Seams in Reality

by Alex Siegel

  Andrew eagerly jogged into the seam chamber and turned on the light. Something new grabbed his attention. It was a huge, mechanical contraption made of wood, rope, pulleys, gears, straps, electric motors, and batteries. It was so big, he wondered how it had fit through the door.

  "What's that?" he said.

  "It's for your lesson today," Tonya said.

  Charley made a small groan. "You're putting him in that thing on his first day? You're cruel!"

  "Might as well start him off properly."

  Andrew gave the scary machine a long look. He was pretty sure he wouldn't enjoy today's lesson.

  "But we'll begin with a short lecture," Tonya said. "Take a seat."

  The three of them sat on padded chairs around a wooden table. The furniture was plain but comfortable. Andrew expected he would spend a lot of time sitting on it.

  "There are many types of sorcery," she said. "The common forms are typically listed as investigative, illusory, communicative, manipulative, destructive, and constructive in order of difficulty. The first three are mental forms, and the last three are physical forms. Andrew, you'll begin with investigative sorcery. Charley has just begun manipulative sorcery. That's outstanding for an apprentice as young as her. Both of you are extremely talented."

  Charley grinned proudly.

  "Are there uncommon forms?" Andrew said.

  Tonya gave him a stern look. "Yes, and they're called the 'infernal' forms. I won't teach them, you won't practice them, and we won't discuss them."

  "But..."

  "No 'buts.' This isn't a playground. Many young sorcerers die attempting spells they can't handle. If you want to get through your training with your mind and body intact, you'll do exactly what I tell you."

  He cast his eyes down. Apparently, being a sorcerer meant being ordered around all the time.

  "Let's get you started on the machine," Tonya said.

  She stood up and walked over to the contraption. She pulled open the side, revealing a cylindrical compartment the size of a small closet. There were many holes in the interior wall, each about one inch across.

  "In you go."

  Andrew looked at the machine suspiciously.

  "Don't make me tell you twice," Tonya said.

  He walked into the cylindrical compartment. She closed it up, trapping him inside with only the top open. He could probably climb out if necessary, but he knew she wouldn't like that.

  He heard a rattle as the machine came to life. He looked in all directions nervously. Sharp wooden sticks began to poke out of the many holes, forcing him to move out of the way. The sticks came out slowly, so he had plenty of time to react, but he had to pay attention. They were just fast enough to keep him on his toes.

  "Sorcerers must learn to stay focused for hours on end," Tonya said. "Getting distracted at the wrong moment can be lethal. Andrew, this machine will teach you this lesson."

  Andrew twisted to avoid another sharp stick. "How long do I have to stay in here?"

  "Until the batteries run out."

  He groaned. "But what if I get stabbed?"

  "The sticks don't have enough force to do any real harm. They just hurt a little. This is training."

  The lesson lasted two hours according to Andrew's watch, but it felt like two days. The damned machine never let him relax. He had to constantly turn and shuffle, and even though the movements were slow, he was physically exhausted by the end.

  The contraption did its job. Every time he lost interest, a painful poke got his attention immediately. He learned to keep his mind completely on his surroundings, but it was surprisingly hard. He had always had a tendency to drift off into his own little world.

  Charley was another major source of distraction. Tonya was coaching her through a difficult spell, and Andrew couldn't see them, but he felt the strange energy in the room. It swam around the seam like a school of invisible fish. He tried to imagine what Charley was doing, but the sticks wouldn't let him imagine for long.

  Finally, Tonya released Andrew from the machine. He stumbled out, very glad to be free.

  "Are you OK?" she said.

  He checked himself for injuries. He had a few nicks and scratches, but there was nothing serious.

  "I think so," he said. "Can I sit down now?"

  "Sure."

  Andrew sat at the table with Charley, landing with a thump. She was staring at a glass of water so intently, she didn't even acknowledge he was there. It looked like ordinary water to him, but black energy was swirling around her head.

