Science and Sorcery (22 page)

Matt swore out loud as he read through the brief biography they’d assembled for Sandra.  She attended – had attended – Fairview High School, just like Moe Levisohn, Ian Murray and Andy Montgomery.  And, for that matter, Coach Thornton and his assailant.  Matt could well understand why someone would want to punch a Coach in the nose – it was an impulse he'd had from time to time – but why come up with such an absurd story for
why
he’d punched the Coach?  Unless, of course, the absurd story was actually true...

It couldn't be a coincidence.  Matt had been taught that the more unlikely a coincidence, the less likely that it
was
a coincidence.  Moe and his cronies had died in the school, seemingly by magic; Coach Thornton had been attacked, seemingly by a student being controlled by someone else; Sandra had been murdered in a magical ritual, one that had been forgotten for thousands of years.  Occam’s Razor suggested that the simplest answer – that the mystery magician was someone who went to Fairview High School – was the correct one.  That only left the problem of how to narrow it down further.

Who would have a motive to murder Moe?  Judging from his records, half the school would have a good reason to want him dead.  The death penalty was a little extreme for bullying – Matt would have recommended a sound thrashing instead – but someone in their teenage years might not see it that way, particularly if they tapped into their magic without realising what they’d done until it was too late.  There was no way they could interrogate the entire school on suspicion.  The NYPD would face another political crisis at the worst possible moment.

He scowled.  Who would have a motive to hurt Coach Thornton?  Probably a similar number of people, as the Coach apparently had a reputation that would make a Drill Instructor blanch, with the added factor that none of his victims had volunteered to face him.  Or had the mind-controlled student been the
real
target?  God knew that Gavin wouldn't be winning any sporting scholarships now, even if he was cleared of all charges.  And in the absence of any proof of mind-control, he would
not
be cleared of charges.  Even a drunken judge would be unlikely to accept such a tale. 

And who would have a motive to murder Sandra?  The file wasn't complete – the NYPD would follow up any leads if the forensic team didn't find anything useful – but nothing jumped out at him, apart from one little detail.  She'd been a mixed-race child, like most of the Changed.  Had she been selected because her cells were storing
mana
in preparation for her own Change?  Or had she been selected completely at random?  No, he told himself, that was unlikely.  Unless it was a
real
coincidence and there were two different magicians...

He shook his head.  The autopsy report might point them in the right direction, or it might simply mislead them.  They needed a way to track the murderer and fast, before he unleashed a holocaust.  And then, if Golem was to be believed, the world would come to an end.

***

Calvin had convinced his mother to call in and report that he was sick after walking up with a splitting headache.  His brain seemed to be aching, as if the power he'd trapped within his wards was slowly burning into his thoughts.  Harrow had warned him that the first time was always the hardest, but he found it hard to believe that it could ever get better.  Part of him wanted to dump the power, or to use it so he could relax and sleep properly, yet he knew he couldn't do that.  Not yet.

He lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, remembering the moment when Sandra had died.  The surge of energy passing into him had been terrifying, but it had also been exciting, a thrill beyond anything else he had ever experienced.  Somehow, he doubted that being with a girl, even one as bouncy as Marie, would be so exciting.  It was funny how it no longer seemed to bother him, either what he’d done to Moe or what he’d done to Sandra.  In fact, his greatest regret was that he hadn't had the skill to drain Moe and his cronies as well.  He might have been able to free Harrow earlier, before he’d had to kill anyone else.

Keep focusing your mind on control
, Harrow informed him. 
A skilled magician might be able to detect changes in your state.  You have to learn to conceal yourself
.

Calvin nodded and concentrated, despite his aching head.  One thing that the modern world had that the ancient world had lacked was painkillers; apparently, there were painkilling potions, but the people who’d brewed them had charged heavily for their services.  Harrow had been delighted to discover modern painkillers.  With a little work, they could make a necromancer’s existence easier to bear.

“Yeah,” he muttered.  The internet had already picked up on Sandra’s murder.  It seemed that the police were trying to restrict pictures of Sandra’s body, but they were already out and spreading through the computer network.  It wouldn't be long before thousands of copycat murders began to appear.  “We don’t want them to sense me.”

No, we don't
, Harrow agreed. 
You are not yet invincible
.

His head started to spin slightly as he concentrated on a more advanced – and dangerous – spell than he’d ever tried before.  The real trick was learning how to avoid drawing on his new stockpile of
mana
.  It couldn't be wasted when he would need every drop of it to release Harrow. 

And once he’d mastered it, she’d promised him, he could have some real fun.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Washington DC/New York, USA

Day 25

The blind
, Misty Reynolds thought sourly,
are leading the blind
.

Learning magic seemed to be a complicated mishmash of different traditions that gelled together in some manner Golem, their main tutor, hadn't been able to put into words.  Magic spells were names given to specific thoughts shaped by magicians to cast magic, except some of them could also be magic in their own right.  Runes served to channel magic, to help direct the local
mana
field into wards and other protections.  Those born with magic skills could
sense
magic long before they learned how to manipulate it; indeed, there were some who never developed the ability to use
mana
, but remained capable of sensing it’s presence.

