by David Meyer
“Get up, Randy,” Dad said in that tough, no-nonsense voice he uses when he’s trying to, well, stop my nonsense. “We’re not leaving until we’ve had a chance to talk.”
Breathing softly, I remained still.
“We’ve got good news,” Mom said. “Really good news, in fact.”
I didn’t move a muscle. A minute of silence passed by.
“Isn’t the Victory Feast tonight?” Dad asked in a voice that indicated he already knew the answer.
“Why, yes, it is,” Mom replied. “And seeing as how Randy’s on staff, that means he’ll be working it.”
They had me and I knew it.
Unwilling to admit I’d been faking, I waited a little longer. Then I issued a big yawn and cracked my eyes open. “Whoa,” I said, laying eyes upon my parents. “What are you doing here?”
A large watery bubble floated in front of me. It showed my parents sitting at the kitchen table back home. Ceramic plates, piled high with homemade spaghetti, sat in front of them. I licked my lips. The spaghetti smelled delicious and I was eager for a bite. A real bite, not just the taste of one. Unfortunately, that wasn’t going to happen.
A bubbler is basically enchanted water, designed to carry sensory data from one location to another. It travels as water vapor, which enables it to slip through tight spaces. Upon reaching its intended recipient, the droplets form into a bubble of considerable size.
Bubblers are similar to memory mirrors in that they can communicate images, sounds, smells, tastes, and even touches. Which is good and bad. There’s nothing like getting a hug from a distant loved one on a bad day. But it also means you might get a face full of Casafortro-branded Punishment Pudding instead.
“Quit it,” Dad groused. “We know you weren’t sleeping.”
“Honey, that’s not helpful.” Mom patted his hand, then smiled at me. “How are you doing, Randy? Are they treating you okay?”
“I’m fine.” I made a show of checking the clock, then jumped to my feet. “Wow, I’m really late.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll make this fast.” Dad dragged his fork through the spaghetti. “Your mom and I have talked it over. And we want you to come home.”
“Yes,” she said. “As soon as possible.”
I frowned. “You mean for a visit?”
She shook her head. “For good.”
I winced inwardly as I saw the barely-veiled shame in her eyes. When Madkey had first offered me a spot in its hallowed halls, she’d been so proud of me. She and Dad had told anyone and everyone about my matriculation. That pride quickly faded, however, as I began to rack up failing grades in nearly all subjects. They’d even begun to monitor me on a daily basis, sitting in on my classes via bubblers. But all that did was detract from my quickly-ebbing confidence.
And now they wanted me to do what? Quit my job? Go home with my tail tucked firmly between my legs? What would I even do at home? Get an entry-level position at Casafortro? Maybe painting labels with the other dropouts? No, thanks. If I had to work an assembly line, at least I could do it from within Madkey’s hallowed halls.
Mom traded glances with Dad. “Do you want to tell him, or should I?”
I frowned. “Tell me what?”
“I spoke to Ian last night,” Dad said. “He’s agreed to bring you aboard at YickYack for the fourth quarter.”
YickYack, or the YickYack Academy for Magical Arts, was one of the regional magic schools operating out of New England. Its headmaster, Ian Clagheimer, was one of Dad’s closest friends.
“YuckYuck?” I made a face. “No, thanks.”
“Don’t call it that,” Mom replied sternly. “And there’s nothing wrong with YickYack. It’s a good school.”
It wasn’t, but that was irrelevant.
“I’m staying,” I replied.
“No,” Dad said. “You’re not.”
Like it or not, they were my guardians. If they wanted me home, I’d have no choice but to hop into one of Galison’s conveyance portals.
“I need to get to the feast,” I said, my voice icing over.
Mom shook her head. “You don’t have to be a staffer, Randy. YickYack can—”
“I need to go.”
“Fine.” Dad sighed. “But this isn’t over.”
“Bye, Randy,” Mom said.
“We love you,” Dad added.
Mom stuck out a finger. Abruptly, the bubbler popped, spraying me with a soft mist, and they disappeared. The smell of spaghetti faded away.
And then I was alone.
Chapter 10
I was late.
