by S. C. Stokes
Then again, a museum in Manhattan would not normally have a repository of classified CIA case files, so I was in uncharted waters. Sweat started to bead on my brow. As I looked down at the folder in my hands, a thousand questions filled my mind. What did the CIA want with the mask? Who were the Inquisition? What on earth was Section 9? And why was there a pile of their reports in my fiancée’s office?
Unfortunately, none of them could be answered with a bullet in my brain.
“You shouldn’t be in here,” the voice behind me said. “Put the folder down, and place both hands on the desk where I can see them.”
The shock of being caught faded, as the familiar voice filled the office.
No. Not her. Anyone but Lara, please.
Slowly, I set the file down on the antique desk. She had the drop on me. I might be a wizard, but a race between a bullet and my magic would end with a terminal case of lead poisoning. I’d be dead before my shield formed, and well before I had the chance to explain myself.
No, my best chance lay in complying and trying to catch her off balance.
If she saw my face, there was no going back. The future I hoped we'd share together would be shattered in an instant by my need for the stupid mask.
As I placed my gloved palms on the desk, I wondered how she would react. Almost unconsciously I started drawing on the magic around me, summoning my power. Could she feel it? What was it like for a normal to see magic up close for the first time?
Magic filled the Earth. Blame the Old Gods; it was their fault really. They poured so much power into their little experiment of existence that, left alone, the world would tear itself apart. Sure, humanity and climate change might get the job done eventually, but unspent magic was a wellspring of cataclysm that would welcome Armageddon with eager enthusiasm. An over-abundance of magic was the Usain Bolt to climate change’s Sunday dawdle.
The arcane, it was literally all around them and yet, the normals had lived in blissful ignorance of it. The wizarding world, and the role we played in their continued survival, was a truth they were unprepared for. Without us siphoning off the superfluous supply of energy coursing through our world, our little planet would literally tear itself apart.
Yet in spite of the necessity of our existence, we were the outcasts, misunderstood and under-appreciated by the world at large. Normal people were quick to focus on the power we possessed rather than the purpose we served. But, as my father once said, “You’re a wizard, boy. There isn’t anyone, normal or supernatural, who’s going to feel sorry for you. So put a lid on your pity party and learn what it means to be a part of this world.”
Frank Caldwell. He was a real beacon of emotional support. One of many reasons we hadn’t spoken since Rome.
I was confident that robbing museums wasn’t what he had hoped for me, but it would hardly be the first time we’d had a difference of opinion. After all, he very much seemed to have resigned himself to our curse, and the fate it had in store for us.
I felt differently. If the curse wanted me, it was going to have to take me kicking and screaming to my grave. Unfortunately, unless I could locate the mask, that was exactly what fate had in store: a torturous descent into madness and death. Though when I weighed it up against today’s mild sprint into self-sabotage, and the possibility of being shot to death by my fiancée, it was starting to look more desirable.
If Lara could sense the streams of supernatural energy coalescing in the office, she gave no sign of it.
Slowly, I let out the breath I'd been holding, hoping it would calm my racing heart.
It didn’t. My chest grew tighter, as I feared how she would react.
“What’s with the hat?” Lara called, her footsteps muffled by the carpet tiles as she approached. “And who still wears a fedora anyway?”
First Neil, now Lara. What was with all the hat hatred? Had I missed some memo where the sartorial world declared war on the style icon that is a good fedora?
Heresy.
“Turn around. Slowly.” Her voice didn’t waver.
I didn’t want to. I searched desperately for another option, but my brain wasn’t cooperating. The gun pointed at my back wasn’t helping the matter.
“Now!” She instructed.
I turned slowly, and lifted my head, my eyes locking onto Lara’s. Normally she was the calm to my storm, but not today. Her emerald eyes flared as her jaw drooped. It was as if anger and surprise were fighting each other for control of her face.
“Hi hun, care for an early lunch?” I smiled, hoping to put her at ease. It was the kind of boundless optimism that had got mankind to the moon.
“Seth. What are you doing here?” Lara's eyes raced from my gloved hands to the files open on the desk, weighing my words and my unexpected appearance in her office. She was having none of it.
So much for optimism.
“Desmontar,” I said, focusing my mind on the Colt 1911 in her hands.
The spell gripped the pistol. The slide jerked back, ejecting the round from the chamber as the magazine released, dropping to the floor. Lara wrestled with the pistol as it disassembled itself, but soon she was gripping nothing but the handle as the rest of the steel sidearm fell in pieces to the floor.
In the six months we’d been together, I'd imagined a thousand ways I might tell the woman I loved that I was a wizard. I’d considered romantically floating a piece of fruit toward her on one of our dates, and discarded it immediately when I remembered where I had first seen it. Relying on Anakin Skywalker’s playbook was unlikely to yield the results I was hoping for. Other ideas had felt equally ham fisted. When it came to suave moves, I was rocking two left feet and ill-fitting shoes.
Fortunately, a mutual love of history had helped a bibliophile and a socially awkward thief find each other. Unfortunately, I had never found the courage to share my secret. Magic scared people, and I couldn’t deal with being rejected for it. I’d been a coward.
