Destroying Magic Page 3

  “Gross.” She studied her glowing menu. “Just bring me the same as Randy.”

  “How very original.”

  She frowned. “Hey, I was going to order it first but—”

  He winked at me, then vanished.

  She sputtered for a moment. “You know, I really hate that guy.”

  It wasn’t true, of course. Sure, they needled each other. But that was how their friendship worked.

  Piper grinned. “He can hear you, you know.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “You’ll care when you get your food.” She turned toward me. “By the way, are you sure it’s wise to talk about you-know-what here?”

  Yordlo, it was generally believed, maintained a presence in all of the tables at all times. That meant he was probably capable of hearing every word that we uttered. I wasn’t worried though. Yordlo was a lot of things. But he was no blabbermouth.

  “It’s fine,” I said. “Now, have either of you ever heard of a spell that could induce a state of endless sleep?”

  “Maybe it’s one of the forbidden spells,” Leandra suggested.

  “I don’t think so,” I replied. “I mean, they definitely recognized it. But Galison also said something about how it’s not supposed to exist.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I’m not sure.” I frowned, mulling over possibilities. “They made it sound like it was a brand-new spell.”

  “You mean, like invented?”

  I nodded.

  “Well, that’s impossible,” Piper said. “So, it must be something else.”

  It’s high-time I talked about how magic works in our world. You don’t just mutter weird phrases and wave a wand in random fashion. Well, you actually do both of those things, but there’s a bit more to it.

  The process starts with the Capsudra. The Capsudra, named for its inventor, Xavier Capsudra, is essentially a giant spell book that can anticipate your needs. He created it centuries ago, but it only came into popular usage with the rise of Structuralism.

  In order to cast a particular spell, one must enter a defined emotional state. Beginner spells require fairly simple emotions, like certain amounts of happiness or anger. More complex spells call for multiple emotions. In a way, it’s like making a recipe. You know, a tablespoon of this, a cup of that. But instead of ingredients, magic requires deep and exacting feelings.

  After ginning up the required emotions, a magician must perform a wand sequence and utter the correct phrase. But this isn’t enough to complete the spell. The problem is that the Capsudra requires absolute perfection on the part of the magician. If something’s even a little bit off, the spell will fail. That’s where Instinctia comes in.

  Instinctia is what allows different people with different wands and different inflections to do the exact same spells. It occurs when the Capsudra takes over your body. You heard that right. It takes over your body. Weird, right? Believe me, it is, at least at first. But it’s kind of wonderful, too.

  Here’s how it works. You line up your emotions, wave your wand, and utter the correct phrase. That gets the Capsudra’s attention. It reaches out and connects to you, putting you into a state of Instinctia. With full control over your body, it completes the spell on your behalf. Like I said, weird.

  But still wonderful.

  “I know it’s impossible,” I said. “But they still acted as if it were a new spell.”

  “Not to change the topic, but I’ve always wondered about something.” Leandra furrowed her brow. “Where’d Xavier get his magic from?”

  We stared at her.

  “From himself,” Piper said. “He was a Chaotic.”

  I blinked. “He was one of them?”

  “Everyone was a Chaotic in those days. There was no other option, at least not until he invented the Capsudra. That’s when the Structuralist movement really began.” She paused. “Xavier infused the Capsudra with his own magic. Its spells are his spells. The emotions, wand movements, and words all come from him. That’s why it can’t be altered.”

  I considered that for a moment, then frowned.

  “What?” Piper asked.

  “You’re right. I know you’re right. It’s just …”

  “What?”

  “I hate thinking of magic as something that’s, well, stagnant.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re going Chaotic on us,” she said with a teasing, upturned eyebrow.

  I didn’t laugh. Not even a bit. You don’t call someone a Chaotic. You just don’t. That’s a big no-no in our world.

  “That’s not funny, Piper,” I said.

  “You’re right. Sorry. It’s just that the Chaotics made a similar argument during the Philosophical War.” She leaned back in her chair. “What would be the point of more magic anyway? We’ve got all the spells we need.”

