by Anne Zoelle
I had tried briefly to use Will's imprisonment sketch as a storage option, but the paper had remained impassive beneath the paperclip I was trying to insert. When I had willed it to accept the paperclip, the paperclip had detonated into a million fragments.
There had been a distinct feeling of disdain emanating from the sketch afterward. I was either truly certifiable, or I was going to need to embrace anthropomorphism in a more acute way.
I concentrated on Marsgrove's paper, then pinched and removed the overnight bag I had packed in the inn. Everything else would stay in the paper until I was more secure in my location. A sound alerted me, and I turned my head to see Olivia looking at my paper, a strange expression on her face.
“What?” Too late I realized that Marsgrove had called it priceless. But Mr. Verisetti and I had created one—somehow—and I had zero magical intelligence. Surely others existed.
Olivia's eyes narrowed on the paper, then she turned back to her giant book. Alarm spiked the energy residing under my cuff, and it started pushing.
If the storage paper was that valuable, I was going to have to figure out a way to secure it. I stared at the desk. I pictured a locked security box with a big, fat, unpickable lock.
There was a sudden whirling sound, and I stumbled back in alarm, hands up, as I stared at the desk.
The legs, desktop, and braces were breaking apart and hooking around and up, over and around, morphing into the locked security box I had been imagining.
The desk…was a Transformer.
Whoa, whoa. The energy escaping around the cuff was delighted. The first chapter of Marsgrove's primer had touted meditation. I tried to shift my mental image of the locked box into the calm peeling of rose petals. My desk legs changed directions and began to take on a distinctly floral shape. Olivia's writing motions slowed.
I put my hands out, trying to signal the desk to stop, but the stem wrapped around my arm. “No, not me, you. Stop!”
The desk became a stop sign, a boat, a bird, then a disembodied foot, flattening me to the ground. I struggled, fingertips just clutching the edge of my overnight bag and pulling it toward me, as the foot pressed harder. Olivia sat with her back to me, ignoring the whole thing. I shuffled through the administration packet, giving a grunt as the foot found and pressed a kidney. Why not a kitten? My desk turned into a roaring lion resting on my back. Oh, dear God. I frantically shuffled through the papers, fingers horribly sweaty as the lion batted at my hair. I madly read through the paper titled “Room How-tos.”
“Reset!” I yelled.
And then I was awkwardly wedged under a normal, unexciting four legged desk once more. I allowed my head to drop to the floor. Olivia's pen scratched her page, loud in the sudden quiet of the room.
My hand holding the paper dropped too. Thank God the administration papers had been in my overnight bag. I gracelessly extricated myself, read the instructions, and finally got the coding right. The desk became a nice normal workstation with a tabletop easel similar to the one I had at home. I made sure to utter “Set” twice, just in case.
I looked at the time to see an hour had passed and gave a strangled laugh, cheeks burning. “Uh, sorry about that,” I said to my roommate. “We didn't have these at my old school.”
Olivia, who was still writing, didn't respond. Her back was turned to me, as if a new roommate spending an hour trying to make her desk work was nothing out of the ordinary. She hadn't even spared me a glance, which made the episode a little less embarrassing, but seemed beyond weird.
Maybe everyone had this type of trouble? Somehow, I doubted it.
I walked to the window, determined to do something safe and normal for a few minutes. The room had an extraordinary view down the mountain, instead of up toward the higher levels. Strange animals hopped in the trees, and little explosions rocked a building a half-mile away. Sparks and lightning shot jets of fire into the midday sky. There were thick clouds a few levels below and massive shapes dove through them. I couldn't believe my roommate hadn't chosen the window view. But her crisply made bed was across the room and it was the bare one that was pushed up against the outer wall.
“Is—ouch!” I jumped as something zapped me. I turned to see Olivia staring over the top of her glasses in disapproval.
“I don't like to be disturbed.” She turned back to her tome.
I stared at the back of my new roommate’s tightly bound head, then looked back out the window. The jumpiness that had been my constant companion since I had entered the coffeehouse days ago wouldn't settle. My last therapist would say I was suffering from anxiety.
I took catalog of my new illegally-obtained room. It was Spartan. Two beds, two outwardly normal-looking desks, two bureaus, a cupboard and three large mechanical box contraptions. Olivia's side was neat and pine-fresh. If it weren't for her books, there would be nothing personal on her side at all. And the types of books—with spines bigger than my head—weren't what I would have normally called personal.
I thought of my walls at home—before I had killed them. They had been completely cluttered. If I stayed here more than a week and didn’t temper my usual stress relief activities, Olivia was going to be in for a rude shock.
I was bursting with questions on everything from how to get off the mountain to how to raise the dead to how to work any spell. I couldn't ask those, though, if I wanted to appear normal. But I could ask her a general question. I waited for her to close her giant book and to set aside her journal.
“Do—ouch!”
She set down the sharp little metallic rod that she had used to zap me again. “I don't like to be interrupted while I am changing tasks.”
I rubbed my arm. “Do you like to be spoken to at all?”
“No. You should refrain.”
I reminded myself that this was a good thing. It was like hiding out in plain sight at an inn that just happened to have an ornery troll who lived in the corner but didn't speak.
