Wand: A Fantasy of Witches, Wizards, and Wands
Chapter Thirty-Six

Duchaine must’ve been on their case, because Nick’s teachers stopped pestering him. Even the Ussane’s were leaving him alone. Then again, that might just have been due to their injuries; they were still on the mend under Lamborghini’s care.

That was a happy thought. He’d need to hang on to such thoughts if he wanted to keep depression at bay during the next couple days.

At breakfast Nick was chomping down on pancakes soaked in syrup while casually listening in on a conversation between a few journeyman girls at the next table. They were chatting in hissed whispers, dotted with giggles, about a Harry Potter scene. Nick turned his head at the mention of something naughty, hoping to improve his efforts at espionage.

It didn’t work.

“Hey Nick?” one of the girls caught him and he drizzled syrup down his chin. They giggled as he wiped with a napkin. “Did you ever read Harry Potter?”

“Yes,” hoping it was the right answer.

“Maybe you can clear something up for us,” the pretty red head said, arm draped over the back of her chair. “Remember the seven Potter’s scene in the seventh book?”

Nick nodded.

“Well, Alexis thinks that when they took the polyjuice potion, the girls didn’t grow a . . .” another nervous giggle, this once accompanied by a blush. “You know, a thing. I think they did. What do you think?”

“What do I think—”

“Did Hermione grow a dick?” Alexis asked with red cheeks. The girls all laughed, hands to their mouths. And then—horribly—they stared at Nick, waiting for an answer.

“Well,” he said, pretending to contemplate this deep philosophical question. “The polyjuice potion turns you into whoever you’re drinking, so I’d imagine yes, Hermione did grow a . . . little Harry.”

They burst into laughter, all except for Alexis, who didn’t seem to appreciate Nick’s logic.

A few minutes later, after bussing his tray, Nick walked towards the atrium to head to his first class of the day. He was feeling pretty good, reflecting on his surprisingly normal lunch, when a streak of black blurred at the corner of his eye, and he was knocked to the ground.

From his position on the floor, Nick looked up to see who had shoved him.

Hands on hips, Delrisa stood scowling down at him.

“You were out there doing sorcery, weren’t you!” she accused. “Oh don’t even bother, I’m through trying to convince everyone what you are.” Here she leaned down, and aimed an accusatory finger at Nick’s chest. “But I know the truth. And I won’t let you get away with it.” She stormed off.

Nick tried not to enjoy the sight of her skirt swirling up as she swiveled to leave. It would be so much easier to hate this girl if she was ugly. Still, as he wandered through the breezeway over to Spells and Incantations with Anaximander, Nick pondered Delrisa’s anathema toward him. Did she know something? Could she? In a world of magic, he knew, anything was possible.

Anaximander was doing his floating bit in his classroom when Nick arrived. Fortunately the ambiance of this skill had not worn off, and so no one noticed as he slipped into the room and took his seat late.

Settle down and take your seats.

Anaximander did not speak this command, and yet everyone obeyed. When they were seated, Anaximander lowered his feet and took up a standing position. He sent his dark-eyed gaze crawling over the students. This was his way, had been since first class this year. Nick was convinced that the intense Haitian teacher used this method to try and intimidate the students, psyche them out. For this reason alone Nick always stared straight back. Occasionally he crossed his arms over his chest for good measure.

The eyes passed over Nick. Anaximander turned his attention to the blackboard, where a Latin incantation had been written. He the tapped the chalk words.

“Have any of you unraveled this mystery from Apollonius?”

Richard’s hand shot into the air. “Sir. Apollonius was merely pointing out that the mystery of levitation can be solved when one accepts the simple but profound truth that levitation is merely the opposite of gravitation.”

“Well put,” Anaximander nodded. “Now put your understanding into action.”

A chorus of ‘Ooh’s’ filled the room as Anaximander threw down this gauntlet, this challenge to defy a law of physics.

Richard took his place before the window looking out onto the grounds. Storm clouds muted the horizon. The yogi’s position of crossed legs, head up, shoulders back, eyes closed, hands resting on knees, and index fingers to thumbs, was something every first year adept was taught. Richard assumed the position and began to mutter softly to himself.

Though no one could hear the exact words, Nick knew Richard was not repeating Apollonius’ levitation incantation—he was praying to his God.

He almost felt sorry for the guy. In a few seconds, maybe a minute or two—during which nothing at all would happen—poor Richard Warfield would be terribly disappointed. Would he realize then that his God was only a figment—

A collective gasp as Richard’s body began to lift off the floor. A few students stood to watch, others scanned the air above Richard, probably in search of puppet strings.

