Destroying Magic Read online

  It made sense to me. MacPherson was an outdoorsy guy who liked to take late-night hikes along our little slice of mountaintop. Nothing stopped him, not even a good snowstorm.

  “Coming through.” A tray floated past me. Seconds later, Gustav Firbottom, clad in shirt and tie, appeared. He gave the tray another push, then followed it to one of the tables.

  I walked to the edge of the picnic-zone. Then I began to circle around the area, keeping a close eye on the white powder. Near a table full of quiet, studious freshmen, I found something interesting. A large boot had crunched the snow next to the grass. There were more footprints farther back, some of them partially obscured by fresh snow.

  Steeling myself, I stepped forward. My shoes sank into foot-deep powder. The temperature fell to freezing.

  “What’s he doing?” Carlita Lopes whispered.

  “Being stupid,” Erin Dogger replied softly.

  The table erupted into giggles.

  Ignoring them, I hiked forward. Snowflakes whirled around me, covering my head in a light layer of chilly fluffiness. More snow slipped into my shoes and up my pants. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been so cold.

  I followed the tracks until they veered off in a separate direction. Shivering, I studied the footprints. They indicated that the hiker—MacPherson, presumably—had been circling Madkey’s exterior. He must’ve heard or seen something because his footsteps suddenly veered off-course and his stride lengthened. He ran back to the school and entered the corridor. Someone had attacked him, possibly with that Hibernuction spell. That same person then dragged him to the dumbwaiter, took him upstairs, and hid him in the supply room.

  Retracing my footsteps, I walked back into the picnic-zone. The temperature warmed almost immediately. Ignoring the furtive glances of the freshmen, I brushed snow off of my head.

  I turned my gaze skyward, taking one last look at Madkey’s enormous head. A soft glow emanated from it, giving definition to the statue’s weak jaw and high forehead.

  Walking inside, I returned to where I’d found MacPherson’s wand. A short distance away, I spotted five thin hallways, branching off from the main corridor. These were the toes of Right Foot.

  My fingers trembled as I grabbed my wand. The odds of MacPherson’s assailant returning to the scene of the crime were pretty low. But it sure didn’t feel that way.

  Checking the smaller toes, I found nothing but more junk. Heading into the big toe, I was surprised to find it empty. There was no furniture, no boxes of broken wands. I did find some grime on the walls, similar to the smudges I’d seen on MacPherson’s clothing. There was a dusty, old plaque, too. But that was it.

  Still, the grime seemed like an important clue. The professor must’ve confronted his attacker late at night inside the big toe. They’d fought and he’d been pushed up against the wall, smudging his clothing in the process. Then the attacker had thrust him out into the main corridor and somehow, sent him into a deep slumber, possibly with the Hibernuction Curse. The pieces all fit. And yet, it told me nothing. I still didn’t know why MacPherson had been attacked.

  And I was no closer to identifying the culprit.

  Chapter 8

  Madkey students are housed in dormitories by grade, which are located in contained sections of the school. They’re assigned roommates and live in doubles, complete with comfy beds, sleek desks, a private bathroom, a walk-in closet, chairs and couches, and the best magical gear money can buy. Now, imagine the complete opposite of that.

  That’s what we get.

  The staffer dorm was located at the end of Left Arm, specifically in the area encompassed by the wrist and hand. The view was pretty sweet, but the sloping floors, short ceilings, and cramped spaces were positively nauseating.

  I strode into the dimly-lit dorm, which was really just a large room. Two community bathrooms, which also served as changing rooms, branched off of it. Curving rows of bunkbeds occupied either side of the dorm. They held ratty mattresses topped with musty bedsheets, all of which were student hand-me-downs. Tall dressers, one per staffer, separated the bunk beds.

  As I returned my wand to its holster, I felt MacPherson’s wand, which was still stowed in my pocket. I had planned on taking it straight to Galison. But at the last second, I’d veered off for the dorm, figuring I’d get ready for work first.

