by Logan Byrne
I might be a cynical ass, but even I knew that was beyond bad. His policies had already hurt many of us, and who knew how long until he had total control of the government. A thief turned cop—I guess we all had to do our part, even if it was a little funny.
“I guess I have to help. I can’t let a man like him get that kind of power. I’ll join you, but only because I’m sick of living in that motel room,” I said, looking around the tent.
“We’re happy to have you. Mirian will take you to your quarters, and your schooling will start at sunrise,” Pote said before turning back to her work on the table in front of her.
“See, that wasn’t so bad,” Mirian said, escorting me out of the tent. How did I go from being a thief earlier today, getting into a bar fight with an ogre, to agreeing to train as a cop about to take down a magical dictator who was threatening to take over both realms? My life would make a good book.
My quarters, a tent, were small yet kind of cozy. There was an old wooden chest laced with leather straps that Mirian said was for my belongings. It was charmed, and only I could open it, which I thought was nice. Maybe being a witch wasn’t going to be so bad after all.
While the tent was cozy, it wasn’t exactly a palace. Better than the motel room, for sure, but not what I was hoping for. There was a small breeze sneaking through the bottom flap. I put the foot of my nightstand over it to hold it down and stop the wind from breaking through. I sat on the cot, rubbing my feet on the linen floor, looking around and trying to figure out how I ended up here. It’s weird how much your life can change in an instant.
I had a long day ahead of me tomorrow. All I knew was that I was going to some sort of school or training, and I was frightened. I hadn’t received much of an education, not being important enough for it, but also because it wasn’t exactly required of me. School wasn’t mandatory in the magical realm, mainly on account of all the different types of creatures and beings. They each had their own cultures, and the high council found it important to let them teach in the ways that they wanted and that were important to them as a people. I was just an orphan, a pilt orphan at that, and was never exactly on the fast track to academic greatness.
I could still sometimes smell the orphanage, a single smell of mildew triggering what felt like a lifetime of memories that I couldn’t evade. Okay, maybe I was exaggerating. It wasn’t all bad, there were some good things sprinkled throughout, but it wasn’t where I’d wanted to be growing up. I wanted my parents, to be with them, to have them in my life, but I couldn’t. They were dead, and I wasn’t going to get them back no matter how many times I cried myself to sleep at night.
I yawned, stretching out my arms, before lying back on my cot and pulling my blanket up over me. It provided much-needed solace from the cold air that was still seeping through the cracks of my tent. I might have to talk to Mirian about that. I couldn’t imagine living like this for the foreseeable future.
•••
“Darling, you need to go into the cupboard,” my mother said. My mind was floating through a dreamland.
“But Mom, I don’t want to go,” I cried, tears streaming down my face.
“Baby, you need to remember how much your father and I love you, okay?” she said, her voice cracking., as her hand started to shake in fear against my shoulder.
I was seven, almost eight. It was the worst moment of my life. I could taste my tears as they trickled down my cheeks and into the sides of my mouth. I could smell my mother’s perfume, rosy, and feel my nose getting stuffy. The floorboards creaked as I shifted my weight, not wanting to leave my mother’s side and face the same fate as her. It was like I was there all over again.
“Why is that man coming here?” I asked.
“Everything will be okay,” she said, kissing my forehead.
Suddenly I heard cracking wood downstairs—our front door being rammed through. My father was shouting, but he suddenly stopped. My breathing quickened, my heart racing, and my mother looked at me for what would be the last time ever. “Go,” she said, her eyes conveying pure conviction that still gave me chills to this day whenever I thought about them.
I ran towards the cupboard, a little alcove under my bed that my father had built for me to play in. Sometimes, later in life, I wondered if he built it for me to hide in if things ever went south, as if he knew the possibility was there. “You’re willing to die for this?” a man yelled to my mother.
