Inherited Magic (10 page)

Chapter 34

John switched cabs twice on the way to Owen's shop. He had seen it done in a spy movie once and figured he had nothing to lose. He was scared and confused by the day’s events so far, and it was only early afternoon: not a strong start. One thing that kept bothering John, though, was implications of what agent Harris had said. “We can protect you; we have people that know about these things.” Protect me from whom? How much did they know and how much had Owen not told him? The other implication was that they had their own mages, or a way to counter them. Was that possible? He sat in the back of the second cab and started to feel more and more paranoid the closer he got to Owen’s. He had the driver pull over a block early, and skipped into a fast food joint, bought a burger, and then slipped out the back.

The alley was quiet compared to the mid afternoon rush of the main streets, and it seemed like a lonely refuge as he walked the rest of the way to the shop, slowly eating his burger. He got to the back door of the shop and realized he was going to have to go around to the front because he didn't have keys anymore. What the hell was he going to say to Owen? He hadn't even thought it through and didn't have any brilliant ideas by the time he walked in the front door.

“You're late, kid.” Owen didn't even look up from his book at his usual spot by the register. He had an ever present cigarette hanging out of the corner of his mouth, and John realized he had not missed the smell of the nasty things.

“Late? You told me never come back again.” Was there anyone in the city of Chicago that he could talk to that wouldn't try screwing with him in the first five minutes?

“I know what I told you.” Owen had a smile on his face when he looked up.

“I don't understand . . . .”

“You should be used to that by now.” Owen was outright laughing. John was confused and frustrated, but happy to see him again, even if he was being an ass. Before John could come up with a response though, the door opened behind him. He watched Owen’s smile vanish and heard a woman's voice say:

“Get the hell out of my way.”

John turned and was face to face with the most model perfect woman he had ever seen. She had stark bleached white hair, perfect youthful skin, dark brown eyes, and a beautiful body that was barely hidden by her stunning and apparently expensive clothing. It was all topped off by a purple silk scarf. Yes, my dear reader, this is the charming young lady that we know from the prologue.

“I said get out of my way.” John was stunned by her beauty and simply stepped aside in awe, his brain not even registering how rude she was. She walked passed him towards Owen as if it were her store and he the lowest employee. “Owen, you're ugly as ever!” Her tone was charming and singing.

“Veronica, I told you never come into my territory again.” Owen’s words were venomous.

“I'm here representing the Conclave.”

“Really? Good for you. Get out.”

“Who's the idiot that caused all the trouble? Started all those fires?”

“He's dead. Would you like to talk to him?”

“You were sloppy, Owen. That makes everyone nervous, you know that.”

“Get out, unless you have something besides nonsense and threats.” His voice was a growl.

“I do have something to say—”

“Look, little girl.” Owen cut her off. “If the Conclave had gotten together and decided that I was a threat or a problem without an investigation . . .”

“We don't . . .” She was turning red.

“Then they wouldn't be sending you, now, would they, princess?” Owen tapped his lighter on his full ashtray. “I'd be dead a long time ago. You're here because you want to make a scene and have an excuse to remind me to keep looking over my shoulder. You've done it, now get out of my shop and my territory.”

“You're right, Owen.” She said his name with true loathing. “You should keep looking over your shoulder.” She turned to leave and came face to face with John again, who was no longer amused by her beauty but couldn't hide the smile on his face from watching someone else get ripped by Owen. “What are you laughing at, asshole?”

“You, ya' dumb bitch.”

John didn't have time to enjoy saying it. He just found himself on the floor under the sharp heel of a shoe that cost more than he spent on rent in a year. Her kick had been that fast. Later, when Owen watched it on the tape from the security camera, it only showed up as a blur in one frame.

“Respect your betters.” When she pressed down with her toe on his neck, John couldn't help but look up and smile, despite the pain he was in. He saw clearly that Veronica did not like to wear underwear and that she kept her womanhood pristine and tidy.

