Copyright 2016 Fritzen Media. All Rights Reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Cover Artwork – © 2016 L.J. Anderson of Mayhem Cover Creations
Cover Model – Mirish – www.mirish.deviantart.com
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
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Chapter One
Magic can’t fix everything. You can’t use it to bring back the dead, or to turn back time. It’s a force of nature, sure, but it has laws and limitations. I can cause a small earthquake, for instance, but the bloodstains on my jacket would prove impossible to remove by magic.
But that’s why I have bleach.
The men on the operating table were wounded badly. Shrapnel had penetrated the shoulder of one of them, who was still awake and groaning in pain. The other was unconscious, burns across his chest, cuts marring the flesh, presumably from debris during the blast.
I had helped carry them in from the Fire entrance, a massive gateway in the south wing of the office building. The mission had gone poorly, but I wasn’t allowed to know the finer details of operations, not yet. I was only there to learn, not to participate fully. That was reserved for full members—secret societies have secrets even from themselves.
Despite the bloody scene before me, the atmosphere was remarkably calm. Four Healers, members of the Air faction, worked on the men quietly and carefully, with practiced ease. One of them leaned over to the groaning man, and whispered into his ear. As he did, a faint breeze swept through the room, only perceptible by the sound and a slight stirring of my hair. The man on the table stopped groaning, let out a contented sigh, and slipped into unconsciousness.
The work continued quickly after that. One of the Healers braced the shoulder while a second removed the shrapnel. Together, they held their hands over the wound, and, as I watched, the ragged hole knitted itself closed while a wind picked up, stronger than the breeze that had aided the patient’s sedation. I steadied myself against a gurney with one hand.
As the shrapnel wound was closing, the other two Healers worked on the burned patient. More wind kicked up, pulling my hair out of place and scattering blonde strands across my face. I tucked it hurriedly behind my ears.
I need to remember to put it into a ponytail next time. Or a braid. Or just cut it off.
The charred flesh visible on the man’s chest began to heal, the gashes where the skin had split closing slowly. His breathing, which had been rapid, slowed to a more normal pace. A faint moan of relief rattled past his lips. I couldn’t imagine the kind of pain he had been through.
I noticed that the burned skin was healing, but was still mottled, warped, still plainly scar tissue. I kept it to myself, intending to ask about it after the work was finished. The best thing I could do to help was stay out of the way, and keep quiet. This kind of job required far greater power and control than I possessed.
“I think that about does it for this one,” said one of the Healers, a tall, thin man named Jake. He looked questioningly at the two working on the burn victim. “Do you need a hand over there?”
“No, we’ve got it. Just about done.”
“What the hell were they doing?” asked a woman working on the burned man. I never learned her name. Her brow was furrowed in concentration. “Blowing up a building?”
“You know we aren’t supposed to know details,” said Jake.
“They show up in my O.R., burned and bleeding, I think I’m allowed to ask a few questions,” said Peter. He wiped an alcohol swab around the shrapnel wound, cleaning the skin as he checked for other injuries. “I know that we send Fire agents into the field for dangerous work, but this is getting ridiculous. We went four years without any injuries, and in the last eight months, we’ve had two dozen. It’s only a matter of time before one of these guys winds up dead.”
“They—“
“Don’t tell me they know the risks, Jake,” snapped Sarah as she began to clean the soot off of the burned man with a cloth. “It’s bad enough that we have to send agents to the ass end of the world to stop tin pot dictators from killing half of their own people, but these guys were coming from Manhattan. That’s not the Third World. That’s here. What the hell are we doing sending guys into the field here?”
“I don’t—“
“Peter, I get it. I know you don’t like it,” Jake cut in. “You’re a Healer. It’s in your nature to stitch wounds up, not make new ones. I’m the same way. But the fact is that some people need to be stopped. And sometimes the only way to do that is to hurt them so badly they can’t get back up.”
Peter’s lip curled in distaste. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize we were still living in the Stone Age.”
Sarah grunted in agreement. The woman across from her looked unsure.
Jake heaved a sigh. “It is getting worse. We’re sending out more and more Fire agents every week, and fewer and fewer Spirit agents. I don’t know what we’re going to do in the long run, but something has to change.”
Silence filled the room, stifling further discussion. The Healers continued cleaning up the wounded agents without speaking. After a few minutes, Jake looked up from his work, and nodded at me.
“You can go. Gabriel will want to counsel you.”
“Yes, sir.”
Everyone who had undergone the Bonding was called sir or ma’am. As somewhere between initiate and full member of Focus, I wasn’t addressed by any titles. Soon, however, I would make my choice, and join one of the five factions.
