She touched them and, though her eyes were red and bright with tears, her lips were smiling.
Magic for Beginners Sabine Whelan
‘What are you reading fantasy for? Again?’ asked Susan, plopping on to the chair next to me. ‘Most people grow out of fairy-tales by the time they get to university.’ She hoisted her feet on to the desk, hiked up her flouncy skirt and began to examine her stockings for snags.
On the cover of my book, an elderly wizard was consulting his orb amid a storm of lightning. All flying robes and fluffy hair, he didn’t look like any magician I knew – particularly not our master – and his magic was extremely ropey. This was Susan’s issue with my choice of reading matter.
‘I like fantasy, Suze. I’ve liked it before you-know-what, and now you of all people should understand how real fairy-tales can be.’
‘But they’re not true! They just aren’t real. Is that a dragon in the picture? Well, dragons don’t exist.’ Satisfied that her stockings were intact, she banged her feet back on to the floor. The thin carpeting of the Riverside auditorium hardly deadened the boom of her chunky heels.
‘Whether dragons exist or not is not the point,’ I said. ‘Next you’ll say magic doesn’t exist.’
‘Who says magic doesn’t exist?’ asked Alberic, walking into the room. As always, we hadn’t noticed him enter until he spoke up.
Our master moved like a dancer. His jeans looked as though they had been spray-painted on to his legs, and his shirt was delectably crisp. My mouth watered. Not for the first time I wondered whether he was aware of the effect the closeness of his body had on his pair of apprentices.
As soon as Alberic was in the vicinity, it was as though somebody had switched on the lights in Susan: she sat up, straightened her shoulders, flicked back her ironed locks and said in the sweetest voice, ‘Meg is reading childish books again, sir, with all the unrealistic wizardry.’
I snapped, ‘When somebody writes a novel with real magic, send me a card, will you?’
Alberic shook his head. ‘A little maturity, please, ladies. Meg, put your book away.’
Susan beamed. I sulked, stuffing the book into my purple and white tote with a golden Durham crest. Neither of us spoke while Alberic prepared the auditorium.
With little gestures we knew so well, but couldn’t begin to imitate, he rearranged the room to his taste. He beckoned at the door, which smoothly clicked shut. A short nod, and the curtains fell, covering the room from any stray glances of passers-by. A breath, a gesture and the blue scribbles left on the whiteboard from the previous lecture obediently faded.
‘Let’s get to work,’ he said, clapping his hands together. ‘Uh, excuse me, Meg, may I ask where your thoughts are?’
I started. I had been thinking about the muscles of his round compact posterior encased in his customary pair of tight black jeans. The muscles had rolled as he had walked away from me towards the window and, when he twirled back to confront me, I had glimpsed how full and stretched his trousers were at the front.
‘Nothing, sir,’ I said, feeling my cheeks grow hot. ‘Only magic.’
I had come to Durham to study French with Mediaeval History in St Cuthbert’s, the college by the river, only to find myself swiftly transferred to the College of John Dee.
It is not in any university prospectus you will ever encounter. It isn’t on the terrible out-of-scale map every fresher gets with the information pack. It consists for the most part of staff and researchers all assigned to the same tiny department.
Even so, Dee’s thinks itself to be a part of Durham, stuck to it as a mollusc to the side of a cliff. Just like all other colleges, it has a bar. Alberic brought us here for an introduction on the first night. That day Susan and I had found out the real reason for the unassuming sequence of puzzles all freshers had been asked to complete during registration. She and I were all the new blood the college would get this year; two new apprentices a year was the average result, though the current third year had three people, and some years, they said, yielded nobody suitable.
Even the perfect Susan could hardly stand from shock and fatigue that day. Still, she and I had smiled, and shaken hands, and filed away names, and watched filled glasses whiz across the room straight into waiting hands, and the air was thick with something we couldn’t yet explain, but would never again fail to recognise. We longed to learn to do the same.