I cried, too scared to peek outside, but gathering the courage anyway. I cracked the door open the tiniest bit, enough for my small pea eyes to see out of. “I won’t ever give it up, no matter what you do to me,” she said defiantly.
“I heard you have a kid,” he said, smirking.
“You shut your mouth,” she said, pulling out her wand.
He slapped it out of her hand, like he was swatting an incessant fly, before pushing my mother back against the wall. “They told me you were a bitch,” he snarled.
I saw my mother mumbling, whispering to herself, though I could never figure out what she was saying no matter how many times I replayed the scenario. The man, still nameless to me, laughed, then raised his wand and muttered the death curse. He let her go after it hit. She fell to the ground, her eyes open, facing me. I shut the door and backed up against the rear wall in my hideout. I wanted to scream, to shout, to run to my mother and beg for her to get up, but I didn’t. I did what she said. I hid.
The man ransacked our house for almost an hour, tearing it apart, before auditors came and flushed him out. They were like the Delta Forces of M.A.G.I.C. Their job was to hunt down and arrest the worst of the worst. Later I learned that they’d been tipped off that night that the man was going to attack, but it seemed to be too little too late. When the man left and I saw them come in, I opened the door slowly. A woman saw me, walked over, and knelt in front of me. “I’m here to help you,” she said, her eyes soft. Her perfume smelled like the same kind of rosy scent that my mother wore.
“I want my mom,” I muttered, my head down.
“I know,” she replied softly. She took my hand. Another man she worked with came over as well, and we took off and went back to the precinct.
I didn’t make a fuss. Nobody else even talked to me. There were phones flying off the hooks, and a snarly looking guy in handcuffs looked at me, his eyes hiding more pain than anger. I could smell burnt coffee, a stuffed animal the officers giving me to calm me down held close to my chest while I held a woman’s hand and walked towards a room.
I was taken to the orphanage. I would spend the next seven years there, withering, before I ran away and started the life I was living up until earlier today.
That little girl visits me often in my dreams, replaying that night over and over again, hundreds of times, maybe a thousand, I don’t know. I see her, but she never sees me. I wish I could tell her things would be okay, but I wasn’t sure they ever would be.
I woke later, wiping my brow of a few droplets of sweat even though it was a little chilly in my tent, before turning and looking at an old alarm clock on my nightstand. I had to get up in an hour, but I wasn’t positive I could fall back asleep. I couldn’t handle seeing her again so soon.
3
“I hear you’re the new girl,” a guy said, sitting down next to me as I ate breakfast the next morning. He was tall and handsome with brown hair and brown eyes. He smelled a little off, like musky, but maybe that was just the scent of the camp drifting in. It wasn’t exactly a nest of potpourri here.
“Yeah, I just came in last night,” I said.
“I’m Blake,” he said, moving to shake my hand.
“Lexa,” I said.
“So, what’s your deal? Shifter?” he asked, looking me over.
“It’s complicated, I guess. I’m a mage, but a new one,” I said.
“But you’re born what you are, right? I know mages can sometimes not access powers until they’re teens, but you don’t look super young,” he said.
“Wow, thanks,�
�� I said, annoyed.
“No, I don’t mean it like that!” he said, laughing a little. “I just mean that you’re obviously in your late teens, maybe eighteen, and you should be well into your powers by now, right?” he asked.
I could tell he meant well. Maybe it was his smile, or just the tone of his voice, but I gave him a pass. Besides, I knew nobody here, and he seemed at least interested in being my friend. I couldn’t exactly pick and choose at this stage.
“I grew up thinking I was a pilt, but it turns out I’m not,” I said, taking another bite of my oatmeal or whatever it was they’d served me.
“Ah, I see, that would be confusing. Well, I’m glad you found yourself and are here. We can use all the help we can get,” he said.
“What are you, then?” I asked, wiping my mouth.
“Shifter—a werewolf, to be exact, but don’t worry, I won’t eat you,” he said, laughing.
