Strange Omens

by Jim Stein

  “Listen up and gather round.” I called everyone to the demonstration table. “Short practice tonight so we can make the concert. Claude has issued a challenge. Who accepts?”

  “What’s the game?” someone called from the back.

  “A three-part test of will, dexterity, and magical ability.” I used a corny theater voice, and the crowd perked up at that last part.

  “I’ll take him on.” Shawn pushed his way forward.

  He gave Claude a calculating look. Not only was the man older and intellectually sharp, he was the strongest in magic. But even a nerd can get too big for his britches, as they used to say. Shawn knew he was the best, and his self-importance grated on many of my students. I doubt he meant to be offensive, but more and more of the Brights steered clear as they did now to let him pick up the gauntlet.

  “Let’s see what you’ve got, surfer.”

  The nickname had gained momentum, which made me feel rotten because I’d started it the night of the cat attack. Maybe Claude actually surfed because he didn’t discourage the name. Grins and a few smirks ran around the ring of spectators as I explained the rules.

  For the first event, the men sat across the table from each other, pencil in hand. I slapped a sheet of paper in front of each.

  “A simple test of analytical reasoning and hand-eye coordination,” I said with a flourish. “Help Timmy the Turtle find his shell, and…go!”

  Groans greeted my proclamation. A maze filled each sheet. An empty shell sat in the center square with only one avenue into the box. A worried turtle strode naked into the maze at the upper left. The paths and dead-ends were wide enough to trace with the tip of a finger. Too much complexity would work against our objective. An adult should be able to complete the puzzle in under a minute.

  Shawn’s pencil shot down the initial corridor and within seconds he was halfway done. Claude studied his maze, then looked at the other man’s as if comparing. Both were identical, or else the event would be pointless. Shawn’s grin turned puzzled. He’d hit an unexpected dead end and backtracked along his graphite path.

  “What the…” Shawn stopped halfway across a long stretch and snaked backward, popping out of the maze at a side entrance.

  Claude traced a similar path, but took a U-turn at the first major intersection to head around the outside of the maze and found the path to his shell.

  “Winner!” Quinn announced. “Thirty five seconds.”

  Shawn fumbled and struggled to finish, scratching his chin as he reentered and worked through the maze. “There it is!” His paper was so dark with pencil it was easier to tell where his turtle hadn’t gone.

  “Three minutes.” Quinn wrote the times on our dry-erase board.

  “I thought we were supposed to test our magic,” Shawn complained, his sallow face bright red with embarrassment.

  “The third trial is all about that,” I assured him. “But tell you what…let’s move that one up. On to the Spirit trial.”

  The next task was simple magic, Spirit element only since that was all Claude had to work with—at least one of the games had to be fair. Quinn gave each player three feathers tipped with a pin. She explained to the crowd how steel and iron hurt many of the dark creatures and encouraged everyone to keep a few of the projectiles on hand. In the game, the pins simply helped the feathers stick in the cardboard target bearing the likeness of our friendly shell-less terrapin.

  “All right, gents. Seek out Timmy.”

  “What’s with you and turtles?” Aarav asked as he sidled over to stand with Quinn and me.

  “I just like the little guy.”

  “Enough to put holes in him,” Quinn added. “Claude doesn’t stand a chance.”

  “We’ll see.”

  The men fired off feathers. Well, Shawn shot his out in rapid succession, catching the hapless turtle with a broadside that earned shouts of appreciation from the spectators. Claude strained and coaxed one feather after the other toward the target. I felt the reedy thread of his power trying to guide them, but his best shot only traveled a foot before falling to the floor. Piper’s evolving theory was those weak in Spirit could only seek people or objects for which they cared deeply. Clearly, Claude just wasn’t in love with my turtle caricature.

  “Shawn wins.” Quinn said from the board.

  I threw them a curveball, a bonus magic challenge. I’d left my shields off for this bit.

