Magic Ain't a Game

by P. D. Workman

  The defender held his arm away from his body and out to the side slightly, as if he were holding a discus. He crouched slightly and rotated back and forth, wary, watching for the attack. The attacker drew back his arm, then ran forward, and with an overhead motion that did look remarkably like a javelin throw, he hurled a bolt of lightning at the defender. The defender whirled and blocked it, so that it bounced away harmlessly. A murmur of approval was raised by the audience.

  “How do they do that?” Reg asked, sitting right at the edge of her seat. She stared at the screen for a couple of replays of the action, then looked down at the field. The two contestants had not stopped, but still moved slowly, in and out and side to side as the attacker looked for weaknesses in the defense. He threw another lightning bolt, and it was again met with the defender’s shield spell.

  “It is an energy spell,” Sarah explained. “It is very dramatic, isn’t it?”

  “Could it really hurt him? Or is it just for show? It’s just a sport, right?”

  “People can get injured in many sports,” Sarah pointed out. “Have you ever watched a football or hockey game? Or boxing?”

  “Well... yes. But that’s not the same as attacking someone with a lightning bolt. It looks like it could be...”

  “There have been fatalities,” Sarah admitted. “The witches and warlocks who do this train very hard and are very good at what they do. But there have been accidents in past competitions.”

  Reg gasped and jumped when the attacker hurled another lightning bolt. It was a close call; she could see it catch the edge of the warlock’s cloak just before he managed to use his small shield to bat it away. He rubbed his arm briefly and returned to his defense stance.

  “How long does it go? Is it timed? When does it end?”

  “They don’t usually last very long. If the attacker fails on three attacks, or the defender is hit three times, the match is over.”

  “Was that a hit?”

  Sarah nodded. “Yes. So it is two successful defenses to one successful attack.”

  “Then what? Then they switch?”

  “They will be matched up to someone else in the opposite position for their next conflict. They will not play each other again unless they are the final two successful contestants.”

  “Has that ever happened?”

  “A couple of times.”

  There was a flash of light so bright that it made Reg close her eyes. A shout went up from the audience. She managed to pry her eyes open to watch the replay on the big screen. The attacker had sent a brilliant lightning bolt that looked fast even on the slow-motion replay. But somehow, the defender had still managed to whirl around in time to combat it. Three failed attacks. The match was over.

  “A very powerful attack,” Sarah said, shaking her head. “It’s quite the achievement to have been able to defend it successfully.”

  Reg looked at the screen as the defender’s name was announced and displayed on the screen. The name was a scramble of letters, triangles, and other symbols. She blinked, hoping that her brain would be able to turn the symbols into letters she could read, but they did not shift.

  “Is that all of the Pentathlon sports?”

  “One more. Wrestling.”

  “Wrestling?” Reg thought first of the dramatic fights and colorful costumes of professional wrestling she’d seen on TV. It wouldn’t be like that, she was sure. Maybe like Sumo wrestling? She thought that was closer to what the ancient Greeks had done, except the Greeks had not been so fat.

  “You will see.”

  The announcer recited the formal rules in rapid sing-song like an auctioneer, too fast for Reg to process. He repeated them again in a second language, then called the names of the first two contestants.

  Two witches this time. They were both lean and athletic looking. When the cameras zoomed in to their faces, Reg could see that they were older. Not twenty- or thirty-year-olds, but closer to Sarah’s age. Or apparent age, since who knew how old she really was? Their faces showed lines of experience. Not soft-cheeked like Sarah, but hardened, embattled faces.

  But wrestlers? They did not look as though they had the power to wrestle. Especially if the other contestants were not all the same age.

  The two women approached each other. They reached out their hands and pressed each palm against their opponent’s palm. Reg thought it was some sort of greeting, but they did not lower their hands again. They stood facing each other, eye to eye, nose to nose, hand to hand. Reg waited for the action to begin.