  Ignoring the hunger in my belly, I made my way through the room. To my right, I spotted Leandra’s dresser. A single memory mirror rested on top of it.

  Memory mirrors go way back, thousands of years in some cases. Older mirrors were made by artisans and from a wealth of different materials. These days, they’re made of remembra, a flexible, glassy substance. They can be used to record anything. Lectures, graduations, birthday parties, treaty signings, and so on. These memories can then be mass-produced into any medium that supports remembra, such as newspapers, books, posters, and lots of other things.

  I studied Leandra’s mirror for a moment. Its glassy surface began to swirl, as remembra always did when looked upon. An image of my buddy Tad Crucible appeared.

  At a hair over six feet, Tad was tall for his age. He had dark brown skin and his black hair was closely cropped. Packed with lean muscle, he looked like the prototypical ramball player. And yet, he had zero interest in the sport.

  Wearing a nicely-tailored suit and a beaming smile, he stood on the world-famous Lubbrick Stage, which was part of the Lubbrick Magic Historical Society. An adoring audience stared back at him, their hands poised for applause.

  The memory mirror began to engage my other senses, emitting all of the information it had collected from this particular moment. I felt the heat of the stuffy room and heard light chatter in the audience. My body jiggled softly as Tad, waving at the now-applauding audience, began to walk across the stage.

  Leandra, clad in a red dress and matching heels, stepped onto the right side of the stage. A sly look crossed her visage. Lifting her wand, she muttered a few words. Doughcream materialized in front of her. It smelled wonderful and my mouth began to water. Before I could stop to wonder why she was there or how she’d made doughcream appear out of nowhere, she waved her wand again. And just like that, the doughcream soared across the stage.

  Gasps rang out and Tad swiveled around. A terror-stricken look crossed his face. One second later, the sticky dessert came crashing down on top of his head. It slipped down his sides and puddled around his feet. The audience exploded into laughter. Tad, his face twisted in horror, tried to run off-stage. But the doughcream stuck fast to his shoes and he ended up running in place instead.

  I chuckled. The memory looked authentic, but I knew better. Tad was a dropout like the rest of us. While he would’ve loved to stand on Lubbrick Stage, it was little more than a pipedream. As for Leandra, she couldn’t make doughcream appear on cue. However, she had a strong artistic side and was quite good at tricking memory mirrors into accepting false recollections.

  I turned away and the memory vanished. Off to the side, I caught a glimpse of Jeff Candleshed, a would-be-sophomore-turned-staffer. He lay in his bed, reading a book, oblivious to what I’d just experienced. That was how memory mirrors worked. They only impacted those people who were actually looking at them.

  I resumed walking through the curving rows of bunkbeds. The far side of the dorm had been turned into common space. It held threadbare couches and a coffee table. A couple of dog-eared paperbacks sat on the table, along with some old-fashioned board games. An enchanted clock was pinned to the wall. And that was it. Staffers didn’t get the cool stuff allotted to students. No enchanted walls, cursed mystery games, or talking trashcans for us.

  Stifling a yawn, I stopped at my dresser. It had been a long, weird day, interspersed with exhausting assembly-line shifts. And yet, I remained full of adrenaline. Less than two hours remained until the Victory Feast. Of course, I would’ve preferred to attend it. But working it was better than nothing.

  Opening my top drawer, I retrieved a pressed pair of black p
ants and a well-starched, crimson dress shirt. I hesitated long enough to make sure no one was watching me. Then I pulled MacPherson’s wand from my pocket. Quickly, I stuffed it into a folded shirt near the bottom of the drawer. Just as quickly, I shut the drawer again.

  I felt immediate relief, followed by even more consternation. What was I doing? The wand wasn’t mine.

  Taking a deep breath, I promised myself I’d hand it over just as soon as the Victory Feast was finished. My consternation eased a bit.

  I was about to get changed when I caught a glimpse of Tad, for real this time. He was curled up on one of the couches, his gaze directed at a memory mirror.

  An orphan since childhood, Tad had grown up in a variety of living situations. As a result, he’d spent much of his life with no clue that he was a magician. That all changed when he experienced his breakout.

