The Call of Magic Read online

  The Call of Magic

  Copyright © 2020 by Quick and Animus LLC

  All Rights Reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher.

  Published by Quick and Animus LLC

  ASIN: B088B6DBDV

  Contents

  Character Chart

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  A Message From The Author

  Notes From The Author

  Glossary

  About the Author

  Character Chart

  Those Who Watch

  The Sisters Fate

  Me

  Emma Lie

  The School

  Jimmy Haynes, a bully

  Michael Morton, a once-friend and victim

  Coach Ranshaw, the Defensive Line Coach

  Principal Jeminick, a former Marine

  The Family

  My father, a deadbeat

  My mother, a saint

  The Workplace

  Chris Williams, a co-worker with a crush

  Carolina Leahy, owner of the Bella Lita

  Thies Krausmann, an annoyance

  The Man in the Silver Glasses, an unknown quantity

  The Citadel

  Alexandra Mecklenburg, a recruit

  Ben Culver, a recruit

  Josh Boyden, a recruit

  Juriz Rioja, a recruit

  Damien Kone, a recruit

  Valeria Valente, a recruit

  Maxwell Telano, a recruit

  George Barnes, a recruit

  Pacey Hurtado, a recruit

  The Legionnaires

  Murilo Montes, the Fool conroi, Council of the Legion

  Jada Monción, High Priestess, Council of the Legion

  Dr. Esther Lawley, the Lovers conroi

  Dr. Josiah Ellbrecht, Veteran Leader of the Lovers conroi

  Diane Pantheras, Death Leader, Veteran Leader of Death conroi

  Counselor Rain Robinson, the Hanged Man conroi

  Builder Gabriel Lefort, the Tower conroi

  Justice Asia McCloud, Veteran Leader of Justice conroi

  Justice Carson Bossett, a Guardian

  Justice Olive Mao, a Guardian

  Brian Jacinto, a retiring Guardian

  Effie Davies, a retiring Guardian

  Victoria Wiles, Guardian, faculty advisor to Thies Krausmann

  Elena Pastor, Queen of Cups

  Jack Abert, Knight of Cups

  Summer Klien, Knight of Wands

  Lea Mercier, Knight of Swords

  Zak Mallet, Page of Swords

  Genji, Page of Wands

  Daniel Lewin, the Professor, Page of Pentacles

  Christian Wolff, the Bard, Veteran Leader of the Nine of Cups

  The Well

  The Merim, a flame-bound giant

  The Merim, a man with a hidden face.

  1

  12:06 PM EDT

  June 18, 2020

  Haynes’ eye is swelling shut, and Michael stares up from the floor behind me with mixed shock and rising fear. The last bit catches my attention and confuses me. My vision narrows, black around the edges, heart beating thunder in my ears. I did what I did to help him. Why should Michael be more afraid now? I try to relax, but my temper has risen. My raw knuckles have done the speaking. My actions pronounced judgment.

  Jimmy Haynes rolls to his feet with practiced athleticism. His cronies have stepped back to the walls of the locker-lined hallway. He is not large, but his movements speak of economy and brutality. He is a bully’s bully, born and bred. There is sweat prickling the scalp under his dark shaved hair, and a stuttered breath issues from his lips as he probes the damage to his eye. In the gray depths of his other, the wheels are turning.

  He cannot afford to back away from a fight in front of his pack. Nor is it in his cruel nature, and yet he hesitates. He is a grade younger than me and Michael before we graduated, as are all his little friends. Jocks, bullies. They are animals, drunk with the idea of being seniors, fresh from the football field, and filled with football aggression. And Michael Morton is their target and outlet. Chubby, meek, kind Michael Morton, here to help me finish the Senior art project before I leave for college in a month. Michael makes another series of small whimpering noises behind me, his paint smock half-torn.

  “What the fuck?” Haynes booms. His posse chortles and titters from the sidelines. They move and sway with his anger. But I have the truth. He is stalling. He doesn’t want to take this further against me. The crush he has on me has always been obvious, trying to catch my eye for the better part of three years. But he cannot be seen as the star football player who was knocked from his feet by a hundred-fifteen-pound girl. He wouldn’t survive in his world. Torn between two hard choices, I see the decision form, the surety that grasps him. His hand drifts to his side, his clenched fist straightens. He will slap me. For him, to hold a reputation as a woman abuser is easier, more acceptable. Bastard.

  Michael Morton hasn’t moved, bloodied and on the floor where they left him. I had stepped over him to punch Jimmy, but now he is an obstacle I cannot navigate in time to dodge. My knuckles hurt still, and the inexplicable, searing pain on my upper right arm remains, but I prepare myself for the blow and tense to give one in return. Stubbornness has driven me this far. If he wants a fight, he’ll have it.

