My Path to Magic

by Irina Syromyatnikova

  The best piece of advice ever.

  Having shouldered a typical student bag, I walked to the door, feeling with the soles of my feet the heat of protective spells under the carpet. I ought to think of something neutral—spells like that responded to hostile intent; it would be shameful to get arrested for the intended murder of the senior coordinator before even attempting it. There is a bright side to everything. In the end, I could forget about this nest of vipers until next semester—freedom!

  I perked up and went to the tram stop, alone as always. The police headquarters were located in the commercial area and stretched for nearly a block, with one side facing Park Road and the other - Carriage Alley. A few more separate buildings (including the mortuary and a parking garage) were situated in the yard, but the majority of government officials worked till exactly 5:30 p.m. and then instantly disappeared. As the saying goes, only fools and horses work. There were neither pubs nor restaurants nearby, for obvious reasons, and I did not expect any company. Naturally, two men hiding in a gateway caught my eye, at least on a magic level. In one of the strangers I surprisingly recognized Quarters. Interesting: why did the lover of comfort suffer through heavy snow at night? Maybe he was driving a car?

  I paused, waiting for the strange couple. Ron's friend was very short; the back of his head was hardly up to my chin and below Quarters' shoulder. I held a vulgar joke about bad weather at the tip of my tongue, because the small fry turned blue from the cold (with his body weight he should have given serious consideration to the choice of his clothes), but Ron was not in the mood to listen to new stories and didn't even say "hello."

  "What are you doing at the police headquarters?" he demanded aggressively.

  I raised my eyebrow—it was weird interest on his part, but replied, "I take lessons in combat magic."

  "Give me a break! From whom?"

  "From a visiting specialist. Edan Satal, have you heard of him?"

  "He's the senior coordinator of the region!" Shorty sighed.

  I wondered how come he knew so much. As for me, I hadn't been aware of Satal's rank until Kevinahari enlightened me.

  "Well, he is not bad as a combat mage."

  Though he was the worst teacher I ever had.

  "You're lying!" the short guy said flatly. "Did you really come for some stupid magic at this time?! I would have believed it easier had you said that came to have tea there!"

  I lost my breath from his statement.

  I suffered, and he saw that as a cause for jokes!

  My mind still struggled to come up with a killing derogatory response, but the dark nature already started acting; my fist met the offender's jaw. Of course, I was in no position for a good swing, and my hit spared his nose, but made him fly backward to the ground. That is, onto the pavement; that is, onto the rocks. Only his hat and high collar saved Shorty from instant death.

  Again, my reaction overtook my thinking. At least, I was in complete agreement with myself. That's how a dark magician ought to respond!

  Ironically, Quarters hurried to help his fellow.

  "What's wrong with you? What are you doing?" he was outraged.

  I shrugged, "What did you expect from me? If he wants to be rude to a dark magician, he should wear a helmet. Anyway, I don't recommend that you communicate with this goon. He is one of the artisan, obviously."

  "Why did you say that?"

  "Because!"

  Never before had I witnessed paralysis of the brain in Ron. On the other hand, what should I expect from an ordinary person? Let him kiss his new boyfriend. If he started protesting, I would fight him. Before Ron was able to defeat me, but now Quarters wouldn't stand a chance; I was taking classes in martial arts and had already achieved some progress. Don't get me wrong, the inborn skills of the dark were usually enough to live a good life. But Satal had a picture on the wall where he held some shiny thing, wore a wrestling suit, and looked very pleased. That is, had I started a fistfight with him, he would have made mincemeat out of me.

  I hate to fear people!

  Suddenly Quarters came to senses; he decided not to run up on the cuffs and fully concentrated on the short guy who clapped his eyes in confusion. I turned around and walked to the tram stop, feeling sudden bitterness: when I was beaten up, Ron did not fuss so much.

  My nerves became completely shattered. Imagine, I had a desire to go back and explain what was going on. But Rustle reprovingly protested, and a shameful moment of weakness safely passed.

  I decided to instill respect in the monster.

