Academic Magic

by Becky R Jones

  “Good morning,” Zoe responded, purely out of social convention. There was just no way she was having a conversation with a squirrel. “How can I help you?”

  “I am Rowantree,” he introduced himself, “and this is Alder.” His companion nodded once.

  “How do you do?” Again, social conventions drilled into her by her mother took over in place of actual brain function.

  “Have you noticed the changes that are going on in the Big Building?” Rowantree asked, dispensing with the social niceties.

  “Big Building? You mean Shelby Hall? Where the president’s office is?” Zoe waved vaguely in the direction of Shelby. She did not know why she assumed that the president’s office was the focus of Rowantree’s question. It just made sense. If she focused on his questions she could almost – almost – forget that a talking squirrel was sitting on her desk.

  “Yes, that one. There have been strange energies coming from it for the last few days. Passing it is painful. We avoid going near it for that reason.” He sounded troubled.

  “What do you mean strange energies? And why is passing near it painful?”

  “There is dark energy coming out of the building. Surely, you have sensed something odd. The dark energy…twists…the world. It is painful for us to encounter the twisting.” Rowantree cocked his head at her inquiringly.

  Still struggling to put aside the thought that this conversation was taking place with a squirrel, Zoe mentally retraced her path to Mark’s office the other day. She had gone the long way around following the path on the far edge of the quad and avoided walking directly in front of Shelby Hall. Had she really sensed something in the air? But it was such a nice day yesterday. I wanted to spend more time outside. Besides, walking past that much administration just added to my stress. That’s why I went that way.

  Watching her face, Rowantree spoke. “You did feel something. There are dark energies working in the building.”

  Zoe grimaced. “Why are you telling me this? What do you expect me to do? And since when do squirrels talk?” This had to be some really weird dream. No way was she actually sitting in her office talking to a squirrel.

  Rowantree and Alder exchanged a glance, bobbing their heads. They were almost unbearably cute doing that. Talking or not, they were still cute squirrels. She shook her head. Rowantree started to say something, then stopped. He started again.

  “If you could tell the one called Wardmaster about our problem, it would be greatly appreciated.”

  Nodding was the only coherent answer she could give. Why would her department chair be familiar with a talking squirrel? “We have a department meeting this afternoon and he’ll be there. I’ll let him know then. Will that work?”

  “Yes, very much so. However, please make sure that you do so in private.”

  Again, going with her only option, Zoe nodded. She intended on speaking with George alone anyway. Having anybody else know that she had been talking with squirrels in her office was, at best, career suicide. She really didn’t want anybody calling the men in white coats to come and take her away.

  Rowantree nodded to Alder and the two squirrels leapt back onto the windowsill. Zoe jumped up from her chair, opened the screen and let them out. On the window ledge, Rowantree turned and nodded at Zoe before leaping down to the roof and scampering away. Zoe carefully returned the screen to its correct position and closed the window. She sank slowly into her chair. What had just happened? Should she talk with George this afternoon or simply pretend nothing unusual was going on? A small voice in the back of her head warned her that the conversation with Rowantree and Alder was not something she should ignore. She had to let her mentor know. Hopefully, he wouldn’t have her committed. Or worse, fired.

  Zoe heaved a sigh. It wasn’t even eight o’clock in the morning. She had three classes to get through before getting any answers to the million or so questions running through her head. Sighing again she determinedly turned her attention to the prep she needed to finish for her first class of the day.

  After an uneventful, perfectly normal rest of the day that included teaching three classes, Zoe had put her encounter with the squirrels out of her mind. It wasn’t until she was leaving her office for the department meeting that she received a strong reminder of the weirdness that was creeping into her life. A small group of squirrels was sitting at the base of one of the trees. She resolutely ignored them as she walked across the quad. Rowantree was in the group and lifted a paw as she passed. She hunched her shoulders and kept going. She reached the path crossing the quad and turned right in order to avoid passing directly in front of Shelby Hall. Now that she was aware of it, Zoe did indeed feel like there was some sort of dark, unhealthy cloud surrounding the building. Is that real? Or just because the squir…Rowantree said something? What the hell is going on?

  As she passed one of the paths leading to the main door of Shelby, one of the secretaries came out of the building carrying a couple of bright red inter-campus mail envelopes and some papers. The young woman walked hurriedly, head down, arms wrapped around her chest, clutching the papers and envelopes, until she was a couple hundred feet away from the building. At that point, her entire posture shifted. Her head came up, her steps slowed, her hunched shoulders slowly straightened up, and her arms loosened their death grip on the papers. She glanced up and smiled when she caught sight of Zoe.

  “Hi, Zoe!” she called. “How are you?”

  “Hi Sarah. I’m good. How are you? Are you ok?”

  The question came out without conscious thought. Sarah’s posture and body language had telegraphed fear and worry so strongly that Zoe’s pulse sped up in sympathy and she scanned the area for anything dangerous.

  “I’m fine. It’s a beautiful day, so I figured I’d get out and take a walk. I have to drop these documents off and they gave me an excuse for leaving the office.”

