by Ann Macela
“Good work, my boy!” Whipple, leaned over and thumped him on the arm.
“How do you feel?” Irenee asked.
“I’m fine, I think,” Jim replied, slumping back in his chair. “I feel a little like I’ve run a ten-mile race, though. How’d I do?”
“Splendidly,” Whipple beamed at him.
What he had done finally dawned on him, and Jim gazed at the candles, as a sense of wonder spread through his mind. “God! I can’t believe I did it! Once I concentrated on energy itself, it was like something was waiting inside me to do that very thing.”
“It’s a rush, isn’t it?” Irenee grinned at him, rose, went to the table, and brought him a glass of water. “Here, you may need to cool off.”
“I certainly do,” he replied and thirstily drank while she resumed her seat. His mind was whirling, and he looked again at the candles. Holy shit!
What would they want him to do next?
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“We’ve established you have the ability to manipulate magic energy,” Whipple stated after Jim put his empty glass on the floor. “Next, we’ll work on sustaining and controlling. The lux spell will also give us an indication of your potential. The idea is to create a source of light that can be brightened or dimmed and moved from one place to another. Flamma and lux are two of our most ancient spells, which only seems reasonable since practitioners have always needed a light source for their work.”
Whipple held out his hands and brought them together so his fingertips touched and his palms did not. He bent his wrists so they came together also. “Make a cage,” he instructed, and Jim followed suit.
“Here’s what you’re going to do. Create a small ball of energy in your cage. Magic energy naturally shines, although hot energy is brighter than cool. I recommend you keep it cool right now for comfort. Encapsulate the ball in a shell of more cool energy. Or you can create the shell first, then put the ball of energy into it.
“Think of an egg. The yolk is the light, and the shell keeps the light inside it from dissipating or changing shape. The shell can also be cool while the yolk is hot. That way you won’t set fire to anything if the light gets too close. You can brighten or dim the light inside by feeding the yolk more or less of your internal power, and you can increase or decrease the size of the shell to change it from a small focused beam to a more diffused illumination. I’ll cast very slowly. Lux!”
Jim watched Whipple’s hands start to glow. A little golden ball of energy appeared in the middle of his cage, and just before a silver layer seemed to swallow it.
The ball glowed brightly—about the strength of a hundred-watt bulb, Jim estimated. It made no sound.
“I’m going to vary the energy,” Whipple said. Golden rays shot out from between his fingers as he brightened and dimmed the light.
“The lightball will exist as long as you supply energy to it,” he said. “At first, you’ll probably need to concentrate most of your mind on sustaining it. When you and your magic center get used to the spell, you’ll be able to set the light on automatic, the same way you do many tasks. Your mind and your center will carry on until you cut the energy flow by canceling the spell or you run out of energy altogether.”
“Think or say resigno to cancel the spell. Shut off the energy at the same time,” Irenee put in. “Once you’ve canceled a spell, your center will know what to do the next time.”
“Resigno,” Whipple said, and without a sound, his lightball ceased to exist.
“Okay, let me see if I’ve got it straight.” Jim held up his hands in the cage and concentrated on his inner spot again. A reservoir of energy seemed to be waiting for him, ready to do his bidding. He felt like he had more control, too, but he decided to build the shell first, just in case.
Don’t forget to keep it cool, he warned himself, you don’t want to burn your fingers.
He mentally pinched a little bit of energy—he envisioned a kid’s cold marble—from his center and moved it to his cage. A swirling, foggy, colorless mass with a diameter about the size of a quarter appeared inside. Taking another tinier piece and thinking hot, he “pushed” this spark inside the marble. Still no color. His fingers tingled, though, so something was definitely in there.
He shook the cage lightly. Nothing happened. No illumination. What was wrong?
“Think ‘light,’ and say lux.” Irenee suggested.
“Lux!”
Dark blue light poured from between his fingers.
Hot damn! The light flickered, and he gritted his teeth to keep his concentration, but he managed to say, “It’s not the same color as yours.”
“I’ll explain that in a minute,” Whipple answered. “Try to dim and brighten the light by raising and lowering the energy you’re supplying.”
Jim worked so hard at maintaining his light he started sweating. It was a nice surprise when his robe began to cool him.
“Relax with it if you can,” Whipple said. “Let active maintenance float back in your mind so it’s not your primary concern. Keeping the light going will get easier the more you practice. Eventually you won’t need to form the cage physically and can simply create the light.”
For several minutes, Jim brightened and dimmed his light. He realized he could relax a little, but he wasn’t confident enough to try “automatic.” He did find, however, that he didn’t have to look continually at his hands to keep the light functioning. Irenee gave him an encouraging smile when he glanced her way.
“You’re doing well, Jim,” Whipple, said. “Next we’re going to try releasing the egg and letting it move. Irenee, show him, full power.”
Irenee stood up, moved to stand in front of Jim, and created her own light in the cage of her hands. When indigo and violet light shone out, she and Whipple both started.
“Fergus?” she asked as she peered at the lightball inside her fingers.
