by Siegel, Alex
Blake walked over to the surveillance console. He yanked a big plug out of the wall, and the whole system went dark.
"Leave that off," he said, "but continue to watch the blank monitors. When you make your reports to headquarters, tell them nothing is wrong. There is no sign of trouble. The seam is still secure."
The BPI agents nodded with glazed eyes.
"Next topic," Blake said. "How often do you take the blood test?"
"Twice a week," one agent said. "We collect the samples here and send them to headquarters for analysis."
"From now on, take somebody else's blood and label it as your own. I suggest tapping a prostitute or a homeless person. It doesn't matter as long as the blood doesn't come from a member of this team."
The agents nodded again. Blake wondered if they understood the reason for the strange order.
"Finally, don't go over to the seam," Blake said. "Lead your lives as you normally would, but keep your distance from Tad's Truck Parts. I'll be working there. Do not interfere."
He reaffirmed the orders to make sure all the agents would comply. When he was satisfied, he left the building.
He jogged straight back to his car. Flashing red and blue lights told him the police had arrived, and he approached cautiously. He watched four cops arrest Blake's driver and take him away.
Eventually, it was safe to proceed. He hurried over to his black BMW and looked through the back window. Phillip was still staying out of sight. Blake knocked on the window to get the boy's attention, and Blake gestured for him to come out.
Phillip had wide eyes as he stepped out of the car. "I saw the police."
"I know," Blake said. "Come with me."
They walked towards Tad's Truck Parts. The seam inside the building gave Blake a warm feeling as he approached it. His thoughts came quicker, and colors appeared brighter. The Russian Eye was just a toy by comparison. Now he could perform serious sorcery.
The front door was made of metal and didn't have a window.
"Stand there." Blake pointed at a spot in front of the door.
Phillip stood on the spot. He was still struggling to escape Blake's control, but the boy didn't have the training. He was helpless before Blake's power.
Blake knocked on the door and stepped to the side. He put his back against the wall.
After a moment, the door opened, and a man in a blue business suit peered out. "Hello?" He looked at Phillip. "What are you doing here, little boy?"
Blake took control of his mind. Blake used both the Russian Eye and the seam inside the building as sources of power, and the feeling was exhilarating.
"How many other agents are in there?" Blake said.
"One more," the man in blue replied.
"Get him out here."
The man yelled a name, and another agent came to the door. Blake took control of him just as easily.
Blake gave them the same instructions as the other BPI agents. He sent them to the white building to join their colleagues.
"Finally, it's just you and me," Blake said to Phillip.
The two of them entered the building. The interior was a big, open space with long strips of fluorescent lights. There was no heat, and Blake's breath made clouds of mist in the still air. Metal shelves stood on the floor, and they held thousands of automotive parts. Cardboard boxes formed tall stacks against the walls. A light coating of dust and cobwebs indicated nothing had been touched for years, probably since the mass murder.
An office on the right was brightly lit. Blake looked through a window and saw a space heater with glowing coils. Chairs with soft cushions were on either side of a coffee table. Cards and poker chips indicated a game had been in progress.
Blake went forward instead. The seam was in the center of the warehouse, and it throbbed like a wound. It had the shape of a human heart, invisible to normal eyes but perfectly obvious to him. Black energy spewed out of jagged openings. Tiny sprites as small as fleas swarmed around the seam with random motions. Strong sources of power always attracted clouds of sprites.
"Can you see it?" Blake said.
"I don't know what I see," Phillip said. "The air is weird in here, like it's oily. There is a strange feeling in my head."
Blake went back to the office and opened the door. The air inside was warm from the heater. He dragged one of the chairs through the warehouse to a spot directly under the seam.
"Sit," Blake commanded.
Phillip sat on the chair.
Blake retrieved the other chair. He was huffing a little by the time he got back to Phillip. Blake placed the second chair facing the first from a few feet away.
"What are you doing?" Phillip said.
