Destroying Magic

by David Meyer

  “First, a dropout. Now, best friends with a traitor.” Porter, backed by his friends, strode toward us from the other direction. “You’re just an all-out loser, aren’t you Wolf?”

  “There’s no way that Tad kid acted alone,” Sya added, her eyes icy cold. “You helped him, didn’t you? You all did.”

  “Get lost,” Piper said.

  “No way.” Gordon got in my face, jutting out his jaw so that it nearly touched mine. “Admit it, Randy. You helped Tad. You helped those … those people.”

  “Do you know how stupid you sound right now?” Leandra put her hands on her hips. “If you don’t—”

  But a growing crowd of students, obviously looking for Tad or at least someone to blame, drowned her out. They gathered around me, grabbing at my clothes and shouting insults and threats. Leandra and Piper tried to fight back. But they were outnumbered.

  Darkness crept in at the corners of my vision. I realized I was drawing dangerously close to fainting.

  “He’s friends with the traitor!” a girl shouted.

  “He is a traitor,” someone else yelled.

  “Get Boltstar,” came a third voice.

  “Did someone say my name?”

  This last voice was pleasant, if a bit firm. But the crowd of angry onlookers stiffened up anyway, like they’d been hit with Drodiation Curses.

  “Hello, everyone.” Students and staffers, their jaws agape, slid to either side of the hallway. Then Boltstar appeared, wand in hand. “I’m looking for Mr. Wolf.”

  “He’s right here,” Porter snarled, jabbing his thumb at me.

  Boltstar strode through the gap. I had to blink a few times to make sure it was really him. After all, it wasn’t every day a dropout like me stood face-to-face with the greatest wizard of all time.

  “Hello, Mr. Wolf. If you have a spare moment, I’d like to ask you about Mr. Crucible. You were friends, correct?”

  I stood still, slack-jawed, shocked that he was even saying my name.

  “Oh, they were friends, for sure.” Felicia gave me a nasty look. “Best friends.”

  “Perhaps, Ms. Masters, perhaps. But let’s not jump to rash conclusions. Mr. Crucible fooled us all.”

  Her cheeks reddened. “Yes, Headmaster.”

  “Well, Mr. Wolf?” Boltstar swiveled back to face me. “Come now, I don’t have all night.”

  I could feel the eyes of the crowd. At the moment, they were angry, accusatory. But soon, they’d be back to mocking, condescending. At the same time, others stared at Boltstar with admiring, fawning faces. Why couldn’t they look at me like that?

  I shifted my jaw, ready to tell him about Tad. But then my mind fogged over from pain. And as I stood there, clutching my ribs, I found myself considering the unthinkable.

  What if I didn’t turn Tad in? What if, instead, I helped cure the Gratlan? In return, what if he taught me how to do Chaotic magic? With his help, I just might be able to turn in a respectable showing in Boltstar’s new Havoc Magic class.

  “I … I …” I doubled over in pain.

  Then again, I loved Madkey. Maybe not everyone in it, but I definitely loved the school. Could I really help someone who’d attacked it? A Chaotic, no less?

  Boltstar’s look morphed into one of concern. “What’s wrong, Mr. Wolf?” He gripped my shoulder. “Are you okay?”

  “I took a spell to the ribs.” My hand slipped off the wall. Cobwebs stretched across my brain.

  I was no traitor. Then again, would helping Tad really constitute a betrayal? It’s not like I’d be working with him, plotting another invasion. No, I’d just be providing him with shelter, like he was a prisoner of war. And hey, I could always turn him in at a later date, right?

  “Yes, we are—were—friends. And yes, that was his spell, alright. I’d know his color anywhere.” I fought the tide of creeping unconsciousness. “I … I don’t know where he is though.”

  And just like that, I made my choice. I felt a bit of regret and a whole lot of anxiety. If this backfired, well, there was a decent chance I’d get skinned and end up in Gutlore right next to Tad.

  And with that uneasy thought in my head, my vision vanished. My body sagged. I heard Boltstar shouting for people to give me space.

  And then I slipped off into unconsciousness.

  Chapter 17

  “He’s waking up.” Professor Donald Tuckerson’s voice, brutally masculine and lacking even a trace of emotion, hit my ears like a lightning bolt. “Get the headmaster, Sally.”