Moving at a quick pace, I exited the staffer dorm and hurried through the forearm portion of Left Arm. The entire area was dedicated to staff and thus, was considered part of Shadow Madkey.
My feet struck ragged carpeting. A couple of armoires and old chairs were pushed up against the walls. The items were antiques, old and dull. Nobody cared for them because nobody really wanted them. At the same time, nobody wanted to make the effort to get rid of them either.
I broke into a trot. Reaching the elbow, I entered a crooked spiral stairwell. The walls were dented and the paint peeled in numerous places. The sickly green carpet was threadbare. Tapestries, tattered and fraying at the edges, hung from the walls. Overall, the area looked spic and span, thanks to regular cleanings from us staffers. But all of that elbow grease couldn’t change the fact that Left Arm was long overdue for renovation.
Heading down the staircase, I hustled to a door. I caught a glimpse of the sign and its mantra—Faculty and Students Are Your Priority. Serve Them Always and Without Question—as I turned the knob.
Flinging the door open, I stepped out into the bicep portion of Left Arm. This section, which was occupied by the Conveyance department, sloped upward to the shoulder. Doors lined either side of the corridor, leading to various classrooms and offices. Gleaming sculptures of Structuralist heroes, exquisite paintings in polished frames, and cozy, plush furniture filled out the space.
As always, everything looked new and inviting. I sometimes lingered here on my way back and forth to the dorm. But since I was in a hurry, I sprinted instead.
I darted uphill to the shoulder, then walked out onto the Upper Torso bridge. Madkey Station Grille was in the process of a complete overhaul. A dozen staffers were busy covering tables with fine white cloth. Other staffers sat in floating chairs, now adorned with colorful bunting. Kicking their legs, they traveled amongst the tables, using their wands to convey silverware, plates, glasses, napkins, flowers, and other items into place. Still other staffers handled decorations. There were so many balloons, the place looked like a kid’s birthday party.
I recognized some of the decorations from the Madkey Convocation. That event, which celebrated the beginning of the school year, had been one of the greatest experiences of my life. I still recalled the delicious food, the rousing speeches, and the astounding feats of magic. Most of all, I recalled the Critter Combine.
The Critter Combine was a ritualistic affair in which a magical creature was paired with the incoming class. For the next four years, the fates of both parties were completely intertwined.
The tenth through twelfth graders had previously been paired with the thunderbirds, the chupacabras, and the snipes, respectively. Meanwhile, the ninth graders—my class—had waited eagerly to see which critter would choose us. We’d gone bonkers when the sasquatches sent up a signal. Exhilarating at the time, it seemed like a distant memory now.
I looked around. An unfamiliar face caught my attention. It belonged to a raven-haired girl, accompanied by Nico.
A native of Guam, Nico stood a few inches over six feet. He had a relaxed way about him that hadn’t played well in the hard-charging world of Madkey. He couldn’t—or maybe wouldn’t—keep up with his schoolwork. After three semesters, he’d dropped out. Displeased with the prospect of returning home, he’d become a staffer.
The girl at his side, I could only assume, was the new student. Hannah, acc
ording to Tad. Her face was perfectly symmetrical and featured a pair of green eyes that seemed to shine for miles. Dark hair, smooth yet wavy, bounced gently upon her shoulders. Her lightly-tanned body was toned with thin muscle.
“Wolf,” Jax shouted. “You’re late.”
Cheeks burning, I froze in place. Jax knelt on a floating chair near the bridge. His arms were crossed. A scowl rested upon his lips. “You skipped the morning shift. Now, you’re late to set-up. What’s up with you, Wolf?”
“My parents sent me a bubbler. Didn’t Tad tell you?”
“No.”
I frowned.
“Speaking of Tad, where is he?”
“He’s not here?”
He gave me a pointed look.
Quickly, I scanned Torso. Indeed, there was no sign of him. Genuinely puzzled, I thought back to our parting moments in the dorm. He’d sounded a little funny and I’d asked him if he felt okay. Not really, he’d said. But before he could offer an explanation, the bubbler had arrived.
“You and your friends better get it together, Wolf. Or else.” With a fierce growl, Jax twisted his chair around and raced off to Lower-Torso.
