True Magic

by Colin Sims

  “Where is the patient?” he asked with a sense of urgency. He had a slight accent that I couldn’t place.

  I opened the door and started to pull Cassie out. He gave her a quick once over and declared, “Drider bite. We must get her to the ER. Quickly now.”

  He grabbed her feet and helped me carry her inside. Once we were in the mansion’s main entryway, a bookshelf along the sidewall slid open to reveal a hidden door. We carried Cassie through a short hallway until we reached another door. The man—who I assumed was a doctor—jangled a set of keys from his pocket and undid the lock. The door opened into what I now recognized to be a completely new location. The walls were bright white—almost blinding—while doctors and nurses rushed in all directions. I figured this had to be the emergency room. A trio of red-faced gnomes arrived pushing an empty cart. They told us to hand her over and we gently set her on the thin mattress. They wheeled her off in a flash. The doctor who had helped me turned and took me by the elbow.

  “They will take good care of her,” he assured me. He then stopped when he saw the small scratch from the Drider’s claws on my shoulder. He peered at it a second, lifting my sleeve to get a better view. “Stay here,” he said curtly and then disappeared into the knot of commotion criss-crossing the room. He reemerged a minute later with a tiny vial pinched between his fingers. “Drink this,” he said, nearly shoving it toward my lips. I did what he said, and as far as I could tell, it didn’t have any taste. Or at least, it had the same non-taste that water does. Either way, I asked him what it was.

  “You’ll be fine,” he said. “Just a precaution.”

  “What about my friend?” I asked. “Is she going to be okay?”

  He shook his head. “I didn’t see any signs the poison had taken root. Our team should be able to extract it without any issues. If all goes well, she’ll be good as new in a few hours.” He then cocked his head and gave me a strange look. “You’re not familiar with Driders?” he asked.

  I told him no.

  “But … you’re a wizard, are you not?” He seemed strangely confused.

  “I guess I’m sort of a recent arrival,” I explained. “It’s a long story.”

  He looked at me a moment longer and then shrugged. “Well, you’re free to wait here if you wish. Otherwise, we will be in touch. I suggest you call Thomas. I know he’d appreciate knowing you got his girl here safely. Tell him that Alexander told you she will be fine.”

  With that, he blended back into the chaos of the ER. The place was crowded. I noticed that plenty of the patients looked human—although there were lots of pointy ears for Elves. There were also a number of creatures that I didn’t recognize at all. Perhaps if I’d taken a Greek mythology class at some point, I’d have been better equipped. I stared at them all in perplexed silence until I collapsed backward into a chair. I got out my phone and called Rosewood.

  “Well done, François,” he said, sighing in relief after I’d told him everything. “You have saved Cassandra’s life. I cannot tell you what this means to me. I am forever in your debt.”

  “You did all the thinking,” I said. “I’m in your debt. Seriously. Thank you.”

  “I only wish I could’ve gotten there in time myself. A Drider is no small foe. They are most dangerous.”

  “Why was it there?” I asked. “It wasn’t before.”

  “A mystery I intend to solve, François. Rest assured of that.”

  Then—with a sudden panic—I remembered why I’d gone to the Hollywood Sign in the first place. I bolted upright. “Wait,” I said. “Cassie texted me about a death priest in New York. Do I need to—?”

  Rosewood cut me off. “No,” he said firmly. “I will deal with that personally.”

  I paused a moment. There was something about the way he said that last bit that gave me a chill—like beneath the charming accent, Agent Thomas J. Rosewood was a serious, serious badass.

  “Thanks,” I told him.

  “Just get some rest, François. I’ll be in touch.”

  Chapter Eight

  You Like Me

  The next morning, I lay in bed staring at the ceiling after an incredibly fitful night of non-sleep. I had my phone lying next to my ear, but I still hadn’t heard any news about Cassie. I thought several times of calling Rosewood, but I didn’t want to bother him. He’d call me when he knew something. Still, it felt like I’d been staring at that ceiling all night. I was about to call it quits and get up for some coffee when there was a quiet knock on the apartment door. (Not my room, but the main door to the apartment.) I fumbled out of bed to see who it was. A tiny thrill of hope spiked through me as I thought it might be Cassie. When I opened the door, however, I was greeted with a surprise. Meagan stood there, holding a shoebox and biting her lip. “Hey,” she said. Her voice was a lot softer than the last time I saw her.

