by Anne Zoelle
“Well, I use you as the conduit to fix your bone. You open your magic to me, then I can proceed with the work.”
I hesitated. I wasn't sure I wanted to open my magic to anyone.
“It's really you healing your own bone, but with me driving the procedure. It isn't terribly invasive. Think of a whirlpool, and your malady is at the bottom of the vortex. I dive down, fix it, then we switch the polarity to bring me back up and out.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “I've never gotten lost, I promise.”
He had misunderstood my hesitation, but what he had said was useful to know. “Ok. So I just open my magic to you?” I could do that. I could.
“That's it.”
I opened too much, but the doctor seemed to anticipate it, and the feeling of gentle hands gathering in the plastic bag of my magic—before it blew wide in the wind—slid through me. He pulled the figurative bag into a point and aimed it toward my foot, then the tingle of his magic shivered against my own. It was a clinical feeling. A doctor's touch. And he was indeed diving down. I felt heat on the smallest digit of my right foot, then as if someone flipped a switch, the magic swirl reversed.
The doctor raised a brow and smiled at me. “I recommend a few extracurricular meditation courses.”
“Yeah, I haven't been too successful with that.” There was always too much else that needed to be done with those minutes or hours.
He shook his head.
“Sorry?” I was oddly sad that he was disappointed in me.
He sighed. “No, it's not you. Damn bureaucrats. They are supposed to make sure you get the right training before—”
Peters chose that moment to burst into the room.
No. Why him? He was looking down at his chunky, bright, sunshine yellow tablet. All of the enforcement students carried one, and all the colors were different. That Peters had that color never ceased to amuse me usually.
“Doctor Greyskull?”
Upon hearing his name, my doctor suddenly grew even more awesome.
“I'm almost finished with my examination of Miss Crown, Mr. Peters,” Greyskull said.
Peters's head jerked up at the mention of my name, and he glared at me, as if I were the lowest level of criminal filth he had ever seen. “Did you sedate her, Doctor Greyskull?”
“I highly doubt that is necessary, Mr. Peters.” There was disapproval in Greyskull's voice.
“She burned down the entire Shangwei Art Complex!”
I winced. Oops.
“And this is her first offense, is it not?”
“It is decidedly not! She has perpetrated a slew of petty crimes. I first observed her breaking regulations in the library! She attacked Mr. Dare!”
Both of Greyskull's eyebrows rose at the last statement. “And she had no idea what she was doing, most likely. I'll bet if you look through her records, you'll find that she is a transfer student they pushed past some of the orientation classes.” Greyskull sent me a significant look.
I withheld the urge to salute him.
“Which is neither your fault, nor Miss Crown's,” Greyskull said in a neutral tone.
Peters's pursed his lips together. “I am sure procedures were followed.”
“Mmmhmm.” Greyskull prodded and poked me a few more times, looking in my eyes and examining a finger.
I had the feeling he was just killing time to irritate Peters. I think I was in love.
“See me immediately, if you experience any pain, Miss Crown.”
“I will.” I stretched my limbs, hoping I wasn't about to be handcuffed again. I sent a surreptitious glance around looking for anything small enough to palm that might be useful as a pick. “Thank you, Doctor. I appreciate everything you’ve done.” I tried to signify that I appreciated more than just the scan and toe fix.
He tilted his head and his eyes crinkled. “Of course.”
He turned to Peters. “Good to see you, Mr. Peters. I imagine you are still following procedures to the letter. Good man.” Then he gave me another small smile, turned, and stepped from the room.
Peters looked disapprovingly at the open cuffs, but didn't try to reattach them. I put “practice picking cuffs” on my lengthy to-do list, if I made it out of here.
Peters rifled through my bag, which was on the floor. I was relieved my supplies had made it, but watching Peters look through my things made my teeth clench.