“If you’re gonna kill me, at least wear some panties.”

Veronica pulled her foot back to kick John again, but Owen’s voice boomed through the store.

“Enough! Just get out.”

She stood over John and looked him in the eye with contempt. “I've decided that I don't like you, and I'll enjoy killing you.” With that, she stormed out of the store with regal fury.

As John slowly picked himself up off the floor, Owen started to chuckle, and it slowly grew to a full blown roar. When he calmed himself down, he looked at John with a serious look on his face. “Kid, you are gonna get yourself killed.”

“I'm slowly learning that.”

Chapter 35

“You told me never come back again.” John opened a beer.

“Yeah, and I meant it at the time.” Owen sipped from his own beer before continuing. “I'm still mad at ya for screwing up so bad. I can’t let ya get yourself killed. When I saw the news, I knew that there was going to be hell to pay. You’re a dumbass but you don’t deserve to die.”

“Gee, thanks. You left a few things out.”

“I know, I should have told you about politics sooner . . . .”

“And the FBI.”

“FBI?”

“Yeah, I made the mistake of going back to my old place to talk to the landlord. Before I knew what was happening, I was in a small room with an FBI agent asking me pointed questions, and already knowing most of the answers. She knew about magic too.”

“Really?” Owen looked concerned.

“Yeah.”

“Well, there’s been a rumor for a long time that more than a few mages have given information to the government in one form or another over the years. I had no idea they were actively searching for mages.” Owen got up, opened a kitchen cabinet, and pulled out a bag of pretzels. “What did he ask you?”

“She, wanted to know who my teacher was, if it was my father or what. She told me she could protect me, that I'd be dead if she didn't. After that other bitch, I think she might be right.”

“That was Veronica.” Owen sat down and wondered where his lighter was. “She is convinced that because she knows magic that it makes her better than normal people. She gets what she wants and kills people who have what she wants or get in her way. She laid claim to the North Eastern territories around New York after her father died. She keeps trying to steal or gain new territories. It's not like it does her any good. Really, she's just a narcissistic brat who likes to make trouble, but she has power, and that makes her dangerous.”

“Yeah.” John’s jaw still hurt.

“So what else did this FBI agent say?”

“No much, but she put this thing on the table that was creepy. It looked like a digital recorder, but the pattern had all kinds of stuff attached to it, with threads that led out of the room and one that went under her coat.” John shoved some pretzels in his mouth.

“No, idea what that was, but I'm gonna be honest with you . . .” Owen paused to sip his beer. “This is your fault, kid. If you hadn't been screwing around, or had been more careful, this would never have happened. You brought a lot of attention and trouble to our doorstep.”

“I'm really sorry. I just didn't think.”

“Well, you better start thinking because if they called a Conclave, we came close to getting into a whole world of trouble.”

“What the hell is a Conclave, anyways?”

“It sounds nice and formal, but it's just a damn mess. If something happens, like rogue students or a disagreement about territories, they call a Conclave, bringing in nearby mages. Everyone involved presents their case, and those not involved either vote or come up with a solution. A lot of times, the solution is to kill someone or let them be killed in a duel. It's just window dressing for the fact that we can't even govern ourselves.”

“How come they didn't just vote to kill us then?”

“A lot of people like me. I've done favors for most of them, at one time or another. I've also made sure to keep a low profile and not be a threat to anyone. Unfortunately, that's part of the reason Veronica thinks she can push me around.” Owen drained his beer. “But, I'm older and smarter than she is, so it's never been a problem.”

John got up and got two more beers out of the fridge and added them to the growing crowd on the table. “So, speaking of problems and my screw up, I have an idea that I should run past you.”

“After all this, you have another bright idea?”

“Have you ever heard of fractals? I saw a documentary about them and it got me thinking. Is there a way to express patterns with math? If we can do that, we could learn all kinds of things . . .”