  “Hey,” I answered.

  She raised the shoebox a fraction. “I brought some of your stuff. Can I come in?”

  For a split second, I thought about how strange it was that Meagan was asking if she could come in. For a year and a half she hadn’t needed an invitation. Yet now, she did. It was one of those weird relationship things. It’s like as soon as it ends, this little wall springs up and there’s nothing you can do about it.

  “Yeah, of course,” I said, standing aside.

  She slipped past me and took a few steps before spinning around. “Can we talk?” she asked.

  “Sure.”

  “Like, privately?”

  “We can go to my room?” I suggested.

  “Okay.”

  She didn’t move but waited for me to lead the way. Once we got there, I closed the door behind us. She set the shoebox on my dresser and fidgeted with a toy Army Man that was crouched behind a pair of socks. (I’m not sure why he was there. It’s not like I still play with toy soldiers when no one’s looking. I don’t. I swear.)

  Meagan put him down and turned to me with a tiny smile. “I see some things never change,” she said.

  “Who?” I said. “G.I. Jackson? I have no idea how he got there.”

  She gave me a look. “Right. So how’ve you been?”

  “Um … busy. You?”

  “The same. Mostly school stuff.”

  She then hesitated and I hesitated and we both just kind of stood there for a second. It wasn’t an “awkward” silence exactly, but I wouldn’t call it comfortable either. Eventually, Meagan took a sudden step forward. “So last week was kind of …” She paused mid-sentence and stared at me.

  “Crappy,” I said after a moment. “I was kind of a jerk. I’m sorry about that.”

  Her eyes widened and she stepped back. “What?”

  “When I told you to get out of my apartment,” I said. “That was mean. I shouldn’t have said it like that.”

  For some reason, she looked suddenly furious. “François, are you kidding me right now?”

  “What?”

  “Are you really that clueless?”

  I furrowed my brow as she looked at me like I was a space alien. “I suppose it’s possible …” I said hesitantly.

  “The reason I was so mad was that you weren’t more of a jerk! I mean, I cheated on you! Like, a lot! And then you were being all calm about it and I felt like the worst person ever!”

  “I still shouldn’t have kicked you out like that,” I said.

  “You’re still doing it!” she screeched.

  “Sorry?”

  “Ugh!” She balled her fists. “You’re not going to make this easy, are you? It would be so much better if you started yelling and throwing things. At least then I could start throwing things back.”

  I looked around and spotted one of G.I. Jackson’s tiny companions on my bed. I picked it up and threw it at her.

  “That’s not funny,” she said flatly. (I caught a tiny smile, though.)

  “Look, Meagan, it’s alright,” I said. “I mean it sucked when I saw you with him and it still sucks when I think about it, but it’s
over now. Don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine. And you’ll definitely be fine. There’s not a guy in this whole school who wouldn’t go out with you in a heartbeat.”

  “God …” She looked at me and sighed. “Anyway. I just wanted to say it’s not like I never liked you or anything, okay? I did like you. Or … I do like you. And you were my real boyfriend. Not Jake. I mostly just said that to piss you off.”

  “But you are … seeing him though, right? That wasn’t just a one time thing?”

  She groaned, but not at me. “I’m definitely not seeing Jake. After I left your apartment I called him. Thirty seconds later, I realized how excruciating it is to actually talk to that guy. He and I never did much of it. It was more of a … physical thing.”

  “Hmm.” I nodded solemnly. “That’s what I like to call TMI. But thanks for the mental image.”

  She winced. “Sorry.”

