Science and Sorcery

by Christopher Nuttall

  “Yes,” Caitlyn said. “Unsurprisingly, the recent events have taken their toll on the teaching body, with three different teachers threatening to quit and possible replacements being reluctant to consider working there. We can pull a few strings and convince them to take you on, at least for a few months.”

  “My last principal said I couldn't be trusted near children,” Misty said. It still hurt; the teaching system often took years to recognise teachers who preyed on children, but it had reacted with blinding speed to force her out of the classroom when she'd developed magic powers. “And I’m sure he will tell the new principal that if he makes some inquiries.”

  “We can handle that,” Caitlyn assured her. “The important detail is that your name isn't out in public, at least not yet. That saves us the bother of providing you with a false identity for the duration of the assignment. The principal will be told to take you on and make sure you're in a position where you will encounter most of the schoolchildren. Golem tells us that you are good at sensing changes in the mana field that might indicate a practicing magician.”

  “Yeah,” Misty said. She hesitated, but she knew she had to ask. “What am I to do if I catch him?”

  “You report him to us and we work out how to deal with him,” Caitlyn said, tiredly. Misty suspected that there had been some very high-level discussions before she'd been called into Caitlyn’s office. “Ideally, we’d like to take him into custody and ask him a number of questions, starting with just how the hell one of the Thirteen got in touch with him. More practically...”

  Misty shivered. Golem’s tales of magical combat in his time had been terrifying. A single magician with enough skill could wipe out an entire army. Golem had personally witnessed armies burned to death, or turned to stone, or even just mind-controlled into attacking their fellows. Other stories, from before Enchanter’s time, were even darker. An entire continent had been wiped out by a magician who had caused a tremendous earthquake. Misty would have wondered if that had been Atlantis, but the Fall of Atlantis had apparently happened centuries later.

  “You might have to kill him,” Caitlyn said.

  Misty found the thought repulsive. “But he’s just a kid!”

  “A kid who has killed four people, if what we believe to be right is right,” Caitlyn reminded her. “Maybe he is an innocent victim in all of this, but we can't take chances. If worst comes to worst, we use a sniper and take him out at a distance, before he can react.”

  “Except there are protections he might have used,” Misty pointed out. “He might be warded against sniper fire, or bullets in general.”

  “We can, but try,” Caitlyn said. She looked up, meeting Misty’s eyes. “Are you willing to do this for us?”

  Misty had already made up her mind. She just hadn't realised it.

  “Yes,” she said. “When do I leave?”

  Caitlyn glanced at a calendar. “We’ll move you to New York at once and let the NYPD make the arrangements for you to be inserted into the school,” she said. “It wouldn’t be the first time we’ve had to send an undercover officer into a school, so at least there’s precedent. You’ll get a full briefing before you go, but bear in mind that you’re not a police officer or FBI agent. I just want you there to keep an eye out for the magician.”

  “And not to arrest anyone,” Misty said. “Am I allowed to use magic in the school?”

  “We would really rather you didn't,” Caitlyn said. “We’d prefer not to reveal your existence until we know who we’re looking for, if then, but use your own judgement. Try not to turn any of the kids into frogs. That would probably upset people.”

  “I can't,” Misty said. Golem had taught her how, but the mana field wasn't strong enough to support it. Yet. “I won’t let you down.”

  “I have never sent anyone into a situation like this,” Caitlyn said. “Every time I have acted as a control to someone walking into darkness, the person was a trained and experienced agent who volunteered for the duty. You...you are neither, but you’re all we have. If you want to back out when you’re there, just hit the panic button. We’ll come crashing in.”

  Misty swallowed. Teaching was much harder than anyone on the outside realised, in a world where kids ran riot and physical harm to teachers was not unknown, but this was different. She'd been taught to fear school shooters and terrorists, or kids who just lost it completely, yet a magician...the first report from the school suggested that someone had given three bullies a horrifying surprise. And if he hadn’t come forward, it didn't bode well for the future.

  “Thank you,” she said, finally.

  “Good luck,” Caitlyn said.

  ***

  The small aircraft landed without fanfare at John F. Kennedy International Airport, seemingly just another executive jet owned by a businessman willing to show off his wealth in a time of economic hardship. It parked in a restricted section of the airport and the single passenger was escorted off the plane by security guards who just happened to work for the CIA. Few civilians knew that JFK served a military purpose as well as its more public role as a civilian air traffic hub, or that there were secret tunnels running through the complex. Matt hadn't known until the CIA had briefed him after his secondment to the Mage Force and it had been something of a surprise, even though he should have expected it. Absently, he wondered what Misty Reynolds made of it.

  She appeared out of a door and Matt waved to her, showing his ID so her escorts could hand her over to him without delay. They nodded, passed Matt the bag they’d been carrying, and then departed as soundlessly as they’d arrived. The guards weren't there for Misty’s protection, Matt knew. They were there to ensure that she didn't see anything more of the complex than strictly necessary.

