Science and Sorcery

by Christopher Nuttall

  There, Harrow said. What is that?

  Calvin winced at the reminder she could look out through his eyes, but did as he was told. Not far past the bookshop, there was a small arts and crafts shop, selling various supplies to artists. There was no one inside the shop, as far as he could tell, which wasn't too surprising. But then, he'd always found arts and crafts boring as hell.

  Go inside, Harrow prompted. You do need to learn to make tools for yourself if you are truly to develop your magic.

  A bell rang as Calvin pushed open the door, catching a whiff of paint as he stepped inside. The shop appeared to be bigger on the inside than on the outside, although it looked to be more of an optical illusion caused by carefully-placed mirrors rather than the work of another magician from Harrow’s time. She’d told him that magicians could turn mirrors into traps, or secure hiding places for their secrets, or even portals that allowed them to cover thousands of miles in a single jump, but apparently it took years of study to learn how to do it properly.

  Calvin looked around, unsure of what to do first. There was an entire shelf of painting tools, ranging from fine brushes to brushes so thick they had to be for children, with rows of tiny bottles of paint underneath. Unsurprisingly, the paint was expensive, far too expensive for Calvin to buy on his allowance. Like so much else, painting would be a costly hobby. Books, computers and magic were much cheaper.

  The next set of shelves held woodworking tools, mostly unrecognisable to Calvin. He couldn't imagine what one could do with most of them. At Harrow’s command, he picked up a tiny saw and held it up, studying it thoughtfully. It had to be for very fine work indeed. One shelf held a dozen examples of what someone could create, if they had the time and money. The problem was finding the time and money.

  “Calvin?”

  Calvin jumped and spun around. Marie was standing there, wearing a drab uniform that did nothing to hide her curves. He felt visions of her nakedness rising up in front of his eyes and flushed, brightly. A goddess like Marie would never lower herself to even look at a social outcast like Calvin, he’d certainly never imagined her speaking to him. He heard Harrow’s laughter in his head and flushed again, wondering why he felt so tongue-tied after everything he’d done. How could he hold a normal conversation with her?

  “Hi,” he said, finally. “I...I just came in to browse.”

  “My dad’s brother owns the store,” Marie said. He hadn't asked her what she was doing in the store, but she was somewhat self-obsessed. And besides, she wouldn't want anyone to think she went into the store willingly. “Dad insists that I work here on weekends.”

  Calvin tried hard to keep his face under control. Marie’s family were supposed to be rich, although he knew that such things were relative. A millionaire might still be poor compared to one of the Wall Street bankers who’d made billions off the banking crash. The internet claimed that a higher than normal suicide rate on Wall Street was caused by hundreds of curses being directed at the bankers by their victims. But Marie’s father had made his money the hard way and he clearly didn't intend to let his daughter waste all of her life.

  “Here?” Calvin asked. “Not the clothing store?”

  It sounded dumb the moment the words came out of his mouth. Marie’s face twitched unpleasantly, leaving Calvin feeling a strange mixture of shame and anger. He had sounded a little...stupid, hadn't he? Marie spent half of her time in clothing shops, but as a customer rather than a worker. She'd hate the very idea of being treated as she treated serving girls.

  “My uncle doesn't own a clothing store,” she sneered, finally. “And what are you doing here?”

  Calvin felt his anger growing stronger and fought to bring it under control. How dare she treat him like that? Didn’t she know that he’d killed Moe and his cronies – and Sandra? Of course she didn't, he realised a moment later. She still thought of him as the nerd so nerdy that even the other nerds stayed well away from him, the loser so pathetic that it had been funny, rather than horrifying, when Moe had pulled down his pants in front of the entire class. The hot rage bubbled out of control and he found himself shaping a spell within his mind. This one compelled its target to give truthful answers, always.

  “Tell me,” he said, feeling the anger giving him confidence, “how many guys have you put out for?”

  Marie looked as if she were about to slap him, before the spell took effect. “Five,” she said, dully. She clapped her hand over her mouth a moment later, as if she couldn't believe what she’d just said. If it had slipped out when talking to Calvin, it might have slipped out in front of her father, or her uncle. “What...?”

  Calvin felt his face twisting into a grin. Five was almost disappointing, compared to the rumours floating around school. They claimed that Marie had slept with every jock in the school, starting from the moment she became a woman. But rumours were undependable and guys were prone to bragging. Moe had once claimed to have slept with every girl in the class, something that pretty much had to be a lie. Calvin had never understood why he had bothered to brag. He’d had enough action to satisfy any teenage boy, unless the girls had never allowed him to go very far. There was no way that Moe would admit to not having even reached second base.

  “You...” Marie stumbled backwards in shock. “You’re the one who killed Sandra!”

  Calvin reacted instinctively, using a spell to freeze her in place. Clearly, Marie wasn't quite as dumb as she acted. Panic threatened to overwhelm him, before Harrow started issuing calm instructions directly into his mind. Carefully, he locked the door of the store and moved the OPEN sign until it read CLOSED, before casting a second spell on Marie. This one made her obedient, and helpless to object to anything.

