The Act offered amnesty to werewolves who killed, wounded or infected others during their first transformation, but after that they were expected to register with the government – and would be charged with murder if they lost control during their second transformation. A note explained that they’d drawn links with AIDS victims, in which an infected person couldn't be charged for infecting others if they didn't know they had AIDS. Vampires, on the other hand, seemed unlikely to register; they'd have to be hunted down and killed by the police, or even local civilians. Thaddeus couldn't disagree; if half of the reports he’d seen were true, the one captured vampire was effectively a sociopath.
“There will be legal challenges to this,” he pointed out. He'd heard most of them when he’d started his own campaign. “Someone will suggest that we are discriminating against werewolves because of a genetic trait they cannot help.”
“I know,” the President said. He rubbed his eyes, tiredly. “But do you have any better suggestions?”
Thaddeus shrugged and opened the second part of the Act. The Magical Control Act (Magicians) was similar; a person who developed actual powers was supposed to report to the government, in which case whatever happened when the magician’s powers developed would not be considered a serious crime. Thaddeus knew people who would object to that – including his friend, the late Reverend – but it was pointless to hold someone to account for an involuntary action. Registered magicians were supposed to work with the government, learning to develop their powers – and eventually work for the military, law enforcement or even business. There was a whole list of possible occupations at the back of the Act.
The Act took a very dim view of actually using magic to harm, humiliate or control other human beings, with dire penalties affixed if the crime should be proven. Thaddeus suspected that would be easier legislated than put into practice, not when certain kinds of magic were largely untraceable. Gavin Harrison had been lucky; if Calvin had destroyed the hair clippings, there would have been nothing to suggest his innocence. And enforcing the Act was going to be a bitch, If Calvin could escape a small army of policemen, killing far too many people in the process, what would the others be able to do?
“It isn't as strong as I proposed,” he said, finally.
“No,” the President agreed. “But your suggestion was somewhat impractical.”
Thaddeus said nothing, considering. Some of his supporters wanted all magicians – witches, they called them – either confined well away from decent folk or simply exterminated. He found it annoying, to say the least, when such people were on his side. It made it difficult to sneer at them properly. And the President was right. Some of his suggestions were impractical.
“There’s a great deal of frightened people out there, Mr. President,” he said, grimly. “They want their children to be safe.”
“So do I,” the President said, softly. “I just want to avoid a massive overreaction that will cause major problems in the future.”
Thaddeus nodded. Calvin had apparently believed that he would be blamed for Moe’s death – and, without a hope of explaining himself, had fallen to the dark side, as one particularly annoying talking head had put it. Suggesting that future teenage magicians would simply be executed upon discovery, as one prominent religious fruitcake had already suggested, would drive the magicians underground – or push them into trying to overthrow the government. What was the old joke?
If the penalty for everything, including being late for work, is death, why not rebel? What do you have to lose? And besides, you’re already late...
“Very well,” he said, too savvy an operator to simply agree to follow the President. “I see that the Act makes provision for a supervisory council for magical affairs...?”
“You will be on it,” the President said.
Thaddeus had to smile. The President would want him to migrate criticism of the administration’s failure to act quickly – and the seat on the council was effectively a bribe. But he did have his own political following...who knew? It could destroy his career, or it could allow him to make his own run for President later on. And besides, if he stepped back now, much of his support would evaporate. The President had trapped him rather neatly.
“We’re going to be rushing things,” the President admitted. It normally took months to bring a Act up for consideration in the Senate. “I trust I can rely on your support?”
“Of course, Mr. President,” Thaddeus said. Besides, if he helped direct the Act, it would be easier for him to influence the selection of the other members. “It would be a honour to serve.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Washington DC, USA
Day 34
“They don’t know anything,” Caitlyn said. She shook her head as she gazed through the window at Mr. Jackson. He was a tall, powerfully-built man who seemed to have problems with female authority figures. “Their son was a black magician and they never knew.”
Matt nodded, rather sourly. Calvin Jackson’s mother and father were typical of such people, forced to work full time just to use their combined salaries to keep a roof over their heads. They didn't have time to spend with their kids, leaving them to practically raise themselves, because if they made time they wouldn't have enough money to live. Like so many others, they were permanently one bad week away from the poverty line. The consequences for the children were never good, but this time they had been particularly disastrous.
There had been no confirmed sighting of Calvin since his escape from New York. Joe Buckley, posing as an oversized police dog, had tracked him up to the point where he'd climbed into a taxi, only to lose the scent as the taxi drove off. He figured that he might be able to identify the taxi if he ever encountered it, but Matt suspected that it was unlikely that anyone would see the taxi and driver ever again. Calvin certainly had nothing to lose any longer. It was quite likely that the taxi driver had been sacrificed and the body – along with his taxi – disintegrated into dust.
