‘Some hounds are born to hunt foxes.’

April 11th, 2000

If you haven’t realized it by now, I happen to be a witch.

When most people think of witches, there’s a set of four details that usually come to mind in the western world. You get black robes. Big floppy hats. Ugly as a plumber’s pet rat. And, of course, the quintessential flying broom.

My broom only sweeps floors. I wish I could fly around on it, but that’s life for you.

A lot of people fantasize about the world of magic — they think of vampires, werewolves, wise spell-slinging wizards in grey robes, dragons, and the like, all barely underneath the surface of proper society. One step could tear back the masquerade and tip the scale of modern sensibilities upside down. Shamans, wizards, witches, and all sorts of mythical beasts could be hiding around every corner.

The reality isn’t quite as romantic. If you ask me, it’s not romantic at all. I’d rather get a 9-5 as a salarywoman.

There’s some truth to the rumors. The image of a hunchback witch in the boondocks cackling as they lick toads and stand over a bubbling cauldron aren’t incorrect. Not the actual methodology of herb and swamp water stew and eating children, gods no, but the general idea. It’s practical to practice magic alone. Mages, witches, wizards — whatever you want to call them — are lonely jealous creatures cut off from the rest of humanity for the most part. There’s an extremely good reason for it, but I’ll get to that later. Much later.

Modern witches are kind of pathetic, if you really think about it. We can’t talk to random animals or turn people into toads. Only a few can ride on brooms. Some spend their whole lives chasing after echoes of past glories — not too much different from a certain disillusioned aging salesman, really.

But we’re still here. Barely.

Some of them are like me: hiding in broad daylight.

The problem with living in isolation is just that — you’re alone. When a witch hunter, angry mob, or the most likely possibility, another mage comes a knockin’, there are only so many things one mage can do. Some mages have embraced modern solutions and do their talking with bullets. Or, in the most famous example, loading up a Russian cargo plane full of plastic explosives and chemical weapons then flying it straight into a wizard’s tower.

The plane won, by the way.

Most proper mages are aware of the organizations one may join, namely the Mage’s Syndicate, but nobody goes out of their way to collaborate. There is only so much proper magic to go around.

Even within families, spellcraft is only taught to the most promising individuals — typically the eldest. There’s no point in scions with half-assed education and a split Sigil.

My grandmother told me that I wasn’t good enough to be the heir. “As of today,” she said, consoling me in the comatose days after the incident, “you’re going to be the new scion. The root has already taken hold — but some changes will be made. I hope you’re strong enough.”

I always wondered what ‘new scion’ implied. My parents surely weren’t mages — they were as mundane as mundane gets if my life with Erika is anything to go by. Grandmother never talked about the other parts of her family; such was the level of secrecy within our ranks. For the longest time, I believed I was her only descendent.

Now I’m having some doubts. There could only be so many people that could interfere with the leyline boundary established within this town. One can only interact with others' magics if they are aware of the techniques behind them. The only reason I can remotely understand the process behind Erika’s magic is because she’s marked me.

Plus, apparently I have talent as a witch. The few others I’ve met have all told me that they’ve “never seen anything like my magic.” The four might have all colluded to give me the exact same backhanded compliment, but who’s keeping track? I’ve been able to pass most trials without too much of a sweat with unconventional methods.

“Perhaps you’ll be the one to reach the miracle,” Grandma said, one summer night. “After a lifetime of research, I do believe we’ve been going in a very roundabout way of reaching them.”

Proper magic, in the truest sense of the term, is synonymous with miracles. For the ones never dare reach towards the weave, a miracle is the closest thing you can get.

For most, reaching a miracle is the culmination of many generations of research, selective breeding, corruption, and murder. A proper witch wouldn’t hesitate to commit unspeakable atrocities to reach one of these miracles — plenty have done their fair share of nausea inducing deeds. And, one way or another, these people will meet their ends.

Miracles are not something modern humans can handle. Not even the syndicate can get their hands on them — any who have tried have died. Rumors are that some of the masters command miracles, but they kill anybody who finds out what miracle they have.

These contradictions are commonplace in the world of witches. I am no different.

Publicly, I am a slightly eccentric girl with a delinquent streak. Two nights ago, I was a monster. These parallel existences are forced to coexist — not too much different from a serial killer or vigilante, but the cost of discovery is so much worse.

The witches of this world are protectors and destroyers. Inventors and imitators. Saviors and murderers.

Public access to magic would certainly lead to the end of the world. Or, at least, the end of humanity as we know it. According to some theories, many parallel worlds have already met their ends after overexposure to magic before they could reach the modern era. It’s our job to make sure our world doesn’t meet a similar fate.

That’s why I need to get rid of the mysterious witness before it’s too late. I stare at the scuffed flip phone that belonged to the man I murdered — I’ve burned the offender’s phone number into my retinas.

If I don’t get rid of them, somebody else will. And depending on who catches wind, there might not be an Sapphire Isle left after they’re done. No, there definitely won’t be.

It shouldn’t be too difficult just getting rid of a few people. People disappear all the time for reasons much smaller. All it would take is a single flick of the wrist; all it took to get rid of that man — a poor fool who stumbled into something he shouldn’t have. How many more times would I have to do this?

All of these idle thoughts bounce around my head as I waste the predawn hours sketching out another magic circle in my workshop. This one doesn’t even do anything. It’s a messy combination of various thaumaturgy scribbles; I started out trying to recreate the basic glyph of summoning that had previously catastrophically failed, but the night sidetracked my thoughts.

I was trying to summon a proper familiar to assist me with spellcasting, but to put the matter in suitably local terms, I had let the grenade cook a little too long. The damned thing went off because I forgot to activate the circle in the morning and left me with nothing but stains that took a full week to get out of the hardwood.

My hands began drawing idle doodles after I zoned out at some point in the night. I’m not exactly the kind of person that can just sleep easily after murdering somebody in cold blood. Something from within kept gnawing at me, even though I didn’t really think about it; the act felt wrong. I had crossed a line of no return, walking deeper into the unknown.

Mhm. Perhaps that’s what’s been keeping me up.