Ornery cat. Troll had my imagination conjuring pictures of her eating former roommates.
She disappeared into the bathroom, which I had also quickly cataloged as utilitarian, and I leaned my head against the window. I didn't want to unpack, just in case, but it was going to look suspicious if I did nothing.
I made the bed. I would be sad to lose my cozy sheets and Guernica comforter, but I had learned the hard way six weeks, four days, and nine hours ago that things were replaceable, people weren't. I put a few changes of clothes in the bureau and set up my toiletries—also disposable—in a free nook above the sink.
The picture of Christian and me at the beginning of summer was soon perfectly squared on the windowsill next to the bed. A photo of the four of us at a family wedding, and another of us after one of his football games, went up too. None of these were disposable, but the originals were on the server at home. And I needed the comfort.
I looked at Will's sketch. The drapes were still there, but the rubbish in front had disappeared at some point when I hadn't been looking. I propped the heavy paper against the wall near my pillow.
But as much as I wanted to crawl under my covers and never emerge, I couldn't afford to hide. I had to find the answers I needed in order to resurrect Christian.
Olivia started edging around the room, gathering things, flicking her wrist to call things to her. She obviously had to depart, but was reluctant to leave me alone in the room. This made me feel better, somehow. If she had been worried about me earlier, she'd have just run out and gotten a...police mage, or something...to arrest me. Her actions spoke more of a long-term evaluation of what harm I might be capable of inflicting. She did a number of complicated things to her stuff before she left. Probably warding me against poking.
Stone-faced and unblinking she left, and I began poking.
The first two mechanical boxes ended up being some sort of refrigeration and reheating units. I decided to label them strangely with words like “fridge” and “microwave.” The last one was a black box similar to Ma
rsgrove's. Some sort of delivery unit?
I checked out her neat stash in the cupboard. There were a lot of “Magi Mart” labels.
I could see the papers on her desk and notes on her bulletin board. All of the notes were perfectly squared and visible. I didn't need to rummage through anything. One of the notes said “Rule the World” in perfect block letters. I blinked. Underneath was a list in shorthand code that I couldn't make sense of.
I decided not to touch anything on her desk after all.
But I needed to learn the door lock, so I could enter quickly, as if I actually possessed a key. Scrubbing was the fastest method for easy locks, but the sounds were like...well, like you were illegally picking a lock. If Olivia were inside at the time, then game over.
I opened the door and poked my head out. I waited for a pixie-like girl to walk by before I wedged my foot into the opening and curled my hands into place, forcing my muscles to relax as I figured out which pin had to be set first, then which second. Three, Four, Two, Five, One. I stared at the brass placard on the door that read fifty-two and attached the order sequence, as well as the physical memory of what force needed to be applied to the torque wrench, to my mental image of the placard.
It would take me six seconds to open the door now. With a little practice, I'd get that down to three. Magic locks or physical scanners would have screwed this plan from the get-go.
I curled up on “my” bed and looked out the window. Groups trudged past below, people laughing and talking, engaged in normal relationships and activities. Happy. Silence stretched around me. Even if I'd been a real student, entering midway through the school year sucked. Groups were well-established. I had seen it all over campus as I'd frantically dashed by.
Loneliness sat in my gut, as it had for weeks now, morosely staring at me.
Whatever. I didn't need friends. I needed Christian.
I pulled Marsgrove's paper toward me and retrieved two journals. Sitting on top of my Guernica bedspread, I sketched the day's events into my personal journal, logging the emotion and actions in pictured form.
I closed my journal and looked at the clock on the wall with its weird hands and inscriptions that made no sense. It was similar to an astronomical clock, but there was a “shift” hand and an “enchantment” hand and the signs of the zodiac doubled to twenty-four. I wondered who had dreamed up the zodiac first—people here or people in my Layer. I opened up my phone, which was gamely keeping time in airplane mode. There was something that vaguely resembled an electrical outlet in the wall near my desk that I would have to test at some point, if I wanted my cell to continue ticking, but I'd wait until I absolutely had to test it.
By comparing my phone with the wall clock, I guessed that noon would be the Sagittarius at the bottom.
Ok. I just had to adjust my metric and figure out how to tell minutes—the disc in the middle maybe? I looked around for some sort of wizard phone and a phone book. It would be really handy to call Will right about now, but I had no idea how to even begin that kind of search. I could try hanging out in front of the dorm, but what if his dorm section was on the other side of the mountain circle?
“Help me.”
The plaintive call hurt. It curdled my insides with the knowledge that I wasn't able to do anything to stop the pain. It was past time to gain that knowledge.
I pushed the administration documents around until I unearthed a brochure for the Student Center. It proclaimed itself to be a one-stop spot for new students, for students seeking information on changing disciplines, and for internship searches. The building was located on the sixth circle, which meant it was close—one level down from the dorms. I could walk that. Thank God, for if it had been on the, like, twentieth circle, it would have involved a hike of three thousand feet or attempts at thirty random arches.
I gathered my things, securing the storage paper and Will's prison paper onto opposite sides of my torso again. Everything else went into my pack. I'd grab a bunch of papers and guides from the center, then hurry back here to sort through everything.