He pushed a button on his shiny, yellow tablet. “On this day of Libra, Forty-Two and a third, I Joseph Aldwin Peters, do sign in to swear to the accounting of Miss Florence Crown, who is charged with a Level Five Offense. Furthermore—”
I examined Peters for a second time as he talked to his tablet. He was still upright, uptight, and moderately tall. Clipped hair, pressed shirt. A boy soldier with a badge.
“—and following all laws, I do so swear.”
I saw magic lift off the tablet and twine around him. Interestingly, magic was easier for me to see at the moment. I wondered if dying or rebirth intensified the ability temporarily, or if it was the aftereffect of attaching to the wards. The justice magic settled back above the tablet, hovering there.
“How did you get into the vault, Miss Crown?”
The hum of the justice magic warned me against lying. I had done little research on the law officers, as they tended to make quick and unexceptional visits to me, but the tablets used truth spells when activated. The thought of my mind being probed always produced a slimy, itchy feeling under my skin.
How to answer... “Um, a little like this.” I stood and dove toward the floor. Yup, that was about right. I let my palms skid outward, though, skin peeling back from the bottoms. Ouch. But the whole thing looked like a giant trip now. “The door nearly shut on my foot.”
Peters's mouth looked as if he'd sucked a lemon. “What were you doing near the vault?”
“Oh, um, I was intending to draw.” That was true enough. I had been planning to draw a box after checking the wards. And I could play this game. “There is a great spot there. I go there often.” All true.
“At midnight?”
“Er, I use art as stress relief.” Also true.
“Students are not allowed in the vault without a qualified professor.”
“Ok.” I was denying nothing. I was going to be in real trouble if he asked pointed questions or got Stevens in here, though.
“Records show that tonight you have committed two Level One Offenses, a Level Three Offense, and a Level Five Offense. Do you know what the punishments for those are?”
“Um, no?”
The tablet zapped me. “Ow!”
“Lying?” He raised a brow and made a notation.
I rubbed my arm. “Well, I know punishments for levels one, two, and three, but not for five.” I knew how to run, scrub, and battle firesnakes. Point me to one.
Peters smiled. “Well, I expect you will remember your expulsion long into the future, as you twiddle your thumbs in the ordinary world, after being stripped of your magic by the Department.”
Oh, no—times infinity. “Are you serious?”
“Yes.”
To my amazement, the tablet zapped him. I stared for a moment, then a smile worked its way to my face. “Lying?”
It was probably not a good idea to piss him off, but I couldn't help it.
“When I escape from here, I will end him,” Christian said.
“You are in major trouble,” Peters said harshly, rubbing his arm.
I nodded, trying to figure out how to work this new angle that had been presented. The enforcement mages had to tell the truth too when they were wrapped in the magic? “Right. What has happened in the past to Level Five offending mages?”
“Level Five offenders have been expelled.”
But being expelled wasn't the worst thing that could happen to me, and Peters shouldn't have given himself away, by receiving that prior zap. “And what are three other punishments that have happened to mages who have committed Level Five Offenses?”
If I tho
ught there was ever a possibility that I hadn't angered Peters, it was definitely gone. He gritted his teeth and shouldered my bag. “You can ask the provost.”
So I didn't have to answer—my answer just had to be truthful. That was some relief.
A long forced march—by the same type of magic that had prevailed the night of the door prize ticket—to the provost's office found me sitting, cuffed again, in a rather uncomfortable seat, awaiting my fate. There was a toothpick stuck into the area between the seat cushion and back of the chair on the seat next to mine. I quickly grabbed it and threaded it into the hem of my shirt. Gross, but I wasn't going to start being choosy.
“Get out of here. Don't let them tag you completely!” Christian said.
I tried to keep calm. Magic wouldn't let me leave. I could feel it hovering, waiting. Like the ticketing magic, I had to fulfill some sort of contract—likely something tied to the enrollment enchantment Marsgrove had put on me. But I wasn't out of options yet. And if the provost knew about Marsgrove's dictates and was going to do something horrible to me, hopefully he would lock me up first.