  “Tell that to the humdrums,” I replied. “Their magic—technology—keeps growing, keeps changing. And yet, we’re stuck with centuries-old spells. And all from a single wizard, to boot.”

  “I’m with you on that,” Leandra said, matter-of-factly. “The Capsudra could use a little witch influence.”

  “At least we’re on a level playing field. Just imagine what it was like back in the Chaotic days. Some people could wave their wands and move mountains. Others, through no fault of their own, got stuck with toilet cleaning spells.” A strange look crossed Piper’s face. “You know, I just had a thought. Maybe the spell came from—”

  I never heard the end of that sentence. For just then, something slammed into my chair. I caught a quick glimpse of Porter aiming his wand in my direction. And then he was gone and I was whirling like a top.

  Right away, I knew it was Cordef Maklo. Don’t ask me to explain the name. Like all Capsudra spells, the wording came from a different time and place. But that didn’t make it any less effective. Cordef Maklo, properly deployed, caused an object to rotate in circles until the magic was all used up.

  I pulled my wand out of its holster. But it danced out of my fingertips and bounced onto the Lower-Torso bridge. And so around and around I whirled. I whirled so fast and hard I thought I’d lose my lunch. And I hadn’t even eaten yet.

  I kicked my legs and waved my arms. But the chair gained speed with each revolution and I started to feel dizzy.

  Blinking, I caught glimpses of blurry people. They were laughing and shouting at me. And it wasn’t just kids. Professors Jillian Lellpoppy and Cory Stewart, situated at a Lower-Torso table, were chortling too, although they were more discrete about it.

  Piper kicked her legs, directing herself around the table. She and Leandra tried to grab my shoulders, but I was moving way too fast.

  I needed to get out of the chair. But how? It wouldn’t stop spinning until the spell had run its course. And it wasn’t like I could just leap off of it either, not when it was enchanted to catch me.

  I spotted Porter as I continued to spin. He stood on his chair a few feet away, throwing mock bows at the teetering crowd. An idea entered my muddled brain.

  I pushed my back against my chair. Still spinning, it tipped over until I was in a horizontal position. Gripping the seat, I kicked my legs hard, propelling my whirling body through the air.

  Sya’s face twisted in surprise. “Look out,” she yelled.

  But Porter was too busy soaking in adoration to take notice.

  WHAM!

  My chair caught his shoulder and shoved him out into open space. With a yelp, he plummeted toward the black mist that served as a kind-of-floor for the Grille.

  His chair made a move to chase him. But I grabbed hold of the seat. Still dizzy, I managed to pull myself onto it. Immediately, I stopped spinning.

  Both chairs paused for a moment, as if deciding on their next move. Then the whirling chair took off. At top speed, it raced between tables and seated students, all the way down to Lower-Torso. At the last second, it cut to the right and Porter landed on top of it. And then it was him who was whirling like a top.
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  “Help meeeee!” he yelled.

  Felicia stared daggers at me. Meanwhile, Sya and Gordon kicked their legs and floated down to help him. Sya tried to grip his arm, only to get kicked in the stomach. Gordon grabbed hold of the spinning chair, clearly hoping to strong-arm it into submission. But it continued to rotate and his chair began to spin with it. With a soft grunt, he released his grip and spun away. His chair smacked into a table and he pitched forward. Pasta, bowls of steaming soup, muffins, and mugs of canfee went flying.

  Nobody dared laugh at Porter’s predicament. But memory mirrors appeared as kids raced to record their recollections. As for me, I felt pretty darn good. Dizzy of course, but still good. I hadn’t had a lot of victories since coming to Madkey.

  Leandra directed her chair to my side. “Time to go,” she whispered.

  As I caught my breath, she and Piper pushed me toward the Lower-Torso bridge. Glancing up, I saw Porter jump toward the bridge serving Mid-Torso. He fell short and the spinning chair caught him again. Desperately, he kicked his legs, only to have his rotating chair rocket toward the glass plates. A crash rang out and a faint smile crossed my lips. I’d gotten out of work early and now I’d managed to one-up Porter. This was turning out to be a good day. Nothing could ruin it.