“Yeah, I know what fractals are, and I've had the same thought, but I'm not exceptionally good at math, so I never got far with it. What are you thinking?”

“I don't know anything about math, certainly not enough to handle this. So, I'm gonna go back to school and see what I can learn. I just wanted to talk to you because I'm gonna need your help. I'm gonna need a teacher again.”

“As far as I'm concerned, kid, we start again in the morning. If for no other reason than I can't throw you to the wolves now. Even if I should, for your dumbass mistakes.”

“Thanks, Owen.” John realized he was not going to get another chance.

“That's 'sir' to you and don't you ever forget it.” Owen knew this wasn't the end of it, but neither of them was gonna get far alone.

Chapter 36

It had been a long time since John had been in school. After graduating high school, he had worked, and worked hard, to provide for him and Barb. There had been no time for him to go to college. It wasn't that he was stupid; he had lacked direction. Now, he had a reason and felt the pressure of it, even on the first day of school, if for no other reason than he had no idea how to be a good student, but for the first time in his life wanted to be.

As John fidgeted in his seat and doodled on the first page of his notebook, he was noticing something about going back to school. He was the old man in the class. Everyone there looked, for the most part, like they had just gotten out of high school and weren't even old enough to drink. At 24, he was not old by any standard, but he suddenly felt it, watching his fellow students file in. He suddenly was self-conscious of himself and didn't know what to do about it.

One thing to be said about Truman College that John did like was the fact that everyone seemed to go there. It was the most diverse school he had ever attended and it made him happy and he was unclear as to why. It just made him content to see faces different from his own and hear different languages spoken, each spiced with laughter that was universally human. There was another thing that John liked about college, and it was as universal and self-explanatory as laughter: it was all the women. Even while he had been just running to the office to get and drop off paper work for his application, he couldn't help but notice them everywhere and he felt as if he had somehow forgotten about women until then. He had buried himself in learning magic and working for Owen, neither of which was a very social activity. The call center had at least had other people to interact with, but he remembered where that had gotten him. So he vowed not to have the same thing happen here. He would not be “that creep.”

The classroom was mostly full now, with everyone chatting; they seemed to know each other, either from the neighborhood, high school, or other classes. It didn't bother John; he'd find a way to blend in eventually. The instructor walked in, everyone slowly quieted down, and copies of the syllabus were handed out. As the instructor started going over the details, a young woman dashed in, muttering apologies and taking the first seat that was open by the door. The instructor made a point of mentioning his policy of not letting people who were late into class after ten minutes. John felt sorry for her.

The second class John was taking—Owen had convinced him to start slow but not easy—was English. John had thought it couldn't be that bad, but as the syllabus was handed out he saw nothing but reading assignments and a steady flow of papers to turn in. Owen had convinced him that if he was going to get an education that he should cover all the bases and do it right. “Be a well-rounded person, a Renaissance man.” As John was lamenting listening to Owen, the same young woman who had been late to his math class darted in late to this class, again muttering apologies. The instructor (an older woman, who said she had been teaching for forty years) said nothing but gave her a dirty look. John noticed her more completely this time and was happy she was in both his classes.

Her hair was not dark; it was black, a thick lustrous black so deep that it seemed unnatural. It was braided into a long thick pony tail that hung well past her shoulder blades. She had brilliant dark eyes that flashed from under her dark lashes; her features were gentle and elegant. He was drawn to her dark brown skin though; it was flawless and held a luminous quality that he had first thought was his imagination, the lighting, or makeup, but as he stared, he saw that it was just her natural appearance. She was dressed simply, slacks and a red shirt that was most likely a uniform for a local “big box” discount store nearby. She caught him looking at her and smiled shyly, normally this sort of moment would have been awkward for John, but it wasn't and he even remembered to smile back at her before they both turned their attention back to class.

After class, John tried to find her, but she had vanished out the door well before he could gather his senses or his books.