It hadn't stopped the media from reporting every reported sighting as a confirmed one. Matt couldn't understand how Calvin could be seen in places as separated as New England and California, unless he'd mastered the ability to teleport – and Golem had said that there wasn't enough mana in the air to allow it. Yet. Not, in the end, that it really mattered; every reported sighting caused a panic and diverted police resources that could be better employed elsewhere.
New York State was a huge place, assuming that Calvin hadn't simply crossed the state line and gone elsewhere. Searching the entire state would have been tricky even if they hadn’t been looking for a person who could effectively change his shape; Matt had a quiet suspicion that they only way they would locate Calvin would be to wait until he showed himself, and hope like hell they had snipers in position to do something about it. He’d been practicing with a rifle himself, just in case.
“Which leaves us with a major problem,” he said. He nodded his head towards the window. “What do we do with them?”
“They want protective custody,” Caitlyn said. “I find it hard to blame them; right now, they’re among the most hated people in America. And the legal vultures are already circling, looking for money. They’re going to be sued so hard that they won't want to even look at a lawyer ever again.”
“I know the feeling,” Matt grunted. It really wasn't fair – the Jacksons hadn't been bad parents, not compared to a number who deserved the death penalty – but the world wasn't fair. It was human nature to look for someone to blame and, right now, his parents looked like the prime suspects. “I don’t want to look at lawyers either.”
He scowled. Fairview High School had been shut down again – and this time, there was a good chance that it wouldn't reopen. Most of the remaining pupils had been pulled out of school, their parents looking for other schools or starting their own homeschooling programs. The principal and half of his staff were facing lawsuits of their own, either because they had allowed Calvin to be bullied into sociopathic behaviou
r or because they hadn't spotted the danger signs before it had been too late. Legal history was going to be made, Matt had been told. That didn't bode well for anyone.
“We’ll keep them here, for the moment,” Caitlyn decided. “Golem thinks that Calvin’s little sister should have potential, at the very least.”
Matt frowned. “Do we really want to risk training her?”
“The alternative is cutting her throat,” Caitlyn pointed out. They shared a long glance. “I’m not ready to murder a little girl because she might grow up into a threat.”
“No,” Matt agreed. “Me neither.”
Caitlyn changed the subject as they walked away from the prison cell. “How is Misty?”
“Recovering,” Matt said. Kaleen had been able to heal the damage to her hand, which had been almost destroyed, but she hadn't managed to heal the runes Calvin had cut into Misty’s body. Golem had explained that they were actually carved into her essence as well as her physical body – and that Calvin had been interrupted before he’d carved the final rune. It had been all that had saved Misty’s life. “She thinks there’s nothing wrong with her magic, but she really wants to get rid of the runes.”
“I don’t blame her,” Caitlyn said. She frowned. “Is there any way we can use them to track him?”
“Golem thinks not,” Matt said. They had tried to use Mindy Jackson to get a bearing on Calvin’s current location, but the spell had failed. Golem had suggested that the Queen of Nightmares would have told him to cover his tracks. “We may have to wait and see where he appears next.”
“The President won’t like that,” Caitlyn said, ruefully. “Nor will anyone else.”
Matt had been nine years old when terrorists had flown two planes into the World Trade Centre, but he still remembered the desperate search for someone – anyone – to blame. The reason there were no shortage of conspiracy theories about 9/11 was partly because few people really wanted to accept that something had happened by accident and incompetence, rather than deliberate malice. Malice would have made it easier to accept, somehow. Right now, everyone who thought they were important was screaming at the government, the police and the military for not having Done Something. They were rather less vocal about just what the government should have Done.
“I suppose not,” he said, finally. How did one track a magical criminal with the ability to change his features, control minds and perhaps even fly? “Come on. We’re late for the planning session.”
***
Golem looked down at the map of the United States, mentally comparing it with the map he recalled from when he had been created. It was difficult to be sure, but it seemed that many of the old places of power were gone, while the original purpose of many others had been forgotten. Comparing the reports of supernatural events near certain places of power confirmed that they were alive – and hoped separate out the powerless places – but it wasn't complete. So much of the world had changed during his long sleep that he suspected he was missing many potential places of power.
Silently, he asked himself a simple question. What would Harrow actually require to break free from her cage? Power, of course, and power her servant could provide her, simply by finding a handful of other Unchanged and sacrificing them. But she'd also need a weak spot where the ritual could be performed, ideally somewhere isolated. Unless, of course, the ritual could be performed very quickly. A working on such a scale would be sensed by every magician in the world.
