by C. M. Lance
Rick remained sitting until everyone climbed back in and then leapt back on top of the luggage.
A mile down the road, Giselle looked in the rearview mirror to see that Rick had changed forms. "That dog didn′t seem to like you."
"That happens all the time. Weres and dogs don′t get along. With one of my little cousins, or a pack of dogs, there might have been an altercation. But, and I say this in all modesty, I′m a little too impressive for a single dog, no matter how tough it thinks it is."
"Of course you say that in all modesty."
"When you got it, you got it."
"Modestly put."
"That will be a hunt for the bards to sing of. The problem with a hunt is bringing the prey down. The chase is great and the meat, exquisite. Regardless, you′re still bringing down a wild animal that has defenses and Weres can get hurt."
"This way you still get the chase and the meat, but we brought the deer down."
"Exactly, this is the only way to do it. And, the chili, don′t forget the chili. It makes a fire down below."
Giselle grinned at the compliment. "Now the only problem is we′re headed back to the real world."
They approached a highway entrance. "Let me know when we arrive in the real world." Rick changed back, pawed at the packs, circled twice, and settled for a nap.
Giselle and Sig chatted about the hunt, Sig being part Amazon, Jacob and his boys, work, and just about everything except what had happened yesterday evening.
Sig, Rick, and Giselle prepared dinner for the Professor with the fruits of the hunt. Sig roasted corn and grilled deer loin marinated in garlic, olive oil, and Worchester, Rick baked biscuits, Giselle made a Caesar salad, with real anchovies, and the Professor surprised them by whipping up a Chimichurri sauce for the meat. They washed it down with a velvety Zinfandel from the Professor′s wine cellar.
"Don′t get used to this, it′s for special occasions. I meet on the budget tomorrow morning with Dean Heathcoat. Closure is close. It helps that the lovely Bernadette participated to guard her investment."
Sig raised his glass and they toasted the budget. It would be the culmination of a memorable weekend. With an agreement, they would be able to continue their research.
Before the Professor retired for the evening, he asked Sig, "Would you please join me to meet Dean Heathcoat? We discussed new students in the program and he mentioned your name. He′d like to meet with students who have elected to study the physics of magic, instead of 'real′ physics, as he puts it."
Sig agreed. The Professor bid everyone a fond adieu and retired for the evening. After three bottles of wine, it sounded like he bid them a fondue. Either he slurred his speech, or Sig′s ears slurred his hearing.
†††
In the morning, Professor Herman offered Sig a ride. He accepted the offer and prayed the insurance check would arrive soon so he could stop bumming rides.
After his morning class, he met Professor Herman in his office. He handed Sig an object wrapped in dried leaves. "Put this in your pocket. Leave it there until after the meeting. Now we′d better get over to the Dean′s office."
Dean Heathcoat had a reception area three times the size of the Professors office. It came equipped with an efficient secretary who looked up and nodded to Professor Herman when they walked in. "He′s running a little behind schedule. He asked that you wait for a few minutes." She gestured toward a seating area with maroon leather couches and two comfortable chairs clustered around a large, low table. Soft music played over concealed speakers. "May I get you something to drink?"
"Some lemon grass tea would be very nice, Virginia."
She looked to Sig with raised eyebrows. "I′ll have the same if it′s no trouble, ma′am."
She smiled, nodded, and stepped into a small kitchenette. Returning in a few minutes, she set two large black cups emblazoned with the University logo on the low table, and returned to her desk.
Sig felt queasy. It compared to the feeling he had when he passed the Dean in the hall outside the Professor′s office, but not quite as rancid. He sipped his tea, hoping it would purge the nausea. Professor Herman looked at him with concern. Sig glanced over at him. "I′ll be OK." If Rick could get used to the multitude of smells that assailed him, Sig decided he could handle this.
After ten minutes, the Dean′s door opened and he emerged to greet them. He extended his hand. "Arthur, I'm sorry to keep you waiting. Our lovely benefactress, Bernadette, called to check on her money." Pleasure didn′t reflect in his eyes.
A greater wave of nausea passed over Sig. The Dean turned and extended his hand. "You must be Sigurd Stromgard. Are you all right? You′re a bit pale around the edges."
Sig forced himself to grasp the Dean′s outstretched hand. It felt like clutching something in the bottom of a garbage pail. He didn′t want to embarrass the Professor by throwing up on the Dean. He improvised, "My allergies are in full bloom, and I′ve run out of my medication. I′ll be fine."
"I′m sorry to hear that. Please come in, I′ll keep this brief."
Sig followed them into an office larger than the reception area. He took a seat beside the Professor in front of the Dean′s desk.
"Bernadette Hanson and her lawyer called to inquire about the spending of her bequest. I assured her that the entire amount would support the study the Physics of Magic." He gave Sig the impression of someone sucking on a lemon as he said it.
Professor Herman and the Dean reviewed details of the budget. Sig studied the Dean as they talked. He sensed a difference to the Dean, but he still couldn′t figure out what. The overall sense of evil inducing his nausea was less, as it had been at the Game Room before the battle. He attributed that to getting used to it, as Rick did with smells.