  I've got a box. What an amazing box I have! What a mysterious box! And what's inside the box? I sensed that the naive creature was sticking its long nose into my thoughts. "And inside the box is... lightning!" Rustle disappeared as if it were blown away by the wind. If the otherworldly doesn't get brains from birth, then age won't fix the problem.

  I came up to the tram, already feeling heated, angry, and perky.

  * * *

  Ms. Kevinahari was having mint tea in the office of the senior coordinator. From windows she did not see what was happening in the square, but something made her sadly shake head.

  "Have you read your student's file carefully?"

  Mr. Satal threw the last papers in the drawers.

  "What do you mean?"

  "He grew up in a house with a white mage and saw his dark relatives only occasionally. That affected his character."

  "So what?"

  "Don't you push him too hard?"

  Satal rolled his eyes up: "What are you talking about? He is dark; if he is not shaken like a pear, he won't be doing anything!"

  "There are other approaches..."

  "For other approaches he's too old! Only in my way can I make something of him."

  "Oh Dan, it seems you will get more than you expect."

  "No problem; I'll survive," Satal grinned. "He asked permission to visit relatives on holidays. I will let him go to restore emotional balance."

  The idea of mental equilibrium in a dark magician seemed to amuse the coordinator.

  "Let's hope that their contact doesn't cause conflicts," the empath pursed her lips.

  Satal, as is always the case with the dark, took into account interests of only one side; how the disturbed combat mage would be perceived by the juvenile white did not bother him.

  Chapter 26

  Students sat in the last lectures with martyrs' faces, but the spirit of Christmas holidays was hovering over the university: the white hung in the hallways traditional paper ornaments (very much like real flowers, just not fading), the walls were full of many-colored advertisements for parties, and magicians with artistic inclinations competed in the creation of ice sculptures. I took a hand in the holiday preparations, too - designed a device igniting the lights on the Christmas tree before the Faculty of Combat Magic. One might think that a dark magician and volunteering are incompatible things, but my desire to see how people would gasp with surprise proved irresistible. The Christmas tree was a live spruce; when they started to hang light bulbs on it— God knows; it took me a lot of time to find all of the control circuits. But now the garlands flashed in seven different algorithms, and the dean of the white mages bit his lip with envy.

  With great satisfaction I looked at the fiery spirals, waves, and hieroglyphs dancing on the bushy branches. If Quarters had not stopped talking to me, he would have learned that the City Hall paid for the second such device, and it fully compensated me for all expenses related to the project. The trick was that the bulbs were contacting each other by chance for creation of the ornament; the sole task of the decorators was to hang them as tightly as possible. I noticed that some students tried to guess where the ornament would appear the next moment, and what its form and color would be. Useless! The process was controlled by genuine dark magic—spontaneous and unpredictable.

  A surprise awaited me directly beneath the Christmas tree. I recognized the recent friend of Quarters by the back—his figure had a very characteristic s
hape. Once again the dolt wasn't dressed for the weather and had a freshman as company. The fact that he dealt with freshmen seemed strange; for a beginner, Shorty was a bit old. He looked like a frozen chicken: a white bird with blue legs.

  I abruptly changed my course, came closer, and kicked him in the ass with my knee - I had an urge to see what his face turned into after my hit. Shorty turned around, intimidated. Oddly enough, he had no bruises on his face.

  "Hi!" I greeted him, smiling very nastily. "How's your health? Don't you feel sick? Doesn't your head spin?"

  "No, thanks."

  "That means you aren't pregnant."

  Gladdening him with the conclusion, I went on my way, whistling.

  I wasn't aware where that fool came from (likely, from the very same Southern Coast where Quarters enjoyed going), but if he didn't get a scarf at least, he would not last until his return home. However, did I care about his pneumonia? A minute later I forgot about the frozen gnome, but he clearly remembered me. And took measures...