I’d like to think of myself as a smart person, always with a plan for the next few steps in the future. I know what I’m doing most of the time, despite my mistakes.

The events of last night had irreparably pushed the clock forward, and I’m completely unprepared for what lies ahead. I still rely on Erika’s conditioning to keep my circuits extended beyond their base forms, and casting anything beyond my basic brute force blast requires her continued guidance. And suddenly, I’m going to be going up against actual mages. Wizards. Other witches. They’re after a secret so hidden that even I don’t actually know what’s hidden underneath my feet.

I tear my gaze away from the half-baked circle on the ground and slap my cheeks to get the energy back into myself. “Alright Marie,” I tell myself, “You’ve gone without sleep before. Act normal. Be normal. You’re nearly an adult, so you should act like one.”

But for some reason, I don’t really feel that pepped up. Everything just feels strange and distant — the sensation of being lost in a dream. My second-wind of sleep deprivation hasn’t kicked in yet.

“C’mon Marie. You’ve got this. You’ve only got one job today — hunt down one person’s phone.”

I stumble over to the shuttered window of my workshop and pull up the shutter. A sliver of sun winks at me, covering the spotty skies with gumdrop burbles of orange and pink.

A sudden ache returns to the right side of my head; my bad luck premonition migraine is acting up again. It turns the otherwise picture-esque oceanside vista into a smear of oversaturated colours and subtle spirals that twist the boundary between sea and horizon.

I may as well be looking at a ruined painting.

Aniya has the strangest look on her face when I see her during second period. It’s like she’s looking at animated trash.

“Dude,” she says, covering her nose. “I can smell that shit from here.”

We are sitting around our clubroom; a lab repurposed with a bookshelf and a few comfy chairs. Aniya sits across from me on a ratty blue recliner we looted from the storeroom. Between us, a plastic table with three biohazard canisters I picked up from the convenience store.

I hold the last container in my hands, a black and blue container of some off brand energy drink I can’t even bear to look at. It’s medicine, I remind myself. Medicine never tastes good. Especially when the pharmacy down by third street refuses to sell caffeine pills to minors.

“Bleh.” I stick out my tongue and feel the drink’s cloying gummy acidity linger on my breath. Feels like I just ate a battery. “It was two dollars for the pack,” I say, crinkling the can in my hand.

“Two dollars?” Aniya squirms in her seat, then decides to pull her sweater over her nose. “Is that the price of bioterrorism these days?”

“This is the price of power.” I raise the can like a jester’s skull. “To sip, or not to sip? That is the question.”

“Shut up, you goof.” An expertly thrown crumpled paper ball whizzes by my head. “As vice-president, I’m afraid I’m going to have to enact a quota on literary quotes per week. Two maximum.” Aniya clasps her hands together and bores into me with her gaze.

I roll my eyes. “Alright, Ms. executive power.”

Aniya closes her eyes and breathes in, all too satisfied with herself. “It’s for your own good, Marie. Especially if you’ve been reduced to discount energy drinks.”

“Aww.” I consider my can. May as well get the hard part over with.

I chug the can. The nauseating piss-yellow liquid hits the back of my throat like formic acid; I can feel each drop searing my throat. When I finish shoving the rest of the cursed fluids into my body, my stomach is already organizing a rebellion; it’s trying to stab me with amoeba sized bayonets. But the drinks are working their magic — I almost feel lucid.

“Seriously.” Aniya slips into her overly caring voice. “I get really worried about you sometimes. Most days, you show up acting like a living corpse. Gotta take better care of yourself.”

“Bah.” I place the can with the other four; my heart feels like it might rebel next. But for now, everything is under control. “We’re about to graduate, right? We can do whatever we want after that.” I yawn, then pull up my knees to my brown recliner seat. “Dunno about you, but I’m gonna take at least a few months as a professional napper.”

“Don’t make me move in with you.” Aniya pouts; an expression I’d never thought I’d see on her. “I swear, I’ll take time off to take care of you if I have to.”

It may just be the exhaustion thinking, but Aniya’s statement strikes a chord of epiphany in my rotting zombie brain. “Have you always cared this much about me?”

I only get a roll of blue eyes for my question. “Of course I have, idiot. You’re the only dumbass I can act the way I want to with.”

My sleep-deprived brain fails to comprehend her words fully. “Bluuuuuuuuh,” I say, burying my face in my elbow. I’m still tired as hell — I swore to myself that this would be my recuperation time before I start searching.

“God, you’re such a dumbass, Marie.” Aniya groans; I can almost feel her exasperation. “But, I guess that’s why I like you. You always make me feel better about myself, relatively speaking.”

I look up from my elbow — Aniya has a wistful look.

In a few weeks, we wouldn’t be able to hang out like this anymore. There’s no guarantee that we’d be able to go to the same university, or even follow similar paths in life.

In many ways, Aniya is my polar opposite. She’s well groomed, outgoing, good at talking, and honestly, at least three times better looking than I am. I’m not entirely sure why she continues to associate with me, but hey, I pride myself on not sweating the small things.

Maybe she’s already missing me in advance.

An idea suddenly comes to mind. My lips curl up in a smile. “Hey. Can I fill our quote quota for the week?”

Aniya is already crumpling a piece of scrap paper in her hands — lab exam leftovers. “Go for it.”

I hem and haw my throat clear, then close my eyes. “So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the—”

The second paper ball nails me between the eyes.

I arrive at third period, only to find an empty classroom.

There isn’t a single soul; all the tables and chairs are misaligned, like everybody just vanished into thin air. But everybody’s bags are gone.

“Huh.” I glance around curiously — I know I’m five minutes later, but labs shouldn’t leave until ten minutes after the buzzer.

The schedule whiteboard is definitely clear: this is Mr. Pelchat third period ‘Super Exciting And Definitely Not Boring!’ science class. I double check my phone and the classroom’s clock. 10:43 and 10:41, respectively.

Nobody is here. In my four years of high school, Pelchat hasn’t missed a single class. He is one of those enthusiastic teachers, the kind that can actually instil a lifelong obsession with science in an impressionable young mind. And since he’s still in his twenties, he still technically has his youth cool kid card.