  “Sure thing, Don.” Clothing rustled. Chair legs squeaked across hard linoleum.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Getting the headmaster, of course,” Assistant Professor Sally Kinder replied. “He’s in his quarters, right?”

  “In his quarters?” Tuckerson grunted. “Are you dense?”

  “I—”

  His voice grew louder, drowning her out. “I said, ‘Are you dense?’”

  Kinder sighed. “Yes, I’m dense, Don. Are you happy now?”

  “Do you really have to ask that?”

  “No, but—”

  “The headmaster’s in Room Twelve, checking on MacPherson. Now, go.”

  “Oh, that’s right. I forgot he was here.” A door opened. Heeled shoes click-clacked against linoleum.

  My eyes fluttered open. I shifted my body, trying to get comfortable on a very thin mattress. Failing at that, I looked around. I was in a small room with eggshell-colored stone walls. A couple of cool-lights, fitted into the crevices, cast a fierce glow upon the space. My lip curled in fear as I recognized the location.

  Madkey Clinic.

  Pushing the back of my head into my pillow, I eased my brain into a state of relaxation. My mind wound through memories, starting with the Victory Feast and ending with me fainting in front of Boltstar, my friends, and those other kids. That last recollection caused my cheeks to burn in embarrassment.

  Terrific, I thought. I’m sure Porter’s going to have a field day with this.

  Professor Tuckerson’s pinched visage appeared above me. His eyes, like always, reflected sheer boredom. “Those ribs of yours better be hurting something fierce,” he whispered. “Because you’re taking up one of my beds.”

  Ahh, that was classic Tuckerson bedside manner. With some effort, I managed to sit up. I felt a bit sore. But that was it. Even my ribs, which had given me so much trouble, didn’t seem all that bad. Instead of pain, I merely felt a slight itch.

  I tried to speak, but my throat was parched. When was the last time I’d taken a drink anyway? “Water,” I managed. “Need … water.”

  “Oh, you need water, do you?” he replied, mimicking my strained voice. “Well, tough break, kid. Because I—”

  Assistant Professor Kinder poked her head through the doorway. “The headmaster is right behind me,” she whispered hurriedly.

  He gave her a terse nod, then walked to the door. “Hello, Lanctin,” he said, adopting a formal disposition. “It’s good to see you. I was just checking on our patient.”

  “Where is he?”

  “Uh, right in here. In fact, I was just about to get him a drink. These kids can be such—”

  “Later, Donald.” Boltstar strode past Tuckerson and into the room. Pulling off his derby, he ran a hand through his short hair.

  “Well, feel better, Mr. Wolf.” Tuckerson checked to make sure Boltstar wasn’t looking, then gave me a fierce glare. The message was obvious. Don’t badmouth him.

  Or I’d pay the price.

  As Tuckerson shut the door, Boltstar pulled a chair over to the bed. “How are you feeling?”

  I tried to speak. But just one word came tumbling out of my dry mouth. “Wa … water,” I croaked.

  “Water, eh? I think we can do better than that.” Rising to his feet, he walked to a tall cabinet. Swiftly, he rummaged through its contents. “There must be some canfee in here.”

  My mouth would’ve watered if it weren’t bone-dry.

  “Here we are.” He
removed a small carton and a glass from the cabinet. Filling the glass, he passed it to me.

  My fingers trembled as I lifted the canfee to my lips. The taste of Afternoon Nap slipped down my throat. It was delicious and made me feel all warm and sleepy on the inside.

  He retook his seat. “Is that better?”

  I nodded between draughts. Within seconds, I’d finished the canfee. With my thirst slaked, I felt pretty good. Not great, though. My ribs continued to itch, a fact that was starting to annoy me.

  “Good.” He rested his hands on his knees, seemingly relaxed. But I could see hidden tension in his jaw. “Now, how are you feeling, Mr. Wolf?”

  I scratched my chest. “Itchy.”

  “That’s to be expected. Professor Tuckerson treated your chest with a Garrington Magic concoction.” Seeing my horrified look, he rushed to soothe my nerves. “Don’t worry. The itching is quite normal. It should go away in a few days.”

