Spells and Sorcery

by S. Usher Evans

Making matter worse, Marie kept talking with Charity about how weird I was the whole way to school. There was an uneasy feeling in my gut. My mind kept replaying the dream and splicing it with meeting Gram and the questions I had about myself.

  "Miss Carrigan," Mills said, snapping me from my reverie.

  I bolted upright and tried to look interested. "Yes?"

  "What are the benefits of the Acts of Trade and Navigation?"

  I swallowed, glancing at the chalk on the board and wishing that he wasn't standing in front of the answer. Then I looked down at my paper.

  I had transcribed the entire chalkboard.

  And magically highlighted the answer.

  Score one for magic.

  "Er…" I swallowed and hoped my magic was right. "The colonies could only trade with the English, and all goods and services had to go to England, versus any other trade."

  "Good, and how was that a positive?"

  I glanced down again, "It was a positive because…it meant more shipbuilding for New England. Chesapeake tobacco had a monopoly in England?"

  "Very good." He beamed at me, and I tried to feel guilty for using magic, but I didn't care. Sure, I wasn't supposed to at school, but…being able to magically transcribe everything? That was a game changer.

  Mills had moved on to pepper another student with questions about mercantilism, and I flipped through my notebook happily. No more hand cramps, no more racing with myself to write down everything that was on the board before class started. There wasn't any puffing or poofing. There was no way that I could screw—

  My thoughts ended abruptly when I realized that the chalkboard was completely blank.

  I'd erased it.

  "Crap," I whispered.

  My first thought was to remain calm, or else I would start shooting magical laser beams out of my fingers.

  My second thought was to observe the room and make sure all the students were stuck in their usual early morning stupor. It was a good thing we had history in first period, or else I might really be in trouble. And Mills' back was to the chalkboard, so he hadn't noticed his hour's worth of work had been completely erased.

  I took a long breath and remembered what the book and Gavon had said about controlling magic. Think about what you want and it'll happen, I told myself. I envisioned the words on the page and an invisible piece of chalk writing on the board.

  I opened an eye and saw one sentence written.

  "Crap!"

  My time was running out, my anxiety was getting worse (and my fingers growing a little purple), so I knew I had to do something fast. I envisioned my magic "selecting all," like I would on my laptop, then "control+c" to copy and "control+v" to paste onto the chalkboard.

  I cracked open an eye—the writing had returned, exactly as it had been, just as Mills turned around to reference it again. I slumped in my seat and exhaled silently. That had been a little too close. I supposed that I wasn't quite ready to do magic at school, or at least, transcribe my notes. I opened my notebook and searched for the first blank page.

  The only problem was the entire notebook was blank. All the notes I'd taken since the beginning of the year were gone.

  I closed my eyes and wished for the undo button.

  7

  The rest of my day was similarly terrible. Thanks to Gram and questions and my birthday, I hadn't completed any of my assignments, earning another glare from Ms. Benoit and a talking-to by my English teacher. For a student who was consistently in the top ten of her class, my behavior had changed enough for my teachers to notice.

  Then, as if she knew I was already having a rough day, Marie left me at school. The sun broiled the back of my neck and I was a sweaty, miserable mess. I powered through my homework, the voice in the back of my head reminding me that colleges didn't consider "magical prowess" in admissions or scholarship criteria. But every time I went to start my history homework, the sight of my blank notebook just reminded me how much I'd royally screwed up.

  By the time Jeanie got home, I was desperate. "Jeanie, I need your help."

  She put down her purse slowly. "Is everything all right?"

  "No, I accidentally erased my history notebook," I said, showing it to her. "Can you help me reverse it?"

  "How'd you do that?"

  "I was…" Technically, I'd broken her rule about using magic at school unsupervised, and I didn't want another lecture about it. Jeanie was still waiting for my answer, so I said, "I don't know. It just happened."

