Mage Against the Machine

by Shaun Barger

  “What—how?” Nikolai stammered, stunned and infuriated to see Joseph wearing the uniform he’d once so desperately dreamed of wearing himself.

  “Yeah, surprise, right?” Joseph laughed, running a hand through his short golden curls. “There’s a lot of downtime playing flyball for a living. I like to keep busy, and I thought I might be able to do some good as a Watchman, you know? The chief and mayor agreed, and my dad okayed it—so here I am. Part-time right now, until the season’s over. But man, you look great! How have you been? It’s been years!”

  “R-right,” Nikolai said. “Great. I’ve been . . . great.”

  “So I heard! Cece said that you guys had a lot of fun the other night.”

  “See-See?”

  “Sorry, Cecilia,” he said, and Nikolai nodded, biting his cheek hard enough to draw blood. “Anyway, I gotta go. But great seeing you.” Joseph slapped Nikolai’s back with an immense hand, almost knocking him over. “Guess we’re basically coworkers now, so I’ll see you again tomorrow!”

  With the taste of blood in his mouth, Nikolai skulked out of the Watchman station without a word to anyone else. He took a cab back to Red’s apartment, scowling, arms crossed the entire ride, stewing in anger and contempt.

  Slamming the door to his room, he was suddenly disgusted at how childish it looked and began roughly yanking the magi-print posters from the walls and ceilings, carelessly ripping some of them. Eaglesmith. A Watchman. Joseph fucking Eaglesmith. Astor’s boyfriend. Star flyball player. And a Watchman. A fucking WATCHMAN. Because why not, right? Why not give him that too? Like he didn’t have enough. Like he didn’t already have every FUCKING thing Nikolai EVER wanted just handed to him, silver spoon MOTHERFUCKER!

  Before he knew what he was doing, he wrapped his fist in a glove of akro and punched one, two, three holes in the plaster of his wall, roaring.

  He sank onto his bed, disgusted and wondering what the hell was wrong with him.

  Nikolai didn’t even want to be a Watchman anymore. Though unusual, he could have applied to be one without having drawn a Watchman staff, like Joseph. But the very night he’d drawn his dagger and baton, he’d been whisked off by Red to New Damascus. Captain Jubal had Nikolai enrolled in boot camp so quickly, and with such talkative zeal, that Nikolai hadn’t even realized saying no was an option.

  But still. Seeing Joseph in the same uniform as his father . . . it had just been too much.

  Anger dimmed to an exhausted melancholy. For a moment, as Nikolai took in the destruction his temper had wrought, it was all he could do not to crumple into a weeping ball on the floor amid the ruined artworks he’d once so treasured.

  Instead Nikolai fetched a roll of tape and began to mend them.

  * * *

  In the days that followed, Nikolai, Astor, Trudy, and Stokes fell into the habit of hanging out almost every night after work and class—even if just for a quick dinner in the university cafeteria. Dancing, drinking. Dusting off old memory cubes full of movies they hadn’t watched since they were children. Digging old instruments out of storage and attempting to play some of their favorites from back when they used to have dreams of musical stardom.

  Nikolai on the drums. Trudy on piano. Stokes with an incredibly out of tune upright bass. Astor’s violin of light ringing out with impossible beauty and depth.

  Joseph was rarely around, busy most nights practicing for the big game after his days of work at the Watchmen HQ. So really, it felt like old times, but for the welcome addition of Trudy.

  As happy as this made Nikolai, he found himself struggling with increasing difficulty to fight back his old feelings for Astor. Resenting himself for it. Astor was his friend again. His family. Why couldn’t that be enough?

  Astor was happy, and whatever Nikolai thought of her annoyingly perfect boyfriend, she loved him. It wasn’t fair for him to resent that.

  He missed Ilyana desperately. He wanted to hear her voice again, to see her face. But every time he called her room’s crystal, she didn’t pick up. Sure, maybe he just kept missing her. But he knew Ilyana’s schedule well enough to know that she must have been around for at least some of his calls.

  By the end of the week, he stopped trying.

  On the day of Joseph’s big game, Nikolai came out of the Watchman HQ after a short afternoon shift to find Stokes and Trudy waiting for him with an oversized picnic basket.

  “We brought refreshments!” Stokes said, holding up the basket. “Come on. We’re gonna be late for the game!”