  2

  12:07 PM EDT

  June 18, 2020

  “What the fuck is right, Mr. Haynes.” Coach Ranshaw comes out of nowhere, interjecting himself. A short, cherubic man, I see him disassemble the fight in a heartbeat. His neck is a brilliant scarlet of unexpressed fury. He has a temper like I do, and from the way the cronies react, he is terrifying in his anger. He is the defensive line coach for the football team and rules their fates on the field.

  “Office. Now.”

  Mottled relief fills Jimmy’s face. He no longer needs to choose. He will live with the rumor of my attack for the rest of high school, but he has not struck a woman.

  Mr. Ranshaw hasn’t finished. “You too, Miss Lie. Pull
yourself together and head there with her, Mr. Morton.” He levels a glare at the mob of football players. “Locker rooms.”

  My anger bubbles over, and before I can stop myself, I ask. “Is there even anyone there?”

  There is steel and dire warning in the short glance he shoots me. “Do I look like I give a fuck? Go.”

  I pull Morton to his feet and we step through the long halogen-white hallways of the school building to the office. I leave yellow footprints with my beat-up sneakers. A paint tray got in the way as I rushed to help Michael. The sound of our footsteps echo in the space, and silence reigns in halls where thousands daily walk. My face is hot, flushed, and the blackness still dances on the edge of my vision.

  “Anyone ever tell you that you’re scary when you’re angry?” The question wheezes from Michael. He might need to get his ribs checked. I ignore the comment. Haynes is in front of us, his stride stiff with anger and other emotions.

  “A moment,” I say as I take a detour, stepping into the girl’s room. It is lined with pink tiles and scratched mirrors. Someone has left an imprint of red lipstick on one. I splash water on my face, hoping it will help, but it doesn’t. My eyes have gone a deep gray, something that I have not seen happen since I was young. I wipe at my wet cheeks with a shirt sleeve.

  It is a short walk to the administration section, but Haynes refuses to look at us when we arrive, ashamed of himself. How often, I wonder, has he pushed himself beyond his moral code for his image? Morton takes a seat opposite him, but I continue past the open secretary’s lounge towards the glass door. I answer my own question. There is someone in the office.

  Principal Jeminick is a tall, imposing man with habitual coffee breath, a bald head, and the sharp eyes of a former Marine. Surprise flashes across his face as I push open the glass door. I stand there, awkward in my paint-covered overalls and bloody knuckles. He closes his work with rapid clicks of his mouse, and then I have his full attention as he clocks my anger wordlessly.

  “Something I can do for you, Lie? Another letter of recommendation? Or should I grab a rifle from the barracks? Your war face is showing.” The Principal has a dry sense of humor.

  I shift on my feet as his gaze drops to the knuckles of the hand I’m wringing. The Principal comes to his feet with the grace of a younger man and moves to stand next to me, looking into the waiting room. He passes a hard look over the other occupants and shakes his head, seeing their state. “Today is not the day, Lie.”

  “No sir, it isn’t.” Even I’m not sure what I mean. Now that I’m standing in the office, my temper drains away, leeched by doubt. On its dregs comes a sour sensation of ill-use. My body, reacting to adrenaline? Doubt races through my clouded mind. I acted with rash passion against the logical move. My labor, years of achievements, have been hung on a single action and a single judge.

  He circles his right eye and points through the door to Haynes. “That was you?”

  I nod, a jerk of my head.

  “Did you think before you did it?”

  “No, sir.”

  His chin comes up as his hands fold in front of him, ready to deliver his lecture to me. “You’re good at that, Lie. The thinking bit. And now you’re in the soup. Where you should have gone to get a member of staff, you acted.” He swings his gaze to me. “If I report this, you’d lose your scholarship to whatever god-awful ivory tower institution you’re being unleashed on, no matter the reason for your action.”

  “Yes, sir.” The computer whirs as a fan kicks on. It is the sticky hot of June outside, but even in the cool AC of the office, I’m sweating. I hadn’t thought very far when I intervened. As I grasp the consequences, I berate myself.

  “And if word got out, we might be forced to press charges. You’re eighteen now?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He studies me. “You are the atypical overachiever Lie. You’re the real deal, as good as you aim to be. And you’ve now risked it all to help Morton from getting a toughening-up? Why?”

  I think a moment before answering. “It was the right thing to do.”

  He stares into my soul, serious, contemplative. “So you made the right decision?”

  I set my jaw. I can feel fate squeezing my heart with shriveled hands. “I did.”

  He is relentless. “So you would do it again?”

  “I would,” I answer honestly.