Misty was a logical thinker, trained to hammer mathematics into the heads of school-aged children who seemed to grow dumber by the year, and the nature of magic seemed almost a personal offense against reality itself.  It didn't help that Golem wasn't a very good teacher; inhuman creature or not, he had the unmistakable manner of a tutor who knew barely more than his pupils.  Someone who read ahead might be
more
knowledgeable than the tutor, except for the minor detail that there were no books on magic to be found anywhere.  Misty had heard that the Navy was seriously considering hiring mermaids and launching an exhibition to explore the remains of Atlantis, purely in the hopes of recovering ancient knowledge.  She rather doubted that they’d find anything worth the effort. 

She looked up as her opponent grinned at her.  “Ready?”

“Ready,” Misty said, bracing herself.  This wasn't going to be fun.  “Go.”

He pulled a fireball out of nowhere and threw it at her face.  Misty’s protections caught the fireball and knocked it aside, but she still felt a wave of heat as it struck her wards.  A moment later, he tossed a second fireball and then a third, forcing her to divert concentration – and
mana
– towards maintaining her protections.  The reason magicians spent so long soaking up
mana
, Golem had explained, was to ensure that they didn't run out when fighting other magicians.  If they both started drawing on the local background field, the level of mana available to them both would deplete rather sharply, at least long enough for one of them to emerge the victor.

A fourth fireball struck her wards and the protections crumbled.  Misty jumped to one side, too late, as he hurled a different spell at her.  Her entire body went limp and she hit the ground like a sack of potatoes, feeling the spell crawling over her like the touch of an unwelcome lover.  He stepped forward, tapped her on the forehead, and grinned.

“I win,” he said.

“Well done,” Misty grunted, as soon as she could speak again.  It galled her to keep losing to a kid who’d done nothing more with his life than play stupid games, but those games had given him an excellent basis for understanding the new reality.  “I think you're getting better.”

“I think you’re getting better too,” the kid said.  “Hey, you want to come have a drink with me?”

Misty started to laugh, despite herself.  “You do realise that I’m nearly ten years older than you?”

“But you’re so much more interesting than most girls my age,” the kid said.  “Come on...”

Misty shook her head, just as one of the researchers stuck her head into the door.  “Agent Lyle would like to see you, Miss Reynolds,” she said.  “Would you mind coming with me?”

Misty had never been on a military base before accepting the FBI’s offer of lessons and a job that allowed her to use her magic talents.  The base was, according to her hosts, designed to help deal with an outbreak of biological warfare in the nation’s capital, complete with secure wards for the patients and medical technology that was second to none.  Right now, it played host to the handful of magicians who had come forward to work for the government, thirty werewolves, seven mermaids and a single vampire.  Misty hadn't seen the vampire, but rumour had it that she was incredibly dangerous.  God help anyone who came face to face with her without any special preparation.

She’d liked Caitlyn Lyle the moment she’d seen her, even though she had the same air as a hundred paper-pushing bureaucrats who believed that achievement could be measured by testing pupils, even at the absurdly young age of kindergarten children.  They always looked harassed, as if they were buried under paperwork, which probably explained why they kept dumping it on teachers.  There would come a time when the tests and paperwork reached the point when there would be no time left for any actual
teaching
. 

“Have a seat,” Caitlyn said, putting down the phone.  “How are you coming along with your magic studies?”

“Slowly,” Misty admitted.  “Very slowly.”

Some elements of the work felt easy, as if she’d been doing them all her life.  But other elements made no sense at all.  She could understand how a magician could use a blood sample, or even a piece of clothing, to work magic on an unsuspecting victim, but how did it work with a photograph?  Did anyone know how many pictures there were of the President?  Or of pretty much anyone who thought they were important?

“I’d hoped not to have to send any of you into the field until you were ready,” Caitlyn admitted, “but something has happened that requires a magician’s attention.  And, frankly, you’re the best we have for this issue.”

Misty gave her a sharp look.  “You’re desperate,” she said.

“Yes,” Caitlyn said.  “I’m going to outline what happened, and what we think it means, and then you can decide if you want to...carry out the assignment for us.”

“I thought that soldiers or FBI agents couldn't refuse their orders,” Misty said.

“Not normally,” Caitlyn agreed, “but this situation is far from normal.  And we wouldn't send an untrained recruit with one week in Quantico into the field if we could avoid it.”

“But you have only a handful of magicians,” Misty realised.  She couldn't help feeling a thrill at a chance to prove herself, even though cold rationality told her that she wasn't ready.  “You need to risk one of them.”

Caitlyn nodded.  “Yesterday, late at night, a girl called Sandra Yeager was murdered by a black magician,” she said.  Misty had caught a report on Yahoo news, but she hadn’t paid much attention at the time.  “From what Golem tells us, we believe that the magician was influenced by one of the Thirteen – and the overall objective was to use the murder as a source of magical power.”