  "You almost got it!" Tonya sat across from Charley. "Just push harder. Visualize your goal and make it real. Your will is strong enough, and you have the skill."

  Charley was shaking with effort. She was clenching her jaw so hard, the muscles stood out. Her breath came in short, uneven gasps.

  Andrew watched with amazement as ice crystals formed in the water. The crystals grew until it was frozen solid.

  Charley abruptly relaxed. She threw her head back, exhaled, and said, "Yes! I did it!"

  She put up her hand, and he gave her a high-five.

  He touched the ice in the glass, and it wasn't an illusion. She had truly frozen the water.

  "How?" he said in a tone of wonder.

  "The basic theory is simple," Tonya said. "Instead of letting the universe tell you what's real, you tell it. Of course, the devil is in the details."

  He furrowed his brow as he tried to understand. "You mean, if I believe something hard enough, it will happen?"

  "Under the right conditions. For example, I believe the water isn't frozen. In fact, it's very hot."

  The water exploded into steam. A cloud of hot vapor blinded Andrew for a moment.

  "Wow!" he said.

  "Don't get any ideas and start experimenting," Tonya warned. "Let me guide you. We take baby steps here. A little knowledge is a deadly thing in this case."

  "OK."

  "We're done for now. I'm going to practice on my own. We'll meet again after dinner."

  "We have to perform Death of a Salesman again tonight," Charley said.

  "We'll keep the session short. Go."

  Charley stood up, but Andrew remained seated.

  "One last thing," he said. "A BPI agent named Dan came to my dorm room this morning."

  Charley made a sour face.

  He continued, "He told me sorcerers kill each other, and I might need protection."

  "Unfortunately, he's right." Tonya sighed and sagged in her chair. "The power tends to go to our heads. We always want more, and that usually means fighting for control of the big seams. Plenty of blood has been spilled in this room."

  Andrew's eyes widened. "Have you killed other sorcerers?"

  "I've had my battles. You'll be safest if you keep a low profile. Just stick to your training and don't cause any trouble. Now get out of here."

  He and Charley left the room. He closed the steel door, and it hit with a loud clang.

  Dan Easton was waiting for them in the hallway. With his tapered chest and slim hips, he had a manly physique, and Andrew was a little jealous.

  "Hi, Dan," Charley said in a subdued tone.

  "Good lesson?" he said.

  "You always ask that, and I always give you the same answer. It was fine. I'm making slow but steady progress. I guess you already met Andrew."

  He nodded.

  Andrew felt something strange. He glanced over his shoulder at the door to the chamber, and his vision became distorted. He sensed incredible energies crashing like black tidal waves on a beach.

  "What the hell is that?" he exclaimed.

  Charley smiled. "Tonya having fun."

  "It's like she's tearing apart the world."

  "Or remaking it." She looked at Dan. "Why are you here? Our regular meeting isn't until later."

  "That doesn't mean I can't see you at other times."

  She just stared.

  "Andrew still needs to give me his class schedule," he added. "Tonya wants to chang
e it?"

  "OK." She sighed. "Let's all go someplace quiet and figure that out. Tonya is busy right now."

  Another massive burst of sorcerous energy made Andrew turn his head. Tonya was going nuts in the chamber.

  "Come on," Charley said.

  She walked off, and Andrew and Dan followed.

  Chapter Four

  Blake Blutstein was juggling five balls at once. He had been going for a half-hour without a single drop. He watched the balls fly with the absolute focus of a master sorcerer. A half-hour was good, but he was shooting for a full hour which would be his personal best.

  The phone on his desk rang. He reluctantly caught the balls and picked up the phone.

  "Yes?" he said in an irritated tone.

  "Hi!" a female voice answered. "This is Sandy. I'm in the area, and I'd like to chat with you about a gig. The client is eager for you to perform, and I already have a contract for you to sign."