To the toll of the cathedral bell, I braved the cobbles of the Bailey in my best evening heels, and thudded down a tunnel of wooden steps into a little room with unpainted beams and a whitewashed ceiling. It was still empty, though I supposed for a midweek night, that wasn’t surprising.
As was the tradition of the college, there was nobody to serve our drinks. I went behind the bar to pour my own large lemonade and upend a shot of vodka in it; it would be a long time before glasses and bottles would do my bidding.
No sooner did I camp on a high padded stool, than a voice behind me said, ‘So. Have you done it yet?’
I swivelled around, only accidentally succeeding in holding my glass upright. ‘Hi, Tom.’
He was in the third year, spoke with a cut-glass accent and felt he knew everything. I forgave him his cosmic arrogance in return for a continuous stream of practical advice.
‘Have I done what?’
‘Have you screwed each other’s brains out yet?’
‘Ha,’ I said glumly, and sucked on the straw. It was oddly comforting that I was not the only person in the college with nothing but sex on my mind.
‘It’s that time of the term, you know,’ said Tom, planting his bottom on the neighbouring stool. ‘Just about now, you and Suze should be banging each other’s brains out.’
‘Me and who?’ I spilled my lemonade on to the lacquered bar surface.
With only a slight flush of effort, Tom glared the sticky puddle out of existence. ‘You and Susan. This is where the two of you discover that, out of magic and sex, magic creates the deeper bond, and you’re expected to have this bond with every object to which you apply it. For all intents and purposes, I’ve just fucked a puddle of lemonade.’
In my mind I saw Alberic’s arm rise in a silent command; the sun glinted between his slender fingers, every piece of wood, plastic and living flesh in the auditorium his eager servant.
Tom stared at me with as much intensity as he devoted to performing his magic. ‘For most apprentices this translates into a simple piece of logic: magic matters, sex – not so much. Let’s have a lot of sex. Don’t tell me you aren’t as horny as hell right now.’
I swallowed.
‘Don’t tell me you wouldn’t like to come and sit on my lap while we talk.’ He patted his knee. He was sporting a wicked grin I didn’t quite trust.
‘Are you using some sort of magic on me, Tom?’
‘No. The magic is in you. Come on.’ He patted his knee again.
It was a large lap, sturdy and inviting. I slid off my stool, walked over to him and allowed him to hoist me up. He was warm and smelt of cinnamon. In this position even my impossible heels didn’t quite brush the floor.
‘So,’ said Tom into my ear from behind, snaking his arms around me. ‘The answer is: no, you and Susan haven’t done it yet. Why not?’
‘Go to hell,’ I said, squirming on his lap. I was aware of the stirring in his jeans, and even more aware of beginning to respond to it with a stirring of my own.
Tom’s hands slid up my back to my shoulders; his thumbs found a knot of sensitive muscles. I bit down a moan, and prayed that the bar remained empty for a little while.
‘You need to get laid, girl. It’s no joke; you’re so tense there’s a horny aura all around you. Everybody can tell, even Alberic.’
‘Really?’ The idea that my infatuation should be so obvious stopped the breath in my throat.
Tom’s hands slipped around me again. Warm palms smoothly covered my breasts.
‘No,’ he admitted, giving me a little squeeze, which made me squirm and pre
ss my legs together. I was very aware of my nipples pushing against the lace of my bra as Tom’s fingers made little circles around them. ‘Not really, but everybody went through the same thing their fresher year. Every last researcher in Dee’s could get a degree in quantum erotica.’
‘I’m not everybody,’ I said petulantly, barely stifling a gasp when one clever hand found its way into the stretchy waistband of my skirt, slid down past the flat of my tummy, and pushed between my clamped thighs. I liked to believe what I said, but Tom was playing my body as knowingly as at times I had played it myself. Still, I persisted, even as I pressed myself against his fingers. ‘It’s not just because I’m learning magic.’
‘Uh-huh,’ said Tom, playing deftly with the soaked gusset of my panties. I wriggled in his lap, stifling embarrassing little moans. ‘And you’re not up to getting frigged right now, wishing I was Alberic. Because you don’t want to shag Alberic at all. Because you are unique, and an apprentice’s crush hasn’t touched you at all.’