  During a break between classes, I sat in the lobby of the lecture building and studied the rarity I recently bought in the bookshop: the work Toxicology by Master Tiranidos. I must say that the last distinguished inquisitor of Ingernika was a pharmacist, and his book could be read as a reference guide for a poisoner. I did not know how he managed to gather such factual material, but I heard that his grateful contemporaries tore him with their bare hands for it. Of course, the master did not describe the methods of poisons' manufacture, but it wouldn't take much skill to produce an extract of foxglove. I was reading in excitement about the symptoms of poisoning by toadstool (it seemed to be an almost perfect means, though I did not know where to pick the mushrooms), when Quarters showed up. He approached me indirectly, walking in circles with atypical nervousness for five minutes, looking at me and muttering something. Did he think that the dark magician would not notice him?

  "Wow, Ron! Long time no see."

  In fact, for four days. In some way that was a record.

  "Hi. You don't... eh..."

  I watched for Quarters, who had lost his tongue. I never thought it could happen to him!

  "Do not harass Sam anymore!" Ron blurted out finally.

  "Who?"

  "The guy who was with me..."

  "Oh, that one! You'd better tell me why he brought you to the police headquarters. It was his idea, yeah? As for me, I am not concerned with what you do in the evenings."

  "Why do you ask?" Quarters started getting angry. "It does not matter where we walked."

  "You are saying that you always walk around the police headquarters? Ha!"

  Why did Ron bug me about some shabby boy, not even a relative? An incredible guess lit up my mind.

  "Are you in love with him?" I shouted.

  Quarters clapped his eyes blankly.

  "Do not worry, there's nothing shameful in it. We live in a civilized country..."

  Ron's face became so fearsome that any dark magician would envy him.

  "Idiot!" he yelled, turned around, and almost ran toward the door of the auditorium.

  Quarters was nervous; his painful reaction to my criticism was typical for this type of relationship. Did I guess right? I observed no such inclinations in him before; however, I didn't produce the first impression of a felon either. Let them do with each other what they want—they are adults! Already leaving the university, I noticed Sam in the company of some sophomores. What a sociable freak... Shorty glanced at me with some challenge, and I winked conspiratorially in response. It scared him half to death, I thought.

  In contrast to Ron, preoccupied with my leisure time, I couldn't care less about his problems. I had already made arrangements for my vacation with Polak (it was easy); it remained to get permission from NZAMIPS (the most unpleasant part).

  The police headquarters before Christmas looked strange. Its hall breathed austerity and almost a void of space; on the desk of the on-duty officer there was a spangled Bonsai Christmas tree in a scale of one to a hundred. Enhanced with white magic, the plant exuded a strong odor of pine needles. On the floor of the superior officers I saw no one, but distinctly heard the clink of glasses. Perhaps, in the wing that housed the offices of inspectors and investigators, the work was still in progress, but I did not go there—why would I want to spoil mood? Seeing people at work awakens unhealthy reflexes in me.

  I decided to drop by the captain first to show my report—wanted to make sure that the text was composed correctly. He would advise me instead of mocking. For some unclear reason, the chief of Redstone's NZAMIPS had his office on the fourth floor - level designated for miscellaneous non-essential staff. There, holiday eve was felt strongly: windows shone with tinsel, and the air was full of the treacherous smells of cucumber salad, freshly baked pastries, and vanilla. To the captain's office I marched under the interested gazes of lady accountants not overburdened by work (whenever I walked by their office, they were having a tea break). The main thing was to pretend that you were terribly busy; the last time I agreed to try a piece of cake I barely managed to run away. The brutal women, suffering without men, didn't care whether I was dark or white, or striped; more importantly, I was of age.

  The captain took my appearance graciously, removed a cake from his desk, reviewed the text, and tapped his finger on the title of my report.

  "Don't go to Satal; he's in a terrible mood now."

  "I thought it was the norm for him."

  "You do not know what you are talking about. We have received a petition demanding to find missing Laurent Pierrot."

  "Oh!"

  "O-ho-ho! The boss now writes a response that doesn't contradict the facts and looks true."

  "Damn it!" I said "good bye" to my vacation.

  "By the way, I am your boss officially. You work in Redstone's division."

