His name is Jacob Rasteur. He's 16,
into occult books from libraries and has probably read too much stuff
about 'Do what thou wilt' and the like. Charlie checked his facebook
account and a few other places while I browsed the local paper.
Mysterious lights. Odd accidents at the school. Little bits of
nastiness left to fester. He's not a magician yet, but you can see it
from where he is if you squint a little. I arrange for his parents
to leave town with tickets to a ball game. He doesn't ask them why,
doesn't even wonder at how his mother doesn't much like ball games
since he's glad to have their house to himself for an entirely
Saturday afternoon.
"You're picking the lock,"
Charlie says as I crouch by the back door, in a suffering tone. Jay
is standing behind her with headphones shoved into his ears. I can
hear classical music coming out of them but he's not moving to the
beat at all, just listening to us and waiting. "Because he has
some kind of magical wards up?"
"No. Rusty. I had a cousin with
interesting hobbies when I was younger: he taught me to pick locks,"
I say between wiggling the credit card carefully. "And before
you huff, I do have wards around us so the neighbours don't call the
police."
"I don't huff. Or puff," she
adds, but resists comments about breaking the door down, probably
because I'm expecting some.
"Edmund Hillary's daughter found
us using money, Charlie. It's easy to get so caught up in magic that
we forget that options exists." I give the door one tug, then
another, and pull it open carefully. "He's in the basement. Jay,
down the steps, distract him. He'll try and bind you, you ignore it.
Charlie, up here as back up."
"Back up."
"He could have allies. Also, he
might see what you are and panic to the tune of gas main explosions
and a levelled home. I'd rather avoid that."
"And he won't be scared of you?"
she snaps.
I just smile and walk into the small,
neat kitchen. The basement door isn't even locked and not warded at
all, which means overconfidence or ignorance but it's often hard to
tell the two apart.
Jay hands Charlie his phone as I open
the door and is simply gone a moment later, down the stairs and in
the basement before either of us register the movement. I wander down
rickety wooden stairs to find myself in a cement unfinished basement
complete with a giant pentagram drawn on the floor and candles
painted black burning with pale green fire at each corner of it.
Jacob Rasteur is a pudgy scowl of a kid
who is calling up fire and hurling it as actual balls of flame at
Jay, the room cooling along with his body as he draws up heat to turn
into flame, the candles guttering out to no effect at all. The walls
are decorated in a half-dozen scorch marks as Jay springs aside from
each. His skin is ivory pale now, eyes clear and glowing in the
basement and moving faster than each fireball, his grin huge and
delighted. He's spent a week eating food and healing as much as he
could from the transit to our world and sticks his tongue out at the
magician in a bid to impress me.
Jacob clenches his fists and screams a
Word that seems like something from a bad fantasy novel. Intent
matters more than words, and the banishment is thrust of pure will
that ripples the air in front of the magician. Jay dives and rolls to
the side, and the second banishment is at least a sane attempt that
envelops the entire room.
Jay scrambles to his feet with a yelp
of pained surprise as Jacob advances on him, trembling with effort.
The pentagram he'd been drawing power into was his need to be left
along, an attempt to alter the minds of his parents to obey his will.
I undo the entire thing and he doesn't even notice, gaze locked on
Jay.
"Your true name binds you,"
Jacob shouts, as if shouting would increase the power he put behind
the words. "Speak!"
Jay shakes his head; he can't speak his
true name and refuses to even try despite the whimper of pain that
escapes him as the magician's voice batters into him. Jacob has
wrapped the binding around him, threading it through earth and air,
stone and ether, looking perplexed as it keeps sliding off of Jay.
"Jay is protected."
I pitch my voice mildly, but Jacob
still spins back too fast, almost toppling over for a moment. He's
cold, shivering, eyes glazed with exhaustion he hasn't noticed yet,
but at least has skill enough to keep Jay held to the wall.
Jacob throws up his right hand in a
warding gesture, fingers trembling with effort. He's too cold for
fire and doesn't consider pulling the cold out of him as ice.
I undo the binding around Jay with a
single flicker of desire, and Jacob gulps breaths as energy returns
to him and hurls it at me with a thrust of both his hands.
I undo the fire with a twisting of a
finger, giving back to the world the energy he's been taking from it
for his pentagram and warding it against his use.
"Magician," he wheezes, the
word half a question.
"Yes." Jay stretches behind
him, flexing fingers questioningly and I shake my head to him.
"You've drained yourself and the area to no effect, Jacob. You
can keep trying or we can talk."
His answering grin is bared teeth. No
one has hurt him since he gained magic; nothing has beaten him, his
life become his own. He reaches for power in the only way left and I
step forward and drive a knee between his legs.
Jacob hits the ground in gasp a moment
later. There are few things more dangerous than giving power to those
who desire it; too often all it makes is another bully.
"Lesson one: only drain your own
life if you know how to do it
so it isn't permanent. Lesson two: don't be in situations where you
have to drain your own life permanently." I crouch down as he
tries to stand and curls up in pain instead. "Lesson three: pay
attention to the world around you."
I pull out a small
business card and drop it on the basement beside him. "Go to
this bookshop if you still want to be a magician. You'll need more
than eyes to see it and the owner can direct you to better texts."
I stand. "And, for the record, Crowley's line about 'Do what
Thou wilt', meant Thou as being your own higher self, which I hope is
kinder than you are."
I walk out without
another word; he doesn't try to stop us from leaving.
"Are you
okay?" I say to Jay as we get outside.
He considers that,
stretches a little, then nods. "I'm kind of hungry?"
"There are
times when you aren't?" Charlie says dryly.
Jay considers that.
"When I'm dead?"
"The term is
sleeping," I say. "You're not actually dead when you
sleep."
He says nothing to
that at all.
"Right. You
want to get lunch?" I say to Charlie, who just holds out a hand
for money. I make no comment about her own wallet and hand over a few
bills.
"You coming?"
she says, quieter as Jay heads to the street.
"In a few
minutes. Making protections just in case."
She glances at
Jacob's home, then me, and just squeezes my shoulder once before
walking away.
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