  “But I get it,” I told her. “Besides, it’s not the end of the world. We had a lot of fun together, right? You were the first girl I ever danced with who didn’t punch me in the face. That has to count for something. Plus, I’ll be dining out on stories of your father for the rest of my life. Do you know he called me a ‘flapping pussy’ when we were in the bathroom at Spago? I mean, it sucked at the time, but now it’s actually pretty funny.”

  Meagan’s mouth fell open. “He said that?”

  “Yep.”

  She tried—unsuccessfully—to stifle a grin. “Wow. He is kind of an asshole, isn’t he?”

  “He is. But he obviously cares about you. I’ve heard stories about dads trying to intimidate their daughters’ boyfriends, but he really took it to the next level.”

  “I guess he did,” she said, and then looked up at me. “So … you don’t hate me?”

  I stepped closer to give her a small hug. “I don’t hate you. I don’t hate anybody. Besides,” —I pulled back to look at her—“you have a lot of really hot friends. It’d be a shame to waste a resource like that.”

  “Oh my God, you’re mean!” She punched my shoulder.

  “I don’t mean for me,” I said quickly. “Crap, that came out wrong. I just mean my roommates would kill me if I didn’t ask for some introductions. Especially Brian. He needs all the help he can get.”

  Meagan pushed back. “Which one is Brian?”

  “The short one.”

  She scrunched her nose and shook her head. “The tall one is who I’m thinking of. The one with the accent.”

  “Buckner,” I said.

  Her eyes suddenly lit up. “That’s the one. I totally forgot to tell you. You know my roommate, Krista?”

  “The one who hates me?”

  “Yeah. She got super drunk a few nights ago at this party and told me she was in love with your tall roommate, but I couldn’t remember his name. Do you think he’d like her?”

  I told her that he definitely would.

  And that was that for me and Meagan Goodman. We were going to be friends. It taught me something really important, actually. Sometimes people do crappy things, but that doesn’t mean that’s who they are. The fact is there’s a whole world going on inside everyone’s head, and it’s big and it’s loud and it’s complicated, and it’s a miracle when you can learn even the slightest thing about it. Meagan might have cheated on me and it definitely wasn’t cool. But someday—and this day may never come—I might screw up a tiny bit myself. And when I do, I’ll do my best to fix it. Meagan had just done exactly that. She didn’t have to come over this morning. She didn’t have to speak to me ever again. (Heck, I’d deleted her from my phone.) But she came over anyway. Not to yell or get back together or anything like that. She came over to make things right. Or at least, better. That took courage. And because of it, neither of us lost a friend. I’d have to remember that for the future …

  • • •

  By the late afternoon, I couldn’t take it anymore. I needed to know how Cassie was doing. I’d tried texting her, but I’m pretty sure her phone got smashed when the Drider jumped on her. Thus, my only option was to bother Rosewood. I knew he’d be friendly if I called him, but I still didn’t want to bug the guy.

  “Oh, nonsense!” he declared after I apologized. “I was about to call you, in fact. I am pleased to announce that Cassandra is doing very well. The doctors released her a few hours ago.”

  A tidal wave of relief washed over me. Once it passed, however, there was a teeny, tiny bit of betrayal when I realized she hadn’t called me yet. I asked Rosewood where she was and he gave a light chuckle before responding.

  “Between you and me, François, I dare say Cassandra is a bit embarrassed. Don’t tell her I told you, of course, but I fear she’s feeling rather shy at the moment. You must understand, our succubus friend is quite a ferocious creature herself, so to get taken by a Drider is something of an insult.”

  “Oh,” I said. “So … should I not mention it or something?”

  “Ha! That’s up to you. It all depends on whether you’re prepared for hand-to-hand combat with a super assassin.”

  “Mums the word,” I said.

  “A wise decision. Now as it happens, I’m due to meet with her here in Washington shortly. Would you care to join us?”

  “Oh. Is that okay?”

  “Of course. What she and I have to discuss concerns you as well. We will be meeting at the Old Ebbitt Grill in a few minutes at seven o’clock. Although—if I might make a suggestion—I would avoid the backdoor in the Hollywood Sign for the time being. There is another one behind Jumbo’s Clown Room. It will put you onto Dupont Circle.”