  At first, it wasn’t obvious what was happening. The audience was silent, staring at the screens. Reg thought that everyone was waiting, as she was. She turned to Sarah to ask her what the holdup was, why they didn’t begin, but Sarah shook her head and shushed her. Reg returned her eyes to the screen.

  The witch’s faces were tense, their eyes unwavering. Reg thought about the staring contests she’d had with foster siblings or school friends, and stifled a giggle. They were not having an Olympic staring contest. Reg would have been awesome at that. She could always make her friends blink first.

  Instead of watching the screens, she closed her eyes and extended out her other senses. Then she could feel the struggle between the two witches. It was not a staring contest, but a battle of wills, some kind of psychic wrestle. She kept her eyes closed, able to sense more that way than through the camera lens.

  Waves of electricity seemed to flow from the center of the stadium outward. Reg’s heart thumped harder each time one went over her. The battle was becoming more intense. Reg felt hot. A constriction in her chest.

  “Reg, watch,” Sarah whispered.

  Reg was irritated by the interruption. She shook her head, but Sarah poked her and Reg opened her eyes.

  The two witches were hovering several feet in the air, light emanating from the point at which their hands touched. Their “wrestling” had grown powerful enough that Reg had no trouble sensing it with her eyes open.

  There was a loud report like a gunshot and one of the witches slumped over. Their hands separated and the defeated witch fell to the ground in a heap. Reg leaned forward in her seat, her heart pounding wildly.

  “Is she okay? What happened?”

  “She lost,” Sarah offered. She was sitting back, looking relaxed, and had a big smile on her face. “I knew Wanda would win that match. I knew it!”

  “You know her?”

  Of course Sarah knew her. After how long Sarah had lived on the earth, she probably knew all the foremost witches and warlocks. Wanda, the victor, raised one fist above her head in triumph as she slowly drifted back to the ground. The witch who had fallen lay still for a few more moments, then rolled over and pounded her fist into the turf, lamenting her loss. Reg was relieved to see Wanda reach down and help the other witch to her feet.

  “She’s okay?”

  “Yes, she’ll be fine.”

  “What about...” Reg tried to put her concerns into words. “Umm... her mind. What if there is... damage?”

  “Witches don’t get to this level without a lot of practice and training. They learn how to protect their minds, like putting on one of those padded suits for self-defense training.”

  “But what if something happens? An accident, like you said with the defend and attack?”

  “We are far more concerned with the protection of our minds than of our bodies. It’s always possible... you can’t eliminate all the risks. But it has been a very long time since there has been a wrestling injury in the Magical Games.”

  Reg nodded. The two witches walked off the field to tremendous cheers and applause. Reg watched the other groups of athletes on the field to see what would happen next.

  “What else is there?”

  “Oh, there are a number of events that have been added since the Games first began. Shot put. Weightlifting. Wand attack. They’ll do a few more things tonight, and then really get into it tomorrow.”

  Reg watched a group of witches in matching uniforms ma
ke their way down one side of the field, waving at members of the audience. They were each carrying a broom. Reg’s eyes widened and her mouth fell open. She looked at Sarah.

  “Are they going to... fly?”

  Sarah followed Reg’s eyes and laughed. “No, no, Reg. That’s the curling team.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Reg would not have believed any of what she saw if it had been on TV or in some other venue. But she could see the sparkling auras of the performers and could feel the power as they demonstrated their gifts.

  She could barely sit still. The combination of the hard, uncomfortable chairs and the incredible restlessness and anxiety that she had felt earlier in the day made it almost impossible to stay in her seat. She was sure everyone around her must be wondering why she was squirming like a six-year-old who hadn’t been dismissed from class but badly needed to go to the bathroom. She could feel Sarah trying to soothe her, but there wasn’t really anything the older witch could do to help her.

  Then at the end, there were fireworks. Real fireworks that called to Reg to come and play. She jumped to her feet but wasn’t that obvious because a lot of other people stood to watch as well, almost the entire audience eventually ending up on their feet, applauding for the fire dancing across the sky.