  “Walk into the backroom,” he ordered. A moment later, he realised that he hadn't thought to check to see if anyone else – Marie’s uncle, for instance - was in the shop. He nipped ahead of her and allowed himself a moment of relief when he discovered that the shop was empty. A pile of girly magazines and an Ipad bore mute testament to what Marie had been doing, in the long hours between customers. “When is your uncle due back?”

  “This afternoon,” Marie whispered.

  Calvin looked at her. Having a cheerleader under his absolute command had been one of his fantasies for a very long time, particularly after Moe had bragged about how he had half of the cheerleading team trained to suck his cock whenever he wanted it. Calvin had known that he’d been lying and yet he’d still felt jealous. Now...he looked at Marie and felt his heartbeat starting to race. He could have her and then wipe her memory. It wasn't as if he could avoid ensuring that she didn't remember anything. If he left her, she would go to the police...

  She’s just a mundane, Harrow’s voice said. Calvin guessed that there was no point in trying to sacrifice her for mana. Harrow confirmed it a moment later. Do what you will with her.

  “Undress,” Calvin ordered. He’d seen her body before, but seeing it in the flesh was different. He felt almost drunk with power as he reached out and touched her lightly. “Get down on the floor.”

  Afterwards, he cleaned himself up and cast a series of compulsion spells on Marie. One would ensure that she cleaned herself without ever realising what had happened, although would force her to destroy all the evidence – including camera records, if there were records – and the third would make her forget what had happened. She’d never remember him at all...

  He walked out of the store, his emotions churning. Part of him rejoiced, for he had lost his virginity at long last; part of him was horrified at what he had done. He’d raped Marie; nothing he said, or did, could hide what he'd done. The rest of the world would never know, but he would know...

  She exists for you to use as you see fit, Harrow said. What do you expect she would do, in your place?

  Calvin shivered, but said nothing. There was nothing to say.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Washington DC, USA

  Day 28

  There was something in the ai
r.

  Matt could feel it as he watched Joe Buckley through the bars, a faint sense of potential hanging in the air, as if the universe was holding its breath as the seconds ticked down to zero. The change had been apparent the moment they’d looked at the records; the werewolves, all of them, had been ordering more meat in their meals for the last three days. And they’d ordered their steaks rare...

  This time, the scientists were determined, there would be a full recording of the entire werewolf transformation. The werewolves had been scattered around the base, some deep underground and well away from the moon’s light, others nearer the surface or even exposed directly to the rays from high above. All of them were caged by iron bars; behind the bars, the scientists had placed thin nets made of silver, in case the iron bars proved insufficient to keep the werewolves trapped. The guards had been issued bullets jacked with silver, as a final resort. Matt wasn't too happy about preparing deadly force to be used on people who weren't responsible for their own curses, but there was no choice. His experience – and the other reports – made it clear that they couldn't risk a werewolf breaking out and rampaging across the base. The SEALs had been told to hold their fire until the last possible moment, and then shoot to kill.

  “I could do with a woman,” Buckley called. “You think you can send me a maid?”

  Matt snorted. Buckley, unlike most of the other werewolves, seemed almost upbeat, although he had yet to transform properly. If he hadn't shown the strength and resilience of the born werewolves, it was questionable if the researchers would have kept him on the base. And yet Matt had been able to sense the magic tainting his body, the change that the mystery werewolf on Fort Hood had inflicted on him. The guards of Fort Hood, too, had been issued silver bullets.

  “I don’t think so,” he said, finally. “Certainly not into the cage.”

  Some of the other werewolves had demanded their wives, or girlfriends. Indeed, the wife of one of them was pretty much the spokesperson for Changed Rights, a new pressure group that demanded that the Changed be regarded as just another human subspecies. Her view – that the Changed were being held in involuntary confinement illegally – fought Senator Whitehall’s view all the way. Matt rather hoped that the two pressure groups would cancel one another out.

  “Maybe you should have put me together with one of the women wolves,” Buckley said, a moment later. “We might have done it while we were Changed and given a whole new meaning to the term Doggy Style.”

  Matt rolled his eyes. “That is terrible,” he said, groaning. “Just how hungry are you feeling right now?”

  “Too hungry,” Buckley said. Matt exchanged glances with one of the researchers. Buckley had eaten a steak large enough to feed two or three normal men only an hour ago, complete with fries and onion rings. For some reason, he hadn't touched the salad. “I could eat a horse. I...”