The rush of blood to my face was so sudden and violent that I thought my skin would burst, like an overripe tomato. Tears sprang to my eyes. I pushed his hands away and hopped off his lap, by some miracle landing firmly on my feet despite the murderous heels.
‘Hey, sorry,’ he said. ‘Sorry. Just illustrating the point. I know what it’s like, because you’re my recent past, apart from being a girl and all.’
I remembered that Tom was, in fact, apprenticed to an impossibly glamorous researcher by the name of Veronique, who always walked around with no fewer than three fellows in tow. I wondered if it would have made any difference if his master had been a man.
‘Is this all there is to magic?’ I asked miserably. ‘Moving things, and being horny all the time?’
‘It might be easier to find out what there is to magic, if you got over being horny. I offered you my services, but you’re so busy overanalysing everything I may as well go and find Susan instead.’
My panties felt slippery as I perched on my own stool again. I could still feel the ghost touch of his fingers, though he was right: I wished they were Alberic’s.
‘Story of my life,’ I said with a crooked smile. ‘Everybody would rather go and find Susan instead. I bet she’s in bed with Alberic right now.’ I knew this wasn’t true, but saying it gave a perversely pleasurable twist to my nerves.
‘Damn,’ he said. ‘Bad luck, girl. I guess you’ll just have to shag me after all.’
‘Fuck you, Tom,’ I said, now smiling in earnest. I slid off the stool once more, and headed around the bar to top up my lemonade.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Exactly.’
I didn’t fuck him that night, even though I would have liked to. Thus, I punished myself for being the same as every other apprentice in John Dee’s, horny and confused. Instead, I went home and read more of my fantasy novel, losing the taste for it with every new page. Their lives were easy; none of them walked around with a huge crush on their master. Their magic sucked. In the end, the book had all the fascination of yesterday’s weather forecast.
I hoped I’d feel better when Alberic moved us on to doing some proper magic, but he was in no hurry to make academic progress. As the days grew cold, and the term dragged on, our master set us exercises that wouldn’t have been out of place in my school’s drama club. We threw invisible balls, strode across the room and back to an irregular rhythm it was our task to guess, and for our homework we studied poetry – pages at a time. Alberic claimed it developed concentration, and became disproportionately cross when we failed at committing five-page ballads to memory without a hitch. When he grew cross, the fake daylight in the room dimmed. I suspected he was unaware of this.
We had spent the entire tutorial so far failing an infuriating exercise Alberic had called a Mirror. Susan and I had faced each other in the middle of the room, and taken turns trying to guess each other’s next move. It was her job to make small simple motions – lift her arm, shake her hand, stick out her tongue – while I had to do the same thing at the very same time. Not an instant later: our motions needed to be simultaneous. My only consolation, when the exasperated Alberic called an end to this torture, was that Susan’s efforts weren’t any better. I got far more pleasure out of this than a mature person should.
His next words brought me even more guilty pleasure; he said, ‘Meg, I’d like you to come to the front and have a go at the Mirror with me. Susan, you will have your try in a minute, but, in the meantime, I’d like you to turn your chair to the wall, and engage yourself in something else. Try not to peek.’
Like a blushing bride, I stepped into the aisle between desks. The whiteness of Alberic’s crisp shirt blinded me.
‘I think doing it with me might give you a little push in the right direction,’ he said, putting a hand on my shoulder.
Oh, you bet I’d like to do it with you, I thought, trying not to purr with pleasure.
His hand pressed me down; I folded on to the floor, and he followed me; soon we both sat on our heels opposite each other. I could feel the coarseness of the denim on his knees through the gossamer of my stockings. In a false flash of modesty, I gave the hem of my skirt a feeble tug, but it wasn’t long enough to cover my knees. My heart hummed with contentment.
‘You’ll know what to do,’ said Alberic. ‘I promise, it’s easy once you’ve figured it out.’
After this, he fell silent, leaving me to find a quiet place in my head, where all my stores of intuition and concentration lay dormant.