"Getting ready to train you," Blake said.
He looked around and spotted some coils of rope on a shelf. Just what I need, he thought. He retrieved the rope and brought it back to Phillip.
"What's that for?" the boy said.
"To hold you still in case you have a seizure. The training will be hard on your brain."
Blake wound the ropes around Phillip's arms, legs, and chest, binding him tightly to the chair. The boy's eyes were full of fear, but Blake still had him under firm control.
Blake talked while he worked. "We're going to try something very interesting. I don't know if it's ever been done before. I'm going to copy all of my memories into your mind. You'll experience my life as if it were your own. When I'm done, you'll talk and think just like me. You should have all the skills of a full sorcerer, and the process will only take a couple of weeks. Doesn't that sound exciting?"
"Will it hurt?"
"I'm afraid so. The problem is you already have a personality. It needs to be wiped out to make room for mine. All your existing memories must be purged. I need a blank canvas before I can start painting. Fortunately, your mind is very young and malleable. It should accept the new thought patterns readily."
"You're taking away my memories?" Phillip said in a quavering voice.
"Don't worry about it. You don't have any worth keeping. Mine are much better. Now open wide."
Phillip opened his mouth. Blake ran a rope between his teeth and tied it to the chair, forcing Phillip to keep his head back against the cushion.
"This is great," Blake said. "I've wanted to try this technique for a decade. You're part of a historic undertaking. You should feel honored."
Phillip whimpered.
Blake sat in the other chair and settled in. Being so close to even a medium-size seam was making him giddy. It had been too long since he had felt fully charged.
"Any last words?"
"Let me go," Phillip said around the rope in his mouth, "please."
"Sorry. I need your talent to extend mine. I may not be powerful enough to accomplish my goals alone." Blake took a deep breath. "Let's get started."
He began the spell.
The muscles in Phillip's neck and jaw tightened. He screamed and thrashed against the ropes.
* * *
Andrew, Charley, and Tonya crossed the street separating their house from Theosophical University. It was a cold, dark morning. Andrew was wearing his heaviest coat, mittens, and a ski mask, and he was still shivering. He was even too cold to hold Charley's hand. The Chicago winter had officially become miserable.
The Fine Arts Building loomed ahead. The darkness combined with the Gothic architecture made it look like a haunted house, and in a way, it was. The massacre of an entire Native American village had created the seam almost two centuries ago. The university was built on top of a mass burial site. The psychic energy and perhaps the souls of the dead were embodied in the seam.
"I got a call this morning while you two were asleep," Tonya said. "We're going to Washington after today's lesson."
"A meeting of the Tribunal?" Charley said.
"Yes, and you'll attend. It will be part of your final exam."
Andrew perked up. "Wait. Does that mean our training is done?"
"Your special training is almost don
e. Just one more lesson. After Blake is dead, you'll come back and resume your normal apprenticeship. You're stuck with me until you've learned every skill, not just how to fight."
Andrew smiled. Even a partial graduation justified a feeling of pride. The special training had been absolutely brutal.
"Why is the Tribunal having a meeting?" Charley said.
"A sorcerer is standing trial," Tonya said. "You don't know her. Actually, she won't even be there. We're just going to hear testimony against her."
"Then what is our part in it?"
"That will be up to the Tribunal, but your new skills will be tested. That's all I know for sure. We'll find out the rest when we get to Washington."
The group reached the Fine Arts Building. When Andrew opened the door, warm air washed over him. He led the women down narrow, steep, concrete stairs to the basement. Their footsteps echoed off of the tan tiled walls and hard floor.
Andrew wondered what his final lesson would be. It had to be crucial if Tonya wanted it done before they left.
She typed in the code on the keypad and pulled open the heavy door. Steel straps reinforced the door, and it was hung on giant hinges.
She waved irritably for the BPI agents inside to leave. "Be back in a half-hour."
They hurried off without a word.