  Sarah put a hand on Reg’s arm, trying to quell Reg’s instinct to join in on the fun. She grabbed an unopened water bottle and thrust it into Reg’s hand. “Here. Have a drink. Try to stay cool.”

  Reg cracked open the bottle and took a long drag, trying to quench the fire inside of her. She debated kindling just a small fire to try to bleed off some of the energy welling up inside of her. Sarah’s hand was still on her arm to keep her calm.

  “Maybe we should go back to the car.”

  Reg really wanted to stay and watch the fire playing across the sky. But she nodded, agreeing that it was probably the only way they would be able to get away from the Spring Games without mishap. Sarah led the way, guiding Reg up the stairs to the concourse exit. A large security guard moved to block their way.

  “Please stay in your seats until the show is over.”

  “She’s a firecaster,” Sarah snapped. “Do you really want the whole place to go up in flames?”

  Reg was too distracted by the fireworks to see the man’s face clearly. But he changed his tune and escorted Sarah and Reg out.

  “You would think they would at least publish a warning,” Sarah snapped. “I realize that firecasters are very rare, but you are bound to get a few in a crowd this size. If you have spectators whose powers are not well-controlled…”

  “Can I get you a water, ma’am?” the guard asked, giving only a brief nod in response to Sarah’s complaint.

  “I had one,” Reg said vaguely.

  “Get another one,” Sarah snapped.

  The security guard went to a first-aid station and returned with a couple of bottles of water.

  “Drink up,” Sarah ordered.

  “I’m not thirsty.”

  “Keep drinking. You’ll feel better.”

  Reg could hear the oohs and ahs of the crowd in the stadium and looked back toward the doors, feeling the draw of the fire.

  “Drink,” Sarah ordered.

  Reg obediently brought the first bottle up to her lips and sipped at it. She was already feeling waterlogged. But Sarah was right, and it did reduce the draw of the fireworks a little more.

  “They shouldn’t be on much longer,” the guard said apologetically.

  There was an inquiry over his shoulder-mounted radio. The guard pushed the button in and answered with a 10-code. Reg wondered if they actually had a radio code for “trying to keep a firecaster from burning the facility down.” Maybe it was just a code for giving medical assistance.

  Reg did her best to get down the bottle of water and Sarah cracked the next one open.

  “I feel like I’m going for an ultrasound,” Reg protested. “Do I really have to drink any more? I’m going to burst.”

  Sarah just looked at her. Reg obediently took another sip.

  Another guard came down the concourse toward them to check on the first. Reg didn’t recognize him immediately. Usually, he was wearing a robe or cape, but he was dressed as a security guard with a white shirt, dark slacks, ballistic vest, duty belt, and a radio at his shoulder like the guard assisting them.

  “Damon.”

  “Reg. Hey, what’s wrong? Are you okay?”

  Reg shrugged. “It was the fireworks. They’re a bit much for me.”

  He looked at her for a moment before her meaning sank in. “Oh… I didn’t think about it being a problem for you. You’re doing so well with Davyn. He says that you’ve got good control. The only time you had any trouble was at the mountain.”

  Sarah shook her head at Damon. “You know she’s a novice firecaster, and it didn’t occur to you that you should warn her about the fireworks?”

  “It didn’t even cross my mind.” Damon sighed and shrugged dramatically. “I’ll add it to the control sheet. They haven’t kept good security records from one year to the next, so I don’t know what problems they have run into in previous years unless there was a huge debacle that made it to the media. Predatory species mixed with prey. Power drinkers. Catering issues. We brainstormed and made long lists of things we thought could be problems, but…” He gave an abashed shrug. “I never thought of fireworks triggering any issues.”

  “I’m sure Reg is not the only person that they bothered. You also have people who have PTSD, small children, companion animals or familiars, or skinwalkers who might be startled by them. You should at least announce ahead of time and include in the program that there are going to be fireworks.”