  “Open your magical sight and watch me.” I gathered the music. “Let your eyes slip out of focus. It’s okay if they cross. Use your peripheral vision to look around me for that bit of shining aura. Not everyone will see it, but you should sense it and my presence.” I reached for that crease in space, withdrew a single sheet of Tokpela, and let the music flow. It caught the material like a sheet, sending the nothingness out to envelope me. Several people gasped. Others frowned.

  “You’re gone,” Shawn said. “Like invisible in the Sight.”

  “Exactly! This is your number one strategy, stay hidden. Your turn.”

  Shawn and Claude looked at me as though I were insane. I held back my laugh for a few seconds longer, then waved a negating hand, which took the tension out of the room. “We’ll all start practicing that one later. I just wanted everybody to see how magical tracking can be thwarted. Okay, all tied up. Let’s get to a winner. This last task is more technical.”

  “Another non-magic challenge?” Shawn scoffed. He hadn’t liked being the butt of my joke, but the computer engineer sensed victory and his frown vanished.

  I swept an arm at the audio gear arranged on the table. Two analog and one digital meter faced each chair. A slider under each controlled the output volume.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, this is a nuclear power plant control station.” Of course it wasn’t, but the analogy should help drive things home. “The A-Chords’ reactors are finicky and need constant attention.” I looked to our players. “Keep the needles and readings mid-range. Dial down any spikes, but don’t go too low or the city has no power. If one of your three reactors goes super-critical, the light below that gauge will change from green to red. Shut it down before it melts down.”

  At my nod, Quinn switched on the music. “Dark No More,” a pre-release version of the band’s newest number, flowed from the speakers. Shawn and Claude controlled the bass, treble, and volume of the left and right channels respectively. The slow opening quickly transitioned into a Latin beat that forced both men to grab for their controls. The song’s constantly shifting time signature, keys, and style made it difficult to use with any particular element. But the unedited track kept the contestants on their toes as needles slewed.

  I sensed a stirring of Spirit when Shawn dialed down the treble, consulted his meter, and frowned. He lowered it again with a shrug. The voice belting out the chorus on the left channel grew thin and flat.

  “Lights are flickering downtown,” I warned.

  Shawn scowled at me, then his eyes went round and he slapped off the treble, silencing the singing from his speaker. He nudged up his volume and bass controls. The Brights ducked away from his blaring speaker.

  “What the?” Shawn shook his head and squinted at his controls. “Oh crap!”

  He spun his dials high, driving the spectators back with hands over ears. Shawn cringed as the speaker vibrated on the edge of tearing apart, then flipped off his controls and pushed away.

  “What the hell was that?” he asked over the evenly-modulated music flowing from his opponent’s speaker.

  “Shut it down and tell them what you did.” I yielded the floor to Claude.

  “Cheated,” he said with a look at his shoes. “Small illusions.”

  He pointed to his own panel. Even with the equipment off, the needles danced and crept up into the red. The warning lights flashed yellow, then red, then impossibly bright blue.

  “The bulbs can’t even do that,” Shawn complained. “You rigged it?”

  “This was a magical challenge,” I reminded him as the needles
swung to an absent beat. “Everyone Look close; See what Claude’s doing. Use your Sight.”

  They squinted and gathered in tight, comprehension slowly dawning.

  “It’s so faint, hard to even sense. Illusion?” Shawn gave a nod of grudging respect. “Tricky bastard.”

  “We have a winner.” I lifted Claude’s hand in triumph. “What’s the lesson here?”

  “Illusion is potent.” Trinity called out.

  “We should all learn it?” someone said from the back.

  “Anyone can do it,” an Asian girl in the front whispered. Lin’s lack of power rivaled Claude’s, and the timid girl’s face lit up like Christmas. “Anyone!”

  23. The Divide

  T HE LESSONS snowballed in pursuit of doing more with less. Claude mentored the others in using Spirit for small illusions and finding the direction of things they held dear—even if their spells weren’t powerful enough to pinpoint an object’s exact location.

  Sparks were the simplest Fire creation and could of course do all kinds of harm when dropped into dry tinder or flammable substances. We practiced on a hidden loading dock down by the water to avoid getting dowsed by sprinklers. Trinity and Piper also worked out a simple sort of non-verbal communication that allowed weak Fire users to project yes or no answers.