My sleep deprived mind is struck with awe. I just stand there, staring at the dirty windows and messy blackboard. It looks like somebody was drawing in chalk on the board, but has since erased their message.

There is a strange stillness in the air — the kind that only occurs when the ventilation turns off. It’s the kind of stillness that only comes when it does; an abrupt break from anything sensible. The classroom’s clock ticks all too loudly in the new silence, screaming out each second with a mechanical spasm.

“Guess class is canceled,” I mutter to myself, walking away from the abandoned classroom.

“Pelchat’s wife called in sick,” says the little old secretary.

I never learned the old lady’s name. She’s always been the little old secretary lady to me, the eternal guardian of the school’s pencil box offices. And she’ll probably stay that way until I leave this place.

But another thought intrudes into my mind. I knock my knuckles against the plywood counter; I can barely see the little old secretary’s hair bun from my height-disadvantaged angle.

If anything, this is a turn of events in my favor. I rummage around in my jacket’s pocket and touch the scratched up flip phone from last night.

“Pelchat married somebody?” I wonder a little bit too loudly. “Poor gal.”

Both the little old secretary lady and another grey-haired teacher look at me with mild distaste, the latter of which leans out from a tiny cubicle to my left. I know I should probably feel a twang of shame, but I feel nothing.

“You shouldn’t say such rude things, young lady,” the secretary says. “When you grow up, you could offend somebody. It’s unbecoming.”

The words go in one ear and out the other. “Yeah, sure. Thanks.”

I wander out of the office, clutching my forehead. The bouncy thrum of another headache is doing gymnastics in my brain; a double twist with a tucked salto. The pain is starting to piss me off, which is only making my headache worse.

I don’t know why my head hurts this much. I’ve never dealt with such constant pains — it feels like somebody is trying to pry their way into my head with a crowbar. Mental crowbar of centipede legs and endless static electricity.

Then, as suddenly as it came, it’s gone. I find myself marooned in the seemingly endless grey and teal tile river of the school’s hallways, resurfacing back to my mind. My fingernails dug so hard into my skin that they left little crescent marks in my palm — can almost see my blood vessels bursting.

I can’t go on like this.

I head over to my locker, lucky number #1412, and crack open the combination lock. My spare gym shoes and pencils and laying in a neat pile on the bottom; I reach to the very back of the top shelf and pull out a bottle of nobrand ibuprofen.

Three pink lozenges tumble into my hand. It won’t be much, but it might help with the pain.

Just as last night wasn’t a nightmare, today is not a dream. I’m aware enough to realize that much.

Witches need to be aware of their inner world to tap into their magic. There can be no dissonance between outside and inside; one must know their body and mind to utilize it.

I thought I managed to conquer my headaches, but it seems like I’m wrong. It all started on that rainy day, underneath my blue umbrella. It began with a dream so distant that it may as well not be mine.

I pull out the scratched flip phone and open it to a cracked home screen. Then I notice that my fingers are trembling.

I’ve been in this situation before. I don’t know why, or how I’m even feeling these emotions, but I’ve definitely done this before.

I take a deep breath and close my eyes, watching the faraway snowflakes and chaotic swirls behind my eyes.

“It was the same kind of day, huh?”

It is only natural for the knight to slay the dragon. This is how all the stories have gone in history, in fiction, in legend; the hero always wins and the status quo goes on.

That is, until Felix plays his final card.

A rimeblight dragon swoops in from the heavens, piercing through an unblockable field of magical darkness set upon a cursed land. The dragon is a thing of scintillating white, of winter’s final furies — and with a ferocious breath, it destroys the final guardian knight and annihilates the enemy’s fortress.

Adrian throws down his cards and raises his hands in defeat. “Alright, fine, you got me. I just started playing this dumb game, anyway.”

“Losing is losing, chump!” Gabriel laughs heartily, repeatedly smacking Adrian on the back. “You’s a sucker, sucker!”

Adrian makes loud noises of protest — and Felix ends up snickering at the smaller man’s misfortune.

Even if the rest of the cafeteria is looking at the trio like they crash landed in a UFO and began playing a satanic card game, they’re off in their own world of fun. As Gabriel said when they barged in and commandeered a prime-spot table: who cares?

“Man,” Gabriel says, wiping a small tear from the corner of his eye, “You lost against a pauper deck. A ten dollar p-a-u-p-e-r deck!”

“Just the luck of the shuffle,” Felix says. He taps his deck against the table, straightening out the cards. “Don’t feel down about it.”

Adrian grumbles as he shields himself from Gabriel’s assault. “The deck was only seventy bucks.”

That only gets Gabriel more riled up. “Seventy bucks!” he shouts, almost manic with glee. “We’ve got Ishmael in the flesh, because he just ‘pooned a whale!”

“I’m surprised you even know who that is, muscle head…”

The group settles down after more few minutes of revelry. They get to the actual intended purpose of a lunch break and start chowing down. Gabriel has whey-shakes and cauldron of brown rice and chicken. Adrian has a finer feast; a tin of pâté to go along with baguette slices and two salads. Felix has nothing.

Gabriel and Adrian exchange awkward glances as they slowly chew on their food.

“You sure you don’t want anything?” Gabriel says, offering a piece of chicken.

“I’m good,” says Felix. He barely feels the hunger; it’s a tiny mouse gnawing through his intestines.

Gabriel wiggles the pale white chicken slice a few more times, then shrugs. “Well, let me know. I’ve got a feast in my locker just in case. Y’know. Athlete things.”

For once, Felix does not need to look at his watch. He always used it as a paranormal activity detector, but the need has since waned. Instead, he yawns and chews the inside of his lower lip.

Sleep was a fleeting thing yesterday. He recalls stumbling tiredly into the church, getting berated by Jules, getting carried to bed, then suddenly waking up without feeling rested. It was a four frame slideshow — like all the time had been deleted. But Felix knows that isn’t possible. It must be his own perceptions, as an event such as mass time deletion would destroy humanity in an instant.

“I need to get more sleep,” Felix yawns, resting his head in his arms. “I thought I’d get more sleep in a sleepy town like this.”