  “I’ll put it on the control sheet,” Damon repeated. “So, they’ll have it for future events. And I’ll make sure they add a notice for the closing ceremonies.” He looked at Reg. “They’ll have fireworks there too.”

  “Okay.” Maybe Reg would skip the closing ceremonies. Or at least leave before the fireworks started.

  They stood looking at each other awkwardly. There wasn’t really anything else to say. Reg was determined not to show any interest in Damon. She sensed he was still angry with her for the way the Jeffrey Wilson case had worked out. But that hadn’t been all her fault. He had made a lot of stupid mistakes himself and he had been fully onboard with Reg’s approach. It hadn’t turned out the way either one of them had expected.

  “Can we go to the car now?” Reg prompted Sarah. “I’d like to get out of here before the crowds. Otherwise, it’s going to take forever to get home, and I’m not going to be able to make it.”

  Sarah smiled. “Of course, dear.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Sarah insisted on escorting Reg all the way to her cottage, and Reg knew better than to argue with her about it. Once Sarah decided to help Reg, there was little to dissuade her. As Reg hurried over the threshold, she tossed her purse to the side and made a dash directly for the bathroom. Luckily, she made it, but just barely. Her bladder was stretched painfully and it was several minutes before she could get up and rejoin Sarah.

  Sarah nodded and smiled at her expectantly.

  “Tea?” she suggested.

  “No way,” Reg protested. “I’m not drinking anything else all night.”

  “Well, it worked, didn’t it?”

  “Yes. It worked. I can’t even think of using my fire right now.”

  Sarah prepared a cup of tea for herself. She was obviously still keeping an eye on Reg. And since it was Sarah’s property that Reg would burn down if she lost control of her powers, Reg supposed she couldn’t blame Sarah for that.

  “Do you want to tell me about what happened in the Everglades that MI wants to interview you about?” Sarah queried. “I could help you to get your story straight.”

  It was almost exactly the same offer as Corvin had made. Reg wondered if all they really wanted was to hear what Reg was in trouble for. Or did they think it would help her to rehears
e some sanitized version of her trip to the Everglades?

  “I can’t think about that right now. I don’t know whether I’m too tired or too wound up.” She glanced toward the bathroom. “Or just too distracted. But I really can’t focus on it right now and it would take too long to explain everything that happened.”

  “Things did not go as you had hoped,” Sarah probed.

  “No. They didn’t go the way that I hoped. Or the way Damon hoped. You probably noticed…”

  “He did seem a little cooler today than usual,” Sarah admitted.

  “Well, he doesn’t like the way things worked out and he blames me. I didn’t like how he lied to me and got me involved in the whole thing, so I’m not happy with him. Put both together, and… I don’t think you’re going to be seeing the two of us spending much time together in the future.”

  “That’s too bad. But there are plenty of other prospects in Black Sands or farther afield. There’s no reason you have to stick to one suitor.”

  Reg laughed, which made Sarah’s cheeks turn pink. They both knew Sarah was not known for sticking to one suitor. And many of the men that she spent time with looked considerably younger than Sarah did. Of course, if Sarah was as old as she said, they were centuries younger. But Reg suspected there probably weren’t a lot of hundreds-of-years-old warlocks in Black Sands to choose from, so she couldn’t really blame Sarah for picking from who was available.

  “I’m not sure I’m even looking for… companionship at the moment,” she told Sarah. “I’d like to… get my head on straight and figure out my powers and where they came from and how to control them…”

  She thought in particular about the things she hadn’t told Sarah. That she hadn’t told anyone yet, because it was just too much. Being a psychic was hard enough. She didn’t want all of the baggage and responsibilities that came with anything more than that.

  Reg wished she could just go back to when she was reading palms and people were happy to have her pretend to contact long-lost loved ones for them. Things had been so much simpler.