As if to prove this was not an illusion or some clever trickery, Richard began to float across the room, passing between the gawking teens. He performed a complete circuit of the room before returning to the front, whereon he settled back to his feet.

Despite the things he’s seen and learned, especially during his recent harrowing encounter with the sorcerer, Nick gawked at Richard as the boy took his seat.

Had faith, religious faith, really just made him levitate?

If so, the implications were huge. It would seem to indicate that faith in Richard’s God was every bit as capable as the magic they taught here at the Institute.

Anaximander spent the rest of the hour of Spells and Incantations elucidating the specific incantation and its necessary vocalization to levitate. Though ten other students made attempts, no one else succeeded. Marcus Bixby did manage to make one leg float. His goofy grin however soon exposed his trickery.

During Healing Arts class Miss Lamborghini continued their study of pranic healing with a lesson on energy transfer. It was, apparently, possible to transfer energy from the healer’s body to the afflicted parts of the patient, and it required a laying on of hands. Some of the boys soon discovered a more amusing form of this magic; Bruno—accidentally—learned that if he used only a single finger instead of his entire hand, he could focus his energy transfer into a concentrated electrical shock.

Out in the hall after class, five boys started shocking random people as they passed. The sounds of laughter and curses filled the air. By that evening, half the student body was recovering from their shocking afternoon, drained as they were of their chi.

All of which put Bruno in fine spirits, the perfect mood for Nick to ask him for a favor.

He was meditating, balancing his chakras, in the bunk when Bruno arrived that evening after dinner. Eyes still closed, Nick asked the question he’d decided on to prime the bully.

“Hey Bruno, considering this is the monitor’s bunk, should we be monitoring something?”

“What?” Bruno asked, digging into his dessert—a boxed apple pie.

“Well,” Nick continued, keeping his voice level, “you bullied those two guys out of here our first day. And this is the monitor’s bunk. I’ve just been wondering if we’re supposed to be monitoring something and if so, what it is we should be monitoring.”

“Don’t worry,” Richard entered the bunk. “I’ve been doing enough monitoring for all three of us.” He dropped onto his bed.

Nick decided not to read a double meaning into the statement. He looked over at Bruno. Crumbs littered the boys’ jerkin. “Bruno? I was hoping you could do me a favor.”

“What’s in it for me?” he said through mouth full of pie.

“Jeez, I’m already doing all your Symbols and Sigils paperwork. What more do you want? Just help me out here.”

No response except for more disgusting chewing.

“It’ll make you look bad-ass.”

“How bad-ass?”

“Michael Delving bad-ass.”

Bruno nodded. A wide grin spread over his face.

“Good,” Nick said. “Now that’s settled, I need you to steal Mr. Ussane’s wardstone mask, his goggles—and a few of his wardstones.”

“What? No way. I know what happens when you get your hands on a wardstone.”

Nick took up the flea-comb he kept on his small dresser and started combing Severus on his bed. “I want the mask and goggles, but you get to use the wardstone.”

While Bruno mulled this over, Richard stared intently over at Nick.

“All right, deal.”

There was an awkward pause in their conversation. Nick broke it, saying, “Well?”

“Now?” Bruno seemed genuinely perturbed.

“Well,” Nick pursued, “you could wait until the Ussane’s recover completely and come back, but that could make stealing their stuff kind of gauche, what with you trying to take the mask and wardstones while they are sitting right there.” Nick paused for several seconds to buttress his motivational speech with heavy silence. “But hey, if you’re afraid—”

“Shut up,” Bruno stood. “I’ll do it right now.” He left the room.

Severus began to purr as Nick continued combing his jet black fur. Presently he realized Richard was still staring. “What?”

“There’s something different about you,” Richard said, peering intently at Nick. His grin wavered. “You’re eyes . . . they look . . . almost red.”

The unspoken intimation being: Sorcerer’s eyes take on a red tint.

“You were gone for a day and a half. Where were you?”

And the day had been going so well, too.

“I don’t remember.”

“What are you planning?”

Nick stopped combing. He did not answer Richard. Instead, he changed the subject. “Did you really make yourself levitate with faith?”

“I did nothing,” Richard said, taking the bait. “I merely believed, and God answered.”

They bent over class notes and books and worked quietly for a half hour, Richard writing, Nick imbuing his amulet with trace amounts of bioplasma. Eventually Bruno returned. The boy dropped a pair of goggles on Nick’s bed, an ultra slim breather beside it.

“Check it out,” Bruno puffed out his chest—it almost went further out than his belly. “Five wardstones,” he examined the small black oblong alchemical stones with awe.

“Excellent,” Nick said.

“So when do we use them?”