  Nikolai had totally forgotten—though that explained why he hadn’t been forced to endure another awkward conversation in the Watchman station with Joseph Eaglesmith. Every day, without fail, Joseph found Nikolai and cornered him for a chat in enthusiastic, seemingly earnest effort to befriend him, no matter how pointedly standoffish Nikolai’s demeanor.

  Nikolai knew it was immature, but he just couldn’t bring himself to like Marblewood’s golden boy. A dislike further compounded by the fact that Joseph couldn’t seem to comprehend the fact that someone might not want to talk to him.

  “Ah, shit,” Nikolai said. “I totally forgot.”

  “Gasp,” Stokes said. “How shocking. Don’t worry—we’ve got plenty of good food and honeybrew to keep you entertained while you heroically endure the entire magi nation’s favorite global pastime. Plus, I’ve got a bet to win. Remember? So come on.”

  The stadium was at the university, adjacent to a smaller amateur league flyball court. Joseph had left tickets for them at the front office for midlevel bench seats. In the stadium, tracer lines had been painted in the air, a glowing combination of the akro and illio weaves marking the boundaries of the fly zone—the large, rectangular area of space in the air, below which was a pool of water that would break the fall of players who were knocked down.

  The referee used an amplification spell to announce the entry of the Marblewood Comets onto the court. Resplendent in red and gold, the team swarmed out to their positions in organized patterns. The crowd roared with applause. Nikolai clapped with minimal enthusiasm.

  As the other team (the Nanuk Knights, from an ancient Veil in the deep north) spread out across the other side of the court in silver and blue, Nikolai cracked open a bottle of honeybrew and settled in for a long, boring game.

  Nikolai zoned out for a while, occasionally clapping when it seemed appropriate. His heart sank when he hit the bottom of his bottle and realized that Stokes hadn’t packed seconds. He waved down a sorceress who was hawking bottles from a crate slung around her neck and bought them all another round of drinks.

  He must have nodded off, because the music began to blare and suddenly the teams were leaving the court. For one wonderful second he thought the game was over, but realized with a groan that it was only halftime. As he smothered a sigh, someone tapped Nikolai on the shoulder.

  “That’ll be ten bills, cuz!” Astor said with forced cheer, hopping over the seat to squeeze between Nikolai and Stokes. “I saw you nappin’, Nicky. Don’t try to hide it!”

  Stokes groaned. “Your pitiful attention span has cost me dearly, Strauss.”

  “Long day,” Nikolai said, embarrassed. “I’m having fun. Really!”

  Astor was looking even more stunning than usual—wearing a slim-cut, emerald green dress—face done up with more makeup than he’d ever seen her wear.

  “Everything okay?” Trudy asked. “Why aren’t you sitting down in the box seats with the Eaglesmiths?”

  Astor’s face darkened, but then she just shrugged and laughed. “As much as I love hanging out with my boyfriend’s parents, I figured I’d come get an eyeful of your lovely faces.”

  Smiling or not, Nikolai could tell that something was bothering her.

  “Scoot,” Trudy said, and Stokes complied, shoving aside so she could take his place besides Astor. She clasped her hand. “Come on, what’s up, babe? No bullshit.”

  Astor went uncharacteristically quiet, staring at Trudy’s hand on hers, then at her lap. “
Well, it’s no big deal,” she said, lightly. “But there’s a recruiter here. From Kitezh. And if the Comets win the game . . . if Joey wins the game . . .”

  She and Trudy exchanged a knowing glance. Stokes let out a long breath.

  “Damn, dude,” he said. “That’s some real grown-up shit. You don’t think . . . ?”

  Astor waved him off, clearing her throat. “Look at me, Little Ms. Storm Cloud over here.” She climbed back up over the seats, ignoring Nik and Trudy’s attempts to help. She landed, momentarily precarious in her heels, which Nikolai had never seen her wear before. “Halftime will be over soon. Gotta get back to the fam. But seriously, don’t worry about it.” She flicked Nikolai’s ear from behind the stands. “Disc forbid I distract this megafan from the game.”

  Nikolai laughed and swatted her hand away. He couldn’t help but watch as her slight, emerald-clad figure carefully disappeared into the crowd, a fluttering emptiness filling the pit of his stomach.

  “What was that about?” he asked the others. Stokes and Trudy exchanged looks.