I raised my eyebrow. He looked a little embarrassed, but then Mirian came up behind us, startling me. “I see you’re becoming acquainted with other students in your class,” he said.
“Oh, you’ll be with me in class?” Blake asked, perking up.
“Yes, she will be. You’re moving up in the ranks, Heta wants you to. She sensed something in you, and she thinks the basics are too, well, basic for somebody like you. Besides, you don’t belong with the younglings,” Mirian said.
“But I don’t know anything,” I said, nervous.
I didn’t usually get nervous so easily. I did rob people for a living, after all, and nerves weren’t helpful with sticky fingers. It made things less sticky. But this was different; this wasn’t even close to robbing somebody or doing a job. This was a complete one-eighty, and I didn’t have a high level of confidence in myself. At least I had experience with thieving. I’d never even picked up a wand.
“You’ll learn, don’t worry. Blake, could you please escort Lexa to class with you today? I want to make sure she finds it all right,” Mirian said.
“Of course, I’d be happy to,” Blake said with a smile.
Mirian walked off, his hands behind his back, his robe flapping in the breeze, and I looked back at Blake. “Tell me, what are we doing exactly?” I asked.
“Training is a broad class to prepare you, us, for work at M.A.G.I.C. It also gives us lessons on defense, attacking, stealth, and anything else we might need to know that could be useful later on,” he said.
“But we’re two different things, right? Mage and shifter. How will we learn correctly?” I asked.
“If you mean because I’m a shifter and you’re a mage, it doesn’t matter. The lessons are catered to everybody, and during every day you break off into sects with your fellow types, so to speak, and you move on from there, training in your particular area. There are a lot of cool mages, so no problems there, except for—well, never mind,” he said.
“No, tell me. If I’m going into this blind then I need to know what I’m up against,” I said, sitting on the edge of my seat.
“His name is Lyon, he’s a mage. He’s always been kind of a jerk, and he likes to pick on people—especially those he finds weaker than him. He’ll try to be nice to you at first, to gain your admiration or to get you to join him, but don’t believe what he has to say. He’s into magical supremacy, it’s garbage,” he said.
“Oh yeah, I’ve heard about that. Isn’t that where magical creatures rule the realms or something?”
“To an extent, yeah, but it’s more like mages rule everything because he sees them as the top of the magical food chain, if you will. I guess it’s a good plan if you’re a mage, and a subdued one who listens to guys like Lyon, but it’s bad news for the rest of us,” he said. “We better get over there, though. Class starts in fifteen.”
I had to admit that the thought quickly crossed my mind—joining this kid and becoming all powerful or whatever. After living a crap life like I had, rising to the top was a tempting opportunity. It would mean I wouldn’t have to struggle any longer. I was a mage now, even if I’d always been one and just didn’t know it, and that meant new opportunities had opened for me.
The more I thought about it, though, I pushed that idea away. The thought of putting everybody else down on the level I used to be on was too horrific to contemplate. People here were nice to me. They didn’t look at me like I was a rat digging through the garbage, and I didn’t want them to be put down on that level. I knew it all too well.
The training camp was on the outskirts of the compound, which was comprised of many tents and buildings. Some were for us but others were for the younglings of all ages who learned and grew inside these walls. I walked by a classroom with Blake, looking in and seeing a little girl, maybe six, with wiry blonde hair and green eyes looking at me and flashing a tiny smile. I smiled in response before I drifted out of her sight towards our room. “Here we are,” Blake said.
Chatter floated through the room, but the attention shifted towards me when we walked in. I heard their voices become softer as I stood there. It was a little uncomfortable.
“Okay, take your seats, students. We haven’t all day for this nonsense,” a woman said, her high heels clanking against the brick floor as she walked inside the classroom, flicking her wand and closing the door behind her. She was a little chubby, her cheeks rosy, and her hair was short and peppered gray.
“Ms. Moon,” one person said, pointing at me. She looked at me, smiling a little, before walking over. “Good morning, Lexa, my name is Ms. Moon and I’ll be your instructor for your M.A.G.I.C. training,” she said, extending her hand for me to shake.
