Mage of Shadows

by Austen, Chanel

  Frankly, from where I had stood in high school it was a stark improvement in my opinion. But all my parents would see was the unmistakable 3.70 overall GPA. Lower than my father's 3.80 requirement. I wasn't sure how I would get out of this, but all I knew was that I couldn't leave Detroit, not after investing so much effort into finding a workable place there.

  "It'll all work out." Ruark had told me assuredly when I brought my stuff over from UT to put in my new room, just a few hours before I left to board my flight, "Your parents can't be that bad, can they?"

  "They're worse." I replied grimly.

  Ruark had just laughed. Bastard.

  My hometown in Virginia was so small that it didn't have an airport to fly into, so I landed in Charleston and fielded a cab to make the several hour drive through the night to reach it. My parents didn't make the drive out to pick me up at the airport. When I had asked over the phone if they would come, my father hadn't been very supportive of the suggestion.

  "You wanted independence; you can independently get home by yourself."

  "Okay, sir." I replied as steadily as I could. No one held onto a grudge like my father, and even months later he was still angry with me over the argument we had about going to school in Detroit. My own anger had long since dissipated with time and distance, and I only felt regret now. With no fury to shield me, his clipped tone pierced deeply and left me feeling particularly wounded.

  "Did you get your grades?" He had pressed in at the last moment of the conversation, "Don't lie to me, what did you get?"

  I wondered, as the cab steadily brought me closer to my childhood home, how long I could put off telling them. I wouldn't be able to hold out long. It would probably be better to just tell them and get the argument out of the way. I braced myself for it, trying to amp myself up to facing them with the disappointing news. I had faced Aberrants, jail, and dangerous Users… surely I could find the courage to stand up to my parents.

  The checkered taxi rolled up to the curb outside my house, and my riled courage drained out of me the moment I paid the cabbie and stepped out to get my first good look at the place I had grown up in.

  A home of fairly new, modern construction, it stood at a height with the Archanos frat house, but smaller by some margin. While not amazingly wealthy, my parents were well off. My father came from money in Greece, even though he wasn't the firstborn son. He and my mother had immigrated to America shortly after I was born, and went back to school almost immediately, finishing in their respective programs and entering the health field straight after. Now, my father was a respected surgeon and my mother was a full time nurse, head of her department.

  Really, we could've afforded a bigger house, but my parents never believed in spending money 'needlessly.' I could see their point though, there wasn't any real need for a larger house when it was only the three of us. They were always at work anyways, even when I was little.

  Barring the fact that I was alive, they seemed to have little interest in actually having a son. My maternal grandmother had made the trip over about two months after we did to continue taking care of me. My maternal grandfather had died a while before, well before I was born. I was nearly twelve when she passed as well.

  I had been wholly inexperienced with death at the time, and I felt for a very long time like my entire world had gone with her. I cried for days, far harder and longer than my father could condone of his son.

  "Stop that, Nicholas!" He would order, angrily gripping my shoulders to hold me still, "Your grandmother lived a long and happy life. She is in heaven now, and she is happy even if you are not. Now it is time to be a man and grow up. You disgrace our family by still acting as if you are five years old!"

  Whoever my paternal grandfather was, he was apparently a very hard man to please. My father would only make the vaguest references to him, usually as a way to justify his actions and choices in raising me.

  "Weakness was not tolerated with your grandfather," He would say sternly, "And I shall not tolerate it in you, either. You are a Stratus; learn how to act like it."

  My parents could have afforded to assign someone to watch me after my grandmother passed, but they didn't believe in coddling me, especially since I was all but a teenager. I was tasked with continuing the chores that my grandmother had shared with me, but alone now. My mother kindly took over the cooking whenever she had time, though I didn't mind cooking myself. It reminded me of the time I had spent in the kitchen with my grandma, the smell of traditional Mediterranean cooking bringing back wonderful memories.

  I remembered her gentle voice fondly even now, "A young man must know how to take care of himself." She would say, "I taught your mother and now I will teach you. A mother's work is never truly over."

  "But you're my grandmother!" I would protest childishly, giggling as she patted my hair.

  "You are my grandson in name, but my son in essence." She would always respond in Greek, "I love you, Nicholas, and I will always love you."

  I rapped on the door, as my father had taken my house key as one last parting act of displeasure about my choice. Three perfect, confident knocks, then waited. Not ten seconds later, the door swung open and my mother peered at me for a moment before breaking out into a smile. My mother was a diminutive woman with curled black hair and a penchant for losing track of things, including me, whenever work came up. Work always came up, if you were wondering. She pulled me into a uncharacteristic hug, which was only relatively awkward.

  "I missed you." Mom said to me, pulling back and looking me up and down, "Well… at least you look like you've managed to take care of yourself somewhat. We did try to raise you to be independent…"

  "I am, mom." I said poignantly, "I told you I could be."

  Before she could respond, my father strode into the room. Michael Stratus, a powerfully built man who had gone slightly to seed. He had become a bit rotund in his older age, but still had raven hair with only flecks of white and hawkish eyes. His domineering presence had frightened me as a young boy, and even now I was uncomfortable looking him in the eye without fidgeting. My father was a man who didn't put up with nonsense of any sort, least of all from me.