  After fiddling with Google Maps for a second, I threw on some clean clothes and headed toward Hollywood Boulevard. I maneuvered Mary Lou into the alley behind Jumbo’s and found a back exit. It had a small lock above the handle where I could use my key. I said, “Washington, D.C.,” and pushed the door open.

  When I went through, I looked back to see I’d just exited a bookstore. Also, I realized—a tad too late—that the genius plan I had come up with in LA wasn’t so genius after all. You see, I didn’t walk through the backdoor into D.C. I scootered through it. That way, I figured, I’d still have some wheels when I got to the other side. It didn’t occur to me that it might look weird to people when I arrived. I was spared no shortage of Should-I-Call-The-Police looks from numerous passersby. Plus, the store was sunken below street level, so I had to rev Mary Lou’s engine and scooter up a small flight of stairs. I felt like a weirdo. Once I was on the road, though, I blended back into traffic.

  I pulled up outside the Old Ebbitt Grill and parked the scooter. (One of the perks of Mary Lou was the ability to park her anywhere. It was like being a visiting diplomat.) I spotted Rosewood sitting with Cassie in a dark booth in the far corner. They were both hunched and whispering, though they straightened when I approached.

  “Good of you to join us,” Rosewood said, half-standing from his seat.

  Cassie glanced up, but then looked back at the table.

  “Hey,” I said to her.

  “Hey,” she mumbled, but didn’t look up.

  I sat next to Rosewood. It felt weird not saying anything about yesterday—even something small like, “I’m glad you’re okay.” But if Rosewood didn’t think it was a good idea, I trusted his judgment. He knew Cassie a lot better than I did.

  “So,” I said, clapping my hands. “How’s everyone doing?”

  Yeah. That was a stupid thing to say. But I had to say something, right?

  Rosewood sighed. “Not so well, I’m afraid.” His voice hushed again and he leaned forward. “As I was just telling Cassandra, it concerns our missing professor. The BPI has taken a much greater interest in his disappearance. The Vampire Lord, Aeroth, provided them with intelligence—intelligence that they are not willing to share. They have now begun a full spectrum search for Steinberg, and I fear their motives are not in the best interest of this realm.”

  I knitted my brow. Weren’t the BPI the good guys?

  “But I
thought you wanted them to find him,” I said.

  Rosewood nodded gravely. “I did. But I fear my recent efforts have uncovered some unfortunate truths.” He glanced sideways before continuing. “I believe the BPI to be compromised,” he whispered. “I cannot be sure, but their behavior has changed in unsettling ways. There is a darkness to them now that wasn’t there before. They have two agents tailing me—which I assure you is quite unprecedented. Several of my colleagues are under surveillance as well. This is a very troubling development. It is also why I must rely so heavily upon you. There is only so much I can do while I am being watched. I need you two to do something for me.”

  Cassie suddenly looked up. “Anything,” she said. Her eyes, I noticed, were fierce.

  “I need you to return to the Grand Library,” Rosewood said. “There is a book there—a very old book that you will need permission to read.”

  “From the library?” I asked.

  “Yes. And it must be you to do it, François. The book can only be read by a wizard.”

  “What is it?”

  Rosewood studied the table a moment. “It was written by a very extraordinary man of magic. You know him as Galileo Galilei—one of the fathers of modern science. He was, in fact, the most brilliant alchemist the world has ever known. The book you seek details several of his most prominent inventions. I need you to find a certain passage, Inter Regna Telescopio. Here, I’ve written it down.” He slid a small paper across the tabletop. “Your task will be simple. I need you to memorize the full passage. It will be in Latin, of course, but there is no other way. The words will not appear in a photograph and magic is not allowed in the library.”

  I unfolded the little paper to see a number of Latin words penned in a delicate hand. It made me a little nervous. Memorizing a bunch of Latin didn’t sound easy.

  “How long is the passage?” I asked.