Destroying Magic

by David Meyer

  I spun around, my wand aimed at a stunned Galison. “What’s it going to be?”

  He hesitated, his eyes reflecting pure disbelief. Then he placed his wand on the floor and backed away.

  Tad picked up Galison’s wand. Then he approached Boltstar. Confirming the man was unconscious, Tad grabbed his wand as well. “So, you finally figured it out?” he asked.

  I nodded.

  “How?”

  “I forgot everything I learned.” I grinned. “And just followed my instincts.”

  Chapter 61

  “I, Randy Wolf, was a magic school dropout.” I paused, my gaze passing over thousands of faces. For the first time in known memory, every single seat within Madkey Arena was filled. “And that surprised the heck out of me. You see, I spent my entire life dreaming of this place. Of being a student here, of earning a diploma. And then it all just fell apart. My dreams died. Or so I thought.”

  The audience stayed quiet, hanging on to my every word.

  “Today, I’m pleased to say that my dreams are coming true. Not the dreams I expected, mind you. My real dreams, my true dreams.” I grinned. “That’s the way it is with dreams. You don’t always get what you want. Sometimes, if you’re lucky, you get what you actually need.”

  Thunderous applause ripped through the audience. My cheeks burned with pleasure and more than a bit of embarrassment. I’d gone from disgraced dropout to full-blown celebrity in record time. In a lot of ways, it was pretty awesome. But it also felt really weird.

  I studied the audience. From my elevated platform above the old HMQ, I had a pretty good view of everyone. But it was so packed that I found it hard to focus on any one person in particular.

  I took a second to hone in on a few faces. Porter Garrington sat in the very top row. Sya, Felicia, and Gordon were with him, along with some other freshmen. They looked bored and annoyed. Much had changed at Madkey over the last two weeks. But Porter’s hatred of me, as well as his immense popularity, were still the same.

  I looked at other people. Calvin. Jenny. Nico. Jax. Ivan Gully, back from Gutlore. Some of the Chaotic magicians, fresh out of drodiation. Plus, thousands of alumni I’d never met, hooting and hollering at the top of their lungs.

  My gaze shifted to the front row. Tad stared hard at a memory mirror, probably reliving some newly-released moment from his people’s history. Leandra, in turn, stared hard at him. She had a devilish look about her and I knew she was already plotting her next prank. Piper, meanwhile, shot me a thumbs-up along with the brightest smile I’d ever seen.

  I turned in a slow circle. I probably looked like some stuck-up jerk, basking in the glow of an adoring crowd. But really, I was just looking for two people. And after an excruciatingly long time, I finally saw them. My parents stood in the lower half of the bleachers, well off to my left side. They clapped loudly and with great enthusiasm.

  Our relationship had improved tenfold since Boltstar’s fall from power. Don’t get me wrong. It still had its fair share of problems. But the restoring of Womigia, along with my role in it, had caused them to lay off of me as of late.

  I shot them a slight nod, then took in the rest of the crowd. “Thank you,” I said.

  I let Professor Whitlock take my place, then descended to the field. Tad, looking highly uncomfortable in a sport coat and tie, left the bleachers to come meet me.

  “Well?” he asked, pumping my hand. “How’s it feel to be famous?”

  “I should be asking you that question.”

  After I’d defeated Boltstar, Tad had reconnected with his own magic. Swiftly, he’d cast the Hibernuction Curse upon the headmaster. We’d carried him back to Torso and explained everything to a waiting crowd of confused witches and wizards. Within hours, bubblers flew in all directions and we were household names.

  That wasn’t all that had changed. Boltstar, still fast asleep, was now at Gutlore awaiting trial, along with Galison, Norch, Wadflow, and MacPherson. The Chaotics, the ones who’d survived the battle, had been allotted space at Madkey. They were standing a little straighter these days. A little taller, too.