  “Kitezh Crimsons’ alpha drake is about to retire,” Stokes said. “They’re looking for a replacement. Someone young, new. Up-and-coming.”

  “Ohhh,” Nikolai breathed. “Someone like Joseph.”

  “Exactly,” Trudy said. “And if the recruiter is impressed today . . . Joey’ll be moving to Kitezh. And Astor . . .”

  Understanding dawned on Nikolai. If Joseph’s team won, he’d move to Kitezh—a Veil in the middle of what used to be Russia, on nearly the opposite side of the globe from Marblewood. And Astor would never leave her mom or kid sister behind, let alone abandon her studies to chase after some boyfriend.

  All of a sudden, Nikolai was following the game more intently than anyone else in the entire stadium.

  By the end of the third quarter, Nikolai had been sitting in tense silence for so long that he began to ache. His jaw clenched as he struggled not to cheer and boo with the crowd. He leaned back in his seat, practically pulling out his hair as the Knights took the lead and the Marblewood Comets lost one of their best players to an obvious foul.

  “Hey buddy,” Stokes said as Nikolai ordered a fourth honeybrew to calm his trembling nerves. “Maybe chill out on the drinking.”

  “Sure,” Nikolai said absently, eyes locked intently on the game. “Last one, I promise.”

  End of the fourth quarter. Nikolai had needed to piss for twenty minutes and it felt like he was about to start bleeding internally, but he couldn’t tear himself away. The Comets’ offense had been great but their defense was sloppy, with another of the team’s best players hit so bad that he really should have sat the rest of the game out.

  It was all up to Joseph now.

  The heat was on and Joseph was flying fast—faster than anyone on either side. But he was distracted and made a couple dumb mistakes—nearly lost the ball once, nearly dropped it in the water below before snatching it out of the air again in an incredible looping save between two Knights who collided into one another just as they missed him. The crowd went insane.

  Ten seconds remained.

  Four Knights came from every direction for Joseph. Two were stopped by Comet offense, and Joseph dodged the third in a twisting feint and rammed his shoulder into the fourth, knocking him out of the air.

  Five seconds remained.

  The Comets’ offense had fallen apart—Joseph was practically alone out there, but he closed in on the goal. Every single Knight seemed to bear down on him in a desperate scramble, but he twisted and turned and spun with absurd grace—until—!

  “Yesssssss!” Nikolai screamed, jumping up and down as the audience went wild.

  Half a second to spare and the Marblewood Comets had won. Letting out a triumphant roar, Joseph let himself fall back down into the water. The rest of the team kicked off their gear and plummeted in after him, raising him up on their shoulders as they swam to the side.

  Nikolai realized that the others were staring. He slowly sat back down, laughing nervously. Embarrassed.

  Trudy excused herself, off to hit the restroom. Stokes took Nikolai by the arm. “Dude. What was that about?”

  “Sorry,” Nikolai said, wilting. “It’s just . . . a lot. You know?”

  “I know, bud,” Stokes said, softening. “But maybe you should go home. Too much sun, too much brew. Nobody’s going to care.”

  “No,” Nikolai assured him. “I’ll be okay. I’ll tone it down.”

  Stokes looked doubtful, but didn’t argue.

  Nikolai made sure to keep his expression impassive as they went to catch a cab to the festivities, but inside he was beaming.

  Merlin’s Boot was already crowded when they arrived, boisterously celebrating the big win.

  The team hadn’t shown up yet, so there was an air of anticipation as everyone awaited the conquering heroes. Nikolai shoved past a couple drunks and managed to grab their group a table in the corner where he sat, eagerly watching the door for Astor’s arrival.

  The band started to play and Trudy stood up, taking Stokes’s hand. “We’re gonna go dance.”

  “Oh Nik, you’ve created a monster.” Stokes sighed, then twirled her around, lowering her for a kiss. “You gonna come?”

  “Nah, I’m gonna chill,” Nikolai said, waving them off. “Go show ’em how it’s done.”

  He watched them dance from across the room, completely lost in thought as he absently waved down the barkeep for another honeybrew.

  Between the sun and the drinks and the excitement of the game, Nikolai was a little woozy. He knew he probably shouldn’t have had anything more to drink—but he was feeling festive. As shitty as he knew that was.