  "Don't coddle the boy, Anita." He said sharply as my mother went to his side to stand in a united front against the terror of having a strange failure of a teenage son, "So, have you learned anything new, or am I paying fifty thousand a year for you to drink and screw your life away?"

  "No sir," I responded tiredly. Why did he always think the worst of me? Was I that bad in high school? Sure my grades weren't the best, but… it was just frustrating. Especially since my mother would always take his side. When it came to matters of discipline, my full-time working mother was more than happy to leave it to grandmother… or my father, after grandma had died. I always felt, no matter how much she absentmindedly assured me of her love, she never really wanted me.

  At least dad paid attention to me, even if it had taken him years to finally notice that he indeed had a son, and indeed, I wasn't the best and brightest of my generation. I had managed to squeak by even when I manifested my magical abilities at fifteen; mostly by lying about grades and hoping they wouldn't notice the fact that I never showed them a report card. It worked shockingly well until senior year, absentee parents couldn't bother with a problem that they never saw.

  Boy, that had been a fun argument… the beginning of the really troubled times in my house.

  My father's hazel eyes were a startling reflection of my own, though I don't think mine ever had the intensity that his held. They inspected me now; much like a drill sergeant would inspect a particularly insubordinate soldier.

  "Don't slouch!" He demanded, "Now, what grades did you get?"

  "I don't know yet." I lied, unable to bring myself to say it yet, "Can I please go to bed, sir? I'm really tired."

  He stood at a height with me, though his movements held none of my adolescent awkwardness. My father's step was assured, intent with every movement and never doubting
his path. That was why it was impossible to argue any point against him. For several long moments my father contemplated my request, probably wrestling with the thought of whether he wanted an argument now, or tomorrow morning.

  "Go sleep," He decided, "We will talk more in the morning. I expect you awake before I leave for work to show me your grades. That means 6 AM, Nicholas."

  "Yes sir." I nodded respectfully. The more polite I was the less likely he might be to freak out about my grades, maybe he could admit that I was growing up. Maybe. Hopefully. Probably not.

  I trudged upstairs with my single bag, and entered my old bedroom. It had been tidied up from since I left, my many books all stacked nicely or put away into cardboard boxes near my twin-sized bed. The desktop computer looked much as I had left it, with only a thin layer of dust to signify time passed. I stood next to my window for a moment and looked out to the familiar sight of the street, unsure about how to feel about my homecoming.

  The room wasn't much, neither were my parents, but they were mine. I always knew, and always told myself that it could be worse. I had long since been able to come to terms with my grandmother's passing, my father's strict and uncompromising attitude, and my mother's docile ignorance. It felt like I had been away for too long and not long enough.

  No matter how fast and far you try and run from it, your past will always steadily catch up with you, ready to reassert itself back into your life the moment it has the chance. Old loves, old hates, old mistakes all come rushing back and affecting your present… influencing your future.

  My sleep was restless. I wondered if there would ever be a time again when I could sleep through an entire night. Maybe a side-effect of magical powers was chronic insomnia, I wouldn't have been surprised.

  111

  I awoke to an alarm the next morning at 5:50 AM and checked my phone to find that Ruark had sent me a text nearly two hours earlier.

  Check your grades again. Call it a welcoming gift, but it's a one time thing so don't get used to it.

  I checked them… and laughed in disbelief, blinking and refreshing the screen. Was this a dream? I actually pinched myself to be sure. Still awake, definitely not a dream.

  Repressing the urge to whoop with joy, I nearly skipped down the steps with my laptop in hand. I found my father at our kitchen table with his customary newspaper and cup of coffee, strong, black, just how I hated it. He set down the paper as soon as I entered with a large goofy grin on my face.

  "Well?" He demanded, "Let's see it, then."

  My mother walked over curiously as well as I set the laptop down at the table, my grades in full view for both of them. Possibly the only time I had ever been excited for them to see my grades… ever.

  Mom smiled pleasantly, the worry lines on her forehead disappearing, "Oh Nick, good job. Keep it up."

  I waited, looking at my father expectantly. After a moment longer, he harrumphed loudly and turned back to his paper, "You got an A- in English. You don't understand English?"

  "But… dad- sir- I got A's in everything else!" I protested, "Even Biology!"

  Just don't ask me how, I thought grimly, friends with friends in high places, I guess. I deserved that A anyways, in my opinion, even though I would feel guilty about how I had gotten it later. But hey, extenuating circumstances.

  My father's closed fist suddenly slammed on the table with a rattling bang that made me jump, and my mother as well. Coffee sloshed out of his mug and dribbled quietly down and across the table. It was the only movement that occurred in the ringing silence that followed the abrupt action.

  "You should have A's in everything." His voice was low, dangerous, "I should not have to watch my son's every move. I should not have to endure this from my own progeny, my own blood."

  "Dad I-"

  "You will get all A's next semester!" My father's finger was trembling as he pointed it at me, thick mustache twitching wildly, "That is final."

