Destroying Magic Page 4

Some magicians, the same ones who argue we shouldn’t whitewash history, find the process abhorrent. The past should be fixed in stone, they say. It should be preserved, not updated to match the ever-changing winds of time. But proponents of Living Ink disagree. What if a young woman stumbled across an old derogatory slang word used to insult witches? Should she be forced to subject herself to that kind of insult? It’s better, the proponents say, if the word should simply cease to exist. Hence, Living Ink.

  “A History of Chaotics,” Piper whispered, reading the now fully-legible title. “Volume Eighteen. Spells, Curses, and Enchantments.”

  At the very bottom of the card, a line of text read, Floor 8, Stack 46, Shelf 9. We exchanged looks, then Piper released the card. Happily, it dove back into its drawer.

  Taking our leave, we took a hoist to the eighth floor. The stacks were numbered on the sides so it didn’t take long to find Stack 46. On the ninth shelf above the floor, we discovered a thick volume, covered in dust. The spine read, A History of Chaotics: Volume 18.

  Piper pulled out the volume and hauled it to a table. Plunking it down on the wooden surface, she peeled it open.

  “This book was published in 1936, six years after Victory Day,” she said, leafing through the pages. “If the Chaotics had a sleeping spell, it should be in here.”

  Blinking, I stared at the tome. It appeared to be little more than a list of spells, along with their effects. There were no instructions on how to perform them.

  In my weaker moments, I’d sometimes found myself wondering about Chaotic magic. How had it worked anyway? I mean, I knew it originated from inside a magician. But how did a guy like me actually call upon it? And if I ever did so, what kind of spells would I cast?

  “You’re wasting your time,” Leandra said. “Chaotics died on Victory Day.”

  “Not completely,” Piper replied. “A few practitioners escaped.”

  “But they were eventually rounded up.”

  “Maybe, maybe not.”

  She continued to page through the book, stopping occasionally to take a closer look at one of the entries.

  “So, you think an honest-to-goodness Chaotic magician attacked MacPherson?” I arched an eyebrow in disbelief. The idea was so unthinkable, I almost laughed out loud. “Why now? Why not decades ago?”

  “Maybe he or she wasn’t alive decades ago,” Piper remarked. “Technically, we’ve all got Chaotic magic. We’ve just advanced enough that we don’t use it anymore.”

  “Oh, I see.” I shifted uncomfortably on the balls of my feet. “So, you’re saying it could be anybody?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Then how does that book help us?” Leandra asked.

  “Chaotic magic is hereditary,” Piper explained. “Spells are passed down the line, so to speak.”

  “So, if we find the spell, then we can trace its lineage?”

  “That’s the idea.”

  I tended to trust Piper’s instincts. Still, I found her theory hard to believe. It wasn’t like Chaotics had ended recently. No, it had been dead for nearly a century.

  Once upon a time, Chaotics was the dominant magical philosophy. Its adherents believed magicians should be free to practice magic without control or regulation. They turned their nose up at the Capsudra and instead, encouraged magicians to revel in their inner magic. Since such magic was unique to each individual, it proved impossible to control or even teach properly.

  By the 1920s, a movement known as Structuralism had risen up to oppose Chaotics. Led by Lanctin Boltstar, the Structuralists promoted the Capsudra as a way to standardize magic. Rigorous early schooling would teach young magicians how to safely and effectively perform acceptable spells. Later schooling would provide magicians with the necessary tools to succeed in the workforce as well as in society as a whole.

  The Chaotics, desperate to maintain power, fought the Structuralists at every turn. It all came to a head in 1930. On what we now call Victory Day, the Chaotics and Structuralists were scheduled to debate at the Madkey School. But the Chaotics launched a sneak attack instead. Fortunately, the great Boltstar was up to the challenge. Rallying his allies, he led a daring counterattack. When the smoke finally cleared, the Chaotics had been defeated. At long last, Structuralism reigned supreme.

  Triumphantly, Piper stabbed her finger at a brittle page. “I found it.”

  Leandra and I edged close to the table. Peering down, I studied the block of text above Piper’s outstretched finger. It was part of a section entitled, Sleep Spells: Dreams, Nightmares, and Other Quandaries.

