Unexpected Magic

by Ann Macela

  From their glum silence, nobody on the team agreed with him. Instead, the Defenders shifted to subtly position themselves between Bellman and the Swords. The team-effect energy grew slightly tense.

  “We’ll remember that, Phil,” Clyde said dryly.

  Saxt made a mental note to find out all he could about Bellman and this particular team—and what might cause them to take a pentagonal stance. No reports of overt hostilities had come his way. Of course, covert animosities existed in every organization, and if Bellman was as pompous as he appeared, the team’s defensive posture could easily come from their history with him. To relieve the tension and change the subject, he asked, “What do you think of the Council ideas and the testing?”

  “Interesting,” Clyde answered. “We talked about the test and the project on the way over here, and we have a number of questions, but we’d like to study the process first.”

  “Any problem with the idea in particular?” Saxt inquired.

  The team members glanced from one to another. Johanna finally said, “We’re interested in seeing the measurement test tomorrow.”

  “I think you’ll find it enlightening,” Saxt said. Why didn’t they want to voice their concerns? Everyone else did. From their closed expressions, he doubted they’d give him a real answer, so he fell back on a neutral question. “How long has your present team been together?”

  “Oh, for a long time,” Rosa replied. “Clyde and I started it twenty years ago, and it took us several years to find our permanent members. Since then, we’ve only had one change. Jazara joined us …”

  “Five years ago, when I completed college,” the young African American finished the sentence.

  “Yes,” Dorothy said, “when Steve Hendry’s work transferred him to Singapore. Jazara has been an excellent addition. We’re doing very well,” the tall Viking of a woman said proudly.

  “Have you been to the vault yet to see the remnants of the Cataclysm Stone?” Clyde interjected quickly, as if he wanted to wanted to change the subject.

  Saxt filed away the fact that they didn’t want to discuss the project or their output. He was happy to answer Clyde’s question, however, because he knew from Council discussions it would lead to Johanna. “No, I haven’t. You were part of the fight with the Cataclysm Stone last year, weren’t you?”

  “We all were, in one way or another,” Clyde said. “Johanna and Dorothy helped destroy the smaller piece of the Stone in that first horrible battle. Johanna also trained Jim Tylan, who actually shattered the larger Ubell section, and she was with John Baldwin in the clean-up crew at the Finster mansion.”

  “Ah, yes, Tylan, the wild talent,” Saxt noted. “I’d like to meet him and to hear that tale from your perspective. At the Council meetings, John couldn’t speak highly enough of the job everyone did. What was it like training Tylan, Johanna?”

  Jake spoke before Johanna could. “Johanna is one of our teaching masters here at the center. She specializes in training new Defenders and Swords.”

  “Getting an adult started on magic was difficult for both Jim and me,” Johanna answered. “Since he didn’t grow up a practitioner, the poor man didn’t have a clue what to expect. I’m not used to teaching very basic spell casting either. We learned together. All in all, I prefer working with teenagers, especially the younger ones.”

  “And bless you for that, my dear,” Jake said. “They’re the bane of my life. No discipline, no caution, trying spells beyond their current training.”

  Everybody chuckled. Jake’s complaints about teenagers were well known—even to Saxt.

  “That’s what you always say, Jake,” Johanna said with a smile, “even if you like them as much as I do. The younger ones are more open, haven’t made up their minds, and are willing to try something new. It’s the sixteen and older set that give me fits.”

  “Would it be possible for me to sit in on one of your classes?” Saxt asked. “I really need to learn more about the youngsters coming up through the process. How we integrate them into teams is going to be extremely important.”

  He thought she was going to decline his request, but Jake said, “You have a class tomorrow morning, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” Johanna replied with a sigh. “We’re going to cast castellum for the first time as a real fortress around each individual, so it might be interesting for you to observe. At least better than drills with lightballs or energy transference.”

  “I’d like to see that,” he replied. “The engineers will be setting up the measurement apparatus in the big arena, and they won’t need me. What time and where?”

  “Nine o’clock in the small arena in the Defenders Building. Be sure to bring your robe.”

  “Need some extra help?” Bellman asked. “I’m available to help keep the kids in line.”

  Although Saxt thought he saw her jaw clench, Johanna said mildly, “No, thanks, Phil. My students are going to be nervous enough with one observer. That’s enough distraction.”

  Another team showed up to claim his attention, and before he turned his attention to them, Saxt only had the time to say, “I’ll be there.”

  While he listened to the newcomers, he watched her team diverge throughout the room and individually engage others in conversation. Bellman stared after them for a few seconds before heading for the bar.

  Saxt sighed mentally while he answered questions and elicited opinions. The newly arrived group had none of the team effect about them. He missed the “buzz” already.

  His center vibrated. It must miss the flowing energy also.

  Chapter Two

  When the alarm buzzed at six o’clock on Saturday morning in her house in the suburb just north of the HeatherRidge, Johanna groaned and hit the button to shut it up. She levered herself out of bed, threw on her robe, and staggered down to the kitchen where she poured a glass of orange juice. A few swallows did not have their usual wakeup effect.