  I backed away slowly, as one would when facing a particularly dangerous animal. I didn't know where his anger came from, I usually could understand it, but I hadn't been home in months. When I called, it was usually my mother who answered, if anyone. I had thought his temper would have cooled in the time spent away, but apparently my absence had just served to allow him to stew for months on end. Yesterday night must have taken monumental effort not to immediately rage at me.

  If I had had that one B… Ruark had saved me from more than he knew. I would have had to leave UD or leave my house, possibly forever. My father wasn't a man who forgave anyone who slighted him, even if I was his only son.

  "Go." My father muttered quietly, focused on his newspaper as my mother mutely cleaned away the errant spill of coffee, "You will do better. You are my son. If you wish to live off of my goodwill, you will be the best. That is what I ask from you. I demand excellence, do you understand?"

  "…Yes sir." I said, swallowing hard and walked away. My earlier happiness had imploded to nothing, like a unexpectedly ruptured balloon. By the time I had gotten out of the shower and brushed my teeth, both of my parents had gone to work. My mother left a note and twenty dollars on the kitchen table. It was a nice gesture, but I would have rather had her support when my father had been yelling at me than twenty dollars now.

  Had she forgotten that I had a job, anyways? I wouldn't be surprised if she did. That was my mom. The note was equally unsupportive.

  I know you are trying your best, but please do better. If not for your father, then for me. – Mom.

  I sat down in the spot that my father had occupied not thirty minutes before, and stared down at the message for a very long time. I felt so very alone and so very disappointed. What had I really expected? Joy, approval, a celebration maybe? I couldn't even remember the last time my father had smiled at me.

  When I got up again, the sun had risen fully into the sky, and welcomed me like a friend when I stepped outside. It was a familiar face in what had become a foreign land, in which I was a stranger. My father's anger, my mother's apathy. This was no home for me, not anymore. Cut off from UD and my friends, I felt very alone.

  No man is an island, until he is.

  And then he isn't, again. But usually it isn't quite so quickly.

  The solitary figure stood at the bottom of our sloping walk. He was dressed in muted clothing, black jacket and scarf. His shaven head was covered by an dark woolen cap. I hadn't seen him from the windows, nor when I opened the door, he seemed to appear from nowhere just as I closed the door behind me. I sensed something afoot, and I remembered Carmen and the two other girls on the roof doing the same thing at the hazing.

  He had been waiting for me somehow, under the cover of magic.

  Les Domingo smiled at me, and in the early light of the morning I could see he had a peculiar sort of grin, one that dimpled his face and set his dark eyes alight. It was strange that Larry was the one who taught Les, their personalities didn't seem to mesh at all from what I had seen thus far.

  "What are you doing here?" I asked with genuine confusion. I doubted this could be anything good for me.

  "Your training starts now. Sorry Aether-boy," Les greeted me cheerfully, "You won't be having much of a break this vacation."

  "My name is Nick."

  "And mine is Les." He extracted a gloved hand from his jacket pocket and offered it out to me, "I'm not going to be easy on you. But I hope we can still be friends."

  As disoriented and leery as I was, I reached out and grasped his hand and held it in a firm grip. It was the beginning of something; I wasn't sure of what.

  Later, I would describe it as the beginning of hell.

  111

  Not two days later, I found myself stripped down to boxers yet again- and this time they were the white ones spattered playfully with pink polka dots. Luckily, it was to no-one's amusement besides Les's, as he was the only one around to see.

  My hellish training took place in the heavily wooded area near my house, very secluded and out of the way eno
ugh that no one should ever come upon us. The dense brush made it possible to hear anyone coming, and it was too thick and overgrown for kids to want to explore in. The only reason that we could use it for training was because Les had cleared a large track of it for that very purpose.

  At home, Les had taken up residence in my room and bed. To my irritation, this forced me to sleep on the floor. I wasn't allowed to sleep in the guest room, because apparently that didn't build enough character. He also seemed wholly unafraid of my parents ever catching him, but waved me off when I demanded an explanation why.

  "I don't like explaining things twice." He had said vaguely.

  "You never explained it once!" I protested.

  "I did in my head." Les yawned, "It was a boring conversation; don't feel like doing it twice."

  Life with Les was… frustrating, to say the least. But back to why I was nearly naked yet again with winter almost upon us.

  "Aether, some people are lucky." Les said to me as I sat cross-legged and shivering with my eyes closed, "Some people get years to truly develop their abilities. They are lucky enough to be able to grow slowly, happily, without rush. You are not lucky. The Governor demanded that I push you as far and as quickly as possible. Every moment you are untrained is another moment that your identity will be leaked to our enemies, and they will descend upon you like the hounds of hell. They will tear you apart, as you are. So we must give you hell now, as quickly as possible, but in small enough doses so you may be able to handle it."

  "I thought I was meditating." I said through gritted teeth, achingly ground together in order to prevent them from chattering wildly.

  Les chuckled far too evilly, "You must become properly numbed, first. Focus on my voice for now, when you are ready I'll stop talking and put the muffs on- then you may focus on your magic. I'm not torturing you for fun, remember. Why am I doing this to you?"

  "Because the only way to gain a better grasp on my magic is by learning to block out my other senses and only feel its power around me." I summated the explanation as best as I could.