  “Hibernation Induction,” Leandra whispered, reading aloud. “Also known as Hibernuction. Causes the recipient to slip into a state of blissful, unawakeable tranquility. Unique to the Hynor Family.”

  “The Hynor family?” I frowned. “Who’s that?”

  Piper gave me an exacerbated look. “Are you serious?”

  “They were Chaotic bigwigs, right?” Leandra interjected.

  “They were the Chaotic bigwigs,” Piper clarified. “During the 1920s, Boris Hynor was the most well-known Chaotic on the planet. Also, he was behind the surprise attack in 1930, the one that led to Victory Day.”

  “What happened to him?” I asked.

  “He was captured,” Piper said. “But I don’t know where they sent him. Probably Gutlore.”

  I shivered. Gutlore Penitentiary was the most feared prison in the magic world. Located somewhere in Death Valley, it housed the worst of the worst. Killers, magic-skinners, life-drainers, and the sort.

  Soft ridges creased Leandra’s brow. “Do you think it was him?”

  “I don’t see how,” I said. “He’d be over a hundred years old by now.”

  “Boltstar’s at least that old,” Piper pointed out. “And he hasn’t lost a step. But no, I doubt it was Boris. He’d never get past Madkey’s border enchantments.”

  “Then who was it?” Leandra wondered.

  Piper glanced down at the book. “It says here the spell is, ‘unique to the Hynor Family.’ So, it’s a relative.”

  A throat cleared. “Mr. Wolf.”

  I froze, as did Piper and Leandra. It took me a full second to turn around. It took me another second to meet Galison’s penetrating gaze.

  “I heard about what you did to Mr. Garrington.” His baritone voice barely concealed his fury. “Have you lost your mind?”

  “Piper found something,” I said hurriedly. “It’s big. You need to—”

  “What I need, Mr. Wolf, is an explanation.”

  “But—”

  “Now.”

  I exhaled a long breath. “Porter fired the spell. Heck, I didn’t even use my wand.”

  “Immaterial. Mr. Garrington will someday run the Garrington Magic Company. You are, and always will be, an assembly-line wizard. He’s somebody. You’re nobody. He’s important. You’re not. Do you get my point?”

  Leandra’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Just because he’s destined to be some big muckety-muck doesn’t mean he gets to push people around.”

  He gave her a fleeting glance. “What’s the staffer motto, Ms. Chen?”

  “But—”

  “The motto.”

  “Faculty and Students are my priority,” she said in a clipped tone. “I will serve them always and without question.”

  “How about you, Mr. Wolf?”

  With a sigh, I repeated the words.

  “Good.” He pursed his lips. “It would behoove you to remember that. Otherwise, you’ll be asked to leave.”

  “So, what should Randy do the next time Porter sics a spell on him?” Piper asked, her cheeks turning apple red. “Should he say, ‘Thank you’?” Or better yet, should he save Porter the trouble and just sabotage his own chair?”

  “Do you need to repeat the motto as well, Ms. Shaw?”

  Leandra crossed her arms. “It’s a fair question.”

  He emitted a tired, annoyed sigh. “If Mr. Garrington is causing you problems, find a professor and ask him or her to interv
ene.”

  “You can’t be serious.” Piper’s eyes popped open in disbelief. “Lellpoppy and Stewart were there. They saw the whole thing and they did nothing.”

  “I’m sure they had their reasons,” he said with a dismissive wave. “Now, I need to drop a little truth spell on you, Mr. Wolf. You won’t work here forever. Eventually, you’ll leave. And when you do, you just might find yourself in front of Mr. Garrington. He could be in a position to hire or fire you at a moment’s notice. So, do yourself a favor and treat him with the respect he deserves.”

  He stared at me expectantly for a few seconds, as if he thought I’d thank him. Of course, I didn’t. Snorting in disgust, he turned around and walked away.

  After he’d passed out of earshot, Piper glanced at the book, still open on the table. “We didn’t even get to tell him about Hibernuction.”

  “I bet he already knows,” Leandra said. “I mean, he was at Victory Day, right? He probably knew Boris personally.”

  Piper nodded. “That’s true.”

  Leandra turned her gaze to me. “By the way, Galison’s a jerk. Don’t let him get to you.”

  I didn’t reply. What could I say?