“Sapphire Isle doesn’t sleep some days,” Adrian notes. “It’s a tourist trap. We know it. The locals know it. Hell, even the tourists know it. And, frankly speaking, I don’t intend on staying in this dead-end trap for any longer than I have to.”

Gabriel raises an eyebrow. “Broadway?”

“No, Hollywood.”

“Damn. Lofty goals.”

“Not really. No way in hell I want to become an actor.”

Gabriel takes a noisy sip of almost-liquid paste. “Why else would you want to go to Hollywood?”

Adrian waves Gabriel off with a flick of his fingers. “Family business, y’see? Big shoes to fill.”

“Is that why you’re eating like a goddamn bourgeoisie every day?” Gabriel reaches over and snatches up the pâté can. “Says here this shit was imported. Damn dude. Straight from France.”

“You can have some if you want.”

“Hum.” Gabriel stares at the can, then at Adrian, then at Felix, then back to the can. “Fuggit.”

Felixes watches Gabriel take a huge gob of pink paste on a tiny crumb of baguette and inhale the thing. The athlete’s face twists in initial disgust, but gently smooths over to a thinking expression. “Damn,” he says, chewing with his mouth open, “that’s rich. Decadent.” He smacks his lips twice. “Tastes like poetry in paste format. Damn. Never thought I’d ever say that.”

Adrian looks like a proud parent who finally learned his son learned how to appreciate oil paintings. “I know, right? Shit’s good.”

In times like these, Felix is content to merely sit back and watch. Others can and always will take the lead in conversation. The reactionary approach is perfectly fine; nothing wrong with just sitting by and letting things happen.

It’s peaceful. His mind is calm. There is nothing to worry about. If the fates only allow a brief respite, then he will take it for all its worth.

“How much was this? Might pick up one of these,” says Gabriel.

Adrian puffs out his chest and grins. “Twenty dollars a can!”

Silence. Then, Gabriel’s eyes nearly pop out of his head. “Twenty dollars…? TWENTY DOLLARS?” His voice goes up several octaves. “You mother f— Twenty dollars!? You spend twenty dollars a day on this shit? You know what you could buy instead? You…!”

Gabriel lurches over and grabs Adrian by the shoulders. He starts shouting nearly incomprehensible insults and half-stutters into the rich boy’s face, visibly spasming from wealth class shock. Both are going hard into theatrics; Gabriel’s voice turns into a yoyo and Adrian is letting himself flop around like a ragdoll.

The show gets another chuckle from Felix. Some of the other people are starting to laugh at the absurdity of three boys who should have never become friends.

But something else happens that drags his attention away. Felix hears it first; he glances over towards the windows. At first, there’s only a faint oscillating whine that fights against the wind. Then it gets louder and louder, shrieking until the cafeteria’s windows rattle. He can’t quite see what’s going on fully, but the dark forest surrounding Reyes Cooper lights up with multiple blue and red lights.

Sirens. Ambulance.

And as Felix tries to peer past the glass, he briefly wonders if jinxes are real too.

An ambulance pulls up to the school’s front as I’m interrogating some of the freshmen; some dudes dressed in teal scrubs come rushing out with a stretcher suspended between them. They rush past me and the hustle through the big entrance doors.

A rush of swears jumble into my tangled mind; the first comprehensible thought that comes is trying to figure out if my query laid some sort of trap for me. A distraction, perhaps. With the general populace distracted, they could come from anywhere and blow my head off with a single well placed shot. Then I realize I should probably go investigate further before coming to any silly conclusions. Or, at least, take myself out of sniping range.

I disregard the freshmen I was previously attempting to interrogate for phone numbers and end up wandering inside after the paramedics.

Like vultures, the student and staff have created a perimeter of bodies around the emergency workers. I approach from the eastern wing of the school, push near the front, and peer underneath the arms of two muscle-heads.

A black-haired girl lies on her back in the hallway, completely unmoving. The first responders hands crawl around her body like teal frogs. She appears to be completely unresponsive; the paramedics look at each other with grim exasperation.

One tall paramedic stands up and glares at the crowd and barks, “Out of the way!”

The high-school students, having mostly dealt with demanding teachers, crumble at the presentation of somebody with actual authority. A clutter of students flatten themselves against the hallway in time for two paramedics carrying the girl on a stretcher to rush through. A single cop is left in the wake; he’s just standing there looking as confused as the rest of us.

“Get back to what you were doing,” he says, glancing around. “If anybody saw what happened, stay around please.”

It takes a few moments for the words to reach the rest of the kids. They look at each other, speed through a rebellious ‘screw the police’ phase, and wander off. The staff debate among each other with nods.

“You heard the man,” one teacher says.

The rest of the stragglers leave. That leaves only several teachers, extra curious students, presumably the worried friends of the girl, and me.

The cop hasn’t set up a police line yet. As he deals with the students badgering him for answers he doesn’t have, I sneak a look into the classroom everybody is standing outside of.

Disorganized desks. Half-eaten lunches. Blood on one desk in the corner.

A single glance tells me what I need to know. Call it witch’s intuition.

Ether lingers in the air; the faintest trace of witchcraft. Even though my circuits aren’t activated, I can almost sense a trail coming from the bloodied desk to the hallway. Judging by the streak of red, it looks like she was bleeding from her nose. Maybe her mouth?

A firm hand catches me by the shoulder. The cop gives me a gentle shake and a disapproving look. “I know this is a tough situation, but keep your distance. I need to investigate.”

I straighten my back and nod, feigning sadness. “Ah, sorry…”

The girl’s actual friends are staring at me, realizing that I’m not part of their group. A few moments later, and they start to whisper to each other. They must have realized that I’m the rumored Creepy Science Lady of Reyes Cooper.

“Don’t mind me,” I say, shoving my hands into my pockets as I walk away.

My hand touches the scratched phone. My enemy is growing brazen; an attack like that in broad daylight is a ridiculous thing. You may as well have shot a gun in the middle of a police station and declared your violent anti-establishment intentions. I don’t know what my enemy can do just yet; if last night was any indicator, things are about to get real messy.

I grip my actual phone and hit the only number on the speed dial. Desperate times call for desperate measures, as they say.

“Wasn’t that Ren?” asks Adrian.

