Wizard Born: Book One of the Wizard Born Series

by Geof Johnson

  Silly, boy crazy Betsy.

  Fred felt as low as she ever had. She wanted to stay home from church so she wouldn’t have to see Jamie, but her mother wouldn’t let her because she knew Fred wasn’t sick. So she suffered in silence, staring at her feet throughout the entire service.

  When church was finally over, Fred tried to leave as quickly as possible, but her mother wanted to tarry and talk with Jamie’s mother. Fred stood near the door and fretted, and turned away when Jamie approached her. He grabbed her arm and walked her outside.

  “Why didn’t you go to the party yesterday?” he said. “I got stuck with Betsy.”

  “Oh really? I’m sorry to hear that. I didn’t feel good.”

  “Rollie abandoned me and Betsy caught me eating by myself, then I had to dance with her. It was awful. I wish you would’ve been there. Then she wouldn’t have pestered me.” He shook his head. “I hope I never have to do that again.”

  Me too, she thought.

  “Are you feeling better?”

  “Oh yes, much better.” Fred felt like smiling. Much better.

  * * *

  The first day of school, Jamie and Rollie were walking to their lockers when Tanisha passed them.

  “Hey Tanisha,” Rollie said.

  “Hey Rollie,” she replied. “I enjoyed your puppet show at the party.”

  “Thanks.”

  When she was out of earshot, Jamie said, “Puppet show?”

  “Who cares. She can call it anything she wants, as long as she notices me.”

  “So did you get her phone number?”

  “Nah. Her parents said she’s not old enough to have a boyfriend.”

  “Hey, but when she is, you’ll be first in line, right?”

  Jamie stopped. “What’s this?” There was a note taped to his locker with hearts drawn all over it.

  “Must be from Fred.”

  “Fred doesn’t draw hearts like this.” Jamie opened it and closed his eyes. “It’s from Betsy.”

  “Dude, you’re gonna have to do something about that.”

  * * *

  That afternoon, Jamie e-mailed Gina for advice. He figured if Fred could do it, so could he. After all, Gina was his cousin. Her reply came about an hour later. “If you don’t want to be her boyfriend, then you need to tell her, and do it nicely. Be straightforward, but try not to hurt her. Just imagine if it were the other way around. You don’t want word getting around school that you’re a jerk.”

  How do I be straightforward? That night at dinner, he had an idea. “How old do I have to be before I can have a girlfriend?” Jamie said.

  Rachel put down her fork. “Why do you ask?”

  “There’s this girl at school that’s been bugging me and —”

  “Betsy.”

  “How did you know?”

  “Lisa told me. I guess Fred told her.”

  “Can’t I have any secrets around here?”

  “I hope not,” Evelyn said.

  “Well, then, getting back to your question,” Rachel said. “What do you think, Carl? How old? Fifteen?”

  Carl nodded. “You need to focus on school right now.”

  “Unless of course we’re talking about Fred” Rachel smiled. “In her case we’ll make an exception.”

  Jamie didn’t let that last comment get to him. His parents had given him just the ammunition he needed. Right after dinner, he called Betsy, who had written her number at least ten times in the heart-covered note.

  Gee, Betsy, he told her. I think you’re really nice and all, but my parents said I’m not old enough to have a girlfriend.

  The next day at school, he found a frowny-face note taped to his locker, but Betsy left him alone after that.

  Chapter 34

  The first snow of the season crunched underneath Jamie’s boots as he walked alone along the creek. He didn’t mind the cold because he enjoyed the peace that the snow brought — no sounds of leaf blowers, lawn mowers, or chain saws. Even the animals were still, most of the birds gone for the winter; the squirrels huddled in their nests.

  The quiet gave Jamie a chance to think, to ponder the little fragments of the old sorcerer’s life that kept popping into his consciousness. It was as if someone had taken a portrait of the old man, cut it into jig saw puzzle pieces, and sunk them to the bottom of a pond. Occasionally, tantalizing little fragments would float to the surface, and Jamie tried to figure where they fit, but it was frustrating and slow.