  Coffee. That’s what she needed, and she started a pot brewing.

  A shower might help, too. Her head was stuffy, and her body felt like she’d run a marathon all night.

  Maybe she had. Her dream of struggling—running, driving, running, climbing, running—toward an unknown destination came back to her when the hot water hit her head.

  She’d also had one of her anxiety dreams. As usual, everything was going to pieces in her classroom. Students were rioting, she was screaming, spells were going off right and left, nothing was making any sense.

  The shower didn’t help her unsettled state, and she wracked her brain for its cause while she dressed in gray wool pants and a blue silk blouse—her usual attire. No reason for dressing up when she’d have her robe on most of the time.

  She was drinking coffee at her kitchen table and reading the latest issue of The Witches and Warlocks Journal, when a possible source for her confused and anxious state became clear. The Defender pages featured a profile on the chair of the Committee on Swords. The writer extolled the forty-year-old Saxton Falkner’s abilities as a leader, a visionary thinker on Sword magic, and a profit-making venture capitalist. The article mentioned also that Falkner was a widower, his wife and young son having been killed in a car crash some ten years earlier.

  The poor man. She knew how it felt to lose a soul mate, but a child as well? A real tragedy.

  Her center gave a little hiccup as she gazed at his color photo. She’d discovered last night his eyes were a light caramel brown with a darker rim, and the picture gave the impression he was looking right at her. She liked caramel.

  Wait. What did his eye color matter? Who cared how handsome he was?

  The real question was, how much of an asset would he be to her class this morning?

  A little twinge of apprehension crawled up her backbone. Two of her students weren’t sure what their exact powers were, and, indeed, most were not yet comfortable with their new Defender ability to exchange magic energy. Except for Chuck, the oldest, who was playing the part of bored teenager. Too bad
his energy-sharing abilities hadn’t shown up a couple of years ago, when he would have been the same age as the rest of the class.

  If Falkner would simply sit and observe and let the students calm down, they might work through the session in good form. Thank heaven she didn’t have to put up with Phil—ugh—who would try to take over. His offer to “help keep them in line,” as though she couldn’t, still rankled. Then again, so did everything about Phil Bellman. She simply didn’t like the man, his personality, or his aftershave, and that’s all there was to it.

  As for the class, she’d be too busy to think about Falkner while the students worked on their fortresses. Good. She would like to know, however, what was it about the man that caused her to stare at him? Or him to return her gaze with those light brown eyes that seemed lit from within with … energy? Sex appeal? Of course, she liked to look at a handsome guy as much as the next woman, although the sight of one had never given her a jolt in the solar plexus when their eyes met. Or their hands touched.

  Of course, it was cold outside and warm inside. The zap she’d felt when they shook hands was probably only static electricity.

  With his request to come to her class, Falkner seemed to have singled her out. She could understand his interest in her—because of her experience. As head of the Council’s Committee on Swords, he would be interested in what she had learned from the fight with the Cataclysm Stone. Equally important was her knowledge gained from training both a wild talent and the teenagers still developing their Defender and Sword abilities.

  Did he have an inkling of her team’s energy development? Highly unlikely. The only outsider who knew, besides spouses, was Fergus Whipple, and he’d given his word to tell no one. He’d also suggested they find others who could take part in their method before making a broadcast announcement.

  Johanna would have to be vigilant and not allow Falkner to raise the subject of the test or the project unless the rest of her team was present. Nothing must slip out until they decided their course of action. At the moment, without a non-team-member able to join them in the ring, their method was really only speculative—what value was to be gained by discussing it? In the meantime, she needed to complete some prep work and lesson plans before class, and afterward, she’d be with the team. Her unavailability should not seem like she was avoiding him.

  Last night, the team had decided to compare at lunch today what they’d learned talking to others at the reception. She hadn’t heard a single new comment, although several Swords and a few Defenders were not favorably anticipating their teams’ tests. A few lobbied adamantly for no public listings of the readings. Nobody wanted to come out in the lower part of the range, especially in front of other teams.

  No fear of a low ranking with her team—not with their new method. They’d do better to postpone the test until forced into it. In the meantime, she would concentrate on finding the best candidate to join them in a practice session. Someone had to be able to share energy on their level.

  Her magic center fluttered like it was chuckling.

  “Oh, stop that.” She rubbed the spot under her breastbone. “None of this is funny.”

  ***

  As Saxt walked along the hall to the small arena with his robe slung over a shoulder, his center vibrated like it was smiling. What was its problem? Maybe it was simply reacting to the ambient energy in the training facility. He hadn’t been in such a building in years. He could almost taste the power in the air.

  He entered the staging room between the hall and the arena and found Johanna talking with another man. She introduced the fellow as Art Smith from the audio-visual department, and Saxt shook hands with him.

  “I was telling Johanna,” Art said, “we’re all set to record the students’ first pentagons. The guys are up in the balcony already. We’re trying out some new equipment, and they’re recording right now to see how the lower light affects the images. We’ll use both the old and new cameras when the session starts.”

  “Good.” She shrugged into her black Sword robe. “Have the students arrived?”