  Magi cheered outside and the door burst open—a flood of people singing the Marblewood Anthem, all dressed in the team colors.

  “Marblewood, oh Marblewood, land of sky and gold! Where the sorceresses are fair and wise and the wizards are strong and bold. Where the muse never hides, and love never dies, it truly can be told! In Marblewood, oh Marblewood, the land of sky and gold!”

  “Marblewoodites!” one of Joseph’s friends announced. “Marblewoodians! Woodooloos! I present to you, JOSSSSEEEPPPHHHHH EAAAGGLEEESMITH!”

  The team hoisted Joseph up onto their shoulders to great applause. He was laughing and blushing as he waved sheepishly at the cheering, intoxicated crowd.

  The group—mostly comprised of Joseph’s teammates and former teammates from his old academy team—began chugging a line of honeybrews. Freckles was there, muscle-bound arm slung around Gwendolyn, with her pale glowing hair. Nikolai caught Freckles glaring, so he raised his glass at him and smiled. The other averted his gaze with a scowl.

  Nikolai stood, craning his neck as he looked for Astor. Just then, she came in through the door with a girl whose name Nikolai forgot, who was drunkenly shouting and cheering into the politely sober Astor’s face.

  Nikolai started to walk over to her but then bumped into Joseph, who obviously had the same thing in mind.

  “Oh—uh, hey,” Nikolai said to him. “You were—you were great out there.”

  “Wow, thanks, Nik!” Joseph said. He was distracted, but seemed genuinely taken aback at Nikolai’s praise. “Cece told me you aren’t much for flyball—I really appreciate your support.”

  “Of course,” Nikolai said, and let him go. Joseph went over to Astor and Nik sidled to the bar, keeping a sideways eye on them. He couldn’t hear what they were saying, but Joseph looked apologetic. He tried to embrace her, and Nik felt a thrill as she stiffened, stone-faced—not reciprocating. Sighing, he kissed her cheek and moved to rejoin the festivities.

  The bartender placed another honeybrew next to Nikolai’s hand—probably assuming he was with the group. Absently, Nikolai paid for the drink and took a swig, watching Astor patiently endure Gwyn’s drunken rambling.

  Astor excused herself and went outside, looking miserable. A wave of guilt washed over him, and his joy at the thought of Eaglesmith moving away momentarily so
ured. Who the hell was he to celebrate Astor’s heartbreak? Some fucking friend he was.

  Nikolai downed his honeybrew and slammed the glass on the bar. It struck him that he was actually quite drunk, but shook it off, attempting to sober up with pure willpower. A little unsteady on his feet, he followed Astor outside to go check on her.

  He found her a little ways down the street, standing alone under the light of a streetlamp.

  “Astor?” he called out. “You okay?”

  “Oh, Nik!” she said, sniffling and hastily wiping her eyes. It was obvious that she’d been crying—her makeup was all smeared to hell. “What’s up?”

  “Saw you head out,” he said, joining her in the halo of light cast down from the glow bulb. “You looked upset. Everything okay?” He drew out his handkerchief and offered it to her. At her hesitance, he smiled. “Don’t worry, it’s clean—one hundred percent snot free, I promise.”

  She laughed, one of those choked half-sob kind of laughs, and accepted the handkerchief, dabbing her eyes with it. “Look at you, Mr. Fancypants. The city really has changed you. Since when does Nikolai Strauss carry a hanky?”

  “I saw you in distress. Ran as fast as I could to the nearest handkerchief dispensary.” He moved closer, touching her arm. “So, what’s up? Were you secretly rooting for the Knights? You have a lot of money riding on them, or something?”

  She laughed again, shaking her head. “Oh, Nicky. It’s nothing, I just . . .” Her eyes welled up with tears, and she took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. “Joey’s been offered a position on the Kitezh Crimsons as alpha drake. He wants to take it. And it’s an incredible opportunity, the chance of a lifetime—teams like that never just take on players as young as Joey.

  “But he said—he said the stupidest thing today—that I should just put my education on hold, that he could take care of me. That I could just move with him, and be some housewife, so I can—so I can take care of our—” She let out a hiccupping sob, clutching her stomach. “Oh, Nik! I’m just a kid. I’m not ready for this!”

  He pulled her into a hug, holding her close. She began crying in earnest. He could feel the sticky moisture of her tears on his shoulder, against his cheek. And then . . .