  She flipped through the blank pages and shrugged. "I don't know how to reverse it. Guess you'll have to copy from a friend."

  "Jeanie, I'm the only one who takes notes in history," I said. "And we're talking about eight weeks' worth of notes here!"

  She shrugged. "Get to copying then."

  I glared at her retreating back and slammed my notebook shut. "I'm going for a walk."

  I was hoping, perhaps, Gavon might show up for a third time. I stormed the entire way to the park, clutching the primer to my chest. I was tired of everything blowing up in my face and Jeanie simply shrugging and telling me to figure it out. "Figure it out" was sound advice when I struggled through chemistry formulas, but not with this. I wasn't smart enough to figure out magic on my own.

  I plopped down at the picnic table and opened the primer to where I'd left off the day before. Stuck between the pages was the list of questions I'd written about Gram from Jeanie. After unfolding the questions and re-reading them, I balled the paper up and threw it in a nearby trashcan.

  Screw them and their non-answers. I didn't want to know anyway.

  I huffed as I sat back down and began to read spitefully.

  TO SUMMON

  One of the Magical's most oft used spells is to SUMMON, that is, to use Magic to retrieve an Object. This does not extend to Persons, whether Magical or Non-magical, that is known as TRANSPORT.

  It is often the case with Young Magicals that they can summon items without considering a full Summon spell. True, often babies will Summon their favorite toy, even and especially when in trouble. But just as a talented artist improves with classical training, a Magical with training over their gift will be much more successful.

  A SUMMON spell consists of three specific acts;

  ONE, to identify the object to summon;

  TWO, to use one's Magic to locate said object;

  THREE, to use one's Magic to retrieve said object.

  It is imperative that a Young Magical without training perform each step as a separate thought, else the Magic might retrieve the incorrect object, or more than anticipated. A Master might recommend to Summon an object within the Young Magical's view.

  Once control over Magic has been established, and the comfort of understanding each step by the Young Magical, the three acts will occur without thought.

  I glanced around the park, looking for something I could practice with. There was a small plastic shovel and pail a kid had left in the sandbox. Squinting, I concentrated on the objects and willed them—

  "You're trying too hard again," came the pleasing baritone behind me.

  I released my focus and smiled as Gavon took a seat across from me. "How can you tell?"

  He mimicked my focused face, scrunching his nose and squinting.

  "Funny."

  "What does the primer say?" he asked, glancing at the open book in front of me.

  "Identify the object, use my magic to locate it and retrieve it," I said, looking at the pail again. "But how do I do that?"

  "Your magic isn't confined to your physical body. It can grow, shift, travel faster than light. You can send it out to another location—a known location, of course—and it will act as your eyes and ears in that location. Let's try it, hm? Close your eyes."

  I did so and waited.

  "Now, can you feel your magic?"

  I furrowed my brow. The hum of electricity had become familiar over the past forty-eight hours, but it became more pronounced the more I focused on it. "Yes."

&n
bsp; "I want you to send it back to your bedroom. It's the most familiar place, I'm guessing?"

  I nodded, keeping my eyes closed. "How…how do I do that?"

  "Your magic knows. Stop trying to control it so much."

  At his words, I felt the control and released it. My magic, or what I assumed was my magic, shotgunned away from me and in my mind's eye, I saw my bedroom and the object I was seeking. Before I could complete a thought, the book materialized in my hand.

  "That was so cool!" I grinned at Gavon, who had something of a proud look on his face. Remembering my notebook, I released my magic again, and it retrieved the blank notebook.

  "What's this?"

  "I was," I swallowed, "practicing in history today. Accidentally erased the chalkboard, then when I went to put it back, I ended up erasing my whole book."

  "What exactly were you thinking?" At my confused look, he added, "I mean, what was your thought process?"

  "I was thinking of my book like a computer, control-c, control-v…that sort of thing." His brow quirked, and I flushed. "I was trying not to panic. It was the only thing I could think of. And I've been trying all afternoon to restore the words on the page, but so far…nothing."