Felix, Gabriel, Adrian, and several other students watch the paramedics shoving a black-haired girl into the back of an ambulance from a second-story lounge.

“I’ve seen her one or two times,” Gabriel says, scratching the back of his neck.

“She was in a coma,” Felix observes.

The other two look at him like he’s lost his mind.

“Glasgow Coma Scale,” he explains. “Eyes open despite the wind. No observable verbal response. No motor response. Severe.”

Gabriel raises an eyebrow. “Where’d you learn that?”

“Just some stuff I picked up,” Felix says. He rests his hands on top of his head and breathes out. “Who was she?”

Adrian looks around, making sure the other kids are out of earshot, then places a hand on his chin. “Ren was… is a nice girl. She was a sophomore, hung out with the theatre kids once in a while.” He narrows his eyes at the now departing ambulance and presses his lip with his thumbnail. “Think she was also part of the occultism club.”

Gabriel whips his head so fast towards Adrian that it looks like his neck might snap. “This school has an occultism club? Why?”

“Don’t ask me, man. It’s hearsay.”

“But, like, why? That wiccan shit is creepy as hell.”

“Maybe they were trying to summon a demon?” Felix suggests.

Adrian frowns and throws up his hands. “Ain’t nice to gossip.” A brief communal silence. “That being said,” he continues in a much quieter voice, “I’ve seen a few of their meetings. They always mess around with the obliseks scattered around town.”

Black obliseks. Pillars of black glass and metal. Felix has seen more than a few of them in his time in this small place. He’s previously noted that the time discrepancies seem to all but disappear near them. “Isn’t there one right in the middle of The Ridge?”

“Yeah,” says Gabriel. He glances over his shoulder, back at the forest around Reyes Cooper. “Wait. I thought those were just decorations for the tourists?”

“They’ve been around since the first iteration of Sapphire Isle,” Adrian says. He looks at the same direction as Gabriel. “Which, honestly, doesn’t make much sense to me. The natives wouldn’t have had the tools to create things like that, nor would the first settlers.”

Another bout of silence. Felix meditates on what he’s learned thus far, besides the things he’s vowed to forget. Time itself seems to fluctuate within this region. If the dilations stop in proximity to the obelisks, wouldn’t that imply they are anchors of some sort?

Gabriel’s eyes brighten. “Oh, aren’t obliseks meant to protect from storms? Like, through some mystical magical focus?”

Adrian raises an eyebrow. “Isn’t that a bit far into the realm of fantasy?”

“Hey man, just saying.”

Suddenly, a crackle of static fills the hallways. The students cease their chatter; they look up to the loudspeakers, a Pavlovian reflex. “Attention, students of Reyes Cooper Academy. After some deliberation, we have decided to continue with classes for the day. Please return to your classrooms for the fourth period.”

The lounge releases a collective groan.

“Shit,” says Gabriel. He looks at Felix apologetically and rubs the back of his neck. “Got practice today. Wanna head out tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” Felix says. He gives a thumbs up, then relaxes back into the beanbag chair. “Gonna grab a nap here.”

“See ya later then, bud.” Gabriel and Adrian grab their bags and start shuffling off with the rest of the students. Just before they turn a corner, Gabriel swings his arm around Adrian’s shoulder and grins like a devil. “Now, about your deck… next, you’re going up against my gremlin build…!”

The crowd leaves, leaving Felix alones with his thoughts. He rests his head on an impromptu bead headrest and breathes a sigh through his nose.

The skies are scarred by brushstrokes of cirrus clouds; a perfect blue scraped by wisps of white. He could get lost in the endless expanse, were it not for the restrictions of his body. A mortal anchor, both trapping and rewarding him with the fleeting gift of life. When was he born? When did he come into being? His passport and birth certificate describe a certain date of February 21st, 1982 as his date of creation. But that can’t be right. It feels wrong.

Felix is not entirely a slave to his desires. He knows he’s for a reason, even if he himself cannot remember that reason.

Normal people don’t have a pathological obsession with the passage of time. He is definitely aware of that. But like a sentient puppet on a string, he is unable to act when the invisible strings drag him through the dirt.

Self. The mental construct that allows one to realize themselves in a mirror. Consciousness. The awareness of one’s surroundings and circumstances and the ability to make decisions. These are the two things that, arguably, allow one to be human. Yet Felix is aware enough to realize that his mind and soul and body are disjointed things, like a jigsaw puzzle forced to fit together. Will he remember this exploration of his mind in a day? A week? Or are his thoughts merely doomed to slip through his fingers, just as the days and nights elude his memory?

Then, as he’s on the cusp of some introspective breakthrough, his flip phone buzzes in his jacket’s pocket like a trapped bumblebee.

Perhaps the answers will reveal himself with time. He looks at his phone, notes the name, then raises the thing to his ear.

“Marie?”

The voice on the other end does not respond. Complete silence.

Felix sits up and scratches his forehead. “Marie? What’s up?”

“How did you know it was me?”

Cold, aggressive voice. Out of character for Marie. Honesty might be the best policy here, Felix muses.

“Gabriel gave me your number.”

“I need to talk to you about something after school.” A pause. “Meet me by the front gates at three. You can do that, right?”

Gate of Ivory. Gate of Song. Gate of Clouds, Ice, Stone, Diamond, and Moon. The jagged wick of intrusive thoughts brushes by and bursts his bubble of lucidity. Perhaps she would be the one to lead him to the gate.

“Can do. What for, though?” Felix asks.

“I’ve got something I want to ask you in person. I’ll be waiting. Cheers.”

Click. The call ends abruptly, snipped by an antsy thumb on the dial pad.

Nervous. Anticipating. Dreading. He could hear all those things in the few lines he exchanged with the green-eyed girl.

Felix rests his head back against the beanbag chair, wrestling with his own thoughts. Since when did he start to have these strange thoughts? Was he always like this?

Why does it seem like Marie holds all the answers in her unnatural eyes?

His past comes back as a fractured stream of random thoughts and bubbles of information. Perhaps merely being around a strange girl like her was enough to awaken something within his mind.