  A breakout, by the way, refers to a magic breakout. Most kids learn how to perform spells at a young age. We learn how to hail the Capsudra and give ourselves over to Instinctia. Despite this, magic kind of builds up inside of a person. Eventually, it all comes out in one crazy burst of undirected energy. This usually happens between the ages of twelve and fourteen. Nobody knows why it happens. It just does.

  The bigger the breakout, the more potential for greatness. At least, that’s the general consensus. Then again, if breakout size was all that mattered, I would’ve been at the top of my class rather than working an assembly line. Regardless, magic schools are always scouting for new breakouts. Small breakouts draw regional attention. Bigger ones bring the elite institutions into the mix. The biggest ones of all are reserved for Madkey.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “Watching memories,” he replied.

  “Aren’t you showing someone around today?”

  “You mean Hannah?” He didn’t look up. “Nico offered to take my place. I think he likes her or something.”

  Kinico “Nico” Stotem was a staffer with two years on us. I didn’t know him all that well, but he seemed like a decent guy.

  I waited for Tad to look my way, but he kept his gaze locked on the mirror. He adored history and was always hitting up Madkey Library for memories. He could sit there for hours, perfectly happy, watching recollections of famous events. This single-minded devotion had helped him ace his first semester of Magic History 9. But he’d neglected his other courses in the process, a fact that eventually led him to drop out.

  Tad, along with Piper and Leandra, was one of my best friends. He was nice and had a good sense of humor. And yet, I always felt kind of uncomfortable around him. It wasn’t anything he’d done. Honestly, I couldn’t even explain it. There was just something about him that irked me at a very deep level.

  “Have you talked to Piper or Leandra?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “Why?”

  I told him about my morning, starting with the broken wand and running all the way through my discovery of Professor MacPherson. Finally, I told him about our trip to the library.

  “Piper thinks she’s traced the spell to a Chaotic family,” I finished. “The Hynors.”

  “Impossible.” Still staring at his mirror, he frowned. “Boris was imprisoned long ago.”

  “It doesn’t have to be him. It could’ve been his kid or some other relative.”

  “Like I said, impossible. Here, let me show you something.” His gaze swept across the mirror several times and I knew he was bringing a new memory to the forefront. Then he turned the mirror toward me.

  One full-on glance caused the shiny remembra to swirl away. I saw a tall man standing in a snowy field. A black derby cap was pulled tight over his head. His mustache was thick and curly and he wore a worsted wool suit jacket with matching trousers.

  “That’s Boltstar.” I recoiled in surprise at the sight of Madkey’s famous headmaster. “He looks really young here. When was this captured?”

  “1935. Five years after Victory Day.”

  A cold breeze caused me to break out in shivers. The scent of fresh snow floated into my nostrils. Shifting my gaze, I saw a second man standing across from Boltstar. He was short, with a heavy build. His clothes were rags and his face reflected sheer hatred.

  “Who’s that?” I asked.

  “James Torwheat. The last of the Chaotics.”

  Ahh, a Chaotic. That made sense, seeing as how the very sight of him made me uneasy. “The last?” I asked.

  “Victory Day ended Chaotics as a movement. But it took a few years for Boltstar to track down the stragglers.” He nodded at the mirror. “James Torwheat was the last to fall.”

  “Yeah, but a kid—”

  “Kids were imprisoned, too, Randy. Nobody escaped.”

  Frowning, I peered closer at Boltstar and Torwheat. “Who’s providing the memory?”

  “Galison.”

  I nodded to myself. Professor Galison might’ve been a jerk. But he was also a hero, having fought alongside Boltstar on Victory Day.

  “It’s just those two?” I asked. “They should’ve brought a havoc army with them.”

  “They did. But a storm stirred up and everyone got separated. Boltstar and Galison ran into Torwheat by accident. Most wizards would’ve waited for back-up.” He shrugged. “Of course, Boltstar’s no ordinary wizard.”