  Gavon pulled the notebook to himself and stared at it for a moment. Then, to my intense relief, my handwriting reappeared on the page.

  "Thank you," I said. "How'd you do that?"

  "There was a magical signature left on the pages. I simply reversed it," he said, almost a little too quickly. "So, you're summoning fairly well, and despite erasing your notebook, you seem to have a handle on magic now."

  "Yeah, but…I still have a ton of questions. I'm trying hard to…well, not try hard, but it just feels like I'm trying to carve an ice sculpture with a machete."

  He smiled and chuckled. "If I were to guess, I might say that your magic has been pent up for too long and it's overflowing."

  "Is that…normal?"

  He shrugged, but didn't meet my gaze. "Not usually, but fairly easily dealt with. The more you use your magic, the more it will even out until your…what did you say, machete becomes a regular ice pick."

  "Well, it would be a lot easier if I had someone around who actually listened to me instead of lecturing me all the time."

  "Parents aren't perfect, you know."

  "If I had any," I said with a small snort. "I just have my aunt and maybe Nicole, my oldest sister. But they've been…unhelpful too. Nicole would help, except she doesn't have magic."

  His face flashed in anger for a moment. "That's not true."

  "Well, she's a…potion-maker?" I said, still not sure about the phrasing. "She can't summon or anything like that."

  "Oh, she has magic, I assure you, just not the typical kind. For example, you could mix dragon's blood and worm root together and nothing would happen but a globby mess."

  "D-dragon's blood?" So they were real! "Is there a cure for potion-makers? I mean, to get their magic back?"

  Gavon looked taken aback. "Potion-making is not a disease. It's a specific brand of magic that deals with the complexities of chemical reactions in potions."

  "Yeah, but…she can't summon, or even...I don't know, summoning is as far as I got in the primer."

  Gavon tilted his head. "Thomas Edison couldn't summon. Did that stop him from inventing the lightbulb?"

  I paused, realizing how I must have sounded.

  "I know having magic is a big change for you, but don't let it go to your head," Gavon said gently. "Many, many great potion-makers have existed in history. Just because they don't have the same kind of magic as you and me doesn't mean they aren't powerful."

  An awfully impassioned speech, I thought. "Do you know any potion-makers then?"

  "A few," Gavon said. "But in the magical communities, there's a lot of prejudice against them."

  "Magical communities," I breathed to myself. Gram and that mysterious compound that I wasn't allowed to go to came to the forefront of my mind. But Gavon wouldn't know the intricacies of my family drama. "My other sister is a healer. What about her? I think…I think she was able to conjure herself a car. But she won't tell me how."

  "Healing magic comes from the same wellspring as the others," Gavon said. "But you can't just make things out of thin air. What's the Law of Conservation of Mass?"

  I blinked at him and twisted my brain to recall my chemistry. "Uh…I know this…"

  "Matter cannot be created nor destroyed. That rule's still in effect here. Magic can't create matter, it can only use what already exists. Your magic comes from the energy created in the cells of your body, just like everything else."

  I appreciated this scientific analysis, especially as it answered some basic questions. "So how does a Healer's magic work, then?"

  "Depends on what she's trying to heal. Most healing magic is a transfer—she'll give you energy when yours is depleted. But just as you don't have unlimited magic, neither does a healer."

  "But the more you practice, the more you'll have, right?" I asked, recalling a line from the book.

  "Exactly. It's like training for a marathon. You couldn't just walk out the front door and run twenty-six miles. You'd have to train for it. And even then, there are some who are just better at it than others."

  I nodded. "So if Marie's a healer and Nicole's a potion-maker, what other kinds of magic are there?"

  "None, really," Gavon said after a moment. "Back before the Separation, there used to be more but—"

  "What Separation?"