I remained still for a moment, wondering if I should go look for my friend. But a shouted order from Jax put that idea to rest. Entering Shadow Madkey, I made my way down to the kitchen. I spent the next hour or so on the assembly line, busily putting together last-minute appetizers. I wrapped bacon around dates that had been stuffed with blue cheese. I spread enchanted caviar onto thin slices of cucumber. And I mixed up a smooth mixture of cranberries, honey, orange juice, and sea salt as prep work for cranberry crostini.
When I finally got a chance to breathe, the enchanted clock read half past seven. That meant the Victory Feast was already underway, a fact that kind of surprised me. I tried to picture it in my head. The performers, the speeches, the trays of delicious food emerging from the wall chutes. It must’ve been amazing.
“Psst,” Jenny Lynch whispered.
I offered her a quick glance. “Need something?”
“Yeah. The truth.” Her look turned conspiratorial. “What really happened in that supply room?”
Licking my lips, I recalled the cover story. “A bunch of cursed poster boards got loose. They spotted scissors and—”
“Stop lying.” She made a face. “I mean, come on. Who’s going to believe that?”
I hid a small smile. “It’s true.”
“I’m not an idiot, Randy. Now—”
“Oops.” Leandra’s wand squirted out of her hand. It slid across the floor and bumped into my shoe. She froze, her eyes focused on Jax.
He shot her a cold look in return. “What are you waiting for? An invitation?”
She scurried across the room. Stooping down, I grabbed her wand. Still in a crouch, I handed it to her.
She took hold of it. “Have you seen Tad?”
Checking Jenny, I saw she’d gone back to her work. So, I scanned the room. Extra workstations had been brought in for the evening, enough to accommodate staffers who normally worked in laundry, housekeeping, or one of the other assembly-line functions. As such, the room was practically bursting with staffers. But Tad wasn’t one of them.
“No. Where is he?” I wondered.
“I was hoping you knew.”
I glanced at Jax. He waved his wand all over the place, putting the finishing touches on bowls of bananas foster. “Has Jax said anything?”
She nodded. “I heard him grumbling about it a few minutes ago. He thinks Tad’s playing hooky.”
I frowned.
“When was the last time you saw him?”
“In the dorm, right before work. He had your—”
“My what?”
Back in the dorm, I’d thought Tad was planning a prank for Leandra. Now, I wasn’t sure what to think. “He had your fizzer.”
Thinking of Tad jogged my memory. I recalled how he’d looked a bit tired and beat-up. I recalled the reddish dirt on his clothes. I’d seen similar dirt on MacPherson’s clothing.
“What a freak.” Tossing her curly, red hair back, would-be junior Fyla Roice stormed into the kitchen. “I knew that kid was trouble.”
“What are you doing here?” Jax frowned. “Get back to your post.”
“I was at my post,” she replied huffily. “Only that little creep snuck past me. He’s out there, Jax. He’s at the feast!”
Fyla was one of five watchers for the evening. Their job was to keep an eye on the feast and make sure everything went swimmingly. If a problem arose, they were empowered to pull out all stops to fix it.
“Slow down,” Jax said. “Who went out there?”
“Tad Crucible.”
He gave his temples a good, hard rub. “And you didn’t go after him?”
“By the time I got onto the bridge, he was gone.”
“Cripes, what is wrong with that guy?” Jax massaged his temples. “I’d better go … hey, Wolf … where do you think you’re going? Get back here!”
But I was already out the door.
Chapter 11
I had to find Tad. And I had to do it before Galison or another faculty member caught sight of him. So, I hustled through Shadow Madkey at top speed, heading for the exit. Unfortunately, Jax was quicker.
“Wolf!” Grabbing my shoulder, he wrenched me away from the double doors. “What’s Tad doing out there?”
“I … don’t know.”
His face reddened. “He’s through. Finished. When the feast is done, I’m telling Galison everything.”
I gave him a doubtful look. “You mean how you couldn’t keep control over your staff?”
His gaze wavered.
“I can find him,” I said. “I can bring him back.”
He scowled at me. Still, I had him over a barrel and he knew it.
“Then do it.” He released me. “But if you get caught, I’ll make sure both of you get fired.”