  "Can I go on holidays?"

  "Go home for holidays?" the captain asked good-naturedly, putting his seal?? in the upper left corner.

  I nodded, "To my brother."

  The captain paused, holding the document in his palm.

  "Where does he reside?"

  "He is at school in Mihandrov."

  "It's not our district, is it?"

  I nodded, though not quite confidently.

  "And not even our region... Don't go anywhere; wait for me," Captain Baer grabbed my report from the desk and walked out.

  I sat and wrestled with desire to disappear. Curiosity eventually won—I eagerly wanted to know what he was up to. The captain came back in about half an hour; he carried a bunch of sheets and a large paper bag. Judging by the distinct smell of brandy, he had managed to nip somewhere and spent his time well.

  "Your vacation is canceled. You're going on a business trip instead."

  "What?!"

  "Here are your travel assignment and the order to Mihandrov's NZAMIPS. Sign it!"

  I looked through the documents suspiciously. "'To investigate the work of primary and secondary educational institutions'?"

  "That's it. Bear in mind, you owe me a report."

  I groaned.

  "Don't dare say no! Have you thought what would happen to Satal if you mess up there, and your past pops up?"

  "I'm not going to mess—"

  "Yeah, yeah. With your zombie you also weren't going to do anything special, as I understand. Either my way or no way; just stay in town."

  For how long will I have to suffer from the moral terror? A normal dark would have rebelled long ago. On the other hand, had I gone to complain to Satal now, he could have beaten me up. What did I want more: to go on vacation or go to the hospital? Sighing, I signed the papers. Meanwhile, the captain emptied the bag.

  "This is your temporary identity card—it does not give you any power but discourages others from asking questions. If you show it to any civilian, I will lock you in the basement for a week!"

  How strict, my god!

  "A traveling kit of a sorcerer: a marker with chalk emulsion, a salt shaker, a c
ompass, mirror taps, a set of candles. You'll have to replenish everything you've used, got it? I give it to you, because it's in the rules, but I need it back."

  I nodded vigorously; I understood about candles and mirrors, but how could he determine how much of the emulsion remained in the marker?

  "A special emergency kit: elixirs. Well, you know that! Blue—inhibitors, green—supporting potions, red—stimulants. If you want to stay alive, do not touch them."

  Hmm. Well put.

  "The last one: an emergency call amulet; simply put, a "whistle". Click here and there, or bite off the nibble here (whatever you are capable of at the moment), and the nearest NZAMIPS division will send a quick response team. Do not even think about testing it—a false alarm will rack up a serious penalty."

  What a pity. It would be fun to check it in action.

  "Follow my instructions. If you go looking for trouble, I will turn you in to Satal, and you do what you want with each other!"

  It was so cruel of him. Was he always so cold-hearted? He looked like a sweet man.

  "That's all. Happy holidays!"

  I briskly picked up my stuff and went out into the hallway. Enough of my bosses. A great deal of work was ahead of me: submit the three theses I finished yesterday, buy gifts for Lyuchik, make arrangements at the junkyard to have the motorcycle guarded, and bathe Max; the zombie would go with me again, and drying out that fur rug takes a long time.

  That was another unexpected benefit of good relations with NZAMIPS: devoid of piety toward the undead, the "cleaners" darned Max's skin, trimmed his nails, and laid on its collar a special spell that compelled fur to grow on the dead body. The advantage was that the gray-red wavy hair hid under itself all of the characteristic features of a zombie, and we got a nice hairy poodle-like shepherd. The disadvantage of that camouflage was the need to regularly comb the long hair, bathe Max in a special preservative mix, and pour the egg protein into his throat (the zombie was not very good at licking and swallowing). I never thought that a zombie-dog would require so much fuss!

  Slipping past the lady accountants, I walked down the stairs to the floor of the superiors and crept on tiptoes to the marble staircase that led to the entrance hall. Satal's office was just a few steps away; I saw his door but passed it unnoticed. It was time to run away, while my favorite teacher was busy with his report!