  “They’re paranoid about their secrets,” he said, by way of explanation. If it had been up to him, he would have suggested that Misty flew commercial or was simply driven to New York from Washington. But Caitlyn’s note to him had explained that someone higher up wanted something done as quickly as possible, before there was another panic. The media knew what had happened and various panic-mongers were milking it for all it was worth. “How was the flight?”

  “The food was awful,” Misty said. She looked...shaky; the reality of what she was going to do had come crashing down on her during the flight. “I thought that government servants were supposed to get the best of everything.”

  Matt laughed as they found his rental car and climbed in. “A fairly common delusion,” he said. “Do you know where you’re going?”

  “I still have access to the Union’s database,” Misty assured him. “I read the files on Fairview High while I was on the flight. Pretty normal for such a place; over a thousand pupils, ranging from fourteen to eighteen years old. Some pretty close ties with nearby schools, but nothing too special, even on the sporting front. But reading between the lines, it seems to be desperately promoting sport because it doesn't have much else.”

  Matt nodded. “Until recently, it didn't really have a big NYPD file,” he added. “Some minor drinking and drug abuse, one case of a teacher seducing a student...apparently, quite a few students were arrested during that big protest last year against student loan interest rates. They were all released shortly afterwards with no charges.”

  He glanced over at her. “Do you know anyone there?”

  “I don't think so,” Misty said. “I read their website where they list the teachers and support staff and none of them are familiar. They may have heard of me, but...”

  Matt nodded. In many ways, they’d been lucky to find Misty. Unlike most of the officers the NYPD had used to infiltrate schools, she actually did know what she was doing, at least as a teacher. But he knew better than to treat her as a fellow officer. She lacked the training and the experience to back him up if it came to a fight. And Matt was grimly convinced that it would come to a fight. The rogue magician had gone too far to back down when he was captured.

  “The NYPD will see to it that you are pr
operly briefed,” he said. He’d never had to do anything of the sort, but then he’d been a patrolman, not someone senior enough to pick and choose his assignments. “And on the procedures you are to follow at all times.”

  Misty blinked. “You’re not going to be with me?”

  “I need to be in Washington for the full moon,” Matt said. He was feeling uncomfortable about the prospect already. So was the rest of the world. The latest report said that silver bullets were being sold at terrifyingly high rates. “I should be back in time for your first entry into the school, but there are no guarantees.”

  “I see,” Misty said. She sounded nervous, nervous enough to make Matt seriously consider asking her if she wanted to pull out. No NYPD cop would have openly admitted to worry, let alone backed out, not if he wanted the respect of his friends and comrades. “I’ll just keep my eyes open.”

  “And keep your own magic under control,” Matt added. “The last thing we want is him to get a sniff of you. If he went after his previous victim because she was an unchanged Changed, you are going to look like a far more attractive sacrifice.”

  “I know” Misty said. “I’ll try to be normal.”

  Matt’s lips twitched. “Welcome to chaos,” he said. “The new normal.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  New York, USA

  Day 27

  “...In Washington today, Senator Whitehall renewed his campaign for strong legislation covering the existence of magical creatures and the use of magic by ordinary humans,” the newsreader said. She was a tall woman with alarmingly large breasts; rumour had it that dozens of people who thought they might be magicians were trying to create spells to make her top fall off on live television. “His speech comes in the wake of the discovery of a case of ritual murder in New York and a mermaid locked inside a brothel by her pimp.”

  Calvin listened absently to the television newsreader as he poured himself a bowl of cereal and splashed milk into the bowl. His father had already gone to work, even though it was the weekend; his boss, it seemed, wanted his workers to work more daylight shifts so they could go home before darkness fell over the city. He did his best to ignore his mother and sister, even though part of his mind wondered if they could see the blood dripping from his hands.

  Sandra’s death had been picked up by the news, although it seemed to have been partly obscured by a report about pagans in the army, specifically on a base in Afghanistan. The NYPD had issued a statement promising an arrest very soon, but the impact had been somewhat reduced by a plea for information for anyone who might have seen something to come forward and tell the police. As far as Calvin knew, there weren't any witnesses, unless they tried to summon Sandra’s ghost – and the backwash of mana from the sacrifice should have made it impossible. Or so Harrow had said.

  He gritted his teeth as he sat down and started to eat the cereal. The mana he’d sucked out of Sandra’s body was floating within his wards, giving him strange headaches that didn't seem to be quite real. He couldn’t have put it into words if someone had asked; it felt as if it was a potential headache, rather than one that was actually burning through his skull. Harrow had taught him how to store the mana safely, without trying to use it, but it still felt as if it was on the verge of breaking free. Apparently, it took practice to learn how to carry vast amounts of mana safely. Calvin didn't understand how anyone could sacrifice more than one or two people at a time. The wave of mana would be utterly uncontrollable.

  The TV reader started to babble about a second ritual murder in New Orleans, which made his ears prick up with interest. They weren't giving any description of the exact ritual, which wasn't too surprising, but it sounded surprisingly similar to his own. Perhaps Harrow had other allies, although she’d acted as though he was the only one, or perhaps someone had dug up a Voodoo ritual involving human sacrifice. The TV reader went on to babble about how the Aztecs had sacrificed humans to feed their gods and drew a line between the ritual murders and their practice. Calvin doubted that the woman knew what she was talking about, but maybe he’d be lucky and the police would look for a Latin American.