It was quite possible that Harrow would expect her servant to go outside the country, to a place of power that wasn't guarded. Given that Calvin couldn't teleport – unless he chose to waste mana deliberately – it would probably take several days for him to go elsewhere. The locals had the airports heavily guarded, with systems in place that were originally intended to catch corrupt workers. Golem had been assured that they would work just as well in catching someone who was under outside influence. No, simple logic suggested that Harrow would want to escape as soon as possible. She knew about Golem now, and she’d have a good idea who had created him. The Thirteen wouldn't be able to risk having the prison doors slammed shut again.
He didn't look up as someone strode into the room, until they were standing on the other side of the table. “Golem,” Matt said, flatly. “Do you know where they’re going?”
“No,” Golem admitted. “You should have killed him.”
“We need to know what he knows,” Matt said, tiredly. They’d had the same argument several times, but it wasn't in Golem’s nature just to let something go. Enchanter had given him an obsession about the Thirteen for very good reasons. “Where is he going?”
“You could not have held him for long,” Golem pointed out, for the fifth time. “You have yet to produce a working Niven’s Wheel. Without it, the only way to hold him would be drugs and he could have learned counter spells. And besides, the Queen of Nightmares would not have told him more than he needs to know.”
Matt scowled. “We need to know,” he said. “How much else did he do before he attacked Misty?”
“As long as he is alive and free, he’s dangerous,” Golem said. “The next time you have a clear shot, take it.”
The modern world seemed absurdly solicitous of its enemies. Calvin might have been a black magician, but he was far from the worst monster in the brave new world. Freaks who would have been executed in Golem’s time were tolerated, even allowed to work the system to survive and continue their sick acts, rather than simply being killed and their heads delivered to the families of their victims. The defiance of some smaller countries to their much larger neighbours was utterly insane – and why didn't their neighbours simply teach them a lesson? No ruler of a microstate back home would have risked taking in groups intrinsically opposed to his neighbour’s rule. It would have served as an excuse for war.
“Fine,” Matt said. He sounded as if he’d simply grown tired of arguing, rather than agreeing with Golem. “Where are they likely to go?”
“There are too many possibilities,” Golem said. He tapped the map, where he’d marked unknown places of power with a pencil. “It could be any of these, or somewhere that was undiscovered by the Brotherhood...”
“And there are others outside the country,” Matt said. “How long would it take them to get there?”
One red mark lay over the Congo, which had crashed back into civil war after one faction had started using ritual magic on another faction. Or so the story went. Another one lay over the Temple Mount; a third lay over Mecca. The President had asked the host countries to attempt to secure the places of power, but no one had any real contact with the Congo. Apparently, the Pentagon was drawing up plans to land a Ranger battalion in the area, but it promised to drag the US into the local civil war.
“Without mana, it would have taken months in my time,” Golem said. Not for the first time, he was glad he wasn’t human. Harrow would have real problems coping with the changed world. “Right now, you have planes that can take you all around the world faster than any sorcerer could hope to fly.”
“If he managed to get on one,” Matt said. He looked over at Golem. “What’s she going to do?”
Golem looked back at him. “Try to take power,” he said. “The Thirteen sought to take power to secure themselves while they carried out their experiments. It was that – their grab for power – that convinced the Brotherhood to unite against them. She will need security and ruling a large chunk of your world will ensure that she is secure. And then she can start unlocking the other cells.”
“Right,” Matt said. “How is she going to take power?”
That, Golem realised a moment later, was something he should have considered. And he had been so focused on the black magician that he’d let it slip.
The modern world had massive states; his world had had very few states larger than New England. It had always been that way; those who tried to build up vast empires rapidly united their neighbours against them, or lost their kingdoms to predatory so
rcerers. The sorcerers themselves had often ruled countries, either directly or through mundane servants, but they’d never actually managed to really expand their power. Outside Ys, which had been an island, and Atlantis, few states remained stable for very long. The Brotherhood had tried to govern sorcerers, but as herding sorcerers was rather like herding cats – with the added danger of being turned into something small and squishy – it hadn't managed to govern very well.
But the Thirteen had succeeded in building up an alliance. And they’d been so dangerous that the rest of the sorcerers had united against them.
“By force,” he said, finally. Harrow would probably find the modern world even more mystifying than he did, with the added problem that she believed her powers gave her the right to rule over lesser beings. “She will probably try to take the President; capturing the King would have worked in the old days...”
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