“Good morning, it’s nice to meet you,” I said, shaking hers.
“I hope she isn’t conversing with the dog,” a guy said from the right of the room.
Blake growled and snarled as the guy chuckled and looked over at us. I knew that was Lyon without anybody even telling me. “Better to be with a dog than a snake,” I said, and his expression quickly turned to one of disgust as his smile vanished.
“Enough, class,” Ms. Moon, said. “Because we have a new student, we are going to split into groups and work on our theory so that she can become more acquainted.”
“You can come to our group,” Blake said, pointing towards the side of the room where a few students were putting their chairs together. I brought mine over. There were three others in the group besides Blake and myself. They looked more like a hodgepodge group of misfits instead of future magical police officers. Maybe our futures really were doomed.
“Lexa, this is Charlie, Britta, and Faus. Guys, this is Lexa, she’s a mage,” Blake said, introducing us.
“Hi, it’s nice to meet you,” Britta, the only girl in the group, said, smiling and raising her hand.
“We really need to get working on our theory so we don’t get in trouble,” Faus said, scrambling through his papers. He was short, even shorter than me, with freckles and glasses. Even though I hadn’t done much with school in the past, I knew he was going to do all of the work for us.
“Faus is a little bit of a work freak, so don’t mind him,” Charlie said, his arms crossed.
“What are you all, if you don’t mind me asking?” I asked.
“Charlie is a jaguar shifter, Britta is a mage, and Faus—” Blake said.
“Faus is special,” Charlie said.
“Charlie, be nice,” Britta said, slapping him on the arm. “Faus is kind of a shifter,” she said.
“Kind of?” I asked.
“My mom was a shifter and my dad is a Minotaur,” Faus said.
“What’s wrong with that?” I asked, looking around the group.
“Well, it made things…interesting. When a shifter mates with a non-shifter being, in this case something with genes as strong as a Minotaur, it makes their offspring a little unstable,” Blake said.
“I shift into a Minotaur,” Faus said.
“It’s not quite a Minotaur, and he can’t really control himself that well when he’s shifted,” Charlie said.
“It’s not his fault, Charlie. You know Minotaurs already have a hard time controlling their tempers, and Faus didn’t get the full genes. It basically means that when he shifts, which he rarely does, he becomes a wrecking ball and he has a hard time making rational thought,” Britta said, looking at me towards the end.
There was so much to the magical world that I didn’t even know, and I’d lived in it my entire life. I thought everything was so black and white, but there was a full spectrum of colors out there in between. Maybe it was easier just living my old life, being a pilt, a thief, and fending only for myself. It certainly meant less to learn.
“So what is this magical theory we’re supposed to talk about?” I asked, changing the topic. The conversation was getting a little too stuffy and heated for my taste.
“We need to come up with a solution to the scenario on this paper,” Faus said, handing it to me.
You and your partner are tracking a centaur who you believe is dealing in illegal black market goods. How do you find said centaur and bring him or her in safely and effectively?
“Can’t you just arrest it?” I asked, handing the paper back.
“Sure, just ask the centaur, the wild centaur, to come with you and it’ll all be cool,” Charlie said, rolling his eyes.
“Don’t be an ass, Charlie, you know she’s new,” Blake said, giving him a disapproving look. “Centaurs aren’t exactly known for their cooperation, that’s why they’re asking the question. First, how would you track the centaur?”
“I guess I would look for tracks? Four hoofs shouldn’t be too hard to find outside, right?” I asked.
“Good job. That’s the first stage. The second would be incorporating both environmental abnormalities, like broken twigs or scratches on trees, as well as using a tracking spell,” Britta said.
“So that’s how he found me,” I said, under my breath.
“What?” she asked.
“Oh, nothing, I was just mumbling to myself. What’s a tracking spell?” I asked.