Slowly, as he closes his eyes, Felix reaches into the darkness, feeling around for the invisible strings connected to his body. But just as he suspects, there’s nothing on the physical level — only the sweaty creases of his calloused palms and the lick of recycled early spring breeze.

The rest of the day goes by as normal for me. Physics, Chemistry, History; I lose myself in my thoughts as I listen to the finer points of thermodynamics and basic economic theory.

Of course, I already knew this information. I’m no straight-A student — far from it. I’m the dumb kid who falls asleep in class because they’re a little bit irresponsible and a lotta bit apathetic. But the basic rules already came up during my tutelage in magical theory. It’s not that hard to generalize the same stuff to mundane subjects.

“Energy can neither be created nor destroyed,” says a bald dude with a nice checker-pattern bowtie. “It can only change forms.” He points to the other three laws of thermodynamics he’s scrawled onto the blackboard in the worst writing I’ve ever seen and nods like a bobblehead. “This is the first of the most important laws in all of physics.”

Aniya nudges me in the side from the seat adjacent — her fingers tickle as she hits a weak point between my ribs.

“Mweh,” I mutter, raising my head from behind my book fort.

“This class sucks,” Aniya murmurs into my ear. “This dude’s just reading directly from the textbook.”

True to Aniya’s observation, this dude is indeed reading from the advanced placement textbook. And he is doing a pretty great job of reading verbatim from a book you could bludgeon somebody to death with.

We are stuck in an advanced placement class. Logic dictates that the smart kids would be thrown into an entire program dedicated to cultivating academic talent, but Reyes Cooper wasn’t big enough for that. Instead of a proper course, we get a random dude every week who gives us a one week crash course in an assorted topic. This week’s dude is one set of suspenders away from being a door-to-door Jehovah’s Witness.

Not that I’ve ever had the fortune of having somebody knock on our door. The only religious folk ballsy enough to knock on Schwarz Manor’s door are the people from the damned Closure Point church. And it’s always that damned corrupt nun — Aniya’s half-sister.

I reiterate my joke out loud to Aniya and that gets me out of her bubbly wheeze-giggles. She covers up her mouth with her textbook when the Physics Dude shoots a glare in our direction — there are only ten people in this particular advanced placement class, half of which happen to belong to the science club already. We snap to our practiced Good Student looks and pretend that we aren’t just a pair of stupid teenagers having a giggle at superficious features like somebody’s poorly chosen outfit.

It works. We shut up and communicate vague feelings through prods and glances until the period end bell frees us from our boredom.

The gang quickly gathers in our little corner beside the motivational poster pin board and the dented gunmetal grey filing cabinets across from the cracked windows. There is a fine layer of fluffy mountains on the horizon past the trees and the blocky outlines of the city, a granite shaded storm front carried on seaward winds. Looks like tonight might suck, too.

Gabriel and Adrian give us a staredown as we perform our usual ‘hang out for 10 minutes then pitter into the hallways and chat as we go home’ ritual. They look like religious inquisitors looking to burn us on a stake.

“What was so funny?” Adrian asks, raising an eyebrow.

Gabriel crosses his big beefy arms and says, “You can’t hold out a joke on your bros like that.”

I cross my own arms and match the big intimidating bastard. “It wouldn’t be very funny if I told you now.” Then I kick up my feet on the desk I’m sitting at and smugly stare at the two boys.

“Yeah, but the law of conservation of comedy still applies. If it’s funny enough to make Miss-Stick-Up-Thine-Ass over here giggle in the middle of a lecture, it has to be pretty good, right?”

Aniya winces. “Hey.”

I check my flip phone and note that I’ve got a whole twenty minutes to burn until 3 PM. So I can indulge in a little bit of tomfoolery before I have to abandon my friends.

“Listen,” I say, “half of comedy is the timing. You can’t tell a joke without pausing for emphasis on the punchline. You’d be British if you did that.”

“It’s not like the British invented dry humour,” Adrian adds. Then he looks up at me quizzically. “Wait.”

Gabriel strikes a grandstand pose and motions to the air above our collective heads. “Timeless jokes are as thus: in this world, there are axioms in the realm of comedy that will never not be funny. Terrible jokes are merely one example of the Laws of Comedy. You cannot escape the Laws of Comedy.”

“Somebody’s been reading too much fantasy schlock,” Aniya mutters.

Gabriel is one of those types of people who have a talent for theatre, yet have fortunately not realized it. I can already see the half an hour tirade about comedy cut with his own terrible opinions on jokes so unfunny that they become funny again.

“Fine. You got me.” I clasp my hands together and deliver the Jehovah’s Witness joke with baffling incompetence.

It has the intended effect. Gabriel’s arms slump to his sides and he just starts almost-pouting like a five-year-old trapped in an eighteen-year-old’s body. With way too many muscles.

“Wow,” he says, “you butchered it.”

Even Adrian, the sometimes quiet guy, delivers a scalding review: “Yeah, no, that sucked.”

I shrug. “Perhaps I have a true mastery over the Laws of Comedy. The mystery of funny has already been deciphered.” I throw up a ridiculous pose: one palm covering my left eye.

“That would explain why you’re so unfunny all the time,” Gabriel says.

Ouch. I swallow the urge to throw the nearest object at him and continue with my bit. “That’s right. I use my mastery of the Laws of Comedy… for evil. No joke is sacred, for I will defile every single last one with my power! For this is the path I must follow, as I am the—” Another pose struck, evil grin on. “—Joker!”

Gabriel and Adrian look at each other, raise one eyebrow each, then look back at me.

“You’re going to get dinged by copyright,” says Adrian.

“Too cliché,” says Gabriel. “There’s already, like, at least four people with that name already.”

“Shit.” I shove my hands into my jacket’s pockets and mope. “I thought the character was public domain already.”

“Technically, the character on the back of a deck of playing cards is public domain. Not the character.”

Gabriel throws up his hands and looks away. “I don’t want to mess with no DC lawyers. Leave me out of that.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Aniya giving me an appreciative sidelong gaze. Even though I’ve made myself look like an absolute buffon, I’ve managed to divert the conversation away from her. She seems to appreciate the gesture, my self-sacrificial gambit. And the boys are none the wiser.