  Blake recognized the voice of his agent and promoter. Her phrasing indicated she wanted to pass on a secret message. She would never come to his house otherwise. The BPI monitored all his phone calls, so he had to use extreme methods to communicate covertly, and Sandy was his primary courier.

  "Sure," he said. "When can I expect you?"

  "Is ten minutes too soon?"

  "Not at all. I was just practicing my juggling. I'll see you shortly." He hung up the phone.

  Blake looked around his office to make sure it was acceptable for female company. Half his office contained keepsakes from his years as a stage magician. He had performed off and on for most of his adult life. The profession failed to hold his interest at times, but he earned handsome paychecks, and at least it wasn't a desk job. He would've preferred to make money using real sorcery, but the government severely frowned on that sort of thing.

  The other half was a private library. Books were his escape from a world that could be frustrating and dreary, and he read voraciously. At times, books had been the only thing keeping him sane. His interests ranged from military history to science to detective novels.

  A BPI agent sat in a chair in the far corner of the room. He was a big African-American man who had probably been chosen for his intimidating expression and bulging muscles. Blake hadn't bothered to learn the agent's name. It just wasn't interesting information. A rotating team of agents watched Blake twenty-four hours a day.

  He sat behind his desk to wait for Sandy, and he used the time to meditate.

  The doorbell rang ten minutes later. He jumped up and hurried through his house to the front door. His foyer had an antique mirror on the wall with gold leaf covering the frame. A sweeping staircase went up to the second floor. A coat tree made from bleached animal bones stood in the corner.

  The BPI agent followed him like a loyal dog.

  Blake opened the door to find Sandy standing there. She was a perky little woman in her forties. She was wearing a red coat which went well with her red hair.

  "Hey!" She smiled. "How's it going?"

  She shook his hand, and he felt a note being passed to him. He expertly palmed the scrap of paper. She walked into the house but kept her coat on.

  "Do you want a drink?" Blake said.

  "Just a soda."

  "I'll be back in a minute."

  He walked swiftly through the house to the kitchen. The BPI agent lagged behind, and Blake took the opportunity to surreptitiously read the note.

  In small letters, it stated, "Tonya has taken Andrew Kenworthy as her apprentice. She was already training Charlotte Lemay."

  Finally, Blake thought. The boy should've started years ago.

  He had thoughts about how he might use Andrew. There were old tasks waiting to be completed and old scores waiting to be settled. The grandson could finish what his grandfather had begun. With Andrew as Blake's apprentice and assistant, Blake might discover entirely new forms of sorcery and achieve the kind of power he had craved his whole life. He felt compelled to explore the opportunities at least.

  As he poured a drink for Sandy, he considered the situation. It was very unusual for a sorcerer to take on two apprentices at once. Training worked best when it was one-on-one. Tonya would do so only if both had massive talent and deserved special attention.

  Her skill was legendary. The Theosophical Seam was one of the best in the country, and she had kept her grip on it for decades despite plenty of eager challengers. Blake considered her an adversary, but he knew better than to confront her directly.

  He brought the glass full of soda and ice back to Sandy.

  She sipped and smiled. "That hits the spot."

  "Tell me about the gig in my office."

  Blake and Sandy went back to his office. She prattled on about a show in Denver, but he didn't pay much attention. It was just an act for the benefit of the BPI agent.

  Blake contemplated his next step. He decided to visit Andrew and assess the situation in person despite the risks. With Tonya around, Blake would have to step carefully, but there was no avoiding it. Only a face-to-face meeting would allow him to see if the boy was everything Blake expected.

  Sandy produced a contract.

  He scanned it quickly and frowned. "Oh, this won't do."

  He put the contract on his desk and started making corrections. In the margin, he wrote, "Pay yourself $20K and give $20K to the source."

  Blake maintained a network of contacts that provided him with nuggets of crucial information. The constant presence of the BPI made being a master spy difficult, but he enjoyed the intellectual challenge. If it were easy, it wouldn't be worth doing.

  Sandy looked at the writing on the contract, and her face showed no reaction.