The goggles smelled like Vesper Ussane, the ripe odor of death and decay. “Tomorrow night,” Nick answered. “In the sanctorum. While their bringing in the mirrors,” he added, recalling the short announcements Dean Delacort had given earlier in the day, in which he’d proudly announced the capture of the Mirrorman, and the subsequent plan to return all the mirrors from the out building where they’d stored them. If all went according to their Plan, a man would meet Nick, carrying the imitation Black Mirror.

Despite the rumors and questions, and though he feared he might throw up or suffer an anxiety attack, Nick survived another day. Wednesday evening arrived without pomp, but with plenty of circumstance.

It seemed surreal that everyone was going about their usual business during such a momentous time: Nick was hours—perhaps only a single hour—from finally replaceing answers. The fruition of his Plan, formulated months ago when his parents informed he’d be coming here, was just around the corner.

Richard tried talking him out of leaving the dorm, but gave up after a few minutes, after realizing that Nick would not budge—and when Bruno kept calling him a panty-wearing preacher boy. Together Nick and Bruno marched down to the Shaman hallways, their stolen goods stored safely away in their book bags. They passed several groundskeepers, including a suspiciously chipper Fukushima, all carrying different sized mirrors on their way to the various bathrooms. It was almost six; most of the students were in their dorms, studying or goofing off, but there were a few stragglers. A couple of them gave Nick lingering glances as they passed.

He was forced to endure a few sorcerer-sneezes.

The boys stopped outside the doors to the sanctum sanctorum. This area was deserted.

“Take a peek, see who’s inside,” Nick ordered.

Bruno opened the door a smidge. He turned back. “It’s just Mrs. Mannik and a couple of novices.”

So, they were still guarding the entrance to the Grimoirium. It didn’t come as a complete surprise. Nick look around. “Dang it. He’s late.”

“Who?”

This was one of numerous parts of the Plan Nick had failed to explain. “I’m waiting for a man, carrying a mirror.” He took Bruno’s wrist and checked the windup watch. “He should’ve been here by now. Something’s wrong, I know it.”

“Is it time to use the wardstone?”

“No!” Nick snapped. He checked his tone. “There’s no point. Not until—” he shut up at the sound of footsteps. A man came around the corner. He was toting a large flat object in a sheet nestled under his arm. “Finally,” Nick exhaled. He hadn’t realized until now just how cold it was down here. The Shamans must be shivering in their dorm.

“Sorry,” the man said in a monotone. “Got lost. Here,” he handed the object to Nick and then stood rigidly with his back against the cold stone wall.

Bruno whispered out the side of his mouth, “The dude’s a zombie. You know him?”

“No,” Nick said. He didn’t see any reason to inform Bruno that the man was likely under Agravaine’s hypnosis.

One final check of the hallway—it was empty. Nick removed Ussane’s goggles and mask from the pack and put them on. He nodded to Bruno. “Alright. You know what to do.”

Bruno dug a wardstone out of his bag. He stared at Nick with a stupid smile. “You know, this would be a perfect time for me to exact some old school revenge.”

“Yeah,” Nick said, and tapped his mask. “Except that I’m wearing this, and you’re not.”

Down went Bruno’s good cheer. He lifted the wardstone to his lips, spoke the Words, and opened the door to the sanctum sanctorum. He then lobbed the wardstone into the large room and slammed the door shut, snickering.

A muffled bang.

Nick nodded at Bruno, who opened the door and then ran to escape the expanding cloud. He hefted the mirror under its sheet and lowered the goggles. Though they appeared quite purple, from the other side they were quite clear. The wardstone-induced cloud appeared as a hazy white film, almost transparent and easily penetrated. Nick entered the sanctorum and carefully stepped down the entrance stairs. He had only about ten minutes before the cloud would dissipate, and maybe another ten after that before Mrs. Mannik and the students awoke. But he didn’t dare hurry; it would be a shame to trip and drop the mirror. Though it was a fake, right now it was every bit as essential to their plan as the real Black Mirror.

At the foot of the stairs Nick glanced around. Mrs. Mannik and the students were not moving. The candles that had been caught within the cloud were also still, as if frozen in time.

With tedious care Nick set the mirror down on a table and then removed the impeding books to perform the blood ritual. He then removed a gobstone from his bag and energized it.

Once the secret doorway was opened Nick slipped inside and traversed the winding passageways to the Grimoirium. He paused after a minute, set the mirror down, and removed his goggles and mask, placing them back into the bag. One minute later he was standing inside the forbidden section of the school library. The only light was that of his shimmering gobstone.

As he tiptoed deeper into the ancient room, gobstone held aloft, Nick spotted a face looking out at him from the darkness at the other end. Its lips moved and a voice seemed to speak from inside his head.

“It’s about time,” Agravaine said. “Let’s get to work.”