by Colin Sims
After a moment’s silence, I found my voice. “Meagan,” I said, but she quickly continued.
“I was thinking we could go out again,” she said. “Just you and me. It was so stupid to have my parents come, but my dad insisted. I feel horrible about it.”
She truly had no idea that I knew about her and Jake. In some weird way, it made it hard to accuse her of anything. I knew that the moment I did, the cat would be officially out of the bag. Who knew what would happen after that? Would we break up? Would she start throwing things?
Plus, the instant I said anything out loud, it would turn the whole thing real. For the moment, we were like those last bits of sunshine before nightfall—Meagan was still my girlfriend and we could still talk and kiss and touch each other without it being weird. But it couldn’t stay that way. It was already over even if she didn’t know it yet.
“I saw you,” I finally said.
Her brow furrowed. “Saw me? Where?”
“I came to patch things up,” I said. “Yesterday. At your sorority house.”
Meagan didn’t skip a beat. “Really? I wasn’t home. My friend Kaitlin had this emergency with her boyfriend so I had to—”
“I saw you with Jake O’Malley,” I said.
She stopped cold.
It’s a funny thing watching a person up close after they’ve received startling news. A whole kaleidoscope of thoughts and emotions flashes across their face before they decide on a course of action. Meagan—after about a second—decided to go with outrage.
She let go and took a firm step back. “What?” she said.
“I saw you making out with him.”
She paused another second as her face turned the color of a pomegranate. Then she said accusingly, “Were you spying on me? Jake’s my friend. He came over to borrow my sociology notes!”
“His hands were on your butt.”
“Oh my God. Really? I came here to make you feel better and you accuse me of cheating on you? I mean, do you even have any proof?”
“Proof?” I said.
Meagan’s hands moved to her hips. She’d now taken to laughing in that scary way that people do when they’re a combination of embarrassed and livid. “Yeah, proof. And by the way—if you really think I cheated on you, why aren’t you more upset? Most guys would be furious. Maybe I should be with someone like Jake.”
“For round two hundred and one?” I asked.
Her face suddenly contorted, reminding me somehow of a squeezed lemon. “What does that even mean?” she barked. “And why are you always so insecure?!”
As odd as it might sound, she actually did have a point about me not being more upset. I mean, not a huge point, obviously, as she was essentially getting mad at me for not getting mad at her for cheating on me. Still, it was probably revealing that I wasn’t very angry. If I truly loved her, I would’ve been going crazy right now. Instead, I felt an odd sense of calm. Or perhaps it was relief.
“Um,” I said after a pause. “How long are you going to keep this up? I saw you with the guy.”
“Well, yeah. He came over!”
“Meagan, there was no mistaking it. You were kissing. His hands were all over you. And proof? What are you talking about? This isn’t a murder investigation. I saw you hooking up with him. Case closed.” I noticed that now I actually was getting upset—kind of like a delayed fuse. “And another thing,” I said. “You’re calling me insecure? Jesus Christ. Round two hundred, Meagan. That’s what you said to him. Two hundred! No one can screw that many times in a day! You’ve been banging the guy for months! Probably all semester! Or longer! Was it longer?! Good God, look at me right now, I’m shaking! I feel like I’m gonna throw up!”
“You would. I can’t believe what a wimp you—”
“And I feel so much better,” I continued, “that you’re not returning your dad’s calls. I mean, what a sacrifice. And who invites her dad to her anniversary? Especially when she knows that her dad hates her boyfriend? Who does that?”
“I was trying to help you!” Meagan screeched.
“Help me? What the fuck! The guy threatened to kill me last week. And you convinced me to get an internship with him! Meagan, honestly, why did you even go out with me in the first place? Was your dad right? Were you just trying to piss him off?”
She snickered and it was infuriating. She then stared at me a long moment as if deciding to tell me something. “François, you really don’t get it, do you?” she finally spat.
“Get what?”
Another pause.
