by Chris Kim
“And?”
“I wanted to test the hypothesis.”
Jean wanted to slap him. Would have, if Erik didn’t enter her apartment right after that comment.
“How did you get here, Shock?”
“I walked.”
“How did you know where to go?”
“I got the contact info of all the wizards you sent our way.”
Erik’s right hand hovered over his head, like he wanted to clutch it. “All for what, exactly?”
“I wanted to know if we’re going through a magical Snow Apocalypse.”
Jean didn’t restrain herself this time.
“Even if we aren’t,” Shock said as he rubbed his cheek, “don’t you think it’s unconscionable to make a child carry the memories of a dead wizard or legion of them?”
Erik sighed. “Do we really have to talk about naïve interventionism?”
“Is procrastination working?”
“Too soon to tell. And waiting for a person to heal at his own pace is not procrastination. Need I remind you the circumstances in which we found Michael?” Erik crossed his arms. “Let’s wait another month.”
Shock didn’t suggest “fixing” Michael again after that. Instead, he pelted question after question about chokmah at Erik. Jean listened in because she was curious, too.
“For the last time, Shock, chokmah is not magic.”
“Ransom,” said Shock, wagging a finger. “Assume that I’m stupid. Then try to explain.”
Erik sighed. “Magic is mind over matter. The person possesses the power to manipulate. Chokmah is ... like using a computer hooked to an intranet. You built neither the computer nor the intranet’s contents, and someone else granted you access. So just because you have the privilege to make it snow when you ask, doesn’t mean you have the power to make it snow. The power lies in the computer, which in this analogy stands for chokmah. Understand?”
“No.”
Erik mashed his fists into his eyes and groaned. Jean narrowed her eyes and waited for Shock to show he understood more than he let on. Lo and behold, Shock asked Michael casually over dinner:
“Do you like it here, Michael?”
Michael eyed Shock warily and didn’t answer.
“Do you like Jean?” Shock tried again.
Michael nodded this time. Shock beamed.
“Good. I’m very happy for you. Now that I know you’re in good hands, can you ask the world to stop snowing? So I can let myself out.”
Damn sneak.
The snow returned with a vengeance.
It came down so fast and furious one couldn’t see an inch ahead. Gusts of wind screamed and rattled the windows. Pipes froze and burst. Jean checked the Internet and learned the blizzard was spreading towards the equator. Were they heading toward another Ice Age? News agencies wondered as they made doomsday announcements.
“I should’ve duct taped his smart mouth,” Jean grumbled as she held a trembling Michael through the night. He kept crying and mouthing: I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry...
“Don’t apologize,” Jean kissed his hair. “It’s not your fault.”
But, but, but...
“It’s really not,” Jean said firmly. “Now go to sleep.”
They slept. An uncountable number of hours passed.
Then Jean woke up to a frozen world.
No sound. That was the first thing she noticed. Blindingly white, the second thing.
Third: Michael, limp and gray next to her. Jean picked him up and ran out to get help.
She came to a sharp halt. There was nothing but snow as far as the eye can see. She looked back, and the pure white landscape stretched on and on.
Jean sucked in a breath. Let it out. Some place inarticulate, she knew this was the result of a child’s plea for everything to please stop.
So Jean offered a plea of her own, a strange sort of prayer.
“I don’t ask you to take it away from him,” she whispered. “I only ask that you let me guard it until he’s ready.”
There was silence for a span.
Then.
Wind. Screaming, moaning, and suffocating. Jean grit her teeth and tried to shield Michael from the onslaught as it whipped through like so many cold knives.
She was still holding him when she finally keeled over.
Jean woke up a second time inside a cocoon of snow. She felt Michael’s heartbeat. She also heard voices.
“Found them!”
Frantic shoveling and digging ensued. Moments later, Jean was squinting against the sunlight.
“Jean. Michael. Thank goodness,” said Erik’s voice, choked with sobs.
Hands pulled them out. Jean clutched Michael tighter, but frowned when they stopped.
“What?” she demanded.
No one replied. Just kept staring.
Jean got to look at herself in a mirror after the village doctor deemed her and Michael no longer at risk for hypothermia and frostbite.
“Well, will you look at that, I have your eyes, Michael,” she said mildly.
“White,” said Michael, pointing at Jean’s hair.
Jean nodded. “Yeah, and I went white. Cool. I’m thinking of getting a Mohawk later. What do you think?”
Michael giggled.
Ms. Lestrade declared Jean a wizard by virtue of her being able to summon a localized snowstorm in a ten-meter square area and nowhere else. Shock thanked her for stopping the global snowmageddon and got elbowed for his troubles. Erik had a different opinion:
“You’re the new winter, now, Jean. You should perhaps look into changing your name to Jean Frost. Anyway, what will you do?”
Jean smirked.
“First, no more blizzards for at least two months. Second, a White Christmas every year I feel like having one. Besides that,” she shrugged, “we’ll see.”
The End
COMING SOON
ERIK DIDN’T TELL Jean, but for a while he was the only wizard in the world. His story starts in THE LAST WIZARD, the soon-to-be released novel in the THOUGHT & MEMORY series.
Erik Ransom finds out he’s a wizard a year after a catastrophe destroyed the entire magic world.
Click here to learn more!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
CHRIS KIM IS the author of PERSISTENCE OF FROST and the upcoming series THOUGHT & MEMORY. When not writing, Chris guards data, teaches machines how to learn, and cajoles Photoshop Elements 9 to work for another day.
You can reach Chris at http://chris.booksofchange.com/ or via email at [email protected].
COPYRIGHT
COPYRIGHT © 2016 Chris Kim
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
All the characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental.