of the situation?”
Bryce was silent. In fact, he had delivered a paper to the College just two years earlier reaching an identical conclusion. The threat of an alliance between the College and the Cult of Mammon kept the Church from attacking either of them, but an actual alliance would probably motivate it to preemptively go after them both. He wondered how long it took for a copy of that paper to end up in Lionel’s hands.
“Lionel, I don’t want a confrontation with the Church any more than you do, but a confrontation right now isn’t what I’m asking for. Working together, we can find and destroy the nephilim before the Church even knows what we’re doing. There’s no reason for the Church to ever think we’re in an open alliance against them.”
“Hmm. I’m sorry, but no. I see no profit from this venture. Unless my assessment changes or you offer me something not presently on the table, well, I think we’ll just stay out of it.”
“Right. Because you don’t do anything unless there’s profit involved.”
“Now, now, Bryce, don’t get peevish. Our god’s name is Mammon, and charity is our gravest sin. You know that. You knew that before you called. And we both know that there is plenty you could offer that might make involvement worth our while. But whatever it is about this nephilim that compels you to seek her destruction yourself instead of leaving it to the Church, it obviously doesn’t carry that high a price tag. We aren’t the only ones who use a risk-benefit analysis. We’re just the only ones willing to admit it.”
Bryce glanced back up at the computer’s logs. Lionel had been remarkably honest and open with him, probably because there was nothing to be made off a lie in this instance.
“Thanks for taking my call, Lionel. And my congratulations to you and the new-new-new Mrs. Bartok.”
“Thank you, Bryce. Feel free to call any time.”
And with that, the line went dead. Bryce had the computer do one last diagnostic to make doubly sure that no malicious magic had been sent across the phone connection. Then, he left his office to return to the gym. He arrived in time to hear an angry expletive from a clearly frustrated Matt, who was still struggling with the uncomfortable lotus position as much as the blue crystal. He took a moment to turn his frown into a sympathetic smile and stepped into the room.
“Problems?” After seeing Matt’s expression, Bryce’s sympathy became genuine. He remembered hating that crystal too, back in the early days of his strangeness.
“This sucks! Luke will be dead of old age before I get this thing to work!” Matt exclaimed in consternation. “Is this really the only best way I can help find Luke?”
“Well, it’s the best way to clear your mind of distractions so you can access your own memories safely. Psychic magic is very dangerous to use if your mind isn’t properly focused. If you screw up some other form of magic, you can usually at least try to undo it. If you screw up mind magic, you might come out of it too stupid or insane to fix what you did wrong. Just stay here and keep working at it. I know you’ll get it eventually. I’ll be back to check on you a little later.”
Matt nodded and returned to his meditations. Meanwhile, Bryce left the gym and rounded the corner to head to the Panopticon, mainly because that’s where he’d left all his beer, and even if he couldn’t get drunk, it was still a great stress reliever.
After he left, Matt spent the next fifteen minutes struggling in vain to get the crystal to generate the desired tone. Eventually, a cramp in his leg from the lotus position forced him to stop, and he stood up to stretch it out. As he did, he thought about what Bryce had said, about how he was working with the crystal to clear his mind because he would be unable to repair any mental damage from a botched mind spell.
He glanced over at the open door. While it might be risky to try such magic on his own, right now, he wasn’t on his own – he was in the secret base of a cabal of intellectual Strangers who seemed to favor psychic magic. Surely someone else could heal him from any self-inflicted psychic damage. And while he had promised to stay here as Doc had asked, surely finding the answers that Doc sought was more important than following the letter of Doc’s instructions.
Having rationalized a reason to ignore his instructions, Matt then set his mind to figuring out how to actually do so. He walked around the gym for a few minutes to think and eventually found himself in the corner where the weight lifting equipment was located. On the walls of that corner were several full-length mirrors positioned so that weight lifters could be sure they were using proper technique. Matt had spent many long hours in his high school’s weight room watching his own form in similar mirrors.
He walked up to the nearest one and put his hands up to the glass. It was cool to the touch. He looked into his own eyes and thought to himself that maybe the simplest solution would be the best. In response, the phrase “Occam’s Razor” popped into his head courtesy of the Bodhisattva. Thinking that might be a good omen, Matt took a breath and cast his spell.
“Tell me what I’ve forgotten about Lindsay.”
Matt said the words to his own reflection. The reflection said nothing, but it smiled at him, almost cruelly. Then, there was a brilliant blue flash, and Matt fell backwards to the floor, crying out in pain as he went. A crippling migraine left him unable to open his eyes, but within his mind, he relieved the last two days instantly, an astounding chunk of information and far more than he could absorb at once. Finally, after several minutes, the crushing pain subsided, and Matt sat up.
"Huh. Maybe I should stick to the crystal.” He glanced back at his reflection and realized that his nose was bleeding. “Yeah, definitely should stick to the crystal.”
He found a roll of paper towels against a wall near one of the exercise machines and went to clean up the blood. To his surprise, the blood wiped easily off his Patriots jersey without leaving the slightest mark. Apparently, Doc and Bryce had not been exaggerating when they described its stain-free properties.
He sat on a nearby weight bench and bent his head back as he held a handful of paper towels to his nose for several minutes. It was only after he relaxed and thought back over what just happened that suddenly, almost anticlimactically, the answer came.
“The coven leader is named Lindsay. She’s in grad school at Fisher College. Women’s Studies, I think.”
Matt rose from the bench, still holding the paper towel to his nose, as Luke’s words from the previous night echoed in his head.
“Anyway, we met Lindsay at this rave last July. She invited us back to her dorm room and we talked about stuff for hours over pot. Lindsay’s very spiritual.”
Meredith’s words joined with Luke’s, and Matt began to laugh in exhilaration.
“Fisher College!” he said aloud to the empty gym. “Lindsay is posing as a student at Fisher Co
llege! She even had a dorm room there that she used to recruit her coven members!”
Excited (and also pleased that his nosebleed had stopped), Matt ran to the door of the gym before skidding to a stop. Both Doc and Bryce had told him to stay here. Granted, their reasons for doing so seemed to be mooted by Matt’s realization, but it occurred to him that they might have other reasons for him to stay here, such as magical security systems he might trip if he wandered away.
It did not occur to him that his efforts to invent a reason to stay put might be the result of a magical compulsion, but then such things rarely occurred to the victims of such magic.
And so, Matt paced back in forth next to the door for several minutes in frustration. He even tried yelling down the hallway trying to attract attention from Bryce or even someone else in the building, but to no avail. Then, he had another idea.
“Okay, let’s think about this, Sullivan,” he said aloud. “Doc said that, magically speaking, sound was a form of motion and fell under kinetic magic, and I’m good enough at that at least enough to keep from falling to my death. So logically, I ought to be able to manipulate sound in some way. I’ll just figure out where Bryce is and send a message to him that way.”
Of course, Matt had no idea whether such an action was within his present abilities, but he was excited and in the mood to experiment. He thought for a moment and then put his fingers behind his ears and pushed them forward as if he were straining to hear some distant noise. “Rabbit ears,” he intoned.
Juice flowed through him to fuel the spell, augmenting his hearing far beyond the capacity of normal humans. At first, he was overwhelmed by a cacophony of noises that he feared would deafen him, but gradually he was able to filter out extraneous sounds.