  But you had better keep working the concealment spells, Harrow’s voice said. She sounded stronger now, as if she were sitting right next to him rather than speaking through his mind. And you should learn how to make things with your bare hands.

  Calvin winced. Knives weren't the only things the sorcerers of old had made themselves, rather than simply purchasing them at the nearest convenience store. A sorcerer could produce something intended to store mana, or serve as the base for a set of protective wards, or even practice something akin to voodoo, but the best results came from using something the sorcerer had produced himself. Back then, all sorcerers had known how to produce their own tools. Calvin had never seriously considered himself ignorant until he’d realised how much he simply didn't know. Someone like Benjamin Franklin would have had far more practical experience to balance his philosophical musings. Absently, he wondered what Franklin would have made of magic. He’d probably spend all of his time trying to research it and develop his own theory of how it worked.

  He’d always hated arts and crafts with a passion, simply because he was no damn good at either of them. The paintings he’d done looked nothing like their subject, what little woodworking they’d been allowed to do had been pathetic and he had no talent for drawing at all. He’d hoped that he might be able to cash in on the web comic fad before the market became overwhelmed, but the best he could do was stick figures. There was no way he could produce a voodoo doll for himself, even if that did get the best results. He’d just have to stick with Mindy’s old dolls. It still seemed to work.

  “Don’t forget to wash up,” his mother called, as he finished his cereal. “And then you can go do the shopping.”

  “Yes, mom,” Calvin said, tiredly. His mother had no idea just how...banal she sounded. He’d murdered a girl for power and yet his parents hadn't noticed any change in him. It should have been a relief, but part of him found it upsetting. They didn't pay any attention to him at all. “Leave the list and money on the table and I’ll get to it in a moment.”

  He sensed Harrow’s amusement in his mind as he washed the bowl, along with a hint of something he chose to believe was quiet approval. Harrow had been pushing him to learn more and more, as well as developing habits she swore would be useful to a burgeoning magician. Doing chores was apparently one of them. An ordered mind, Harrow had explained, that didn't put off what it needed to do was one that would go far in magic. And she’d also been insisting that he studied history, particularly anything related to the supernatural, and technology. She wanted to know as much as she could about the world before making her emergence.

  “Good work,” his mother said dryly, as she put the shopping list down on the table, along with fifty dollars. It was lucky she couldn't hear Harrow’s laughter cackling through Calvin’s mind. “And I see you even remembered to use soap.”

  What a strange world where such a minor act is so highly praised, Harrow said, as Calvin walked upstairs to pick up his coat and rucksack. My Master would never have praised me for clearing up after myself. It was something I was expected to know before I ever came to him.

  “I think it has something to do with the decline in social responsibility,” Calvin muttered. He'd once spent two weeks reading books on child psychology in the hopes of finding out what made people like Moe tick, before deciding that some people were just born to be assholes. “Or maybe child labour laws.”

  It was hard to be sure, but he’d picked up the impression that Harrow’s world had been more based around achievement than age, or simple physical strength. But perhaps that wasn't surprising. A stupid magician wouldn't last very long; he’d make mistakes that would eventually kill him, sooner rather than later. And a muscle-bound moron who decided to pick a fight with a magician wouldn't last long enough to land the first blow. Harrow had even noted that if the moron actually won, it helped improve the ge
neral competence level of magicians, as any magician who couldn't stop a fool with a sword was a pretty poor magician.

  Outside, the wind whipped around him as he walked down the street, heading for the mall. His mother hadn't bothered to specify any time for him to come home, so he could spend as long as he liked browsing bookshops or visiting computer games stores. Harrow had been utterly fascinated by computers, as well as guns and modern medicine, and had been pressing him to learn more about them. It was one command he didn't hesitate to obey.

  There was a faint aura of...fear hanging over the city, he realised, as he stepped inside the mall. Normally, it would be crammed with people and he would be nervous, fearful of running into Moe and his friends shoplifting or whatever else they did when they weren’t beating on him. Now, it seemed to have only a few dozen of customers, many of whom were glancing around nervously as if they expected to come face to face with the ethically-challenged magician – as CNN had dubbed Calvin – at any moment. None of them saw Calvin as anything other than another teenage boy with too much time on his hands.

  His lips twitched as he walked towards the bookstore. CNN and Fox – and the internet – had branded Sandra’s killer a black magician, a man who had sacrificed an innocent young girl to the dark gods. They’d started to go on and on about the dangers of letting young men play with role-playing games instead of getting healthy exercise out in the sporting fields, before the complaints had started to come in. Apparently, referring to a magician as a ‘black’ magician was racist. He'd tried to explain the whole concept to Harrow, but she’d just laughed. Her world had never been racist, or sexist. All that mattered was power and the ability to use it. The whole concept of racism stuck her as silly.