Clearly Lara was fascinated by the arcane. She was making a career studying it, after all. In hindsight, I was afraid that she would look at me like she was now, wide-eyed and fearful. I’d planned to propose using my magic, but the timing had never been right. I’d chickened out and gone with the ring in the dessert option.
How do you tell someone that you're one of the supernatural freak shows they've taken to studying? I had no desire to be demoted from lover to lab rat. Would she ever look at me the same? I'd had no way of knowing. No way to be sure she would accept me, and in the face of uncertainty I'd said nothing.
I had never given her the chance, and one thing was abundantly clear now. Of the thousand ways I might have told her, I had clearly just chosen the worst.
Lara's face finally settled on an emotion. Rage. A red pallor was rising in her cheeks. Her brow furrowed and the veins in her neck bulged until they were fit to burst. On any other day I might have found her fluster a little endearing.
“You're a...”
“Wizard,” I finished. “Yes, dear. I wanted to tell you sooner, but I could never find the right time.”
Lara studied the remnants of her pistol, shaking her head in disbelief. “And you thought that breaking into my office was the best you were going to get?”
She had me there. I’d had months to find a way to tell her, but I’d never found the courage. I had always told myself I was making preparations to share my secret but I never quite got there. I’d been afraid.
I gestured at the gun. “No, but I was a little concerned you were going to shoot me.”
“I might yet.” She took a step forward. “There’s still time, and you haven’t told me what you are doing here, in my office.”
“Well,” I started as a thousand thoughts collided in a confusing word salad that simply refused to leave my mouth.
Lara said, “I thought as much. With the carnage downstairs, it's becoming pretty obvious. You had me fooled but it’s all coming together now. The grand opening, the last six months, all the things we have in comm
on. You were playing me. I should have known better.”
I raised my hands. “Lara, it's not like that.”
“Not like what?” she asked, hurling the hand grip of the pistol at me. The piece of steel sailed over my shoulder and buried itself in the plasterboard. “Not like you staked out the museum, inserted yourself into my life and led me on for months, all so you could what? Steal the mask? Are you going to tell me that this isn't all you? The mess downstairs, my stolen passkey? You’re here in my office.”
“Lara,” I began, the words I wanted hovering elusively beyond my grasp.
Her eyes glistened. “Was it all a lie? You proposed to me, you ass! We’ve sent out the invitations. Do you even care? What did you think would happen to me after you took my passkey? I’ll be fired, or worse.”
The accusation was like a dagger in my heart. I loved her. How could she even think that I didn’t care? She might have been right about the heist, but not why I’d done it, or how I felt about her.
Besides it wasn’t like I was the only one harboring a secret.
“You’re one to talk. What’s all this, then?” I pointed to the files on her desk. “Section 9? The CIA? You want to talk about truth, let’s start here.”
“Don’t you dare,” Lara bellowed as she started toward me, her cheeks flush with indignation.
“I wasn’t trying to hurt you. I just needed to borrow the mask. That’s why I had someone else take your pass. I didn’t want it to blow back on you.”
Open mouth, insert foot.
Lara shook her head. “Had someone else steal it? Well, aren't you a gentleman. Husband of the year, right here.”
Neil’s voice invaded my ear. “Oh you’re right. This is a much better plan.”
“Shut up,” I whispered, mostly at Neil, but a little for myself.
Unfortunately, Lara thought it was meant for her.
“No, I will not. Robbing your fiancée, and you wanted to make sure it didn't affect her career prospects? How generous. I've got news for you, Seth.”
She struck me in the chest, hard. The air burst from my lungs and I staggered backward into the desk, gasping for air.
She was right. I deserved that.
“It doesn’t matter how the priceless relic disappears. I’m still going to be held responsible for it.”
She raised both fists as she pivoted slightly, narrowing her profile and adopting a fighting stance that a boxer would have been proud of. Who was this woman? And what had she done with my scholarly fiancée?
Lara’s fists came flying. Ducking under the first, I brought up my guard, deflecting the next blow away from my face. Springing forward, I grabbed her wrists. If I could hold her still, I might just get the chance to explain myself.
I was wrong.
Lara drove her boot into my shin. The yelp that escaped my lips was as painful to my pride as the throbbing sensation in my right shin. Tearing out of my grip, Lara reached for the desk. Stepping back, she raised a letter opener, brandishing it like a knife. The letter opener might have lacked a keen edge but as an improvised shiv it was just as deadly.
“Lara, that’s enough.”
“We’ll see about that.” She charged forward, plunging the blade at my chest.
As it descended, I grabbed for the blade, but her momentum knocked me back onto the desk. I yanked her forward with me, pulling her off balance. The letter opener was buried in the teak desk, narrowly missing my left ear. Lifting my knee, I carried Lara over the desk, and deposited her clumsily into her office chair.
Both Lara and the chair went crashing to the ground. I winced. Even with Lara on the warpath, I didn’t want to hurt her. Rolling off the desk, I spun to find Lara rising from the floor, her hair a disheveled mess as she attempted to disentangle herself from the chair.