  Absolutely nothing.

  Chapter 5

  Leaving our chairs on the Lower-Torso bridge, we squeezed through a pack of gawking seniors. My stomach growled, but there was no way I was going to wait around for my food.

  A sudden streak of almond-colored light caught my eye. Twisting around, I saw it careen into Porter’s chair. The chair halted in Upper-Torso. Porter tried to sit up, only to splay out across the seat. Immediately, Felicia flew over to help him.

  I tensed up. Spell colors were unique, like fingerprints. And I’d seen that color enough to recognize it as belonging to Galison.

  Glancing up and down the Lower-Torso bridge, I caught sight of my wand. It lay just outside an arched doorway, framed by old stones. Letters carved out of the rock read, Madkey Library: Est. 1676. That’s right. Madkey Library. Not Roderick J. Madkey School of Magical Administration Library. The carving came from the old days, when the school was simply known as the Madkey School.

  Grabbing my wand, I threw the doors open. With my friends hot on my tail, I hustled into the cavernous space.

  Madkey Library is, for lack of a better expression, a basilica dedicated to the glory of the written word. Holding over 500,000 unique volumes, it’s widely regarded as the world’s foremost collection of magical literature. Its tomes are spread out over eleven floors of towering bookshelves, carved columns, and decorative railings. Despite its size, it has a glorious intimacy to it that makes you feel like you can just grab a book and hole up somewhere in complete privacy.

  I lifted my gaze. A massive memory mirror acted as the ceiling. Located over one hundred feet above the black marble floor, it was the library’s pride and joy. Ancient memories, some of them thousands of years old, played on its glassy surface in a constant loop.

  Memory mirrors, by the way, are like ordinary mirrors, only they aren’t made of glass, can be folded up, and don’t actually show one’s reflection. Instead, they show memories, copied from one’s brain in the blink of an eye. So, they aren’t really much like mirrors at all, now that I think about it.

  High above, the mirror shuffled scenes, revealing another memory. I saw a pair of witches—the fabled Crantee sisters—making their way through the primeval Stolen Souls Forest. Suddenly, roots surged out of the dirt. Whipping at the air, they attacked the sisters. The Crantees, caught off guard, were quickly thrown to the ground. But they were even quicker to rise. Back to back, they went for their wands.

  The next part was kind of hard to see. I caught quick glimpses of the sisters. Their sweaty arms, their drawn cheeks, their churning legs. And I also saw the forest in attack mode. Its shrieking roots, its drooling, lunging branches, and its bristling, sharp leaves.

  The battle was clearly epic. And yet, it was impossible to make much sense of it. Which was kind of the point.

  The Crantee sisters had lived long ago, centuries before Structuralism. Their magic was what we today would call Chaotic magic. Of course, all right-thinking magicians know that Chaotic magic is bad news. That’s why we celebrate Victory Day. For that was when the ancient and destructive reign of Chaotics finally came to an end, ushering in the modern era of safe, responsible magic.

  But while Chaotics was now illegal, it also constituted much of our history. And that presented a significant problem. What do you do with embarrassing history? Do you try to forget it, to wipe it away? Is that even possible?

  For the most part, we’ve settled on a whitewashing strategy. That is, we’ve stripped out the embarrassing parts of history—visuals of Chaotic spells, for instance—and acted as if they never existed. Hence, old memory mirrors that didn’t measure up to modern standards were removed from public circulation.

  You’d be surprised at how well it works. A tiny part of me realized the Crantees were using Chaotic magic. But for the most part, I was just wowed by the action. In fact, I was so wowed that I forgot to watch where I was going. Abruptly, I bumped into a table. It quivered and a stack of books, impossibly high, came raining down.

  “Shh!” The librarian, Professor Johnathan Hope, gave me a nasty glare from behind his marble counter. He was tall and frail and had a love for history that few could match. He complained often of coldness and as a result, tended toward warm clothing. For today, he’d chosen long gray slacks and a purple sweater. A thick scarf, gray like his pants, was draped around his neck. “Madkey Library is a sanctuary, Mr. Wolf,” he hissed. “You’d do well to remember that.”