Having leave to stare at him directly was a real wonder. His black eyes were so close that it seemed that his gaze was a secret velvet voice inside my head.
His lips moved. ‘Engage,’ he commanded.
I watched, daring for the first time to look directly at his face, into his face, study it close, knowing that at that moment he was also studying mine. Something moved in his eyes, but I knew – though I couldn’t tell how or why – that this was a trick; his limbs rested still, and so I remained still, too. There was a connection, a charge, and it was hotly disquieting, like an uninvited confession.
Alberic’s stillness unnerved me. Usually my concentration would have drifted here, and I would have tried to sneak a look at his hands just to see what he was doing, but now I had permission to look into those eyes – and I would never be able to look away. Even once it was over, I would think of Alberic’s face, search it with my inner eye, appeal for the calm and connection, and … I felt my hand rise to rest on his shoulder; the instant my palm touched the cotton of his shirt, my own shoulder felt the warmth of his hand.
We were connected. Now that I knew how to do it, I couldn’t imagine not being able to repeat, without stopping to think, any move he made. He inclined his head to the side and righted it again; a compliant mirror, so did I.
His eyes lighted with mischief, and I tensed, not certain where we were going now. He smiled – very briefly, but not so briefly that I didn’t reflect his mirth back into his face – and leant towards me. Unthinking, for magic is quicker than thought, I leant towards him.
Our lips touched with the same deliberate care that he had invested in the rest of the exercise. When his tongue pushed forwards, I met him with mine, half-caressing, half-fighting a battle of mouths and teeth. I wanted to throw my arms around his neck and lock our bodies together for this long kiss, to make it last and to make him come back for more, but even in this turmoil my mind followed his lead on instinct: just as his tongue invaded my mouth, his hands hung by his sides, and so must mine.
His lips were drawing away, his mouth was closing against me. In my obedience, I didn’t pursue the kiss, leaning back instead like I knew I should. Oh, but I want you, I thought petulantly.
Out loud, he said, ‘I know.’ And at once: ‘Disengage.’
As though a supporting hand was withdrawn from around me, my back and shoulders slackened, and I allowed myself to let out a long breath. My head hummed.
‘And this is what you do,’ said Alberic
conversationally, addressing Susan as much as me, even though she had no idea what had just happened. ‘That was very good, Meg; return to your desk. Susan, would you like to have a go?’
Even the grimace on Susan’s face when she realised she would have to sit on the mucky carpeting didn’t make up for my disappointment. Alberic hadn’t told me to turn my chair to the wall, and so I petulantly glared as he guided my rival into the very same spot on the floor where I had sat a minute before, and drew her into his gaze.
I had seen couples kiss before – you couldn’t live in a pretty town filled with students without encountering snogging youngsters in every romantic spot. That said, I had never had a front-row seat. Their lips met precisely in the middle of the empty space between them. Faces slightly tilted, they carefully pressed their mouths together in a deliberate measured caress. He didn’t close his eyes, and neither did she, and hers were huge and astonished. I could tell the exact moment when their tongues met. I wondered if my cheeks had been as flushed as Susan’s were getting now. It was unfair that she should be such a pretty girl.
I felt a little sorry for her when our master drew back from their kiss and commanded her to disengage. At least I hadn’t been watched in my frustration and confusion, while Susan was too aware of her jealous audience.
Alberic didn’t allow us even a minute’s pause before he launched into a lecture.
‘Magic is a bond,’ he said, walking there and back in front of us. Like charmed snakes, we turned our heads after him. ‘Once you have let yourself be drawn into a magical connection, no other form of intimacy will ever live up to it. You have felt it now. How was it?’
We were both silent. Susan didn’t even attempt to rise from the carpet.
‘Was it pleasant? Shocking? Claustrophobic?’
‘It was invasive,’ I said, surprising myself. ‘I wanted to hide. It felt great, though.’
‘I didn’t want it to end,’ Susan echoed from the floor, and I thought, I bet you didn’t.
Love on the Dark Side Page 15