He had the same full haircut that covered his collar in back. The white streak on the right side stood out like a beacon against the dark, almost black hair. The Dean′s smooth, unblemished skin made Sig realize he wasn′t as old as the white streak made him appear. He seemed young to head up a department at a university like Northwestern.
His yellow tie with a faint blue sheen stood out against the medium blue, spread collar shirt with gold cufflinks. On a rack in the corner hung the navy suit coat with a faint powder blue pin stripe that matched his pants. With the coat lining in powder blue, he would have radiated the aura of a dapper business executive if Sig didn′t get the feeling of swimming in a cesspool.
The Professor by contrast wore a tan tweed sports coat with elbow patches, over a yellow button down shirt and a brown knit tie. Business meets academia.
They finished the budget discussion and the Dean picked up a folder lying on his otherwise empty desk. He opened it and passed his finger down the paper inside. "Sigurd Thorval Stromgard. Very impressive board scores. Thirty-five composite and thirty-six in Physics— perfect. With scores like that, and your grades, we could arrange for a full scholarship in the Physics department. I′d like to understand why we are losing you to the study of Magic."
"I′m not studying Magic. I want to study the Physics of Magic." He looked at the Professor who nodded for him to continue.
"Physics is old. It′s interesting, but so many people have been researching in that space that the pace of discovery has slowed. As a measure of that, I compared the number of published articles per capita coming out of the Physics department with the Physics of Magic department. Magic results are almost double. It′s not just the volume either; I evaluated the quality based on where the articles were published and the Physics of Magic ranks higher there also."
The Dean fashioned the lemon-sucking look again. "I see. I′d like to review your statistics."
"He did the analysis as part of his high school AP Physics study. He sent me a copy. I′ll be happy to forward it to you."
"Thank you Arthur. So, Sigurd, what does the pace of discovery have to do with your decision?"
"If there are more discoveries being made, I have a better chance of making a name for mysel
f in this field."
"Ambitious, that′s good."
"I also have a great interest in magic. Since I don′t have any talent, maybe if I learn how it works, I can discover how to manipulate it."
"Hmmm, no talent. Isn′t that unusual Arthur? I thought that most of your students have at least some tangential connection with magic."
"True, but it′s heartening to see interest spreading into the general populace."
"Have you ever thought that learning the causes can be used to both enhance and to prevent it, as happens in medicine?"
Professor Arthur nodded. "That′s an excellent analogy. As in medicine, we hope to prevent the dark, unhealthy symptoms and enhance the good."
Lemon puss was back. Sig′s nausea increased. He sensed undercurrents in their words.
The Dean stood. "Thank you both for coming. Sigurd, your views are enlightening. You must remind Arthur that, as in medicine, you must be careful where you cut, or the patient dies."
Back in Professor Herman′s office, Sig watched him adjust items on the walls and shelves. Finally, he cradled a crystal artifact in his palms and muttered in what didn′t sound like English. Tendrils of light leapt from the crystal. Lightning arced between objects he had manipulated. It spread, and coalesced along the walls, ceiling, and floor.
Sig was afraid to move.
The interior surfaces of the room shimmered and the window turned opaque.
The Professor placed the catalyst crystal on his desk, sat in his chair; folded hands behind his head, and put his feet on the desk. "There, that should prevent eavesdropping." He smiled at Sig who remained motionless in the chair, hands gripping the seat.
"Oh, you can move. I′ve just sealed the room from any form of monitoring."
Sig inhaled the breath he′d forgotten to take. "That was spooky. It didn′t sound like you were speaking English."
"It′s not the words that are important. Focusing your will is what creates magic. Words are the convenient crutch the practitioner leans on to focus concentration. It′s like the ritual the field goal kicker goes through to line up his kick or the breathing exercises used by the gymnast before a tumbling run."
"No gymnast can cause mini-lightning to gallop, flashing, and dashing around a room, until the air coruscates with power." Sig stammers in awe.
"Someday you′ll be able to do that; we′ll keep working toward it." The Professor waves a hand dismissively. "Now, describe for me what happened in Dean Heathcoat′s office."
Was the Professor toying with him? Still flustered by the display of pyrotechnics, Sig gulps a deep breath. Even though he′s still rattled, it′s time to behave like a professional. Composing himself, he says. "It seemed like a successful meeting. I didn′t follow the funding discussion closely, but it appeared that you accomplished what you wanted. The Dean seemed pleased with my answers…"
The professor waved a hand. "No, not that, I was there and able to draw my own conclusions. You appeared to be physically ill. I feared that you′d vomit on the Dean′s desk, but also hoped that you would, to watch that supercilious twit′s reaction. What caused your illness? I don′t believe that you have allergies."
"No, I don′t have any allergies, except to the Dean, Andras, and whatever threw the lightning from the top of the Game Room. It felt similar to the time I passed the Dean in the hallway outside your office, only not quite as bad."
"I felt it. I spelled the object I gave you before we left to enable me to feel what you sense. I′ve become concerned about your reaction to the Dean." He held out his hand. "You can give it back." After Sig handed the leaf wrapped object to him, the Professor placed it on a shelf.