  Like it or not, the professor had a point.

  Chapter 6

  Jax’s wand paused in mid-air, directly above a towering pile of sliced red apples. “I see you finally decided to come back to work,” he said, rather crossly.

  With long strides, I entered the kitchen. “That wasn’t my fault. I—”

  “Save it.” Using his forearm, he mopped sweat from his forehead. “Galison said to excuse your absence so I am. Just don’t let it happen again.”

  More apples materialized on his workstation. He resumed his wand work, quickly chopping the fruit into lots of little pieces. After speeding through a dozen of them, he conveyed them away with a swipe of his wand. Fresh apples quickly took their place.

  I checked the clock. The time was 12:23 p.m. To my surprise, I was early. I still had a full thirty-seven minutes before my next shift. Part of me was tempted to return to the Grille, to grab the lunch I’d ordered. But another part of me was drawn to something else.

  Quietly, I headed outside. Fighting off trepidation, I walked to the supply room. The door was closed and a handwritten sign had been attached to its surface.

  “Cursed poster boards on the loose with scissors in the vicinity,” I read softly. “Do not enter until further notice.”

  Checking both directions, I made sure I was alone. Then I cracked the door open and peered inside. The supply room looked much the way I’d found it. There were two big differences. First, the missing cool-light had been replaced. This shed light on the previously-dark corner, revealing the other key difference.

  MacPherson was gone.

  Galison, Norch, and Wadflow must’ve spirited him away to another location. That made sense. After all, they couldn’t just leave him there for someone else to find.

  A third difference, one that was also revealed by the cool-light, became apparent to me. Carefully, I knelt down. Scuff marks, nearly invisible, marred the floor. They led from the doorway to the corner, in an arcing path.

  Thinking back, I was almost positive I’d seen them on my previous visit. That meant MacPherson’s attacker had physically dragged him into the room. Which, in turn, indicated the Hibernuction spell had been cast in an entirely different location. That is, if a Hibernuction spell had been cast in the first place. Piper had made a pretty decent case for it. But the idea that someone would cast such a spell remained tough to swallow. I mean, come on … a Chaotic spell? In this day and age?

  Curiosity piqued, I walked back into the hallway. Studying the floor, I saw more scuff marks. They were even fainter than the ones in the room, which made sense given the amount of foot traffic that passed through the corridor.

  A bit of sweat bubbled up under my lip. Wiping it away, I hiked through the hallway. More than once, I lost sight of the scuff marks only to find them again.

  Walking around a tight bend, I halted in front of a hoist. Well, at least it looked like a hoist. In reality, it was a large dumbwaiter, powered by a steel cable and a pulley. It was used to lift supplies up from Right Foot. A real hoist would’ve been much faster and far less backbreaking. Unfortunately, there were no hoists in Shadow Madkey, a subtle but effective way of reminding us of our place.

  Following the scuff marks, I walked into the dumbwaiter. A giant mass of loosely coiled cable lay on the floor. One end of it rose upward, disappearing into the ceiling. I grasped the cable, then disengaged the manual locks. Gravity took over, pulling the dumbwaiter down. I clutched the cable tightly and the line jerked to a halt, burning my palms in the process.

  Grimacing, I let out the cable and the dumbwaiter continued its descent. I took it all the way down to Right Foot, then released the cable. I took a second to rub my aching hands, then stepped outside.

  Immediately, I picked up the scuff mark trail. Exiting Shadow Madkey, I walked down a tube-like corridor. After a short distance, I came to the exit, which was really nothing more than a couple of large doors. Since they got a lot of use, my first instinct was to head toward them. But surprisingly, the scuff marks continued past the doors.

  I kept following them and soon found myself surrounded by stacked, dusty furniture, dismantled and beheaded statues of forgotten Chaotic magicians, and cobwebs galore. This part of Madkey, the toes of Right Foot, was just a storage area. So, how had MacPherson ended up here?

  Available cool-lights grew fewer and farther between. It became difficult to see. Pulling out my wand, I stared hard at the tip. Taking a deep breath, I rid myself of all emotions. Then I let down my guard and allowed in a touch of mischievous joy. I added a bit of depth to the joy, then layered in some awestruck surprise.