  All in all, we were getting useful skills into the hands of our Brights. The Earth element didn’t seem to have any minor modes. I thought back to how hard I worked to initially manipulate a pile of salt crystals. That breakthrough alone cost me weeks of effort. Shawn refused to give up searching, but so few of the Brights could wield Earth I didn’t see it as much of a problem.

  Pausing the tour gave us an extra week to hone everyone’s skills, but it was time to move. Something lurked in Milwaukee. More and more, I felt searching eyes brush past. I’d taken to refreshing the hiding spell morning and night. Paranoid perhaps, but keeping the shields fresh seemed prudent. That hemmed-in feeling intensified when Billy showed up at Piper’s room.

  “More delays?” I clenched Mr. Rabbit’s ears tight while Max tugged and grunted. The toy stretched taut as his claws dug into the speckled Berber carpet.

  “Drummer’s coming in from Seattle.” Billy leaned on the door and shrugged.

  “Do we have a name for this mystical replacement?” Quinn sat with Anna, leaving my dog free to tear my arm off.

  Pina and Piper slunk off to find dinner the moment we entered my sister’s room. Watching the Bright wasn’t exactly difficult work, but weathering her mood swings took a toll. Pina’s initial excitement at finding unusual strands of power coiled around the girl had dwindled to plodding determination. She worked to unravel some sort of magical lock that prevented us from tracing the tendrils of power anywhere except back to Anna herself.

  “Charles Blink,” Billy said. “Marine Corps drum line trained at the Musician’s Institute. Impressive resume, though no work with progressive, kick-ass rock bands.”

  “Better be a fuckin’ quick study.” The venom in Quinn’s statement had Anna murmuring in her sleep, so the bass player lowered her voice. “Indiana is going to rebel if we don’t reschedule those concerts. We’ve already lost two local sponsors, and the clamshell theater is squawking about fall shutdown.”

  “What drummer worth his salt isn’t quick? Hell, they don’t need to rehearse. Remember when Randy…” Billy’s grin sank into a slack frown beneath his drooping beard.

  A lot had happened during the week, but the loss of our friend sat heavy on us all. A retort sputtered and died on Quinn’s lips. The three of us looked around the room, at the floor, anywhere except at each other. A wild jerk sent a jolt of pain through my arm and broke the awkward silence with the sound of ripping cloth.

  “Jeez, Max!” I released the bunny a second too late.

  Max hung his head, but the damage was done. Mr. Rabbit’s head and left foreleg dangled by the barest of threads. Those big doggie eyes glistened in apology as Max slunk to his bed, gingerly tucked the toy beneath him, and laid down facing the wall.

  “One of our groupies must know how to sew,” Quinn said. “I’ll ask around.”

  “They’re more than simple groupies, aren’t they?” Billy asked. “Things have gone strange. Not just Randy; there’s tension everywhere. You two spend hours on end with our super-fans, the ones like Anna that get dirty looks from the others. And she’s what? Working through a breakdown with Pina’s help? Pina who—much as I love that little girl—isn’t a girl. So small, so perfect. She plays us all, but in a good way. Ed, what’s really going on?”

  Too busy to think through the ramifications, I’d let myself imagine no one would notice. But how could they not? Especially the band, who were so close. Randy had seen the most. Maybe he talked things out with Jinx and Billy, the three trying to noodle through the oddities surrounding them. Billy deserved the truth. Pina herself laid the groundwork last year when she first met the band.

  “Do you remember the stories Pina told at my house?” I reached for my music, for my magic. “Tales of mythical creatures in an enchanted realm.”

  I flicked my hand open. Fire danced above my palm. Billy sucked in a breath and nodded acceptance. Deep down he’d realized there was magic afoot. The music slowed to the throbbing strains of Skillet’s “Monster.” I drew upon Spirit and focused on my shields, anxious to show off a new trick. I wove lyrics with intent, hiding the monster inside my body and mind. I still had not cracked the code on adding physical protection, but I reset the spell and willed myself to fade from the physical world.