I smile. “If I’m going down, the rest of you are coming with me.”

They cast their gazes to the wind, thoroughly defeated in our localized game of wits. Girls 1, Boys 0.

This is day to day life for us. An impossible group of friends who have no reason to hang around one another. Somehow, we conglomerated into a group of friendly idiots who do this kind of shit on the regular.

Exaggerated acts. Ingenuine expression. That was the core of our friendship. A group of actors concealing our true selves.

Gabriel, a genius pretending to be an idiot. A boy too afraid to commit to his true beliefs and runs his mouth to cover it all up.

Aniya, a fragile girl pretending to be tough and resolute. She is strong because she doesn’t know how to be anything else.

Adrian, a social butterfly floating endless from group to group, friendship to friendship, ever seeking a home.

Mundane struggles, hidden guilts.

I am the most guilty out of all of us. In ten minutes, I will murder one of my classmates in cold blood; I will kill them remorselessly, shamlessly, silenetly. Last night, I plucked my first life. Today, my second. When will I take my third? My fourth? How many will fall to my stained hands?

We are all at a crossroads in our lives.

High school, in a sense, is the most insignificant time in our lives. For those of us wishing to move on, this is merely a stopgap between now and our futures. Every moment we spend with each other is an ephemeral moment destined to be lost to age.

That’s why. That’s why I’ll treasure each and every one of them. That way I can keep my head held high as I trudge towards my destiny. Every stupid word, every stupid thought, every stupid joke is endlessly valuable to a sham like me. Most mages never even get to experience little fragments of joy like this one.

Just like always, I hang out with the gang, spewing irreverent statements as fast I can think of them. I try to enjoy the time we have together, but I can’t escape the looming thought of the end. As I walk towards the front gate of Reyes Cooper Academy, the realization that I am walking towards my destiny dawns upon me.

Through empty hallways. Through worn teal and glass gates. Through the defiance of fate.

I will not look away from the future; a future wreathed in vertigo and flame.

The front gate of Reyes Cooper is, rather predictably, crowded by students who are waiting for the bus. I have to lurk in the shadows to prevent anybody from noticing me.

I am not a person with a subtle appearance. If I had really tried to conceal my appearance, I’d be a plain and ordinary girl who would be lost in a crowd in an instant. But modern sensibilities and the advent of clothing sales have corrupted my sensibilities — I am a girl with a bright white jacket, sandy blonde hair stained with coal, and blazing green eyes.

Yet even as I wait in the shade of the bike racks, I still hear a few guttural whispers.

“Is that her? Why is she behind us?” “Is Marie going to put a curse on us?” “What is she doing with her eyes? What is she looking at?” “Who is that with her?”

These rumors are entirely my fault. If I had a better sense of self control, I’d never be in my current situation.

Not helping is the presence of Erika to my left. She had come out of the parking lot and took a seat beside me, nursing a black umbrella that matched her gothic black dress perfectly. It’s the kind of encounter that forces a bystander to slow down and wonder if they’re in the middle of a movie set, though most aren’t brave enough to actually mention anything about Erika beyond a hushed whisper.

We communicate wordlessly. Both of us already know exactly what we’re here for — exchanging words would be useless.

Erika found something important enough to leave the manor and tell me. Meanwhile, I’m searching through the mass of students for a single boy.

Slowly, the crowds of students filter into their assigned buses to the city. Bus 8 takes half of the crowd. Bus 5 takes half of that half. Bus 2 takes a dozen stragglers. Bus 4 takes exactly three kids into its air conditioned and cushioned interior.

That leaves exactly three people waiting at the bus stop.

The lone straggler leans against a nearby flickering street lamp, eyes closed in deep contemplation. His watch is helped up in front of him, as though he is reading the numbers through his eyelids. Then, he cracks open a single eye and looks at us.

“Oh, hey, Marie. Didn’t notice you until now. How’s it going?”

Gray doe eye and fluffy matching jacket. The boy that does not belong.

I regard Felix with a roll of my eyes and a step off the bike rack I was leaning against. “How long have you been waiting here?”

“About thirty minutes.”

Thirty whole minutes. This guy sat around doing nothing but daydreaming for thirty whole minutes. I can’t tell if I’m supposed to be insulted or impressed.

“Alright. I’ve got a question for you then — Mr. Pelchat asked me to check in on you again. So. What have you been up to?”

Felix smiles warmly and steps towards me in turn. “Nothing much, really. I’ve just been out and about.”

“...Anything of interest?”

“Besides the research mission? A few things. I’m happy enough.”

“Enough?”

“Oh yes.” Felix clasps his hands in front of his lap and nearly bows to us. “I’ve seen many worthwhile details since I’ve arrived in this town — and I’ve been thinking a lot.” He nods. “I want to thank you, Marie.”

“Thank me for what?” I say, unable to prevent the question from spilling from my lips. I really hadn’t done anything for Felix. I don’t think I’ve even spent any time making conversation with him outside of token boredom chats.

“You’ve given me the time to hang out with your concurrent companions. For that, I must thank you.”

I really, really didn’t do anything. But I don’t vocalize that thought — I just keep staring at the boy in practiced disbelief.

“I’ve really gotten into the fantasy board game role playing this as of late,” he continues. “I don’t think I would’ve found a group to join without your help.”

“Okay. Nice.” I nod, as though I’m understanding his train of thought. But I don’t.

“I’ve been thinking a lot since I’ve got here, and I guess I wanted to thank you for a few things.” Felix puffs out his chest a bit and offers a nearly apologetic smile. “I’ve taken your cafe recommendation to heart. Been really enjoying the job there, too. One customer keeps writing her number on tips, which devoids the value of a five dollar bill, but I really appreciate the gesture. This wouldn’t be possible without you.”

Wait, did this guy — is he really this dense? Did he really completely ignore a customer that was flirting with him, just to thank me for it?

A single response fumbles past my lips. “What’s all this coming from?”

He shrugs. “You look like you’ve been really tired for the last few days, so I figured that you might need a bit of pep talk.”

A pep talk. This is the most ridiculous thing I’ve heard all week. “Do I look like I’m in the need of a pep talk? Come on. I’m practically vibrating with excitement.”