“You were my reserve guy. Didn’t you realize that? Did you honestly think you were good enough for me? If anything, Jake was my real boyfriend, you idiot!”
Huh.
Well that shut me up. Hell, I couldn’t even move. I just stared numbly until she continued.
“I hate to break it to you, but every girl has that guy who’s the ‘safe option,’” she said. “You know why? Because the types of guys we’re actually attracted to, just end up cheating on us. So we grab a guy like you—just in case. It’s harsh, but this is the real world. I have plans. I’m not going to let some Neanderthal like Jake ruin them. You were my contingency and you were lucky to be that. Only now, you’ve screwed it all up!”
Again … huh. Talk about a bombshell.
So imagine this: One day you’re walking down the street and you receive a phone call. On the other end is Morpheus, explaining that the Matrix is, in fact, real and that everything in your life has been a giant lie. You ask him what to do about it, only he says—a bit embarrassed now—“Well, there’s not much you can do, I just, uh, figured I’d tell you. Good luck!”
That’s pretty much the best way I can describe how I felt at that moment. I’d been with Meagan Goodman for a year and a half—thinking the entire time that she actually liked me, when in fact, I was merely part of a calculated plan to ensure she never got left without a chair when the music stopped. I’ll tell you, something like that doesn’t do any favors for a person’s sense of self-worth. It hurts about as bad as anything can hurt.
Eventually I said, “Meagan,” and then paused, studying her face as she glared back at me. “I honestly don’t know how to respond to that.”
“Of course you don’t,” she snorted. “And for the record, I was totally planning on breaking up with—”
“Except to say this,” I said, feeling that odd calm again. “I actually feel sorry for you.” She erupted into a mirthless laugh, but I kept going. “Meagan, a minute ago you called me insecure. I just realized you were talking about yourself. You’re the most insecure person on the planet. Which is weird, by the way. You’re smart, you’re beautiful and you’re rich. And still, you’re insecure. I believe the word for that is ‘cowardice.’ You think I’m a wimp? I’m Hercules compared to you. So yeah. I do feel sorry for you. I feel sorry for Jake too. Not, like, a lot or anything, but a little. You do realize you were so worried he’d cheat on you that you cheated on him first? And not just with sex, but with an entire relationship? With me? Christ, Meagan. I had no idea you were this messed up. And now that I think about it, today might be the best day of my life. I didn’t just dodge a bullet with you. I dodged a freaking apocalypse.”
There was a loud hoot from outside the door, making both of us jump. I recognized the voice. Apparently Buckner had been listening, and I fought to suppress a tiny grin.
Meagan, meanwhile, pulled a disgusted face. “Bunch of five-year-olds,” she snarled. “I can’t believe I’m even here right now.” She then looked directly at me, her eyes like a pair of laser beams. “So that’s it then? We’re breaking up?”
I got myself under control. “No,” I said. “We’re not breaking up. I’m breaking up with you. That’s right. Me. François. Your ‘safe option.’ Now get the fuck out of my apartment.”
Yeah, okay. I know. That last bit was a little harsh. Even Meagan, who was steaming out the ears, looked shocked. A better man wouldn’t have said it like that. There was no n
eed for an F-bomb. But sometimes in life—and this is an incontestable truth that everyone learns eventually—it feels really, really good to be a dick.
• • •
After Meagan left, Buckner was waiting in the living room with a free Xbox controller and—I kid you not—an open bottle of champagne. It put an instant smile on my face. I think he was even happier than I was.
I’d always figured my first break up would be a more heart-wrenching experience. I thought I’d end up like those poor saps in the movies—not eating or sleeping and trying to call her, only to keep getting her voicemail. Instead, I wound up playing Halo for the next hour until I got a text from Cassie telling me to meet her in New York. “Use the Hollywood Sign,” the text said. “It’ll take you right to me. P.S. I got you something!”
Just thinking of Cassie put an even bigger smile on my face. I imagined her grinning, typing the text with her thumbs, and it was like she was standing right in front of me. It honestly made me a little embarrassed. I was downright giddy to see her again.