  “Yeah, they’re down at the far end. I don’t think they even know we’re there. We’re recording some good shots of their lightballs and general horsing around.”

  “What do you do with the results?” Saxt asked.

  “We give a copy to the parents,” Art replied. “They love them and always order more.”

  “Sort of ‘baby’s first steps?’“

  “Yes,” Johanna answered with a smile that lit up her face. “Sometimes the parents are more excited than the students. I use the recordings as teaching aids, and we take pictures again when they graduate to the next level. By that time, their wobbly, misshapen pentagons have become true fortresses. It gives all of us a real feeling of accomplishment.”

  “I have to get to the big arena,” Art said. “Another crew is already setting up to record your tests this afternoon, Saxt. If you need more AV aid, give me a call.”

  As the door closed behind Art, Saxt asked, “How many students are in your class?”

  “Seven. Three girls and four boys, ranging in age from twelve to fifteen. Nobody’s manifesting latent Sword abilities yet. We won’t really test for those until spring, after they become proficient in the pentagon.”

  “Safety above all?”

  “Exactly.” She opened the door into the arena, and he followed her out onto its floor.

  She stopped beside the doorway and waved her hand at the large open space. “We always cast our first pentagons here—lots of room to spread out. Overlapping pentagons can be painful and very confusing.”

  “That actually happened to two kids in my class. Scared the daylights out of me,” Saxt said with a smile of reminiscence. He pulled on his own robe while he studied the oval arena.

  He and Johanna had entered at one end of the long axis. The gray stone floor measured probably seventy by one hundred feet. About ten or twelve feet up, a balcony with an iron railing ran around the room, and the camera crew was set up above where he stood. At the other end a group of students in light gray novice robes milled around.

  Saxt looked more closely. Seemed like a crowd of kids. He counted and told her, “I thought you said seven were in the class. I see nine.”

  She had been gathering some materials from a rolling cart next to the door and turned around. “That’s funny. I don’t recognize the two larger dark-haired boys. They must have come from another class.”

  As Saxt watched, a blond kid, taller than the others, reached out to one of the girls and ran his hand down her front.

  “No!” The girl screamed and recoiled from her assailant.

  “Hey! Don’t!” a smaller, dark-haired boy yelled and pushed the taller one away.

  The two boys Johanna didn’t know grabbed the girl’s rescuer and held him between them. The larger blond kid laughed, said something, and drove his fist into the smaller boy’s stomach. The rescuer struggled, some of the girls screamed, and the bully hit him again.

  “Stop that!” Johanna shouted and started running toward the group.

  Saxt kept pace with her. He didn’t think the kids heard her, however, so he bellowed, “Stop!”

  The rescuer somehow managed to wrench himself free from the henchmen. The taller boy only laughed and brandished his fists.

  The two tried to grab the smaller kid again, and he eluded them. The bully, in an exaggerated boxing pose, slapped the kid in the face and danced around.

  “No!” The rescuer yelled again. Then he brought his hands together in front of him, and out of their clasp rose a shining violet sword.

  The bully backed up, brought his own hands together, and cast a bright blue blade.

  “You take care of the smaller kid,” Saxt told Johanna while they raced down the length of the oval.

  The two boys were crouching, each holding his sword before him, but not moving. The two henchmen took off running.

  Thankful neither kid was swinging his blade, Saxt ran up behin
d and wrapped his arms around the bully to grab the boy’s wrists.

  “What the shit!” the boy exclaimed when Saxt squeezed and lifted him off his feet, swiveling at the same time to face in the opposite direction.

  “Shut your mouth,” Saxt ordered. He lowered the bully to his feet. “Cancel your spell, and sheathe your sword.”

  “Let me go!”

  Although the boy struggled, Saxt had a firm hold. “Do what I say. If you don’t, I’ll pull your hands apart, your spell will backfire, and you’ll be badly burned. Cancel it!”

  He felt the kid take a breath as if he was going to try again to resist, so Saxt shook him and tugged slightly on his wrists. He could feel the energy vibrating through the kid’s arms out into the sword. Unless the boy did as commanded, a hot spark—or worse—would jump between his palms if they separated.

  “Cut the energy. Now!” Saxt ordered again. Careful to keep the boy’s hands together, he tugged a second time.

  The kid must have gotten the message because he flinched and quickly canceled his spell. The sword vanished when the boy’s energy retracted.

  Saxt stretched the bully’s hands apart, held him spread-eagled, and looked around. Johanna had cast a pentagon around the rescuer and was at his side. Good. She had that problem under control.

  “Walk to the wall,” he told the bully. He didn’t let go of the kid’s wrists until they stood inches from it. “Sit down facing the wall, and put your hands on it, far apart. Do not, I repeat not, bring your hands together. Do not say a word.”

  As the teen did as he was ordered, another Sword ran up. “Need some help?”

  “What happened to the other two kids? His henchmen?”

  “We caught them at the door. When the swords flared, the camera people hit the panic button, and a bunch of us came running. Jake’s on his way.”

  “Good. Keep an eye on this guy, will you? I’m going to help Johanna. If he so much as grunts or even twitches like he’s going to bring his hands together, stun him.”