I’m not sure why I’m having this ordinary conversation with Felix. I’ve confirmed that he was the employer of the enemy mage from last night — it only took a single phone call. This kid isn’t some chessmaster planning three steps ahead, he’s just a guy who’s curiosity got the better of him. He saw something that he shouldn’t have seen. And now, he’s going to die for it.

But that brings up a better question: how did he know about my ritual site? I am not willing to accept that his interference was a coincidence — it was too convenient for that. There has to be something. Anything.

Now that I’m staring this doe-eyed kid down again, I don’t know why I bothered asking him out here. It’s not secluded enough to take him out. Too many vantage points and potential witnesses.

What did I expect? Did I want one last conversation with him, the boy that got on my nerves for seemingly no reason?

A sudden wind blows from the eastern forest, beating against our jackets and ruffling our hair. Felix looks back towards the road and shoves his hands in his pockets. “I’ve actually gotta get going. So, if you’ve got anything else—”

“Before you go, I’ve got a question for you. Say, if you owned a dog that bit somebody who was acting suspicious, would you put it down?”

I stop, realizing exactly what I had said. It’s rare for impulse to take over — and even rarer for me to speak without candor.

A thinly veiled allegory is not something that usually, if ever, comes from my lips.

Felix stops and purses his lips. “Isn’t that what the courts are for? I’m sure there are many different court cases to reference for a deferral—”

“No, like, imagine if this was in the middle of a forest or something. No courts. No laws. Just you, a dog, a dead stranger, and a gun.”

“The… suspicious guy is dead now?”

I fumbled the details. “Yeah, sure. The guy is dead. His throat was torn out by the dog.”

“If I were in a forest with a dog, then we’d be lifelong partners. Dogs are smarter than we give them credit for — they used to be wolves, you know? So we’re both hunters, in a sense. Brothers in predation.”

Felix answered without hesitation. He looks upon me with a gentle smile, as though he delivered the most natural aesop in the world.

“But is it really okay for the dog to get away with murder? What kind of world would we live in if people were allowed to do that?”

To that, Felix ruminates for a few seconds more. “The only people who can decide if a murder was in self defense or not are the living.” Then, with a nod, a glance at his watch, and a farewell, he departs down the dark forest road. Back towards the city lights beyond the darkness.

And I’m stuck to the bike rack, staring helplessly, running through the things that I could say to that. I wasn’t quite expecting him to answer my question with a philosophical statement, nor a sudden departure. My lips produce soundless words to the disappearing figure of Felix, silent stutters of flabbergast.

Eventually, I roll my shoulders in resignation. He did have a point — only the living could decide what the truth was.

I’m probably overthinking this whole thing in retrospect. I am a mage, first and foremost, before anything else. This grace period in my life would end sooner or later, and I’d rather take the plunge of my own volition.

Erika steps forward and places a heavy hand on my shoulder. “Seems like you’ve been busy over here. Better luck than I’ve been having.”

“Yeah. I have. Busy messing up.”

I stare as hard as I can into the distance, then grab my head and groan in frustration. That damned kid knows how to throw me off my game every single time. If he gave me a real answer, I would’ve probably found a way to justify dusting him on the spot. But he didn’t.

“He was our guy.” I place my fingers on Erika’s cold hand and look towards her. “He wasn’t very good at hiding — the hunt was a lot less climatic than I expected.”

“I didn’t sense any mana from that guy.” She gives my shoulder a gentle squeeze, then rests her hands on her nape. “Even the fraud of a mage from last night had a spark of mana — his circuits were barely functioning. But that kid? Nothing.”

So Felix was doing all of this without even a preliminary knowledge of the arcane. There’s something wrong with that boy, something beyond my feeble comprehension.

“Want me to take care of him? I bet I could chase him down and make sure he disappears for good. All you need to do is ask.”

Erika was never one to shy away from dirty work — in all the time I’ve been with her, she’s revelled in the violence that comes with defending our territory. She could clean up this entire mess with a snap of her fingers, quite literally.

I’m the one that’s supposed to keep her in check. But right now, I’m feeling in the mood to hunt myself. I suppose I’ve been overthinking this whole thing. It won’t matter soon, anyways. When I leave the world of the mundane, none of this will matter.

That’s why I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate that I’m unable to make a decision — this isn’t like myself at all. Where was the me from last night that was able to kill without a single shred of remorse?

Felix is docile, like a deer unwittingly wandering onto a highway. It’s not guilt that is bothering me. So what’s that awful gnawing in my head?

“You’re muttering to yourself again,” Erika says. Her comment drags me away from my clouded thoughts and back to the reality in front of us.

We are one and a half witches, standing outside the Reyes Cooper academy. And we just let our mark go free — we can’t let him walk away. If he starts running his mouth, people much more unfortunate than us are going to show up. And nobody wants that.

“We’ll get him tonight,” I say. “I’ll set everything up. Plenty of abandoned places around town.”

“You’re the one who’s learning. I’ll do anything you say.” Erika steps in front of me and regards me with the same emerald eyes that are embedded firmly in my head. It’s almost like looking into a mirror — a twisted, distorted mirror. How cruel. “And so you know, those creatures from last night? I’ve hit a dead end with tracking them down. There’s another caster in this city. We have to watch our next moves very carefully.”

The events of last night are still more or less a fever dream to me — her words evoke the headless haunts that initially interrupted our ritual. But those creatures were kinda pathetic; the mage with a gun was much more intimidating to me.

“First things first,” I decide. I step past Erika and begin trotting down the same road Felix went down. I can already tell that Erika took the fastest route here instead of driving. “We get the pebble out of our shoe before considering the big problems.”

In a single blink, Erika catches up. She’s beside me again, looking at me with barely concealed anticipation. “Where and when?”

“The only place we can get some privacy. The graveyard of capitalism.”

Felix was eager to do anything I said. Getting him to come along to a certain place wouldn’t be too much trouble.

As I walk on the long road back to the manor, where I would prepare for the job, I find myself grinning. If I had a mirror, I’m sure that I would find not the grin of a human on my face, but the sneer of a domesticated wolf, ready to taste fresh meat for the first time in its life.