  With Boltstar gone, a power vacuum had appeared at Madkey. As of this moment, nobody had stepped forward to fill it. There were rumors, though. Piper said that Whitlock was thinking about throwing her hat into the ring. The Chaotics were pushing for one of their own to take the slot. I wasn’t really sure how it would all shake out. But the next headmaster would have a lot to do. For one thing, he or she would need to figure out a new curriculum, something to satisfy Structuralists as well as Chaotics. What would that look like? Would school continue to consist of a rigorous course schedule, bells, reading assignments, homework, tests, and grades? Or would it become something else?

  For another thing, the new headmaster would need to make some decisions regarding Boris Hynor and his allies. After skinning Boltstar of magic, Whitlock had reversed all of the headmaster’s Drodiation Curses. She’d started with the most recent victims, including Piper. Then she’d moved to Madkey Archive, freeing Boris as well as the other old Chaotics from their horrible fate.

  Acting quickly, Tad had cast sleeping curses upon the old Chaotics and we’d moved them to the clinic. But they couldn’t stay there forever. Sooner or later, we would have to wake them. But that carried an element of risk to it. After all, they’d spent decades as human statues, a fate which had undoubtedly taken a toll on their sanity. Could they be trusted to run free anytime soon? What kind of precautions would need to be taken?

  I glanced up at the stands again. My gaze drifted to where I’d seen Piper and Leandra. Their seats were now empty and I had a pretty good idea where they’d gone.

  As Whitlock began to speak, Tad and I snuck away. Entering Torso, we took a hoist up to Left Arm. Along, the way, I considered my future. For the moment, I was still working my assembly-line job. However, there was talk of me joining the faculty once things settled down. I found that a little hard to swallow. Sure, I could probably help a few Structuralists learn the ins and outs of Chaotics. But a full-blown professor? I was just a kid, for cripes sake.

  We walked into Shadow Madkey, then made our way to the celestarium. It looked great, thanks to a whole bunch of my Immaculatize spells. The bronze and silver contraptions, now free of dust, gleamed softly. The fine tables and chairs looked like new and the carpet had undergone a thorough cleaning. The busts and statues had been polished and repaired.

  “Nice speech, Randy.” Leandra, situated in front of the enchanted fireplace, spun around to face us. “It was just what I needed.”

  I twirled my wand absent-mindedly. “Yeah?”

  She nodded. “I haven’t slept that good in years.”

  I tossed my wand at her. She dodged it and it clattered against the glass wall.

  “You did fine.” Piper stopped scribbling in her notebook just long enough to shoot me an encouraging look. “No, you did great.”

  I smiled at her. “Thanks.”

  I retrieved my wand. The sun shone brightly in the sky, filling the celestarium with incredible light. Twisting my head to either side, I saw mountains, icy blue lakes, and snow-covered valleys.

  All this time, I’d thought there was something wrong with me, that I was a failure. But the real problem was that I’d never followed my instincts. I’d been so busy trying to be another Xavier Capsudra that I’d forgotten to be myself.

  Piper placed her notebook on the floor. Shoving her pencil behind her ear, she joined me at the window. “I talked to my parents this morning,” she said.

  I caught an edgy tone to her voice. “Yeah?”

  “They told me to be careful. They said Chaotics is a real threat to the Big Three. Not just to the owners, but to the workers, too.”

  I frowned. “How so?”

  “I bet I know,” Tad said. “Structuralism limited the types of spells that could be done, which meant there was a need for binding spells and thus, assembly-line magicians. But now, the spell book has been thrown wide open, so to speak
.”

  “Right.” Piper nodded. “There’ve got to be people out there who have a natural gift for making, say, furniture. They’ll be able to do it in a single spell. The Big Three can’t compete with that. They’ll go out of business. Assembly-line magicians will lose their jobs.”

  “But they can tap into their Chaotic magic,” I argued. “They can learn new trades.”

  “Maybe. But it’ll take time. And some witches and wizards might never make the change.” Leandra sighed. “Things are going to get worse before they get better.”

  “But they will get better,” Piper added quickly. “It’s just going to take time.”

  I continued to stare outside. Meanwhile, Piper returned to her reading. Tad picked up his memory mirror again. As for Leandra, she stared at the ceiling in deep concentration, perhaps mulling over her next invention.