“It looks like our bout with the Stone definitely enhanced your powers, Irenee. We’ll have to test you soon,” the warlock answered with a huge smile on his face. “Release your light.”
Irenee opened her hands and the golf-ball-sized light floated free. “Nudge it with your mind, and you can put it wherever you want it.” She demonstrated, and the ball moved up and down and from side to side.
“You can get fancy, too” She bounced it off the floor and the ceiling and stopped it directly in front of her, capturing it in her hands again. “You try it.”
Jim had to send a burst of energy to his light since he’d been watching Irenee’s instead of maintaining his. He reestablished its glow and opened his hands to release his ball.
At first it simply hung in the air. He tried thinking of it as a balloon and gave it a mental poke. It lurched about a foot away and stopped. He tried a right side punch and one from the left. With a few more tries, the ball moved spasmodically up and down and from side to side.
“This is like learning how to drive a stick shift,” he complained. “Or I’m drunk.”
“Take it easy,” Irenee said. “You’re getting the hang of it ”
Before long, he had it moving more smoothly and was able to move it in a circle around him, out of his eyesight for a few seconds. Eventually he brought it to a stop before him. Tentatively, he reached out a finger, stopping about an inch away.
“It’s okay to touch it,” Irenee said, “as long as you’re using cold energy on the outside.”
Jim grasped it between thumb and forefinger and squeezed gently. It felt like a cold helium-filled balloon. He batted it gently from one hand to the other. Finally he let it sit in the air in front of him and grinned at it, then her.
Irenee released her own ball, and the two lights began to drift together.
Closer and closer to each other they floated.
“Fergus, I’m not controlling its movement. My light should be hovering about a foot from me,” Irenee said, concern evident in her voice.
“Ditto,” Jim said, rising to his feet.
All three w
atched the two lights literally melt together until they combined and grew into a basketball-sized shining globe swirling with blue and violet-laced indigo and hovering between Irenee and Jim.
He looked at her across the top of the glowing orb. Simultaneously they raised their hands, palms out toward the ball, and cupped their hands around it until they touched the sides. The surface felt smooth and cold. His hands tingled like they were waking up from being asleep.
“Let’s see what happens if we squeeze it,” Irenee suggested.
The swirl of light increased in tempo, before the brightness slowly dimmed while they pushed to decrease the size of the cage their hands had created. When their fingers were intertwined, the light went out altogether.
Her hands in his, Jim looked into her eyes, and his center rejoiced. His lungs were working like he’d run a mile, and Irenee was breathing hard, too.
Only Whipple’s words brought him back to reality. “My goodness. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything quite like what you just did. I know of one other couple whose lights can combine into one. I don’t believe they ever touched the result.”
“What’s going on here?” Jim asked. “What’s with the colors? Did we do something wrong?”
“Not at all, not at all,” Whipple reassured him. “Normally when a practitioner casts lux for the first time, the color of the light indicates his energy and level potential. A red light would mean the person has the potential to become a first- or second-level practitioner and has a small amount of energy. An orange would be third to fourth, yellow fifth to sixth, with corresponding increases in energy amount, and so on up the spectrum. Those who cast a silver light usually top out around seventeen or eighteen. Gold goes all the way up to twenty. Twentieth is the highest level a practitioner can attain alone. After gold is white light, and the only way we can produce that is to combine energy when we’re destroying an evil item.”
“Sounds kind of indefinite to me,” Jim said.
“The levels aren’t precise because there’s so much chance for variation. Irenee’s level-ten light has always been a blend of more blue and some indigo. From the colors of her light today, it appears her powers have grown, and not by a small amount.” Whipple’s eyes squinted in thought, and he tapped a forefinger against his lips. “It will probably take some time before we know exactly what level you are, Jim. From the shade of blue, you’re a nine or ten. The vast majority of practitioners, by the way, are below level ten.”
Whipple sat back, stroked his beard, and sent an almost mischievous glance at their still clasped hands. “What gave you the idea to cage the light and hold on?”
Jim looked at their hands and let her go. His center gave him a little punch when he did so, but he ignored it and said, “It seemed to be the thing to do.”
“I agree. Something in me said to squeeze,” Irenee said, holding out her hands and studying them as if they had somehow changed from the experience.
“For the couple whose lights combined,” Whipple continued with a gleam in his eye Jim wished he could figure out, “the blending had specific significance and was a distinct predictor for their future abilities. In the ‘light’ of what happened here, I believe you are correct, Irenee, in your conclusions about Jim. And, yes, the couple were—”
“I get the picture,” Irenee interrupted. “I’ll tell him soon.”
“Tell me what?” Jim asked.
Irenee took a step back and rubbed her forehead, effectively covering her face. When she lowered her hands, her face was blank. She sighed. “There’s so much about everything to tell you, Jim—spell-casting, practitioner life and ethics, discovering your specific talents, Defender teams, and more. Right this minute, however, I suggest we stick to one task—manipulating a lightball. It will help you learn energy control faster than any other spell.”