  "Sorry you wasted a trip out here," Blake said. "You'll have to come back after renegotiating the contract."

  She shrugged. "Don't worry about it. That's just part of my job."

  "I'll see you to the door."

  He walked her back to the front door and watched her go.

  Frowning, he turned away. The black BPI agent just stood in the foyer and watched him. The invasion of Blake's privacy was a constant annoyance. A man with his enormous talent and achievements deserved to be treated better.

  "I'm going to fly to Chicago this afternoon," he announced.

  "Oh?" the federal agent said. "Why?"

  "To see my old friend Tonya. Call your bosses and arrange a flight for me."

  The BPI insisted on making all of Blake's travel arrangements as another means of controlling him, but at least he didn't have to pay for tickets himself. It was a minor perk.

  The agent pulled out his phone and made a call.

  Blake probably had several hours before his flight, so he decided to tune up his sorcery skills a little. He wanted to be in peak form when he met Tonya. It was a matter of personal safety as well as pride.

  He went to a door beneath the front staircase. It had a mechanical combination lock which took him a moment to unlock. A steel plate reinforced the door itself.

  He opened the door and went down a flight of stairs into the basement. All the windows were blocked off, so the only light came from a bare incandescent bulb. The walls were plain concrete with a few cracks caused by the foundation settling.

  Odd items used for training filled shelves along the walls. There were blocks of raw materials which he could manipulate physically and chemically. He had a collection of three-dimensional puzzles for practicing his visualization skills. A metronome helped him maintain a steady pace while performing long spells.

  A seam occupied the center of the room like an invisible monster. It was the result of a large family being murdered here. A sadistic serial killer had tortured them to death, including the young children. Apparently, one of the victims had been a latent sorcerer.

  It was an embarrassingly small seam, but the BPI didn't trust Blake with a bigger one. He was supposed to be grateful they let him practice his art at all after being convicted of serious crimes. He had worked to expand the seam by using it
frequently, but that process was frustratingly slow. It still wasn't much bigger than when he had started.

  The BPI agent hadn't followed him downstairs. The BPI knew to keep their distance when sorcerers were training. Errant spells could do permanent harm to weak, untrained minds. Reality didn't like being manipulated in unnatural ways, and sometimes it fought back.

  Mind-control was an even more insidious possibility. A seam gave Blake the power to manipulate others, and for a normal human, the only defense was physical distance. If Blake were caught using that kind of infernal sorcery, he would go straight to prison, but the BPI wasn't taking any chances regardless. The agents stayed away when he was working.

  Blake didn't have privacy though. Two surveillance cameras covered every corner of the room. He could fool human eyes easily, but technological eyes were a much greater challenge. Wires and circuits didn't have organic minds.

  A wooden table was in the middle of the room directly beneath the seam, and he walked over. There was a lead bar, a bottle of distilled water, various tuning forks, a cat skeleton, and a wooden block. Blake liked variety when he practiced.

  The block looked solid, but hidden latches pressed in a certain sequence would make it open. The block contained his prize possession: a portable seam. Neither the BPI nor the other sorcerers knew about it. The seam was attached to a large emerald which had once been owned by a particularly cruel Russian empress. The famous gem was called the "Russian Eye." Blake kept it where the regular seam would mask its presence. His father had secretly possessed the jewel, and after his death, it had passed into Blake's hands.

  He intended to bring the emerald to Chicago just in case he needed it. He had to be very careful though. If Tonya detected the portable seam, he would be in deep trouble. The BPI might even kill Blake on the spot. He would leave the emerald in his hotel room when he went to the university.

  Blake sat at the table and settled his mind. He picked up a tuning fork.

  "Ring," he whispered.

  The tuning fork began to vibrate, producing a clear, pure tone. He smiled.

  * * *

  Andrew looked around the cafeteria, but he didn't see Charley. She was supposed to meet him for dinner. He was disappointed, but perhaps, she was just a little late.