  Zoe eyed her friend suspiciously. Sarah Riley’s position as a “Girl Friday” or gofer in the provost’s office was not that stressful. Sarah often commented that she liked being able to leave her job behind at the end of the day. She teased Zoe that on an hourly basis she probably got paid more, given that Zoe was always leaving after one or two beers at the pub to go home and finish grading or do more research.

  “Are you sure you’re fine?”

  “Yeah, why? Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “Well, when you came out of the building just now, you looked worried, like you couldn’t wait to get away from there and now you’re just as cheerful as always,” Zoe explained. “It was such a fast change, it just made me wonder.”

  “Things are a little stressful in the office, but nothing really unusual. The provost has been working on some project from the president. I’m not sure what it is, she hasn’t asked me to help her with anything, but it’s been giving her fits. I’m guessing it’s something to do with the Board of Trustees. Sometimes I think everybody in the building is in a constant bad mood these days.”

  Zoe remembered what Rowantree had told her and her own change of paths to avoid going near Shelby. Sarah’s complete change of attitude once she reached a few hundred feet away from the building matched what the squirrels had described and Zoe’s own reaction to the building.

  Sarah smiled at Zoe. “Once I drop these things off, I’m done for the day. Where are you headed?”

  “I’ve got a department meeting and then I’m heading home too.”

  “Oh, fun, lucky you.” Sarah rolled her eyes. “I’ll walk over to Harrison with you. Some of these,” indicating the envelopes she carried, “are for the dean.”

  Harrison Hall was tucked into the southwest corner of campus, between Davis and the library. Although most of the history department faculty had offices in Cooper Hall, George Wardmaster had his in Harrison. He claimed he was more comfortable in Harrison than in Cooper Hall. Harrison was a nice building and George had the seniority to have an office wherever he liked.

  The department meeting did not take
as long as Zoe had feared. The usual reminders about deadlines for students dropping classes, counseling services, think about what you want to teach next fall, that sort of thing. For a department of fifteen the history department was very congenial and functional compared to some. Zoe was extremely thankful she had landed at Summerfield. Academic fights could and did get seriously ugly. As someone had once said, the fights were so big because the stakes were so small. She had survived the in-fighting and politics of her grad school department, barely, and had the mental and emotional scars to prove it.

  As the meeting broke up, Zoe approached George Wardmaster. “Hey, George. Do you have a minute? I need to talk with you.”

  George smiled at her. She marveled at how easily he destroyed all stereotypes of stodgy history professors. He had a tanned face with laugh lines around his smiling green eyes, topped by a full head of white hair. He was a little over six feet tall and, despite the white hair, looked younger than his 67 years. He was one of the best professors at Summerfield and Zoe strived to emulate him. Students both adored and feared George, sometimes simultaneously. He resembled everybody’s favorite grandfather but gave no quarter to students who slacked off or did not work up to their potential. On the other hand, he was quick to spot the genuinely struggling student and often went out of his way to help them.

  As a mentor to younger faculty, he did the same. He had given Zoe some great ideas for teaching, helped her navigate administrative processes, and filled her in on departmental and college politics with an honesty that was refreshing. She was grateful every day that he was her mentor and department chair. This was up there with winning the lottery.

  “Of course, Zoe. Let’s go to my office.”

  Walking down the hall, Zoe worked out how best to broach the subject of talking squirrels. She finally settled on no mention of actual squirrels, rather, just a vague reference to “some guy.” She sat down in his office and simply dove into the problem.

  “Um, so, George,” she began. “Some guy with the odd name of Rowantree gave me a message for you.”

  Wardmaster sat up and look at her. “He spoke with you? What did he say?” His face registered concern rather than shock or surprise. Clearly, he knew who, and by extension what, Rowantree was.

  Zoe took a deep breath. “Well, umm...he said to tell you that for the last several days dark energies have been coming out of Shelby Hall, he called it the Big Building, and that it is painful for him and his…um…friends…if they go near it.” The words tumbled out at an almost comic speed.

  George rested his chin on his fist and cocked an eyebrow. “Did he say anything else?”

  Zoe was simultaneously greatly relieved and more worried than before. George did not appear to think she was crazy. This was good. At the same time, he didn’t seem surprised. This was worrisome. Her head started aching a bit. Granted, he didn’t mention the word “squirrel,” but he knew Rowantree. Her faculty mentor was apparently acquainted with a talking squirrel. This was most definitely not covered in the faculty handbook.

  “Only that because it hurts them if they go near the building, none of them want to come across campus to visit you here. He said the dark energy twists the world?” She waited, hoping some explanation about talking squirrels and dark energies would be forthcoming.

  She was not disappointed. George looked up at Zoe, concern showing on his grandfatherly face, and gestured towards the chair beside his desk.

  “Please sit down. This might take a few minutes.”

  Chapter Three

  Sitting in George Wardmaster’s comfortable office, Zoe waited while he appeared to collect his thoughts. He stared out the window, a frown forming on his face, one leg bouncing up and down, drumming his fingers on the desk.