  “Yes, Sir,” I said, half-heartedly.

  Dedicated healers don’t exist these days. Oh, the necessary spells are available to anyone. But putting them together is, like making doughcream from scratch, nearly impossible for a single magician.

  Instead, healing is performed with magic potions, which are really just bundled spells prepared by assembly-line witches and wizards. They work just fine. The only problem is dealing with the intense pain that accompanies quick healing. That’s a common thing with magic. You never get something for nothing. Anyway, Garrington Magic potions deal with pain by transforming it into itching. I’m no fan of pain. But you don’t know how bad itching is until you’ve experienced a couple days of it.

  “I know this isn’t the best time, Mr. Wolf,” Boltstar went on to say. “But I need to ask you about Mr. Crucible.”

  My heart felt like it would pound right out of my chest. “Okay.”

  “Did he ever give you any indication that he was planning an attack?”

  I shook my head.

  “Did he ever mention an affiliation or interest in the Chaotics?”

  “No, Sir.”

  “Do you know where he came from? Where he lived?”

  “He told me he was an orphan,” I replied. “He said he grew up in a bunch of places.”

  “That was a lie,” Boltstar told me. “We ran some checks on his background. He fabricated everything except for a short stint at Sunflower Farms Orphanage. That’s where he experienced his breakout. Although now, of course, we’re inclined to think he staged it in order to gain entrance to our school.”

  “Wow.” I blinked, truly surprised. “I had no idea.”

  The conversation continued like that for several minutes. Boltstar would ask a question and I’d answer the best I could, making sure to conceal the truth at all times. I kept waiting for him to ask about my fight with Tad on the bridge. I had a story all ready about how he’d knocked me down, then escaped into the Floating Abyss. But the topic never came up and I soon realized the truth.

  No one had seen me up there.

  The more I thought about it, the more it made sense. The soda tsunami had thrown everyone into a state of disarray. Afterward, the faculty had fought the Chaotics. The students and staffers, meanwhile, were holed up in the library, unable to see much of anything.

  After Boltstar asked his last question, he retrieved a handsome wooden rod, adorned with handcrafted edging, from his coat. “Do you recognize this wand?” he asked.

  I nodded. “That’s Tad’s.”

  “It’s not a staffer wand.”

  “No, Sir. He told us it was a present.”

  “From whom?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  Thoughtfully, he turned the wand over in his hands.

  “How’s Professor MacPherson?” I asked. “Did he wake up yet?”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “You know about that?”

  “I was the one who found him.”

  His gaze narrowed. “You’ve had a busy twenty-four hours, Mr. Wolf.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  Something about my tone eased his manner. “Professor MacPherson is still asleep.”

  “For how long?”

  “It’s difficult to say. But I expect the curse to run its course by the end of the school year. Of course, that timeframe will shorten dramatically if we capture the spellcaster.”

  “Tad?”

  “We believe so, yes. Well, I think that’s all I need right now. Thank you, Mr. Wolf.” Donning his derby, Boltstar rose to his feet. “Oh, one last question, if you don’t mind. What happened to your ribs? Professor Tuckerson tells me you cracked two of them during the attack.”

  “I snuck out of Shadow Madkey during the feast. Tad was missing and I’d hoped to find him before he got in trouble.” I took a breath, preparing myself for the lie. “I got caught out in the open during the soda storm. When the Chaotics appeared, I tried to run. One of them zapped me with a spell. I don’t remember a whole lot after that.”

  He rubbed his jaw, deep in thought. It made me wonder if he suspected something.

  “Sir?” I hesitated. “What caused the soda storm?”

  “Apparently, Mr. Crucible took some kind of gizmo from another staffer. A rather clever invention, really, created by a young lady named Ms. Chen. Perhaps you know her?”

  I nodded. “She’s good with that sort of thing.”

  “I questioned her about an hour ago. From all appearances, she’s an innocent victim.” He started for the door, then gave me one last look. “Do you need anything, Mr. Wolf?”

  “I don’t think so.” I raked my fingers across my chest. “I just wish I wasn’t so itchy.”

  “It’ll get better. If you think of anything else, please come see me in my quarters.”