  He sat back and stared off into the distance, as if collecting his thoughts. "I suppose you could say that the Separation happened in 1692 but…it had really been festering since magicals and nonmagicals had been living together. But it really got going once European magicals finally made it over to America in the seventeenth century. Because there was so much space here, some of the magicals thought that, perhaps, there was an opportunity to start fresh. To have a community of just magicals. So, when Plymouth was founded in Massachusetts, a group of settlers did just that."

  Massachusetts, where the compound was. "Are they still there?"

  "Kind of," Gavon said. "After a few years, it became clear that a magical village could not sustain itself without trading with the nonmagicals. As we've discussed, matter can't be created or destroyed, and the magicals only had what they'd brought with them to settle the village. They needed nails and cooking pots and those kinds of things, and the trading ships only came to the nonmagical cities. In order to survive, the magicals had to either steal from the nonmagicals or announce their presence."

  I considered those options for a moment. "I'd just steal."

  He chuckled. "Trust me, many of them wanted to do just that. There had been a generation that had never had to hide their magic, and to be told that they had to revert to the old ways…they didn't take too well to that suggestion."

  "But why the secrecy?" I asked. "Not to sound…callous, but if we're more powerful than they are, why are we the ones to hide?"

  Gavon smiled. "And that is exactly what they thought as well. But think on that a little more, Alexis. Why would that be a bad idea?"

  I tapped my finger against my chin. He sounded an awful lot like Mills asking us to consider the implications of historical events. "Well, based on the witch burnings, they might not take so well to the idea of magic existing. And…maybe there were more of them than us?"

  "Exactly." Gavon beamed. "Nothing good would've come from that—only bloodshed. Which is why the magical council decided to go forward with the original plan, despite the protests." He sighed. "But that's the thing about magicals, especially powerful ones. They don't like to be ordered around. So, a very bloody war broke out between the two main factions—one comprised of Warriors who wanted things to remain, well, separate. These were the Separatists, and James Riley was their leader. They declared war against the others and the nonmagicals."

  "He didn't win, obviously."

  Gavon shook his head. "Magicals from all over t
he world, including the natives already living here, came to the aid of the leader of the other side—John Chase—and they defeated the Separatists after two years of bloody war. But Chase wasn't a murderer, and too much magical blood had already been spilled. So the collective came up with an idea to create another world—"

  My hands thudded on the wooden table. "Wait, there are other worlds too?"

  "Kind of," Gavon said. "Think of it like a little pocket of reality torn from this one. It's a place where Chase could imprison the separatists and they could live as they pleased."

  "So he was really doing them a favor?"

  "I wouldn't want to live there," Gavon said with a smile. "The texts say there was no sun, no warmth. A cold wind blows the stench of death and decay, and nothing grows except by magic. And even then…" He closed his mouth. "It's meant to be a punishment. The amount of magic it took for Chase and others to create the tear killed him and ten others."

  I swallowed.

  "But it was done. Afterward, the remaining magicals came together in what was known as the Council of Danvers. They set forth magical law for this country, and it was soon adopted globally. First and foremost, traditional guilds were outlawed—"

  "But I thought clans still existed? I'm kind of in one, I think?"

  "Clans are different, remember? They're formed by a blood bond. Family. A guild is more selective in their membership. A prospective inductee has to be introduced through a duel then trained by a Master—"

  "Master!" I said, remembering a question I had. "The primer talks a lot about Masters. What are they?"

  "You have to remember, this primer was written and used before the Separation, so it still contains some of the old language that's not in use anymore," Gavon said. "Before the magical age was set at fifteen, magic appeared at birth. So, in a guild, a Master was chosen once a young magical was introduced to the guild. They would train the magical until they came of age, then the magical would fight in another duel, and they'd be formally inducted."

  Gavon paused and held out his hand. In a puff of purple smoke, another old, weathered book appeared. He flipped through the rotting pages like a man looking for the answers to life. Halfway to the end, he stopped and turned the book around to me.