  After a few seconds, he took a deep breath and turned back to face Zoe. “Since Rowantree spoke with you, you know now that the squirrels can talk. I should probably explain that…um…phenomenon…and I expect that you have questions.”

  Zoe nodded and opened her mouth to ask one of those questions. George held up a hand. “But this will be easier if I can just tell you what’s going on. You can ask all the questions you like at the end.” He had shifted into what Zoe called “full professor mode.” He was lecturing and didn’t want any interruptions.

  Zoe nodded again. After all she was the untenured assistant professor here. Her job was to pay attention. It struck her how easily that power hierarchy asserted itself even with George, someone who had her best interests at heart, but nevertheless, someone who automatically asserted the authority of a full professor.

  “Where do I start?” Wardmaster muttered. He looked at Zoe again. “Magic, as a phenomenon, exists and functions in this world.”

  Zoe’s eyes widened.

  “No, I’m not joking. It really does. You just had a conversation with a squirrel. That should provide some evidence that I am not joking, nor am I a crazy old man.”

  Incapable of an articulate response, Zoe simply nodded.

  Wardmaster continued. “There are individuals, called mages, who are capable of harnessing, controlling, and using the energies that make up what we call magic. These individuals are born with this capability – at least I’ve never run into anybody who learned this kind of…I guess you could call it internal…magic the way one learns math or another language. Others, such as witches, are able to access power through the use of spells and rituals.”

  Zoe was transported back to her college days in classes with intimidating professors who knew everything. She raised her hand. She couldn’t help it. George looked a little startled and then smiled.

  “I’m sorry. I did not mean to sound like the boring old history professor the students think I am. Ask away.”

  Zoe hesitated. “Okay. You said magic is the control of a type of energy?”

  “Yes. There are a variety of energies, some people have more control over one type versus another, specialists I guess you’d call them, and others have more over all control, in other words they’re more powerful. Although, there are far fewer of the generalists.”

  “Are you a…mage?” The question frightened her, and she didn’t really want to hear the answer, but she had to know.

  George studied her for a moment. There was a certain assessment in his gaze. “I am.” He looked like he was about to say more but stopped himself. “But right now, I would like to get back to what Rowantree told you and ask you a few questions, if I may.”

  “Um…okay. I…um…have no idea what’s going on, so I don’t know what else I can tell you.” Zoe was not sure she wanted to know what was going on.

  He frowned, trying to come up with a way to word his questions. “Did Rowantree say if there was anything in particular about the dark energies he felt near Shelby? Have any of the squirrels been injured?”

  Zoe’s frowned, thinking over the conversation with the squirrel. Remembering she’d HAD a conversation with a SQUIRREL let loose the butterflies in her stomach.

  “No, he didn’t say anything specific, just that there were dark energies coming from the building and it was painful for them. He didn’t say that they couldn’t pass the building, just that it was painful.” She paused and the image of Sarah Riley hunched over clutching her papers coming out of Shelby Hall floated into her head. She knotted her hands together to stop their sudden shaking.

  “I did see something else.” Zoe described her encounter with Sarah. “She said that everybody who works in Shelby seems short-tempered lately. She also mentioned that the provost has been busy with some project that, in Sarah’s words, ‘is giving her fits’ quote unquote, and Sarah thinks it’s something to do with the Board of Trustees meeting that’s coming up.”

  George studied his hands and almost unconsciously twisted the ring on his right hand. “I was afraid of this. I didn’t want to believe it was happening. This is what I get for sticking my head in the sand.” He sighed, still looking at his hands. “So much for retiring this year.”

 
Zoe stared at him. Her stomach was now doing flip-flops. In her three years at Summerfield she had never seen George Wardmaster encounter a problem he couldn’t solve. He raised his head, finally seeming to remember that she was in his office.

  “You have more questions,” he stated rather than asked, “as anybody would who found themselves where you are now. Please. Ask what you will, although I reserve the right to not answer or at least, not answer fully at this point in time.”

  Zoe’s thoughts careened in all directions. What the hell had she just heard? This was worse than grad school. She needed George back in professor lecture mode so she could mentally check out of the lecture and process this impossible information.

  “You said different types of energies, what exactly do you mean?”

  “You’re familiar with the Greek, Hindu, and Medieval beliefs that the four main Elements, Earth, Air, Fire, and Water are the primary forces in the world. Well, it’s true. Mages use their affinity for one of the Elements to control and direct that Element.”

  Zoe flinched internally at the idea that magic could be real but nodded in response to George’s comment. Mentally reviewing her own research, she remembered that medieval alchemists also included sulphur and mercury and sometimes salt. Salt was thought to block demons, especially if laid out in a line across the demon’s expected path. These were some of the common ideas that bound the theories and analysis of magic and its uses together across countries and through time periods. She’d even written an article on the medieval beliefs regarding how to shield oneself from a magical attack. Was what she’d found true? Did those things stop magic? Was that why her mother always put a line of salt across the front and back doors? Did this mean she needed to comb through her own articles and research looking for ways to block magic? How did you stop Air or Fire? The questions raced through her mind and she forced herself to take deep breaths to keep the panic from overwhelming her.