“Gotta go,” I said abruptly to Buckner who attempted to protest but I was already out the door.
I jumped on Mary Lou, and puttered at full throttle up into the Hills. I hadn’t forgotten about my Statistics test, of course, but I figured I could study for it tomorrow.
Roughly twenty minutes later, I was squinting at the angry security cameras along the fence. I also waved to the automaton police officer a few yards away. He was staring at me with a lazy brand of mechanical menace from his little booth.
I thought: If I wasn’t allowed, he’d say something, right?
I took a few cautious steps forward, but he didn’t flinch. I turned from him and I saw that a single link in the fence was glowing yellow. Imbued. I realized that that was what Cassie had used to make the fence roll away. I glanced at the guard again before reaching out and tapping the link. Sure enough, the fence rolled away like it was the secret door in a video game. The automaton cop remained still. I guess I was on his list.
Slightly proud of myself, I climbed down the dusty hillside toward the “H.” This time, when I looked at it, I saw a small metallic knob. I fished my keys from my pocket and inserted the magic one. I said, “New York,” and opened the door. On the other side was Manhattan. The impressive visage of the New York Public Library stared back at me from across the street. I stepped through the threshold and noticed I’d just exited an office building.
The weirdest thing about using these “backdoors,”—aside from the whole teleportation thing—was the time change. I know that doesn’t sound like it would be too weird, but it is. One second, it’s noon. The next second it’s three o’clock. And while the numbers don’t matter too much, it’s the sun. Its new position in the sky just looks off.
Anyway, I headed toward the tall, marble steps of the library, figuring that’s where I’d find Cassie. She was waiting near the top and stood when she saw me.
“Hey,” she said.
“Hey.”
She was clutching a small paper bag, from which she produced an extra flaky croissant. “I saw this and thought of you.” She grinned and held her hand out. “Here.”
I had one of those delayed-reaction laughs, where at first I didn’t get it, but once I did, I couldn’t help myself.
“So,” she said. “While you were sleeping, I did some snooping. I think I have a lead on that missing professor guy.”
I swallowed a bite of croissant but my mouth was still full. “Wha’ ‘id ‘u find?” I asked.
“I’ll show you,” she said. “Come on.”
I followed her through the library until eventually we had descended down two different sets of elevators to a bleak-looking basement made of solid concrete. Cassie had to use a special key to get us there. Its bare floor was completely empty, save for a stone well—like the type that pulls up water—sitting at the center. Cassie dragged me by the hand to look over its edge.
“La Grande Bibliothèque de Magie et l'Alchimie,” she announced in perfect French.
“I don’t actually speak French,” I said.
“The Grand Library of Magic and Alchemy,” she said. “It’s right down there.”
I frowned into the dark depths of the well, which seemed to go on forever. “Let me guess,” I said. “We have to jump in to get there, right?”
“Yep.”
“You know, a fear of heights includes jumping into wells,” I said.
“Yeah, but it’s a short drop. Trust me. You’ll be fine.”
So I did. I climbed up and jumped in. (Okay, I made that sound extra casual right there. It actually took several minutes to psych myself up to it.)
Once I did, however, I discovered Cassie was right. The fall couldn’t have been more than a few feet. And not only that, but I landed on an oversized beanbag. It was bright red. The ones next to it were yellow and green. Cassie landed on a blue one a few spaces over.
I looked around. The place wasn’t what I expected at all. When I heard the words “Grand Library,” I pictured something more like Rosewood’s office, with tall mahogany shelves, great stacks of dusty volumes and high-backed leather chairs. This place looked more like the headquarters of Google. Everything was modern, brand new and brightly colored. And, there were people everywhere. Or actually … some were people. A wide assortment of magical creatures lounged throughout the giant reading space. A cluster of Elves were whispering amongst themselves at a nearby table. A garden gnome, just like the one who beat me up, was reading an ancient tome twice his size. A centaur—an honest to God centaur—was resting on his haunches and reading a magazine.