“Crap,” Misty said.

“Crap indeed,” Caitlyn said.  “I can show you the autopsy report if you like, but the bare bones of it are that the forensic team was unable to locate anything that might point us to the killer.  Sandra seemed to have positioned herself for the murder...”

“Mind control,” Misty said.  Golem had used it on her several times, forcing her to learn how to fight it off before it was too late.  The experience of being moved around like a puppet was not one she wanted to repeat.  “Was she raped?”

Caitlyn winced.  “I have
never
wished for someone to have been raped before,” she said, bitterly.  “Rape throws up all kinds of physical evidence.  But the report says that she was not raped, or molested.  She was virgin when she died.”

She shook her head.  “The NYPD is following up smaller leads, but we are not hopeful,” she added.  “However, we do have one link that might – might – point to the killer.  This incident is the third incident that points to Fairview High School.”

“I’ve never worked there,” Misty said.  Offhand, she couldn't recall if she’d
ever
been there, even as a substitute teacher.  Understanding clicked and she smiled.  “You want me to go there as a spy?”

“Yes,” Caitlyn said.  “Unsurprisingly, the recent events have taken their toll on the teaching body, with three different teachers threatening to quit and possible replacements being reluctant to consider working there.  We can pull a few strings and convince them to take you on, at least for a few months.”

“My last principal said I couldn't be trusted near children,” Misty said.  It still hurt; the teaching system often took years to recognise teachers who preyed on children, but it had reacted with blinding speed to force her out of the classroom when she'd developed magic powers.  “And I’m sure he will tell the new principal that if he makes some inquiries.”

“We can handle that,” Caitlyn assured her.  “The important detail is that your name isn't out in public, at least not yet.  That saves us the bother of providing you with a false identity for the duration of the assignment.  The principal will be told to take you on and make sure you're in a position where you will encounter most of the schoolchildren.  Golem tells us that you are good at sensing changes in the
mana
field that might indicate a practicing magician.”

“Yeah,” Misty said.  She hesitated, but she knew she had to ask.  “What am I to do if I catch him?”

“You report him to us and we work out how to deal with him,” Caitlyn said, tiredly.  Misty suspected that there had been some very high-level discussions before she'd been called into Caitlyn’s office.  “Ideally, we’d like to take him into custody and ask him a number of questions, starting with just how the hell one of the Thirteen got in touch with him.  More practically...”

Misty shivered.  Golem’s tales of magical combat in his time had been terrifying.  A single magician with enough skill could wipe out an entire army.  Golem had personally witnessed armies burned to death, or turned to stone, or even just mind-controlled into attacking their fellows.  Other stories, from before Enchanter’s time, were even darker.  An entire continent had been wiped out by a magician who had caused a tremendous earthquake.  Misty would have wondered if that had been Atlantis, but the Fall of Atlantis had apparently happened centuries later. 

“You might have to kill him,” Caitlyn said. 

Misty found the thought repulsive.  “But he’s just a kid!”

“A kid who has killed four people, if what we believe to be right
is
right,” Caitlyn reminded her.  “Maybe he is an innocent victim in all of this, but we can't take chances.  If worst comes to worst, we use a sniper and take him out at a distance, before he can react.”

“Except there are protections he might have used,” Misty pointed out.  “He might be warded against sniper fire, or bullets in general.”

“We can, but try,” Caitlyn said.  She looked up, meeting Misty’s eyes.  “Are you willing to do this for us?”

Misty had already made up her mind.  She just hadn't realised it.

“Yes,” she said.  “When do I leave?”

Caitlyn glanced at a calendar.  “We’ll move you to New York at once and let the NYPD make the arrangements for you to be inserted into the school,” she said.  “It wouldn’t be the first time we’ve had to send an undercover officer into a school, so at least there’s precedent.  You’ll get a full briefing before you go, but bear in mind that you’re not a police officer or FBI agent.  I just want you there to keep an eye out for the magician.”

“And not to arrest anyone,” Misty said.  “Am I allowed to use magic in the school?”

“We would really rather you didn't,” Caitlyn said.  “We’d prefer not to reveal your existence until we know who we’re looking for, if then, but use your own judgement.  Try not to turn any of the kids into frogs.  That would probably upset people.”

“I can't,” Misty said.  Golem had taught her
how
, but the mana field wasn't strong enough to support it.  Yet.  “I won’t let you down.”

“I have never sent anyone into a situation like this,” Caitlyn said.  “Every time I have acted as a control to someone walking into darkness, the person was a trained and experienced agent who volunteered for the duty.  You...you are neither, but you’re all we have.  If you want to back out when you’re there, just hit the panic button.  We’ll come crashing in.”

Misty swallowed.  Teaching was much harder than anyone on the outside realised, in a world where kids ran riot and physical harm to teachers was not unknown, but this was different.  She'd been taught to fear school shooters and terrorists, or kids who just lost it completely, yet a magician...the first report from the school suggested that someone had given three bullies a horrifying surprise.  And if he hadn’t come forward, it didn't bode well for the future.