  As I watched the outside world, I found myself thinking about the future, about how rapidly things were changing. If truth be told, it scared me. A lot. But my heart still sung and my chest was filled with nervous excitement. For the first time in my life, I wasn’t following the path laid out for me. Rather, I was following my own path.

  And that felt pretty darn terrific.

  Author’s Note

  Even now, I remember the day I stopped laughing at Grandpa’s jokes.

  My grandfather was a real trickster with a deep love of puns and wordplay. He could always get a laugh out of me, even when telling the same joke for the billionth time. But during my early twenties, something changed.

  His gentle jokes began to fall on deaf ears. My laughter dried up, then turned fake. I had to force myself not to roll my eyes in front of him. At the time, I figured it was just a sign of growing up. Now, I know differently.

  It wasn’t just my sense of humor that changed, by the way. Around that same time, I developed brain fog, which manifested itself as a weird, floaty feeling in my head. I found it harder to think, to concentrate. Doctors were stumped. X-rays and MRIs found nothing unusual. I tried balance training and other forms of therapy, but nothing corrected the problem.

  Slowly, but surely, my emotions began to dull. I stopped crying. My smiles thinned, then turned fake. Little annoyances became big ones. I turned into a crank, an introvert, and a homebody. Not because I liked staying at home all that much, but because of inertia. I felt fatigued and old. My “get up and go” faded away and I started having trouble getting out of bed each morning.

  Happy moments were few and far between. Soon, I lost interest in entertainment. I stopped reading. I only half-watched television shows and movies. I became listless and mechanical in everything I did. My constant negativity and general emptiness made me wonder if I suffered from depression. Later, I concluded that I probably was depressed, albeit at what I considered to be a sustainable level.

  And yet, life went on. I got an MBA and a CFA charter. Moving to New York City, I worked as an equity research analyst. It left me miserable and unfulfilled. So, I took a risk. Quitting my job, I tried my hand as a storyteller. Years ago, it would’ve been my dream profession. But to my surprise, I found it a real struggle. Negativity and crippling self-doubt plagued me at every turn. Still, all storytellers face those things, so I thought little of it.

  But writing became increasingly difficult with time. Worse, my well of creativity, which had been shallow for years, all but dried up. I experienced no real joy in telling stories and had to depend on a strict schedule to get anything accomplished.

  Physically, it became increasingly difficult to move. My head ached constantly. I developed bone pain and began to experience lingering injuries. Knee problems cut into my running time. Shoulder and wrist injuries made it nearly impossible to lift my son.

  Now, this didn’t happen all at once. Rather, my decline took place rather slowly over the course of some fifteen years. Even so, I still noticed it. More than once, I wondered if I was going crazy. Now, I know the answer to that question.

  In 2011, I was diagnosed with a disease known as hyperparathyroidism. Parathyroid glands regulate the calcium in your blood and bones. When one turns tumorous, it begins making excess PTH hormones. Those hormones circulate in the body, leaching calcium from your bones. The excess calcium then circulates in your bloodstream. Given enough time, this can cause a gigantic and weird list of symptoms known as, “moans, groans, stones, and bones, with psychic overtones.”

  Since I was young, male, and appeared asymptomatic on the surface, a surgeon suggested I wait to have the tumor removed. This is rather common, and unfortunately, outdated advice. In any event, I put off the surgery for five years. In mid-2017, the surgeon suggested I wait another five years. But by that time, the true cost of the disease was becoming impossible to ignore.

  Mid-2017, of course, was also when I started work on this novel. DESTROYING MAGIC began as an experimental journey into the creative process, which I’d planned to follow via a public journal on my website. Here’s how I described it in my very first entry, dated May 16, 2017:

  “Right now, I’ve got nothing. No ideas, no characters, no settings. I’m going to start from scratch with nothing more than a fake title. So, this series will depict my entire creative process from beginning to end, laughs and tears alike. You’ll see how I create and develop characters and settings. You’ll watch as I work without an outline, driving the story forward and backward, dreaming up new ideas and dropping old ones.”