Ten minutes later, Peters stormed out, bypassing me without a word or glance.
“Miss Crown, enter.”
I rose and walked inside, as calmly as I could. The man behind the desk was a solid, robust man. A jovial business type.
He swirled a finger and the cuffs dropped. Maybe a good thing, maybe bad.
I took a quick look at the name plate on his desk. “Good afternoon, Provost Johnson.”
“Let's cut to the chase, Miss Crown.” He had a kind, but booming voice. “You have committed a Level Five Offense along with a number of lower level offenses. You are in danger of suspension. Should you commit even one more Level Three Offense, I may be forced to expel you.”
Relief swept me that we were still talking about school infractions and punishment, rather than prisons and testing facilities. And I took note of Johnson’s wording—may be forced.
“I could suspend you now, but Doctor Greyskull submitted a sympathetic note, championing you, and I am partial to the good doctor's character assessment. He said you are a transfer student and don't yet know our ways.” His eyes dropped to the papers on his desk, and a disgruntled look briefly passed over his features.
Johnson hadn't been able to find my records and didn't want to admit it. I had a school record because of my prior offenses, but didn't have an academic record, which obviously presented a conundrum.
“Greyskull suggested community service, and I am obliged to grant the request.”
I nodded quickly. Maybe I could get out of here before Johnson investigated further. Chasing snakes, planting flowers, and picking up trash? No problem. Maybe I could volunteer to assist Professor Mbozi or a chaos mage and advance my research at the same time.
“Answer two questions truthfully, and I will assign you to community service.”
“Ok.” Something magical wrapped around me.
“Mr. Peters said you truthfully told him you tripped into the art vault by accident.” Oh, yes, yes, yes. I thanked Peters's questioning oversight profusely. “But once you were in there...were you trying to break down the wards in the art vault?”
“Uh...” I paused, trying to figure out the angle of the question.
Johnson's smile turned less pleasant. “Failure to answer will result in your immediate suspension.”
“Don't you have law wizards or defense attorneys?”
“Legal mages, and yes. Next time you should think about calling one, before you agree to speaking directly to me. Agreeing to my questions made your trial inquisitorial, instead of adversarial. That means I am now in charge of your fate instead of a jury.”
If I had known, I might have been tempted to beg my evil roommate to represent me, since I'd figured out she was vigorously studying law, in between her world takeover plans.
I held my breath, then answered his question. “No, I wasn't.”
Nothing attacked me. Johnson looked surprised. “You weren't trying to break down the wards?”
“No,” I said much more confidently. I had been there to study them. I chose my next words with care. “I accidentally attached to the perimeter ward and couldn't get it off. I panicked.”
All true.
Johnson looked visibly relieved. “So, it was an accident.”
“Yes.”
“Good. Now, since I have you here and am asking everyone when given the opportunity, the second question you must answer is are you a terrorist?”
My eyes must have bulged, because they felt like they were pulling from my sockets. “No.”
“Great!” He made a little checkmark on the paper in front of him. “I will see about getting some of the orientation sessions you missed made available to you via vid screen. And a stint on the squad should save you from becoming a troubled soul.”
He said this cheerfully enough that I doubted his sanity—which made me wonder what the “squad” was. “Community service, Miss Crown, will show you what happens to the criminal types on campus. And will imbue you with a sense of duty to right any wrongs. Community service folks always use such creative solutions too. A win-win situation.”
He looked thoroughly convinced of his own reasoning. I was still choking over the fact that he had just blithely asked me if I was a terrorist while I was under a truth spell.
“Let's put it at...two hundred hours.” A second spell settled over me.
Two hundred hours?! But I just nodded, unwilling to test the bounds of the spell I was under.
“Excellent. The spell will motivate you to complete your hours in a timely fashion. I'll put your compliance on your transcript. In fact,”—he cleared his throat—“Let's just start a lovely new transcript, shall we? Give you a fresh start?” He waved his hand and a pile of paper leaped into a crisp folder. “Just press your finger right here.”