  “What?” Quinn jumped to her feet and swung an arm through where I had been standing.

  Or at least that’s what she tried to do. I huffed out a breath as her arm smacked me in the stomach.

  “Hey, I’m still here!” I cancelled the spell and popped back into view.

  “I need a beer,” Billy said. “More than one.”

  “It takes some adjustment.” I rubbed at my middle and glared at Quinn.

  Footsteps pounded down the walk outside, and the door handle rattled. Billy jumped back a fraction of a second before the door slammed open. Piper cast a frantic glance around the room, and Pina appeared by her side.

  “What are you doing?” The sprite’s glare flicked between us and settled on the bed. “Oh darn.”

  Anna sat bolt upright, back arched and a grimace stretching her face. Shadowy threads whipped about the girl. Her hair and pajamas snapped and fluttered as if in an angry wind. She sat in the eye of a dark maelstrom. Max leapt to his feet, but paused just short of the whirling energy.

  “It’s agitated, but I see…” Pina stuck her arm into the swirling mass and grabbed at a flashing shadow. “Yes, an end!”

  The wispy cord shifted and slipped from her grasp. Free of the tangled whirlwind, it slithered around the room, rose like a cobra, and shot straight at me—and my shields were down! Max lunged and snapped. The shadowy cord recoiled, shot right, and speared Quinn through her chest. She blinked down, but didn’t seem to be in pain. It was simply a shadow, but the cord swelled and pulsed as if drinking from her essence.

  “Shield!” I yelled, suiting actions to words and snapping my own in place.

  She reached for Spirit. I saw the Tokpela form. It flared against the undulating cord, pressing it closed and trying to staunch the flow of whatever traveled away from Quinn. Just as the shield was about to pinch it off, the cord slid away from her, whipped through Billy, and pulled back into the mass surrounding Anna.

  “That felt weird.” Quinn gasped and plunked into a chair.

  “Pina?” I kept a wary eye on Quinn.

  Quinn sat gasping within her cocoon of nothingness. The shadows around Anna slowed and the tangle thinned until it again looked to be only two shifting cords.

  “It feeds on power,” Pina said as she studied the girl.

  I grabbed Max’s collar to keep him from interrupting the sprite’s examination as she again tugged on one of the cords.

  “It
latched to her chakra points.” Pina eyed me. “The same way your spell does. My magic stirred it up, but yours…it’s greedy for you and Quinn. The more fuel it draws, the harder it is to trace. But now I know what it’s doing and can untie the knot. Then we can see where it leads. Give me—”

  Running footsteps thumped from grass to cement outside and headed past the room.

  “Ed, we need you!” That sounded like Claude, although I’d never heard the man raise his voice, let alone yell.

  “Do what you can. I’ll be back soon.” I yanked the door open to the retreating backs of three people heading for my room. “Claude, wait up!”

  Quinn was right on my heels. We met the group halfway down the row of rooms. Lin and another woman panted alongside Claude. Claude thrust his cell phone out showing a blurry picture of figures in an alley.

  “Shawn followed them into the ruins across from the main drag.”

  “Followed who?” Quinn squinted at the screen.

  “That thug Jim and a gang of Grims. They nabbed someone right off First Ave. We saw it from the bistro. You know Shawn, all bravado and fearless. He rushed after them. Trinity followed him in and sent me for help.

  “Who’d they grab?” I asked as we all jogged toward town.

  “Not sure. It all happened so fast. There was a brief scuffle. By the time we looked, the poor guy was surrounded by four or five Grims. They hustled him out of sight. Caught a glimpse of his bright-red Hawaiian shirt.”

  We made it downtown in record time. The setting sun cloaked the alley entrance in cold shadows. The women waited at the bistro, while Claude, Quinn, and I entered. The narrow lane spilled out into a decrepit intersection. They could have headed any direction, but I suspected the Grims would continue into the heart of the ruins. A divided road led farther in. A blotch of red on the sidewalk down the leftmost street caught my eye. We headed for the pile of cloth wadded up on the cracked sidewalk.