He turned back to sig and said dryly, "If the Dean isn′t involved somehow in Black Magic, he has some serious trans-dimensional hygiene problems. Through you, I sensed the evil he emanates." His lip arched as he shook his head.
"I′ve worked alongside him for the three years I′ve been here at Northwestern. I never gained an impression of him as more than a pompous nincompoop who didn′t understand the import of what we do. Now I realize that he′s been actively blocking our progress."
"Why would he allow a Physics of Magic department at all?"
"Bernadette. As a former University Trustee, she has impressive political connections. She advanced the idea of creating the Physics of Magic department.
"Of course her generous financial endowment influenced the process. They tapped me because of my experience establishing and running the first such department and my connection to Bernadette."
"Where did you establish another department?"
"In France. This opportunity drew me because of the concentrated Ley line density at the tip of Lake Michigan. Bernadette′s lobbying also influenced me. Otherwise, I would still be quaffing the French wines of which I grew so fond. Fortunately, I′ve grown to appreciate your wonderful California wines." There was a long pause and Sig noticed that the Professor had a dreamy look in eyes. Sig cleared his throat loudly, causing the Professor to shake his head and rejoin the conversation in progress.
As if he hadn′t gone walk about, the Professor continued. "Now, we must revisit our plans. First we must know Heathcoat better."
"I know him as well as I′d like," said Sig.
"But not as well as we should. Were you aware that as an undergraduate he attended Northwestern? I received an earful about it when I first arrived, 'Local boy makes good′ type of thing. We can use that to our advantage and find people in the area who can provide us with background information. Are you up to a research task?"
"I signed on as a research assistant; sure I′ll do it."
"Giselle is an excellent researcher; she can help you. I′ll ask her."
Sig′s enthusiasm increased.
Professor Herman clapped his hands. "Excellent, let′s reconvene in a week." He took up the crystal object he′d used before to create the cone of silence and muttered foreign words. The shimmering faded and the scene outside reappeared through the window.
A knock sounded at the door.
The Professor glanced at his wristwatch. "Just in time for my next appointment." His eyes locked with Sig′s. "Good hunting. This could be critical."
Sig enjoyed the research. He spent hours in the library with Giselle. He′d missed her company after the Commander banned him from the Amazons. She directed him to make a list of all faculty members who attended Northwestern at the same time as Dean Heathcoat. He turned up 102 matches.
Narrowing it to only those in the physics department turned up one name—Dean Heathcoat himself. Expanding the list to those who lectured in the sciences produced a more manageable twenty-six names.
Sig suggested that they review papers written by the Dean, to develop a feel for his areas of expertise.
His bibliography was thin. The ones they read were banal, generally reviewing discoveries made by others. Giselle observed that they were full of ostentatious prose, which appeared to be an attempt to disguise flimsy research and shallow thought. Well, as the expert researcher she should know.
Weak research was the least of the Dean′s problems. Sig began to fill her in on the feelings that overcame him when near the Dean.
She interrupted. "The Professor explained it to me when he requested my help. He commended your judgment," she said.
That was nice to know. Sig still met with Professor Herman regularly to practice, or at least to attempt magic. He didn′t expect commendations for proficiency in that area.
At the next magic practice, the Professor reviewed the shortened faculty list and made suggestions. He recommended seven faculty members who he felt were reliable and able to keep secrets.
The first four on the list were dead ends. They only knew of Heathcoat as the Physics dean, with no recollection of him from their college days together.
The fifth, a math professor by the name of Nancy Riley, remembered him vividly. She invited Sig to her office for a cup of coffee while she reminisced.
&nbs
p; Luckily, his insurance check had arrived and he drove his new Jeep to the meeting.
She looked to be in her late fifties, with straight iron gray hair cropped evenly just above her shoulders. Large black eyeglasses circled twinkling sky-blue eyes. After pouring two cups of coffee, one of which she handed to Sig, she gingerly eased her substantial frame into the chair behind her desk. She groaned as she settled. "Bum knee, probably too much weight on it for too many years. I′m considering getting it replaced."
She took a sip and set the cup down. "John Heathcoat. I′m glad you asked. I sometimes have trouble associating our natty, prissy dean with the boy I knew in college. He was such a strange duck back then."
"Oh, how so?"
"How was he strange, or how strange was he? Let me count the ways. He was Goth, before there was a Goth. He was too late for Beatnik and too early for Goth. If you look at pictures of him from that time, he always wore black—that made the streak in his hair really stand out. He would have been a handsome brooding genius type if he didn′t brood quite so much."
"He had the same streak in his hair in college?"
"Yes, same hair, different demeanor. Back then, he hung around the group but was a loner. Brilliant, but manic. I sometimes wondered how many people lived inside his head. The smart one, the angry one, the kind one, the mean one, they all took turns. Half the time he wanted people to call him Johnny; the rest of the time, he insisted on John. He didn′t have many friends. I don′t remember any."
"How did you know him, clubs, parties …?"
"As a senior I captained the chess team. John was a sophomore. By turns, he could be our best player and our worst player, and I never knew which one would show up. When he was brilliant, he reveled in destroying his opponents. When he lost, it seemed like he didn′t care.