For a long moment, I looked at the paper he held as Christian yelled wildly in my head. Then I pressed my finger to the page. I could feel a thread prick my finger and the blood seep into the sheets.
I was now fully tagged. Easily found in the system. Christian's hysteria started to ooze into my veins.
“You will need to re-register for classes, but you can do that tomorrow. I'll leave a note in your file. Report to Professor Wellingham and begin your service by Sagittarius Rising under Maiden's Drawers.”
I just nodded, because otherwise, I was going to attract the white coats again with mad laughter. I think he had just given me some date in December. Or a date with a naughty archer. I might need to take Will up on that app for my translation enchantment. And perhaps increase my research on how to get off campus completely.
“Plus, I think you should help put the vault back together, at least the preliminary laying of the lines.”
I stared at Johnson, unable to believe my ears. Opportunity simmered my panic for a moment. He was telling me my punishment was to assist the reconstruction and warding of the vault? I would have burned it down on purpose, had I known that might happen.
“I know.” He held up his hand. “Laying ward lines is grueling grunt work, but you must be punished, Miss Crown.”
I nodded. Yes, yes I must.
“Wellingham will have that information too. I hope we meet under more favorable circumstances next time, Miss Crown.” He handed me my bag.
“Thank you, yes. Good day, Provost Johnson.” I needed to get out of here.
“Good day, Miss Crown.”
I exited as quickly as possible. Thankfully, I felt the truth spell pull off and dissipate behind me, leaving only a shiver across my skin in its wake. Free.
Yet still trapped. Far more trapped.
Two hundred hours of community service? I could only hope that I would be able to serve that much time and not be arrested or captured beforehand. Two hundred hours of cleaning flower beds and picking up trash was infinitely more painful than ten, but I was going to watch a chaos field being constructed. I head
ed out to find Professor Wellingham right away. The sooner the better—for everything.
~*~
Professor Wellingham was an associate professor of political science among other things. He was a harried and wan looking man, with wildly spiked hair and an ashen complexion. I hoped like hell that it was the craziness of the political world, and not that of community service, that made him look like a street artist who hadn't slept for three months.
He gave me a handful of papers that contained the information for remaking the vault. I clutched them to me.
He muttered a few sentences that I was pretty sure veiled obscenities, then communicated my service task and unceremoniously handed me another stack of papers.
I blinked, certain that I had heard incorrectly. “I'm going to do what?”
“You are joining the Justice Squad. Or being forced into servitude, I suppose.”
“The Justice Squad?”
“A group that addresses all student behavior issues that are Level Four and under, such as students cheating on exams or doing prohibited enchantments. They also do the preliminary questioning for Level Fives.”
Like you, his look said.
“Wait, you mean I'm going to police the student population?” I was going to be Peters?
“Yes.” He didn't seem put off by my obvious mortification or panic.
I needed to remain unnoticeable. I was going to be punishing people—who were definitely going to notice me. “But...but...I'm a delinquent too!”
Christian's sane voice groaned in my head.
One of Wellingham's brows rose. “And the thought is that you will be rehabilitated by doing service and assigning punishments.”
That made some weird sort of nonsense. “You don't believe that, do you?”
“Not in the slightest.” He searched through a bag. “But Provost Johnson does, and his opinion is the one that matters in this situation.”
Wellingham finally pulled out a chunky tablet like the one Peters had. The intent of his actions seemed to indicate that I would be getting the strangely colored olive and lime tablet.
“This tablet will be your responsibility until the end of spring term. You have until then to complete your two hundred hours. You can accept special assignments that will help you burn more hours, or you can just be part of the daily or weekly on-call roster. The tablet only works on campus unless you receive special permission to use it off campus. The enchantments on the tablets are actually the one thing that is student proofed around here.”