  He rakes me with sharp consideration and tightens his tie, gaining a moment for deliberation.

  “Is the art project finished?”

  “Most of it.”

  “Since you’ve graduated and shouldn’t be in my hallowed halls causing trouble, I find myself unwilling to deal with this level bullshit. Walk away, quickly, and take Morton with you. And if anyone asks you about this, you will deny it. Vehemently. Dismissed.”

  I move with as much confidence as I can manage. It’s just short of fleeing.

  His words trail me as I leave. “Should have been a Marine, Lie. Find yourself friends in life worthy of your loyalty. And don’t let me see you again until you’re on the TV and the Supreme Commander of the United States.”

  As I step out of the office, Jeminick’s voice cracks with a harsh command, causing me to jump. “Haynes. FRONT AND CENTER.”

  Haynes drags his feet, ambling. He knows what will come next. Still, I have to push past him as he comes in the glass door. Resignation fills his face and pulls against an eye that is swollen shut now. When he gets home, he will tell his parents that it was an injury from football practice. I’ve met his father. They are the same, a generation apart. More bruises would follow if Haynes told the truth.

  I hear Principle Jeminick through the door, speaking about last strikes. The starting football lineup will suffer for this. Morton has suffered more. I have no sympathy. Michael looks emotional, slumped where he sits in the office chair. I take him by the arm and nod to the exit, and we begin a long and laborious journey to the parking lot. Michael doesn’t hurry. Perhaps he’s more injured than I realized.

  As we leave, we pass by the open door of the secretary lounge. One secretary is standing at the door, middle-aged with bottle red hair. There is someone else in the room, speaking in lightly accented English. I’m barely able to catch the words.

  “We’re looking for one of your students.” Our steps gain me a different point of view. A man I don’t know is sitting at the conference table. Dark curly hair frames his Latin features. He looks like a male model, with rich tan skin and long eyelashes. I slow my pace, curious. He asks, “Do you have photos that I might look at?”

  “It’s a little irregular to be asking that.” The secretary’s hips are cocked aggressively. “I could get them for you. What do I get out of it?”

  “What is it that you want?” He purrs when he speaks.

  Michael makes a small groan as he moves, unrelated. I make one of my own inwardly. The stuff of scandals, all happening in my backyard. Gladly, it won’t be my backyard for much longer. We’re past before the strange man notices me. I do not want to see the attention he would give a girl my age.

  We head out of the winding hallways through the eastside parking lot. The intense sunlight of summer is blinding. It’s just after noon, and the air is cloying and close, made worse by the midday sun. Still, it feels cooler out here in the radiating parking lot than in Principal Jeminick’s office. Our school is regional, a massive building of brick and glass that on any school day holds upwards of three thousand people. The land is expansive, surrounded by well-manicured shrubs and trees, browned from the summer heat. The sharp smell of mowed grass is pervasive.

  Morton is quiet as we walk to where his car is parked. It is old, a Carolla from the late 90s, desperately in need of new paint. It still runs, and the air conditioning works, all that matters in the summer heat. We climb in and blast the AC. I ask if he’s able to drive. He just nods at me.

  It’s twenty minutes into the car ride before he speaks to me through his split lip.

  “Thank you.”
r />   There are no words to fix what happened to him, so I just pat him on the arm as he wheels the car through the streets. It sets the spot on my right arm burning again, but I ignore it. He is a kind soul, often misunderstood and often abused. A sharp intensity lines his gaze now. He’s too focused on the act of driving. He’ll carry this for years.

  “Did you see what they were doing?” We’re passing through a lane of old-growth pine and maple. The light filters green from above, and the shade is a blessing against the heat.

  “I saw enough,” I answer.

  His face twitches, and the tears spill over his chubby cheeks. He takes one deep, sobbing breath while I stretch to take the wheel. Traffic is light, and the speed limit is low. Families are busy, preparing to head to the Jersey Shore for the weekend. Michael sucks in a few deeper breaths to steady himself and resumes control of the vehicle.

  “It’s happened before.” He’s quiet again. “Not that in particular . . . ”

  “Yeah . . .” My response is lame, but I don’t know how to help him. I’ve never seen the torment happen with my own eyes. There are always stories, though.

  “Why did you stop it?”

  I think a long moment. There are several answers I could give him. I told Principal Jeminick that it was right, and I believe it. I empathize with the abuse Michael has gotten over the years, but that doesn’t ring wholly true as an answer either. No matter how I pretend and what I achieve, I hold part of that small girl from my old life within me. My ideals, my need to love and protect my friends around me are still strong. It hasn’t changed, despite chasing those people all away in the intervening years. I take Michael’s free hand in mine and squeeze it.