Hurt her? I’d be lucky if she didn’t dismember me with whatever stationery she could lay her hands on. If I was being honest, I couldn’t blame her. My heart was pounding. I could feel its beat as it threatened to burst from my chest.
I sucked in a deep breath and Lara raised her fists.
“I’m sorry, Lara,” I said between breaths. As she closed once more, I whispered a spell. “Paralizar.”
Energy leapt from my outstretched palm.
Lara stepped forward but the magic rolled over her like a wave. Her eyes flickered from murderous to confused as every muscle in her body rebelled against her. The paralysis spell brought her to a grinding halt. It was as if she had been playing a game of musical statues and the song had stopped, her body freezing in place. Her momentum caused her now paralyzed form to plunge forward, threatening to face plant into the office floor.
Racing forward, I caught her, and righting her chair, I lowered her into it. Muffled groans escaped her lips as she fought the spell for control of her body.
“I’m sorry, Lara. I don’t want to hurt you. I just need the mask.”
Reaching down, I pulled the letter opener out of the desk. It was hard to believe only moments ago, Lara had been intent on burying it in my chest. I stepped toward her. Lara's face might have been paralyzed but her eyes bulged as they followed the blade’s progress. A bead of sweat ran down her brow, and she trembled.
Standing over my fiancée, holding the weapon she'd been intent on sticking in me, I realized what she was thinking. Held prisoner by magic, she feared for her life, from a man she could not recognize.
The realization broke my heart.
It was light years from the truth, but the problem with being caught, rather than coming clean as I had hoped, meant she would never trust me. How could she? In her eyes, it would all be one terrible betrayal of her trust.
“You don’t need this,” I muttered, setting the letter opener back on the desk. “You may not believe me, Lara, but I'm not going to hurt you. I could never hurt you. Hell, I didn't even want you to be here for this. You were meant to be at lunch, so I could borrow the mask without destroying our whole life. I know you're angry, now. You have every right to be but trust me when I say that this was the only way.”
Lara trembled as she fought to get free of the spell. Her inner strength and will were a force to be reckoned with.
“I’m going to relax the spell so that you can speak. Please, give me a chance.”
I looked in her eyes, those smoldering emerald eyes. They spoke with an intensity and passion that said no promises.
“Libertar,” I muttered, focusing on the portion of the spell affecting her head, ensuring it would dissipate, while the rest endured.
I was hopeful, but not an idiot.
The use of magic is a beautiful blend of artistry and law. The supernatural world may have functioned in a way most normals didn’t understand, but it was governed by its own laws. Cosmic, unyielding law.
A wizard’s bloodline granted the ability to command the supernatural, but the art of magic, the power to mold and manifest one’s will using that power, was an expression of the individual wizard. Power might be summoned by the voice—words after all have power—but the shape of one’s magic, that was fashioned in the mind. The mental image that was framed gave life and form to each spell.
Lara gasped as the spell released its hold on her.
“Where is the mask?” I asked.
“I can’t tell you,” she said. “What do you need it for anyway?”
“Sorry, Lara, but if you want answers, start with a few of your own. Like why your office is full of classified files.”
Looking around the office, I hunted for a safe or other hiding place for the mask. Settling on the filing cabinets along the wall, I pulled open the first drawer. A row of cream files lined the tray from front to back.
“I asked first,” Lara replied, as I shut the drawer and opened a second one. Like the first it was full of paperwork. I didn’t have time to go through them one by one. Closing the drawer, I opened the last drawer. More reports. Sliding it shut I turned to Lara.
“You might have, and you probably even deserve th
em, but time is of the essence and I need the mask. So if you want answers, get talking.”
“What assurances do I have that you will tell me the truth?” Lara asked.
“You know me better than that, Lara. I don’t lie. I never have.” I made my way over to the worktables. “I might not have told you everything, but what I have told you is true.”
Ignoring the textbooks, I opened the cupboards beneath them and rummaged through their contents. Hastily stacked textbooks and reams of paperwork had been piled into them. It looked like Lara had printed every article on the supernatural she could get her hands on.
“If you won’t tell me about the mask, tell me about Section 9. Who are they?”
“That’s classified,” Lara replied.
“You’re going to have to do better than that, dear.” I lifted some newspaper clippings out of the cupboard. Articles from the Times detailing the narrowly thwarted attack on New York City. “The answers you are hunting for, Lara, I can help you. The only problem is, I don’t know if I should. I thought I knew what drives you. But now I’m not so sure. Who is Section 9? And what do you do for them?”
Lara bit her lower lip. She was curious. I just needed to set the hook.
“Just how many wizards have been willing to talk to you about our world? Any interviews yet?”
She shook her head. “None. After the attack, they’re not willing to expose themselves. I’ve found a few lingering on the dark web, but none that are willing to share anything meaningful about the supernatural.”
I nodded as I approached the next set of cupboards. “That’s the thing about being persecuted. Makes people very reluctant to come out of hiding.”
“Is that why you never told me?” Lara asked. “Fear?”
“Perhaps,” I replied, opening the cabinet. “Not of you, but fear of what it might mean for us. I’ve been hurt before.”