  Still watching the mirror, I saw Boltstar circle around Torwheat. “Lower the wand,” he called out. “We can resolve this peacefully.”

  “Like the peaceful way you took down my friends?”

  “They left us no choice.”

  Torwheat’s wand moved swiftly, zigzagging through the air. His lips spoke a quiet incantation I didn’t recognize. Three bolts of straw-colored light shot into the storm. I could feel their energy, their heat.

  His lips moving fast, Boltstar waved his wand in response. Four cyan-colored lights shot forth. Three of them slammed into the straw-colored bolts, vaporizing them in an instant. The fourth light ripped into Torwheat’s wand. The short staff crumbled into dust and blew away with the wind.

  Torwheat stared at his empty hand in disbelief. Then he turned to run. But another cyan light caught him in the right leg and he fell to the snow.

  “Don’t move,” Boltstar said. “Don’t even breathe.”

  The remembra surface returned to normal. The chilly sensation and smell of snow and heat vanished.

  “What happened to him?” I asked.

  “Torwheat?” He shrugged. “He went to Gutlore. I hear he died a year later.”

  I gave Tad the once-over. His shirt was stained with sweat. Bits of reddish dirt colored his pants. “Are you working tonight?” I asked.

  He looked at me like I was crazy. “Of course.”

  “And you’re not ready yet?”

  He checked the clock. Eyes wide, he jumped to his feet. The movement caused an object to slip out of his pocket. It fell to the floor and rolled up against my shoe.

  At first glance, it looked like one of those little bouncy balls the humdrums buy for their kids. But this was no humdrum toy. Known as a fizzer, it was a product of Leandra’s fertile imagination.

  After practical jokes, her favorite hobby was tinkering with magic. She was always pulling apart items from the Big Three in order to see how they worked. Now, she was starting to bundle spells, making products of her own.

  She’d spent two weeks creating the fizzer. It was so named because she’d enchanted it to fizz upon touching any kind of liquid. At her request, I’d tasted an earlier version of it. It felt like a firework show within my lips, one that only ended after I thoroughly washed my mouth out with soap.

  Tad scooped up the fizzer and shoved it back into his pocket. “So, uh … you didn’t see that, right?”

  I grinned. “Planning a prank?”

  “Yeah.” He relaxed long enough to shoot me a smile. “On you-know-who. She deserves it after everything she’s put me through.”

  We took our clothes into the bathroom and quickly changed. By the time we were finished, Jeff w
as no longer there. Neither was anyone else.

  “What’s your work schedule this week?” I asked as we hiked to the exit.

  “Same as usual.”

  “Me too.” A frown creased my visage. “It sure would be nice to get a day off once in a while.”

  “Yeah.” His voice sounded sickly, almost listless.

  “You feeling okay?” I asked.

  “Sure. Well, no. Not really. Listen, I—”

  A whizzing sound interrupted him. Right away, I knew it was a bubbler. Bubblers were used for long-distance communications. They could slip through door cracks and seep through windows. In short, they could go anywhere at any time, provided the sender had total access to the recipient. Most parents signed their kids up for bubblers at a young age in order to keep tabs on them. I was no different. Unfortunately, that meant I’d be at Mom and Dad’s beck and call until I reached the age of eighteen.

  “Nobody ever calls me,” Tad said, looking around. “So, it must be your folks.”

  My parents liked to keep a close eye on me, which meant nightly bubbler chats. And unfortunately, those chats almost always devolved into lectures and shouting matches.

  “Way ahead of you.” I headed toward my bed. “Now, what were you saying? Make it quick.”

  He hesitated. “It can wait.”

  I leapt into bed and pulled the sheets and blankets over me. “Cover for me with Jax?”

  He nodded. “Will do.”

  The door shut as Tad left the dorm. Meanwhile, the whizzing noise drew closer and closer. The temperature dropped a notch and vapor wetted my cheeks.

  “Randy?” A familiar voice rang a discordant note in my ears. “It’s Mom. We need to talk.”

  Chapter 9

  Can’t you see I’m sleeping? I thought. Come back later.