I hurried to the double doors and eased them open a few inches. My eyes shone with wonder. I’d heard stories about the Victory Feast ever since I’d come to Madkey. But this, well, it was beyond my wildest imagination.
Lovely moonlight, aided by well-placed cool-lights, cast an elegant gleam throughout the entirety of Torso. Lace cloth, along with polished silverware, pristine plates, and vases of aromatic daisies and lilies, covered the tables. Students and faculty members sat in various sections, situated on well-adorned chairs.
Students chosen by the Magictainment department floated amongst the crowd, performing to roaring applause. Chez Skalant, a senior, aimed spells at a dozen falling swords, continuously blasting them back into the air. Tara DuBois, also a senior, used her wand to sketch people in Living Ink. Moses Cole, Lola Neri, and Madhuri Data whipped spells at a series of metallic objects, causing them to reverberate gently. This created a variety of sounds that somehow melded together to form beautiful music. There were other artists and artisans, too. Dancers, singers, air tumblers, even woodcutters, which seemed to make the floating chairs more than a bit nervous.
Sneaking outside, I looked for Tad. He wasn’t on the bridge and I didn’t see him amongst the students and faculty. Thinking he might be on one of the other bridges, I took a hoist to Mid-Torso, exited, then ducked into the shadows.
A long table was situated on the Mid-Torso bridge. Its occupants included Galison, Wadflow, and Norch. There was an empty chair next to Norch, which was probably meant for MacPherson. And in the middle of the four regular chairs was an oversized seat. A throne, really, one fit for a king.
Out in the open, the Seniors and faculty occupied the tables closest to the long table. The Juniors sat behind them. The Sophomores and Freshmen were gathered in Lower- and Upper-Torso, respectively.
Curiously enough, the faculty section seemed a bit light on numbers. Looking around, I noticed a few professors situated around Torso’s edges. Their eyes roved and they held their wands in tight grips. It occurred to me that they were on guard-duty.
Co
vered silver trays began to pop out of numerous wall chutes. They soared through the air, carefully skirted one another, and settled down onto the many tables.
Food was a big deal at Madkey and there was always plenty to eat. But the Victory Feast was special. A quick scan of the room revealed a variety of mouth-watering dishes. Jumbo shrimp wrapped in prosciutto ham and glazed with masala butter sauce. Cuts of orange-glazed beef fillet. Braised short ribs. Mashed potatoes. Potato cakes. Sweet plantains. Straw vegetables. And lots of other things, too. I knew the food well, having helped to prepare much of it over the last twenty-four hours.
Stomach growling, I searched for Tad. But all I saw was festive eating. The seated faculty members stuffed themselves silly amidst a great deal of laughter. The Seniors, Juniors, and Sophomores were just starting to dig in. Meanwhile, the Freshmen were in the process of placing their orders.
Another quick search revealed Porter’s table. He sat with Gordon, Sya, Felicia, and a couple of other freshmen. They were situated just above me and I could hear every word emanating from their table.
“Ahoy, mateys.” Yordlo, his ghostly face looking especially chipper, materialized before Porter. “Ye … oh. It’s ye.”
“Yes, it’s us.” Porter frowned. “What took you so long?”
“Freshmen eat last, young Garrington. Ye should know that.”
Sya rolled her eyes. “That’s dumb.”
“It’s tradition, lass.” He gave the table a cock-eyed look. “Well, what’ll it be, mateys?”
“Pistachio crusted sea bass,” Felicia said without hesitation. “Oh, and the lamb lollipops. And a soda, too.”
The rest of the table quickly rattled off a bunch of dishes and drinks because, hey, why not? That was the whole point of the Victory Feast. To eat, drink, and celebrate like crazy.
Soon, a covered floating tray arrived at their table. Gordon removed the lid and passed around a bunch of bottomless goblets.
More trays arrived in short order. Years ago, trays could only float on a certain plane. They couldn’t be lifted or lowered, which was apparently quite annoying. Mom and Dad, in fact, still complained about it. Usually in the middle of one of their you don’t know how good you have it lectures. It was a rare bit of true innovation, courtesy of Alanskew.