  It wasn’t difficult to imagine Hope wandering through the eleven tiers, bowing down to each and every stack as he praised their many books. The thought made me grin, a detail that wasn’t lost on him.

  “Think I’m funny, do you?” he said in a hushed, yet ferocious whisper. “Well, how’s this for funny? Make one more outburst and I’ll throw the Book at you. Got it?”

  His hand drifted to the counter and came to rest on a large, leather-bound volume. The spine was cracked and the cover lacked ink. All in all, it looked hundreds of years old. And according to my buddy Tad, who practically lived in Madkey Library, that was about right.

  I had no desire to test Hope’s patience. I’d seen him throw the Book at people before and let’s just say it wasn’t a pretty picture.

  “Sorry,” I mouthed.

  He stood there, glaring at me. I felt a sudden tug on my arm. Next thing I knew, Piper was leading me into the maze of stacks lining either side of the marble floor. She kept going and before long, I found myself staring at a tall chest of tiny drawers labeled, Official Madkey Library Catalog. There were dozens of such catalogs, all exactly alike, sprinkled throughout the many floors.

  “Why are we stopping?” Leandra whispered. “We’re almost to Shadow Madkey.”

  “I know.” Piper gave the chest of drawers a thoughtful look. “But this could explain what happened to MacPherson.”

  Leandra tossed a nervous look over her shoulder. “What about Galison?”

  “Maybe he’ll let this go,” I said. “After all, it’s not like I did anything wrong.”

  “It’ll only take a minute,” Piper added.

  Leandra sighed, then nodded her agreement.

  As a student, I’d spent a fair amount of time in Madkey Library. And so, I knew better than to take it at face value. A lot of things could go wrong amongst the stacks, none of which was worse than a poorly-opened catalog drawer.

  Steeling her muscles, Piper reached for a drawer marked, Celery Stalks, Magical Applications of — Cistern Cleaning Enchantments.

  Slowly, she pulled it open as far as she dared, which was no more than a few inches. Holding her breath, she studied a row of cards nestled tightly within the drawer.

  The problem with this drawer and the others had everythi
ng to do with volume and thoroughness. Each and every one of Madkey’s 500,000 books had been placed into hundreds or even thousands of categories. A book like, Instinctia: Separating Myth from Reality, could be found under the Instinctia category. But it would also appear in categories like History, Magic History, Magic Know-How, Theories of Magic, and so on. Each drawer, enchanted to stretch to an incredible length, contained thousands and thousands of categories. Each category contained thousands and thousands of books.

  In other words, each drawer was stuffed with cards. And that was just fine as long as you treated them with care. But if you happened to open a drawer too quickly or with too much force, they’d all fly out at once, nicking you with endless amounts of painful paper cuts.

  “Chaotics,” Piper said. “Comprehensive Spell List.”

  “Chaotics?” I frowned. “But I thought—”

  “Shh.” Leandra elbowed my side.

  She was absolutely right. So, I shut my mouth, lest I confuse the catalog. Meanwhile, the cards began to riffle themselves. They shifted forward, then backward. Finally, a single card slipped out of the drawer and into Piper’s waiting palm.

  Almost immediately, it struggled to escape her grip. The thing about the catalog cards is that they’re really homebodies at heart. Oh, they like to get out every now and then, mostly to stretch their edges. But they miss being in the drawers with their fellow cards. That longing intensifies if you shut the drawer before they can get back inside it.

  Piper stared down at her palm. Leandra and I crept forward and peeked over her shoulder. The card was crisp and clean and perfectly white. Black ink, etched in an illegible handwritten scrawl, adorned its surface.

  Abruptly, the text began to shift and change, transforming into a far more legible script. Clearly, it had been written in Living Ink. Living Ink adjusts itself for each individual reader. Scrawled handwriting turns into block lettering. Foreign languages are translated. The vernacular changes. Slang words are updated. The original meaning is even sanitized to reflect the whims of the current generation.