The sorcerers went into the chamber, took off their winter gear, and sat at one of the wooden tables. Andrew looked at the odd items on the shelves. He had pitted his intellect against the three-dimensional puzzles on many occasions. Charley had practiced transmutation on the blocks of wood, metal, glass, and stone. He wondered when he would be back. The last time he had gone on a mission, it had turned into quite an adventure.
"I'm going to teach you truth sorcery," Tonya said. "You can use it to force a person to recognize and speak the truth. This is particularly helpful when dealing with a victim of mind-control which is one of Blake's favorite tricks."
Andrew leaned forward eagerly. Truth sorcery sounded very useful indeed.
She continued, "The principle is simple. You've already learned how to dispel an illusion. You just do the same thing inside another person's head. You force them to be completely rational. I should caution you. Don't use truth sorcery unless it's absolutely necessary. It's enough like mind-control to be considered an infernal art by some. People have a right to lie if they want to. Understand?"
Andrew and Charley nodded.
"Is there a defense against truth sorcery?" Andrew said.
"Normal psychic defenses work," Tonya said, "as with any telepathic intrusion. We have a plane to catch, so we'll make this quick. Andrew, this spell should come very easily to you, so you'll practice first. Charley, start lying. Andrew, make her stop."
Charley faced Andrew. "I hate you. You have a face like a pig. You dress in rags. The weather outside is warm and sunny...."
He relaxed and entered the proper mental state for sorcery. He had practiced telepathy so often lately, it had become second nature. He cleared his mind of all thoughts, and then he focused his attention on Charley. Genuine, unprejudiced curiosity would create a connection between them. Within seconds, he was inside her head.
Andrew had an opportunity to browse her memories and feelings, but that would be rude. She had a right to her privacy. If she wanted to share something with him, she would do so. He would just stop her from lying.
Lies were a kind of verbal illusion, so he went through his usual drill for dispelling illusions. He imagined clocks and mathematical formulas. He pushed the rational part of his mind to the forefront. He refused to allow any ideas that didn't make perfect sense.
Charley paused. Her eyes bulged, and her mouth moved, but no words came out.
"Gently," Tonya cautioned. "You've become very strong, strong enough to injure or kill."
Andrew backed off a bit.
Finally, Charley whispered, "I love you."
She turned away and rubbed her temples as if she suddenly had a bad headache.
"Are you OK?" he said.
"I just need a few seconds. That was impressive."
He grinned.
"Nice," Tonya said. "Your turn, Charley. Andrew, start lying."
He nodded and looked at Charley. "You have a face like a horse. Your hair is a greasy mess. I hate the stupid, ugly sweaters you always wear...."
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. He waited patiently for her mind to come to his. He knew she would take more time and have more difficulty than him. Her specialty was physical sorcery, not mental. She wasn't a war mage.
Andrew started to feel pressure in his head. He had strange visions of multiplication tables and physics equations. Lying was suddenly less easy. He resisted for a few minutes to give her a challenge, but then he let her win.
"I love you, too," he said.
"Adorable," Tonya said. "We should go. It was a short lesson but a necessary one. I fear you'll need truth sorcery in the near future." She stood up and walked towards the door. "Come on."
Chapter Five
Andrew stepped out of the car and looked at the private jet which would fly him to Washington. The jet was dark blue with the official logo of the BPI painted on the hatch. The logo was a black gear with a white ruler and an electrical bolt drawn on top.
He was standing in a hanger. The air was cold enough to freeze his breath, but at least the concrete floor was free of snow. He was tired of shuffling cautiously across icy sidewalks.
Tonya and Charley joined him. All three of them were heavily bundled, and only their faces were exposed. Charley had a white jacket, but her hat and mittens were a shocking pink. Thermal underwear made her blue jeans a little puffy. Tonya's clothes were somber grays and blacks, and instead of mittens, she wore black leather gloves.