  And the most frustrating question of all: Why me?

  Fred and Rollie tried to help as best they could, listening to him as he described each new bit that came to him, but this was something he was going to have to figure out on his own.

  One thing was obvious: The back yard was important. The more time he spent there, the more memories came to him, but not every day. Sometimes weeks would go by and nothing — no memories, no new powers, no hints of what the old man was like — but it wasn’t for lack of trying. He went out almost every day, even in the rain, hoping some little insight would sneak through from wherever it was coming from and the picture would become clearer.

  Gramma seemed worried at first, seeing him spend so much time walking in the yard alone, but he led her to believe it was typical preteen angst — God bless psychobabble. He could blame all sorts of strange behavior on hormones and youthful flakiness.

  “You remember what it’s like, Gramma,” he would say.

  Then she would smile knowingly, and the worry lines would vanish from her face.

  * * *

  That night at dinner, Jamie asked his parents, “What was the guy like you bought our house from?”

  “A little odd,” his father said. “Why do you ask?”

  “Just curious.”

  “But not odd in a bad way. He was just a little eccentric,” his mother said. “He was nice, I thought.”

  “He seemed really eager to sell us this house.” His father leaned back in his chair and put his hands in his lap. “He said he had a special feeling about us and thought we were the right people.”

  “Yeah, he said that more than once. That seemed important to him.”

  “What was his name?” Jamie said.

  “Mr. Edwards.”

  Edwards? Jamie thought. Is that right? “What did he look like?”

  “He was an older guy,” his father said. “Had gray hair and a beard.”

  “A beard?” Jamie said, a little too eagerly. “Was it long?”

  “No, it was trimmed. He didn’t look like a bum or anything.”

  “Oh.” Jamie felt disappointed.

  “But what was strange,” his father continued, “was when we moved into the house, we found his clothes in the back yard, same clothes he wore at closing. Right square in the middle, just lying there like he’d just laid down and…I dunno, vanished. Evaporated. The socks were still in the shoes and the shirt was tucked in. That was weird.”

  “But we’re not complaining because we got a great deal on the house, and it’s not like it’s haunted or anything,” his mother said.

  “Yeah, and everything’s been normal ever since.”

  Jamie almost laughed aloud. If you only knew.

  * * *

  The next day, on the walk home from the bus stop, Jamie told Fred and Rollie what his parents had told him about the old man. “I think it’s the sorcerer, Edward or something, the guy I keep dreaming about and having memories and stuff. His hair and beard weren’t long, but he could’ve trimmed them. I think he sold my parents the house and died in the backyard.”

  “That’s even weirder than the usual weird stuff you say,” Rollie said.

  “No, it makes sense. I get the most memories when I’m out in the yard, and when I’m away from the house, I hardly get anything. When we were in Florida, I didn’t have any dreams about him.”

  “Yeah, but you said that sometimes you go for weeks without having any,” Fred said.

  “Well, remember the first time I floated? I was r
ight in the middle of the yard, right where the old man left his clothes. I think that’s where he died, and he did it for a reason, that’s all I’m saying.”

  “Yeah, but what reason?” Rollie said.

  “Good question. Wish I knew.”

  * * *

  Renn took one last look around the room before vanishing, just in case he overlooked a valuable book or scroll. The air was thick with the smell of burning flesh, but he was so accustomed to it that he barely noticed. The wizard he’d just killed had a family, a rarity, since most lived alone. Had a family — past tense, he thought. The three of them can write their names on the list of the dead together. He couldn’t very well let the little boy grow up to be a sorcerer, could he? He glanced at the body of the woman next to her husband. That’s what you get for marrying a wizard.

  Satisfied that he’d gotten all of the books worth taking, he hefted the two large volumes under his arm, stamped his staff and vanished.

  * * *

  After Rollie’s shot swished through the net, Jamie grabbed the basketball and passed it to Fred.

  “So let me see if I’ve got this straight,” Rollie said. “You think that somehow the old sorcerer, whose name you don’t remember, died in your backyard and came back to life as you.”