  The journal, I thought, would make an interesting accompaniment to the book. But it soon fell by the wayside. I made it just twenty-four days before quietly calling it quits, as depression and a general lack of interest in pretty much everything stopped me cold.

  Fortunately, I didn’t stop writing altogether. As the months unfolded, I continued to build this book, word by word, line by line, and scene by scene. And all the while, I slowly awakened to the true, destructive nature of my tumor.

  I began to research it in depth, reading everything I could find on the condition. And as I worked my way to this book’s conclusion, I finally scheduled a surgery with the Norman Parathyroid Center, the world’s leading parathyroid surgery center. A short while later, I went public with my disease, first to family and close friends, and then more generally, via Facebook. Here’s that particular post, dated December 1, 2017:

  “I don't know how else to say this, so I'm just going to say it. I have a disease. It's called hyperparathyroidism. Essentially, a tumor in one of my parathyroid glands is leaching calcium from my bones and into my bloodstream. This has caused me lots of problems, some physical and some mental. Worst of all, it's robbed me of my joy, my energy, and even my personality. I have very little enthusiasm for anything, including writing or creating art (which is part of the reason why it takes me so long to finish books). In general, I feel very old and listless at all times.

  “Hyperparathyroidism is one of those diseases that takes 25 years to kill you and I’ve had it for at least 8 years now (I suspect I've had it closer to 15 years). Fortunately, there is an excellent, low-risk surgical cure. In a few short weeks, I’ll be flying to Florida to get the tumor removed at a parathyroid surgery center. Hopefully, this will get my body and my life back on track.

  “I'll have more to say about this later. But for now, I'd just like to note that I was first diagnosed with hyperparathyroidism six years ago. Since I was young, male, and appeared asymptomatic, I was advised to delay surgery. Unfortunately, that advice turned out to be outdated. Hyperparathyroidism is quite rare and thus, not well understood, even by endocrinological experts. Plus, I was never asymptomatic. Even then, the symptoms were creeping up on me slowly, day by day. I didn't realize how much I'd changed until it became impossible to ignore. So, please pay attention to your body, do your own research, and don't always take medical advice at face value.

  “Thanks for reading. Much love to all of you.”

  A few weeks later, on December 22, I went under the knife, so to speak. Here’s how my wife recorded it, also via F
acebook, at the time:

  “David did great!!!! David’s tumor was hiding buried INSIDE his thyroid gland. They opened it up carefully, took out the tumor, then closed up his thyroid. His main surgeon said most other places would have taken over an hour just to think of looking inside the thyroid and may have even removed his thyroid, causing more issues for him down the line. We are so happy with our experience here - his whole team included me and Ryden as much as possible and we knew David was in the best hands in the world. Here is a life size pic of his tumor - because it was constricted inside the thyroid, its overall growth was constrained. But the amount of hormone output indicates David has had this for 10+ years. Notice that the tumor was making 765 units of hormone versus the normal level of 30 to 80!! The black dot below on the green label is the size that a normal gland should be. Thankfully his other three glands are perfect not just in size but in hormone levels! We’re all together again resting, thanks for all your kind words, concern, prayers and love! We can’t stress this enough - go to the best expert you can!!”

  So, now, the tumor is gone. And you know what? I feel pretty darn good. Within hours of the surgery, my negativity vanished. I experienced my first real smile in years the very next day. I say “years” because I can’t remember the last time I didn’t have to fake it. My bones feel better. My headaches are gone. I’ve got tons of energy. I’m not kidding when I say it’s like I’m back in my 20’s again.

  I’d all but given up on emotions. Now, I’m feeling stuff again. The brain fog is at least diminished, if not gone for good. For the first time in forever, I want to be around people. I want to do things, to live life. To show the world what I’ve got and in turn, to let it show me what it’s got.

  That brings me back to DESTROYING MAGIC. This story is curious for me in retrospect, seeing as how it was crafted both before and after the surgery. I’d rather not try to tell you what it’s about on a deep level because, well, I don’t really know what it’s about. I’m still trying to figure that out. But as I read through it today, months removed from the surgery, I find myself surprised by the many odd parallels to my personal journey. Life is art and art is life, I suppose.