  Matt felt it, a shimmer of magic that suddenly flickered through the air. He’d sensed it before, he remembered, although he hadn’t realised what it had been before he'd run into his very first werewolf. Buckley let out a strangled sound, almost a growl, and sat upright, before plunging forward and off the bed inside the cage. His hospital gown ripped as he lunged around the cage, exposing his body. Matt had never seen anyone as hairy as Buckley...no, the hairs were growing right out of his body. Buckley’s mouth opened and he howled in pain, just before his face started to warp and twist into something inhuman. Matt couldn't take his eyes off the sight as his nose became a snout and his teeth grew sharper and nastier. There was a blur as the werewolf seemed to chase his own tail, and then he halted, staring at the humans on the other side of the cage.

  “My God,” one of the researchers breathed. “I don’t believe it.”

  The werewolf – Joe Buckley – was massive, easily the largest canine Matt had ever seen. His fur was black, dark enough to make the beast almost invisible in the darkness; his paws seemed astonishingly powerful, as if he could have outrun a cheetah in the open air. The only human thing about the werewolf was his eyes, which remained distressingly human. Matt couldn't tell if that was merely a trick of the light, or if there was something different about a made werewolf’s transformation. The last werewolf he’d seen had had inhuman eyes.

  He heard the SEALs shuffling nervously behind him, holding their weapons at the ready. They were the elite, the toughest soldiers in the country, veterans of Iraq and Afghanistan and countries that few people realised they’d visited while on duty, but the werewolf disturbed the hell out of them. Matt couldn't blame them for a second. The scent emanating from Joe Buckley’s cage brought back racial memories of the days mankind had cowered in caves, fearing the sabre-toothed tiger and other monsters that lurked just beyond the fire. It was funny, really, how he hadn't noticed the smell the last time he’d encountered a werewolf. A sniff might have been enough to make him turn and run.

  Buckley moved, finally, pacing the cage and glancing around him with his human eyes. Matt had owned a dog once, when he’d been a kid, and Buckley simply didn't act like a dog, or even a wolf. It was somehow impossible to avoid the belief that he was still intelligent, perhaps capable of thinking and planning ahead, even if his moral centre had been shifted by the Change. He stalked around the cage, tail firmly up in the air, and then settled down to stare unblinkingly at the researchers. Matt couldn't remember ever facing a more intimidating stare, even from a serial killer he'd helped arrest last year.

  “The mass seems to have changed,” one of the researchers said, through a very dry mouth. The werewolf’s scrutiny was unnerving as hell. “In some ways, I’d say he was actually lighter than I would have expected.”

  Matt blinked in surprise. Somehow, in wolf form, Joe Buckley looked bigger than he’d been as a soldier, and he’d been a pretty big soldier. Apparently, his CO had been firmly of the belief that everyone under his command, from Special Forces dudes to paper-pushers in the FOB, should exercise regularly. You never knew when a paper-pusher might have to pick up a rifle and fight to defend himself. And Buckley had been a mechanic and driver, not a REMF.

  “He stuffed himself with food,” he said, out loud. “Do you think he was storing calories for the Change?”

  “Could be,” the researcher agreed. “We don’t have a good handle on how magic drains calories from the body, but it certainly seems to do something along those lines.”

  Matt nodded. All of the magicians got hungry very quickly as they used their magic, forcing them to eat regularly and carry bars of chocolate around with them for emergency rations, although no one was quite sure why. The general theory was that flexing magical muscles – or perhaps the process of converting background mana into fuel – burned up energy. An alternate theory, popular among some of the fringe researchers, was that the magicians wanted to exercise, so they were subconsciously forcing their bodies to burn energy when they used magic. No one knew for sure.

  He peered down at one of the computer monitors as data started to flow in. The x-ray sensors that had been hidden in the cage had no difficulty providing basic data on the werewolf, starting with the fact that his brain still seemed to be human. In fact, the skull didn't seem to have changed very much, apart from growing a handful of struts for the snout. The rest of the wolf body was very different. Somehow, it seemed to have been completely altered by the curse.

  “Very much like a normal wolf, but considerably more powerful,” the researcher commented. “And I’d bet good money that the regeneration capabilities are much better in wolf form than human form. Shoot one with a normal bullet and it would be healed in seconds.”

  Unless I shot him, Matt thought, sourly. He hadn't been sure just what had gone wrong with his abilities when facing the vampire, unless his determination to take Layla alive had ensured that his shot wouldn't kill her. Golem seemed convinced that he needed training in his abilities, but there was no one to train him. Matt had no idea how the first Hunters had learned, unless their creators had already had a good idea of what they sho
uld be able to do. But how could anyone have created a whole new human subspecies back then?

  Experimentation, he thought, a moment later. Golem never said a word against Enchanter, his creator, but the interviewers had done a great deal of reading between the lines. The sorcerers had had a great deal of curiously, a vast amount of power to manipulate the natural world and a complete lack of scruples about human experimentation. They might not have understood the existence of DNA, or of genetics, but they’d certainly managed to push the boundaries of knowledge forward in remarkable directions. Golem had even mentioned a sorcerer who had created intelligent cats and dogs, all of which seemed to have died out over the years since the magic had gone away. Or maybe they were just keeping their intelligence really quiet.