Thinking to himself that he wasn’t going to wait very long for more explanations, Jim nodded—for now. From her air of unease and her slight blush, he was willing to bet whatever she was holding back was a doozy. His hunch antennae gave a little wiggle in agreement. He sat back down. “Okay, what do I do next?”
He spent the better part of three hours playing with lux and flamma. Whipple, and Irenee were good teachers, able to deconstruct their own casting to lead him through the processes step by step. By six o’clock he was able to maneuver the ball around the room at will, create it at a distance—on the other side of the room, for example—and even start it out at a lower level than his own intrinsic one.
The last he found particularly difficult at first, but Irenee assured him it was necessary, as level modulation conserved energy. He had already showed he could when he cast flamma—full power at the candle in his first attempt and much less by the third.
Once he got the hang of it, starting his light at red, bringing it up through the rainbow to blue, and taking it back down was easy—well, if not totally easy, at least easier.
Also exhausting.
“Resigno.” Jim cancelled his spell and stretched in his chair. “Can we take a break? I’m starving.”
“I’m not surprised,” Whipple said. “We’ve put you through a lot. Most new practitioners don’t make it through half as much and remain conscious. Look, it’s getting late. I have a call to make to a couple of people from the Defender Council. As you can imagine, they want updates on our efforts toward finding the rest of the Cataclysm Stone. Why don’t you two get some dinner? Irenee, you can tell Jim more about practitioner life while you eat.”
Whipple looked innocent, but Jim heard an undercurrent in his words. Irenee must have also because she said with a set jaw, “I’ll take care of it, Fergus.”
“How about Italian?” Jim said, more to get them moving than a desire for spaghetti.
Irenee stood and started removing her robe. When she finally turned to him, she had a smile on her face. “That sounds good. Let’s get out of the Center, too. I know a good place on Golf Road that makes the best tiramisu. I’ll run over to my condo to get my purse, you hand in your robe, and I’ll meet you in the lobby”
After her fast exit, Jim looked at Whipple with his eyebrows raised. “Something you’d like to tell me?”
“No, it needs to come from her. Don’t worry, it’s good, not bad.”
Although Jim wasn’t so sure about that, he’d be patient—up to a point. Probably about the time he brought her back from dinner. Then he’d get her by herself if it killed him.
His center gave him a jolt while he took off his robe, picked up his weapon and jacket, and followed Whipple out the door of the practice room. His idiotic irritating magic center was also on the discussion list. If it drove every practitioner as crazy as it was doing him, they could have their damn magic.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
In a corner of the cozy restaurant, Irenee studied the menu. The smells of good Italian cooking permeated the room, and she knew she’d smell like tomato sauce and Italian herbs when she left. No matter. She was ravenous.
“What’ll we have for an appetizer?” Jim asked.
“Calamari. They really know how to fix it here.”
The waiter came over with bread, and they discussed their menu selections versus the specials and ordered. Jim picked a wine—he was evidently off duty, and she needed to relax, if possible—and the waiter left.
Jim poured olive oil into a shallow dish, soaked a piece of bread in it, and took a big bite. “Mmmmm. I needed this,” he said between more bites.
“Wait,” she said, “you’re doing it wrong. Here is the Chicago way” She picked up the Parmesan cheese shaker and shook it into the dish, added more olive oil, and mushed the mixture together with her fork. After sprinkling on some pepper, she dipped a piece of bread in the paste, held it out to him, and said, “Try this.”
He looked at the dish, then her, and took the bread. One bite, and he was nodding his head. Two, and he was dipping a bigger piece into the oil-cheese mixture.
“Okay?” she asked.
“Oh, yeah.” He nodded and reached for another piece of bread. “Chicago, huh?”
“Wait till you taste it with roasted garlic.” She pulled the bread basket closer. She wasn’t going to let him have it all.
They’d hardly said a word to each other on the trip there, and Irenee could almost feel his curiosity and determination growing. Before he could ask any questions she didn’t want to answer, therefore, she’d see if she could lead the discussion where she wanted it to go. “If you feel light-headed, it’s normal, and food will help. You did really well. Young practitioners, even knowing what to expect, don’t come as far in a week as you did in a few hours.”
“I’m surprised how ... depleted is the best word, I guess, how completely depleted I feel. Like all my energy has been sucked out of me.”
She glanced around. There was enough ambient noise to cover their conversation, they were sitting side by side, not across the table from each other, and nobody would overhear them if they kept their voices low. “Some call their center a ‘power or energy well.’ Since you haven’t truly been using your abilities, you haven’t been exercising or practicing to build stamina and automatically replace the energy as you use it ”
“I thought you said my color meant I have lots of energy,” he said around another bite, but in the same tone, so he evidently understood the need to keep their discussion private.
“The color indicates your potential, not what you can use this minute or without work. Reaching your potential takes a lot of practice, and there are tests involved along the way. For example, from my present color, I seem to have increased in potential in the fight with Alton’s Stone. To be ‘officially’ listed at a new level, I must learn the spells and be tested on them. Unofficially, I can cast lower spells to greater effect with the new power.”