I turned and walked out of the operating room, heading down the hallway toward Gabriel’s office, in the center of the building. Gabriel was the leader of Focus, though that sounded more impressive than it actually was. The majority of the decisions were made by the leaders of all five branches of Focus—Jason Butler represented Fire, Connie Praeger spoke for Water, Mark Dundry for Earth, Simon Merrick for Air, and Gabriel headed the Spirit faction, which was responsible for diplomacy and negotiation. As such, the head of the Spirit branch had served as the Director of Focus for centuries. His job was mainly to prioritize missions, and keep daily operations running as smoothly as possible.
I smoothed back my shoulder-length hair before I knocked on Gabriel’s door. Working with the Healers in the Air faction had a certain appeal to it. I loved the idea of saving lives with my magic, of using it for an undeniably good purpose, but it was a bitch to keep your hair straight with all of that wind blowing around.
“Come in,” Gabriel said when I knocked. I opened the door, and sat down across from his desk.
His office was a collage of different cultures. The walls were lined with Native American ceremonial masks, Chinese pottery on little shelves, Indian statues depicting Ganesh and Vishnu, and dozens of others I couldn’t name—history was never my strong suit. Gabriel had spent a long career establishing ties between cultures that were normally at odds using a combination of standar
d negotiating tactics and magic.
The Spirit faction used the soul of the user as the source of their magic. Because it essentially used humanity itself as its source of power, Spirit magic was useful for affecting the mind. Some of the more experienced members were capable of outright mind control, but using it in such a way was not allowed, except to directly prevent injury or death of an innocent. Most of the time, it was used to open minds, not control them. Gabriel, for instance, could use his magic to convince a card carrying member of the Ku Klux Klan to reconsider his ingrained bigotry, and marry an African-American man.
Yeah. Gabriel had scary levels of power.
But the man himself would never inspire fear. He was a kind man, and had patiently mentored me from the time I was ten and first coming to terms with my magic. Plus, he looked like your favorite grandpa. Powder blue eyes sat above a rather large nose, and his mouth was permanently fixed in a warm smile with laugh lines on either side, like a happy set of parentheses. Half of the times I saw him I expected him to greet me with a batch of cookies, hurriedly handed to me while making me promise I wouldn’t tell my mom.
“How was the operation?” he asked me, still smiling.
“It went well. The Fire agents will be fine.”
He shook his head. “I mean for you. Is it something that you think you can do, long term?”
I was silent for a few moments as I considered the question. At my level within Focus, I was eligible to undergo the Bonding whenever I felt it was appropriate. Currently I was observing each of the factions, a different one every week, while I weighed my options. It was like an internship that didn’t provide college credit. Or that I could put on a resume, for that matter.
I had a surprising level of control over my magic for someone who hadn’t undergone the Bonding, which would amplify and focus it. The drawback was that my magic would then become permanently bound (hence the name) to one of the five elements. I was currently able to use whatever kind of magic I wanted, but with far less power than even the lowest-ranking full faction member. The Bonding might be restrictive, but the tradeoff was well worth it.
But it wasn’t just a matter of choosing an element; I had to choose a role. Each faction was specialized for their branch of magic, and their roles within Focus were determined by the best applications of their talent. Spirit, for instance, was responsible for diplomacy. Air magic was best suited for the treatment of wounds and diseases, so they were the first responders during anything from a mass casualty event to a pandemic alert. Earth magic, which drew power from the planet itself, was excellent for reducing the damage caused by natural disasters, so they stopped earthquakes, tsunamis, tornados, even hurricanes. They were also the reason that California hadn’t broken off of the mainland United States and fallen into the sea—we had two agents permanently posted at the San Andreas Fault.
Water magic was the most diverse. They responded to ecological threats, from ending draughts and famine to preserving wildlife. The bald eagle was making a comeback partially thanks to their efforts. Unfortunately, it was difficult to master, and was thus the smallest branch of Focus. Fire magic was the most straightforward: combat. Members of the Fire faction were highly trained operatives, something like Special Forces. They were sent into areas of conflict, where negotiation was not an option, and carried out missions designed to bring a swift end to the bloodshed, either taking out high-value terrorist camps, or, it was rumored, assassinating enemy leaders. Occasionally, they were responsible for covert protection details. For centuries, they had been the least active faction of Focus, and were typically viewed as a last resort. Over the past several years, however, we had begun sending out more and more operatives into the field. Terrorism had escalated to unprecedented levels in human history, and Focus could not sit idly by while innocent lives were at stake. Even the Spirit faction was having difficulty in convincing some of these terrorists to stand down; their brainwashing had gone beyond psychological suggestion, and had started to become genuine belief.
Jake was right about one thing: something had to change. Focus was only able to do so much.
“I… think I might be able to join the Air faction. I like the idea of saving lives.”
Gabriel’s grin widened. “It is an admirable pursuit, Nora. The Air faction has done great things for humanity over the years.”
I shook my head. “I know. They’ve helped so many people… but I can’t help thinking that they’re just a Band-Aid.”
My mentor’s head cocked to one side. “A Band-Aid?”