“It’s a magic-free zone,” Cassie explained as she led me toward a row of shelves. “If you do magic here you get banned for life. And some Guardian Angels swoop down and beat you up.”
“I won’t do a thing,” I said, only half-listening as I gawked at a mermaid lounging in a hot tub with a romance novel. (At least I think it was romance novel. It had a picture of a shirtless merman on the cover wearing a fire helmet.)
Cassie found us a secluded table near the back and took a seat on a bouncy ball. I sat next to her.
“Okay,” she said. “Even though we could totally make out back here, I’m gonna show you something else instead.”
I gulped.
“So it’s not much,” she continued, taking a small scrap of singed paper from her pocket, “but I snuck into Steinberg’s house and went through his study. It was actually really tough. The whole place was covered in defensive wards.” She then gave a little impish smile. “But I have my ways. Anyway. I found a trash can where it looked like he was trying to burn some documents. The only thing I could salvage was this.”
She placed the blackened scrap on the table. As far as I could tell, it didn’t look like anything. It didn’t even have any writing on it.
“Does it do something?” I asked, and tentatively poked at it with my finger.
“It took me an hour to figure it out,” she said. “It’s not magic. He used a human technique. Look.” She pressed a button on her watch and a small violet light shined from the dial onto the paper. The letters A, R and X appeared in a strange, archaic font.
“A, R, X,” I read aloud. “Does that mean anything to you?”
Cassie grinned. “That took me another hour. It’s a word. It spells ‘arx,’ which is Latin for ‘fortress.’ Or ‘citadel.’ Google had several options.”
I studied the letters a moment longer. “So what does ‘fortress’ mean?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” she said with a shrug. “But it’s a start, right?”
And so we spent the next couple hours brainstorming what arx—i.e. fortress—could mean. By the end, neither of us came up with anything remotely plausible. My guess had been that arx was a codeword for a new type of alchemist super shield like the one guarding the Death Star in Star Wars. Cassie’s guess had been that arx was the name for a new battleship designed to sail through realms as a movable fortress.
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It was highly unlikely that either of us was correct.
But I guess that’s not really important. The important part is that as we sat there together, I couldn’t help but think of what Rosewood had told me earlier. Cassie wasn’t safe. I wasn’t sure how that could be possible, but that didn’t stop me from worrying. What did Rosewood say again? Her strength wouldn’t help against “forces like these?” The thought sent a chill down my spine. Every time she looked at me with those cat-like eyes, I got a little butterfly in my stomach. I wondered if when the time came—would I be capable of protecting her?
Chapter Seven
Desperate Spells
So over the next few days, several things happened. First, I aced that Statistics midterm. How, you ask? Well as it turned out, inside the Vicipaedia was a book entitled A Treatise on the Empirical Study of Magic: 1632-1812. It contained all the information I’d ever need to understand basic statistics, and it only took two minutes, ten seconds to read it. Second, I deleted Meagan from my phone and my Facebook page. Third, I learned two new spells—Basic Levitate and Force Bubble. They were both Level One, yet a lot tougher than my old repertoire of Firelight and Firebolt. Nevertheless, I had a new motivation to get better at this whole wizarding thing. If I was going to keep hanging out with Cassie, I needed to pull my own weight. (Or at least, some small portion of it.) McFadden, meanwhile, was duly impressed by my new work ethic.
“Ah! Your speed astounds me, François! I did not know it was possible to learn at such a glacial pace! It almost makes me wish I were still alive and could conduct a study on the anomaly of your ‘slowness.’ Remarkable!”
“You don’t have to pretend,” I told him as I practiced the Canti for Force Bubble. “You think I’m amazing.”
“Ha! I’ll admit a small part of me has warmed to you a bit—much the same way it might if a dull-witted pigeon kept appearing at my window. Although, I suppose the pigeon would be more intelligent. It might get the hint after a few weeks and bother someone else.”