The hatch of the aircraft was already open. The sorcerers pulled their luggage out of the trunk of the car, hurried over to the jet, climbed a staircase, and entered. Andrew looked down an aisle at twenty seats in ten rows. The blue chairs were bigger and more thickly padded than the ones in normal passenger airlines.
Agents Dan Easton and Tungsten were already seated up front. Both men wore the generic blue suits of BPI agents which matched the upholstery almost perfectly. Dan was athletic, but at least his body parts had normal proportions. Tungsten was such a physical freak, his suit didn't fit right. The fabric was stretched tight across his massive chest and shoulders.
Andrew wasn't surprised to see the agents. They were his and Charley's designated bodyguards.
Andrew nodded and smiled politely but sat a few seats back from the agents. He wasn't great friends with either of them. He respected their skills, and the men always had a professional demeanor, but there was an inevitable lack of trust. BPI agents had fundamentally different motivations than sorcerers. They worked together out of necessity rather than desire.
Charley sat across the aisle from Andrew, and Tonya sat behind them.
The crew of the aircraft didn't waste any time, and it was flying through a cloudy sky a few minutes later. Powerful jet engines whined loudly just outside the windows. Sunlight entered the cabin from the right side.
Tonya leaned forward. "This will be a quick flight. You might as well use the time to practice sorcery."
"But we don't have a seam," Andrew said.
"That doesn't mean you can't meditate and do mental exercises."
He nodded unenthusiastically. He hated practicing without a seam. His thoughts were sluggish, and his mind was trapped inside the tiny prison of his skull. Casting even the simplest illusion was impossible. He could sense the special energy in other sorcerers, but otherwise, he had all the limitations of a normal person. It was like the most interesting part of his brain was asleep.
Andrew complied nonetheless. He didn't know what his final exam would be, but a little more preparation couldn't hurt.
He performed visualization exercises. He imagined his favorite sports cars in as much detail as possible. He tacked on fins, racing strip
es, and even a little road grime. The challenge was keeping all of it in his head at once. As he slipped into a deeper meditative state, the task became easier even without a seam.
After an hour and a half, a strange sensation broke his focus. He looked over at Charley and detected a distortion in her energy signature. Her lips were pressed together, and her eyes were squeezed tightly shut.
"What are you doing?" Andrew whispered.
"Trying cold sorcery," she said in a tight voice.
He furrowed his brow. Cold sorcery was casting spells without the benefit of a seam.
"Any luck?"
She shook her head. "No. It's way too hard. It's like trying to punch through a steel wall."
Andrew looked back at Tonya. "What are the rules about cold sorcery?"
"There aren't any," she said. "Most sorcerers can't do it, and the few who can are very limited."
"Can you?"
"It's been years since I tried. I can give it a shot."
Andrew and Charley stood up so they could get a better view of their instructor. Tonya raised her index finger and held it in front of her face. Her eyes locked onto the tip of her finger.
Nothing seemed to happen for a few minutes. Andrew sensed Tonya's energy swelling, but her power was muted without a seam. Her cheek twitched. A blood vessel in her forehead throbbed.
A pinprick of green light appeared above her finger. It was almost too faint to see, but it was there.
Tonya abruptly relaxed and let out her breath. The light instantly vanished.
"Whew! That took everything I had."
Andrew and Charley broke into spontaneous applause. He could hardly believe what he had witnessed.
"OK," Tonya said. "Simmer down. Get back in your seats. We're going to land soon."
As if on cue, the nose of the airplane tilted down, and the engines changed pitch. Andrew sat down and buckled his seat belt. He was still in awe of Tonya's accomplishment.
Maybe one day I'll be as powerful as her, he thought.
* * *
Andrew looked out the car window at a suburb of Washington, DC. There was just a light dusting of snow on the ground. The homes were two or occasionally three stories tall. Extensive use of pillars, arches, stonework, and stained glass told him rich people lived in the neighborhood.