Shoulders hunched tightly, head lowered so as not to make eye contact, I walked down the first section of stairs. As I rounded the landing, uproarious feminine laughter caused me to raise my head. A boy was levitating up two steps at a time, with his hands steepled in front of him, and a group was cheering him on.
I was really going to have to stop calling them people. Mages.
The map showed the Student Center location to be down a staircase from the highest numbered dorm. I walked until I reached Thirty-Six, then descended the staircase nearest to it. It was quite steep, and I could see movement flashing past me on the right. Some alternate form of transport that I couldn't quite make out. I really hoped no one veered from their path, because I wasn't going to feel the impact until my guts squished out on the stone path at the bottom.
The flashing didn't seem to be present on the field of the sixth circle below, but I hurried across the perceived trajectory of the path, just in case. This part of the circle had a well-groomed grassy field. Large enough to play a regulation game of football.
A low stone wall had been built into the mountainside and would make a great spot for watching and cheering.
“I like it.”
My breath hitched at the warmth in the mental thought and the familiar, affectionate delivery.
“Out, out, out!” He then said in a singsong fashion, which was decidedly more unnerving and very unlike my brother.
I picked up my pace until I reached an Art Deco building with a placard that said “Student Center.” I quietly entered. The building was large, but no one seemed to be seeking information. I breathed a sigh of relief that I was alone and started browsing through the brochures on the shelves. The front was set up as a sort of welcome center akin to the ones we would sometimes stop at when we drove over a state line. The room extended back in an L-shape that I couldn't see beyond.
I started pulling useful and interesting titles—Welcome to Excelsine, Warping Techniques, and Traveling the Mountain.
“Just flex it!”
I froze at the voice. Clutching my traveling guides and intro brochures, I peeked around the corner of the “L.”
A girl with short black hair and a distinct Erté vibe—sleek, stylish, and outrageous—that perfectly matched the architecture, stood behind a desk, looking down at a device and bopping along to some inner playlist. She looked to be about seventeen too and just as short as I was. She drew her fingers along a card on the desk, and sang, “Flex it day, flex it night, hit that mage, oh, just right!” One finger touched the skin underneath her ear and she tapped three times, as if adjusting the volume of music I couldn't hear. “Just flex it!”
Her head bobbed back and forth, and she grabbed the card she had been touching and shoved it into the open slot on the thin top edge of the device. She clicked the card into place, her head still bopping left and right and her body following along with the movement. When she turned in the midst of a bop, I blinked to see a large hardbound book on top of her device. She flipped through it, then held a finger down, and I could see a faint trace of blue. She pushed the thin top edge of the device, and the book disappeared as the card ejected. She deposited the card back on the table and shoved in another.
Something must have alerted her to my presence, because she looked up sharply, eyes narrowed on my position. Eyeliner drew itself around her eyes and angled out. Rose red painted her lips. She looked down at the brochures in my hands and her expression transformed.
She was suddenly beaming and spreading her arms wide. The eyeliner and lipstick disappeared, making her look younger again. “I'm Delia!” Her hands clapped together.
I nodded slowly, stretching a smile, uncertain. “Hello.”
She seemed to be waiting for something, some kind of recognition, and when I didn't give it, her smile grew. “Wonderful.” She skirted around the desk. “You are new, you are smart and magically talented, and you have come to the right
place!”
My bullshit meter started ringing, but her big eyes were shining with sincerity.
“I just stopped in quickly. I really need to run,” I said.
“No!” She plucked the brochures out of my hand, placed them on the counter, and guardedly looked behind me toward the door. I did too—we were still alone.
“The authorities are a bunch of flingweasels around here,” she whispered. “The really good places are on the secret list. Hang on.”
Flingweasels?
She leaned over the front of her desk, rifling through papers. While she wasn't looking, I snatched the brochures from the counter and shoved them into my bag. “Here it is!” She handed me an illustrated map. “It's only for the upper six circles of the mountain—the cartographer graduated last year before he could do more—but this will allow you to get anywhere on the most important levels, quickly.”
Near the Student Center, the map featured a patch of green labeled “Blarjack” with a note beside it that read, “Pops out near the entrance to the cafeteria.” Another location nearby indicated a tree with a flashing “Entry”, and when my gaze hit it, the map whirled to a drawing of an obelisk three layers up that said “Exit.”
I let my eyes scan the map, watching it move in coordination with my gaze and zoom forward on a section whenever my eyes stilled. Setting my finger down on a section froze the map so that my eyes could freely take in everything in view at leisure. Once I let go and looked away, the map zoomed back out, resetting. My fingers itched to make something like this. “Construct map” etched itself right below “create a storage paper” on my list of future art studies.
“Thank you,” I said sincerely, watching how the map world tilted.
Controlling magic sucked, but art magic rocked. Magic had killed my brother, but magic was going to bring him back. Mages created great items, but also sought to enslave. This world was a study in contrasts for me so far.
“No problem. If you just use arches, you still have to walk miles. Totally screws with the hair, especially if the weather mages are messing with the humidity on one of the circles.”