  I was suddenly very grateful to him. Very grateful and very ashamed. He’d shown me grace and courtesy. In return, I’d lied to him. But there was no going back now.

  “Thank you, Headmaster,” I replied.

  He walked outside, shutting the door behind him. I heard some quiet chatter with Tuckerson, then silence.

  A wave of warm, warbling energy passed through me, stretching all the way from my head to the tips of my toes. It felt deliciously sleepy and wonderful. I was tempted to stay in bed, to let the canfee do its work. But thoughts of Tad and the Gratlan propelled me into action.

  Sliding out of bed, I crept to the cabinet. Rows and rows of small bottles rested on its sturdy wooden shelves. Hunting around, I found one labeled, Garrington Magic, Stage Fourteen Healing Potion. That would do the trick quite nicely.

  I heard a deep exhalation, followed by faint rustling. Then Tuckerson’s voice floated through the locked door.

  “Go check on that waste-of-space staffer, will you?” he said. “See if that canfee put him to sleep.”

  “What should I do if he’s awake?” Kinder asked.

  “Hit him over the head with something.”

  I grabbed the potion along with a small carton of canfee. Then I raced to the bed.

  The door cracked open just as I slipped under the sheets. Assistant Professor Kinder stuck her head into the room. “He’s awake,” she whispered over her shoulder. “Are you sure you want me to hit him?”

  “Uh, no.” A brief pause followed. “It was a joke, Sally.”

  “Oh.”

  “I’m feeling a lot better.” I stretched my arms to the ceiling. “Can I go back to my dorm now?”

  “The sooner, the better.” Tuckerson appeared in the doorway. “But don’t you dare faint. And if you do, you’d better not tell the headmaster that I let you out early.”

  “I won’t,” I promised. “Now, can I have a little privacy?”

  Rolling his eyes, he closed the door.

  I shed my gown and donned my clothing. Then I shoved the potion and canfee into my pockets and left the room. Walking to the exit, I found Tuckerson waiting for me.

  “Shoo, shoo.” He propelled me through the swinging double doors and out into Right Arm. “Oh, by th
e way, we send surveys out to all of our patients so make sure you give us good marks. Otherwise, I’ll slip stomach bubble powder into your canfee when you least expect it.”

  I looked into his eyes, convinced he was joking. But nope, he was deadly serious.

  Stomach bubble powder is a practical joke product, unique to Casafortro. If ingested, it causes your stomach to expand while making you ravenous for food. You can’t help but stuff yourself silly, which is quite alright until your stomach begins to shrink again. I’d taken some powder on a dare once and believe me, it’s the worst.

  The double doors slammed shut and I turned toward Torso. My chest itched, but it wasn’t too bad. As I walked through the hallway, I found myself thinking about Chaotic magic. All my life, it had been described as a fool’s errand and dangerous to boot. Now, I was hoping to learn it for myself. Was I crazy?

  I sure hoped not.

  Chapter 18

  Ignoring the urge to itch my ribs, I stared at the hatch. I’d left it open, but it was closed now. Had Tad closed it? Or was one of the search parties responsible for the deed?

  I pushed the hatch open and crawled into the celestarium. Swiftly, I shut it and looked around. The room appeared empty. Everything was just as I’d left it.

  “Tad?” I whispered. “You still here?”

  There was no response. I was beginning to wonder if he’d fled the area when I caught sight of the fireplace. The hearth looked clean. But particles of dust, recently disturbed, wafted around it.

  Walking over, I reached my arm into the chimney. My fingers closed around a piece of soft fabric and I gave it a yank.

  With a quiet yelp, Tad came crashing down on the hearth. Rising to his knees, he coughed a few times. Then he rolled out onto the floor.

  His eyes brightened as he caught sight of me. “I thought you were with a search party.”

  “Has one been through here already?”

  He nodded. “Two hours ago.” Then he gave me a curious look. “You didn’t turn me in.”

  “No.”

  “Thank you. I really—”

  “Yeah, yeah. Let me see your shoulder.”

  Brow furrowed, he unbuttoned the collar of his sweat-drenched, crimson dress shirt and squirmed his shoulder out. The throbbing Gratlan had tripled in size since I’d last seen it and now took up most of his shoulder.