I laughed before I could stop myself. I was normally careful to be respectful around Gabriel, but the old man was so nice that it was easy to forget how important he was to Focus, to the world, and to me. “It’s hard to explain, because I know it’s a worthwhile job, and that saving lives is the point of everything we do here.”
“Do your best, then.”
“Well, say that you’re a doctor. And while you’re out to dinner, a man has an allergic reaction to something he ate. You do what you can, and save his life. That’s one in the ‘Win’ column, right?”
“Certainly.”
“But say that ten people come into your E.R. because they were caught in the blast of an explosive set by a terrorist. Even if you manage to save them all—which would be extraordinary—the terrorist can always plant another bomb. And another. And another. No matter what you do, even as a Healer directly saving lives, it’s nothing but a stall. You’re treating the wounded, but it’s like giving cough medicine to a man with lung cancer. Treating the symptom, not the disease.” I paused once more, closing my eyes briefly and taking a steadying breath. I hadn’t realized exactly how I felt until I had said it out loud. Conversations with Gabriel tended to go this way.
“You have, I think, articulated the whole reason Focus was founded,” he said. His smile had disappeared, and was replaced with a contemplative look, his eyes slightly distant. “We have power, but it isn’t earned—we are merely born with it. As a result, we carry the burden of ability. Because we can do so much, much is required of each of us. And, if we were each acting alone, as our kind used to, I doubt we would make much of a difference to the world.” His gaze refocused on me, and he leaned forward in his chair. “We don’t act alone, Nora. We each play our part, and fulfill our roles. Because of that combined effort, Focus doesn’t just treat the symptoms; we treat the disease.”
I felt inexplicably ashamed of myself. Gabriel wasn’t yelling, or even expressing disappointment in my feelings. He was just responding to my concerns with information I already knew. And it made me feel like a kid again.
“I know that, sir. You’re right. I’m just… I can’t make a decision just yet.”
Gabriel nodded. “I don’t expect you to. None of the other candidates have chosen yet either. The important thing to remember is that you cannot choose incorrectly. No matter which faction you join during the Bonding, you will be doing important work.” He rose from his seat and, taking my cue, I did the same. He guided me to his office door. “There is no reason to rush yourself, Ms. Tress. Take your time, observe the factions, and when you are confident that you have done all you can to prepare yourself, then make your decision.”
That’s what I was already doing, but thanks anyway.
“Of course, sir. Thank you.”
“Until next time, Ms. Tress.”
I left the office, headed downstairs and outside, into the normal world, where normal people did normal things without knowing that they were watched, cared for, guarded and protected by a centuries-old organization dedicated to using magic to keep them all safe.
Chapter Two
Believe it or not, working for a secret society has excellent benefits. I wasn’t filthy rich, but I drew a comfortable salary, enough to purchase a house in cash by the time I was twenty-two. I didn’t want to be responsible for making mortgage payments every month, especially not once I went through the Bonding and joined a faction. Odds were good that there wou
ld be times that required me to be in the field for extended periods, and coming home to a house in foreclosure was too much of a hassle.
I don’t know where Focus got their money. I suspected that some members of the Spirit faction were charged with the task of procuring generous donations from wealthy philanthropists. Or, hell, maybe they just played competition-level poker and convinced their opponents to fold. Whatever the case was, it was obvious to anyone walking through those office doors that the place had money, and lots of it.
But the salary (and free health care, courtesy of Air faction Healers), couldn’t measure up to the fact that field agents had a lot of time off. It wasn’t like being a police officer, where every hour walking the beat came with an hour of paperwork. Members of Focus split their time between work and home. If you weren’t on active duty, you were free to do as you pleased.
There were extended operations, ones that involved months of pounding pavement (or, just as likely, boring research), but those were few and far between. Once or twice, agents went into the field for three or four months. Most of them were Fire or Water operatives. Dismantling a rogue militia group can take an awfully long time, especially when you have to do it without revealing your use of magic, and planting crops and ensuring their survival required at least one season of babysitting.
I was working more hours than just about all of the agents. It wasn’t out of a sense of pride, but simply because I was observing each faction. As a result, I had nearly five times as much to cover as any one agent. I had a couple of days off, after which I would return to headquarters and work with the Fire faction. I wouldn’t get to participate in any of the field operations, but I would be watching them unfold in real time, thanks to satellite imaging. But first, I had some things to take care of. Very exciting things.
Like grocery shopping.
I pulled into the parking lot, got out of my little sedan, and went inside. I spent a couple of minutes finding a cart without a wheel that spun crazily or squeaked incessantly, and headed through the store. I piled things into the wagon, most of them prepared foods. I didn’t have much of a talent for cooking. It turns out that the genes responsible for magic aren’t the same ones for refined palettes either, because it never bothered me.
Shifting Focus (A Paranormal, Urban, Fantasy Novella) (Focus Series Book 2) Page 1