  “Yeah, I think he used his powers to get inside my mom after he died so he could be born again. Or I could be born again, I guess. Same thing.”

  Fred took a shot. “Not only is that gross, it’s stupid. He can’t use his powers if he’s dead. If he helped your mom get pregnant, he would’ve had to be alive. You can’t come back to life if you’re not dead yet. Besides, you look like your mom and dad.”

  Rollie banged a shot off the rim. “Yeah, and don’t try telling us that he looked like your mom and dad, ’cause I’m not buying that.”

  “Then why do I have his memories?” Jamie asked.

  “Maybe he made it so that whoever grew up in your house would inherit his powers and stuff,” Fred said. “Maybe he fixed the backyard somehow.”

  Rollie held the ball on his hip. “And maybe a little’s rubbing off on me and Fred, since we spend so much time back there. We’re the only ones who get the tingling thing when we hold hands.”

  “But you don’t get the memories,” Jamie said.

  Fred fingered her lip and narrowed one eye. “Maybe he did help your mom get pregnant, but fixed it so that you would be the one who could absorb his… whatever.”

  “Soul?”

  “No. So that you would be a…whatever it is who can do magic easily.”

  “An Adept.”

  “A what?”

  “An Adept. Someone who’s born to learn magic easily.”

  “How did you know that?”

  “I remembered.”

  Chapter 35

  One Wednesday evening in early March, Rachel answered the door to find Fred, visibly upset. “Mrs. Sikes, can you please come see about my mom? She’s locked herself in her room for hours and she won’t come out, and I haven’t had dinner yet or anything. My dad’s out of town and I don’t know what to do.”

  “Oh my, come in, sweetheart.” Rachel closed the door behind them and walked Fred to the kitchen. “You stay here and we’ll get you something to eat, and I’ll go see about your mom.” Rachel called Carl to stay with Fred and left.

  Rachel walked across the street and let herself into Fred’s house. When she first rapped on Lisa’s bedroom door, she got no response. She knocked harder. “Lisa, it’s me, Rachel. Are you okay?” Sounds like she’s crying. “Come on, open up. Maybe I can help.”

  The door opened and it only took one look at Lisa’s tear-streaked face to know that something bad had happened.

  “Oh, Lisa.” Rachel wrapped her arms around her sobbing friend.

  It took a couple of minutes before Lisa could gather herself enough to talk. In between sobs she said, “My sister…the home called…she died this morning.” And the sobs got worse.

  “I’m so sorry.” Rachel patted her on the back. “Let’s sit on the bed.”

  They sat in silence for a few minutes, Rachel with her arm over Lisa’s shoulders while Lisa dabbed her eyes with a tissue.

  “Her heart,” Lisa managed to say. “It was heart failure. I wasn’t there.” She let out a big sob. “I’m such a bad sister.” Then she started crying harder than ever and buried her face in Rachel’s shoulder.

  “Lisa, you’re not. You’re a good sister and a good person. You’re also a good friend and a good mother.” She rubbed Lisa’s back. “And a good wife, too, I bet.”

  “I am,” she said weakly.

  “You should feel sad that she died, but don’t kick yourself about it. I know you did the best you could.” Rachel stood and held her hand out for Lisa. “Let’s go to my house and get you something to eat. I think you and Fred should stay with us tonight, so let’s get your things together. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

  * * *

  One Saturday in May, Jamie stood at the back of the dining hall of Hidden Pines Nursing Home and watched Rollie finish up the show. By this time, he and his friends had their routine worked out: Rollie and Rufus would start the show, telling a few jokes and “warming up the crowd”, as Gramma put it, then he’d introduce Jamie, who’d do about ten minutes of simple magic and comedy. Rollie would come back on and tell a few more jokes and introduce Fred, whose tap dancing was always popular with older audiences. When Fred finished, Rollie closed the show.

  Jamie looked around the room one last time and saw something that jarred his memory. Sitting in a wheelchair near the door was an old woman, staring blankly at the floor.

  I know her.