  My wand glided through a sudden range of motions. The spell came to my lips, but I was no longer in control.

  Warmth and drowsiness washed over me as I entered a state of Instinctia. It felt like I was taking a long, hot bath. My emotions shifted a bit as the Capsudra took control. My wand adjusted. My lips moved.

  “Dayga Fluza,” I whispered.

  The tip of my wand began to glow with an auburn-colored light. Instinctia faded away, taking the warmth and pleasantness with it. Holding the glowing wand in front of me, I continued my trek. I walked through a section of old portraits, the faces of which had been torn to shreds. A little farther on, I saw something on the floor. Thin and roughly the length of my forearm, it lay in a small puddle of water.

  I fell to my haunches. Hand trembling, I reached into the puddle. My fingers closed around a piece of wood. It was hard, yet flexible, and decorated with beautiful carvings. It was a wand. And not just any wand either.

  It was MacPherson’s wand.

  Chapter 7

  A breeze crested against me as I walked outside. I paused long enough to gulp down a few breaths of warm air.

  Blinking hard, I looked up. The colossal Madkey School rose way over head, hundreds of feet into the air. I’d gawked at it the first time I’d laid eyes upon it. I still gawked at it. Partly for its size and partly for its shape.

  Madkey, like all great magic schools, has a look uniquely its own. More specifically, it’s housed within a statue. That’s right. An honest-to-goodness statue, one of mammoth proportions. A colossus, really.

  The statue stands atop the tallest mountain in New Hampshire. Even so, it’s invisible to most people. You have to be admitted across the enchanted border to see it. And admission is limited to faculty, staffers, students, and alumni.

  Which is too bad really, because the statue is something to behold. It depicts Roderick J. Madkey, the founder of our esteemed school. He’s cloaked in flowing robes of bronze and steel. His right arm kicks out a bit at his side while his left one holds a wand aloft, as if he were about to cast a devastating spell.

  Living within a statue is both amazing and horrible at the same time. On one hand, you’ve got eye-popping v
iews of deep blue lakes, fertile valleys, and towering mountains. On the other hand, you’re living in a statue. Just think about that for a moment. Not only do you sometimes have to travel from shoulder to foot—and in mere minutes to boot—but you also have to put up with the limitations of the structure itself. Hallways and corridors wind in weird directions, sloping up and down, left to right. Also, no two rooms are alike. Some classrooms are large and spacious, others are cramped with buckling floors and oddly-angled ceilings.

  The worst I’ve seen is the one for Numerology 9, which is located at the tip of Right Knee. The room is tall and curved on the far end, but also extremely shallow. Because of this, there’s only room for one row of desks. But since Numerology 9 is a required class, lots of students need to take it. So, desks are stacked on top of each other, supported by increasingly rickety platforms. And if that’s not enough, the floor and platforms slope forward. So, you’ve got to constantly pull yourself and your desk backward. If you happen to fall asleep—like Royce Miller that one time—then you can expect to tumble off the platform, desk and all. And that means broken bones and worse, a trip to the clinic.

  I shifted my gaze. The sky was a bit cloudy now, obscuring the afternoon sun. Enchanted cool-lights, mounted on poles, gave the school’s exterior a haunted, majestic look. More cool-lights, embedded into the ground, lit up the grass at my feet.

  Madkey straddled two separate peaks of Mount Ferocious, a hidden geological wonder. I’d exited out of Right Foot, which was situated on the subsidiary peak known as Mount Abner Ferocious. The area just outside of the exit was a designated picnic-zone. As such, it employed weather-controlling magic, designed to repel precipitation while maintaining a spring-like temperature. Past that zone, everything was natural all the way up to the enchanted border. In springtime, the entire outdoors would’ve been crawling with kids. But it was the dead of winter. And winter on a New Hampshire mountain meant near-freezing temperatures and snow.

  Tons and tons of snow.

  I felt MacPherson’s wand, which I’d stowed in my pocket. All that snow was, of course, the reason for this visit. Water had been puddled under MacPherson’s boots. I’d found more water surrounding his wand. And I’d noticed traces of dried water—dirt and minerals, mostly—in the scuff marks leading back and forth from the dumbwaiter. So, what if that water hadn’t always been water? What if it had been snow?