  As he approached her, a couple of other memories flashed through his mind. “Excuse me ma’am,” he said to the senile-looking woman, “Is your name Gloria?”

  Her eyes focused on him and she smiled warmly. “Why yes, Edward. I’m so glad you remembered.”

  Edward? Was that the old sorcerer’s name?

  “I’m surprised to see you here.” Her watery eyes sparkled. “But you said you’d come back, and you did!”

  Uh oh, she’s out of it. I think I’ll go now.

  “I still remember our day at the Biltmore House,” she said. “That was wonderful, wasn’t it?”

  Oh wow. Jamie’s mouth hung open for a moment. “Excuse me, Gloria, I’ll be right back.”

  Jamie said something to his grandmother, who was applauding the end of Rollie’s show, and walked back to Gloria.

  “Would you like me to wheel you back to your room?”

  “Why yes.” She smiled. “I thought you’d never ask.”

  * * *

  Later, Jamie, Fred, and Rollie sat in the gazebo and talked about the woman.

  “But you’re only twelve years old,” Rollie said. “How could she not see that?”

  “I don’t know. I think she was seeing something else. She called me Edward, but that doesn’t feel right. I think the old sorcerer made that name up.”

  “So you really think she remembered you…or him…whatever? She’s not just crazy?”

  “No, she’s not. Remember when we went to the Biltmore House, and I said I’d been there before? Well, I had, or he had, and it was with her.”

  “Like a date?” Fred’s brow furrowed.

  “Yes. Right before he sold the house to my parents, he met this lady, Gloria, at the library. He was fascinated by the library — I remember that.” Jamie stared off into space for a moment before continuing. “And she invited him to go to the Biltmore House. They took a picnic lunch and…I think they held hands.” He looked at his hand as if he’d never seen it before.

  “That’s so sweet,” Fred said.

  “You sound like your mom. Anyway, I think this was a big deal to him. I think it was his first date.”

  “Wait a minute.” Rollie sat forward in his rocking chair. “Are you telling me this guy was about two hundred zillion years old and he’d never been on a date before?”


  “In all my memories of him, he’s always by himself, doing experiments and studying and stuff. He was a real loner. I think he wanted it that way. But I think that’s why I can’t remember his name, because nobody was ever around to say it.”

  “So, on his date, did they like, kiss and stuff.”

  “I think so.”

  “How about, you know —”

  “Rollie!” Fred said.

  “No, no,” Jamie said. “Nothing like that.

  Fred looked relieved.

  “Still, that’s pretty cool,” Rollie said. “The old codger had one little fling before he kicked the bucket. It’s nice to know he still had some gas in the ol’ tank.”

  * * *

  That night, Jamie dreamed again that he was the old wizard. He was standing over a workbench in his tower, tinkering with a mechanical contraption, when he felt a tingle in his magical sense. He turned and raised his shield as he did.

  Standing at the far wall was a fresh-faced man in a dark gray robe.

  “Hello. You must be a sorcerer,” he heard himself say. “I don’t believe we’ve met. What can I do for you?” He shook his head. “No, let me guess. You’ve come for my books.”

  Without warning, the young man snapped his arm forward and shot a bolt of energy, but it bounced harmlessly off the old wizard’s shield. The old wizard flicked his fingers and the shield surged across the room, encircling the young sorcerer in a shimmering translucent yellow cylinder.

  “You could’ve knocked, you know,” the old wizard said. “I might’ve given you a book or two. But they’re not here, anyway.” He turned, but held his hand toward the trapped man, maintaining the cylinder. “Now, where is that bag?” He rooted through the jumble of clutter on the bench until he found a small leather pouch. “Ah! Here it is.” He opened it and poured a pinch of rust-colored powder on a heavy scrap of paper.

  “I’m not going to kill you, but I’m going to put you someplace where you won’t bother me again.” He walked across the floor to the young man, whose eyes were wide with panic, his hands probing the shield around him.

  The old sorcerer stopped inches shy of the yellow shimmer and held the paper with the powder up near his face. “This won’t hurt.” He dropped the shield and quickly blew the powder into the man’s face, then stepped back.