Scene 4 - October 28th

Interior Coulton Library - Early Afternoon

Quinn Kaufman

A few days later, I was at the library doing some research for this week’s Metahuman History course. We were each assigned to pick one figure from early metahuman history and write a paper about their lives and impacts on today’s society - I had chosen Aaron Atwick. I was skimming through Atwick’s Argument, a biography of the man which alternated between chapters telling about his life and chapters relating that portion of his life to parts of his most famous theory, when he had proved that 20% of metahumans used magic.

It was the kind of book I would love to read for pleasure, but as a source for a research paper, I had to admit that it left something to be desired. The biography chapters were too fictionalized to be used as sources, while the science portions were too split up. Still, I was resolved to at least finish skimming, and intended to check it out to read properly later.

After a few more minutes, I set it aside and turned to the next book I had pulled from the shelves, Scientific Sorcery, another biography of Atwick which was ought to be less fictionalized. Before I could open it, though, a familiar figure sat across from me.

“Quinn!” said my friend Devon Durandel brightly, setting down a thick sheaf of papers. “It’s nice to run into you. How are you doing?”

I smiled at them. “I’m doing...” I trailed off, then shook my head. “No, I shouldn’t lie. I’m at a real turning point here, Devon, and I don’t know what to do. Everything feels like it’s up in the air, and I don’t know what to do.” I gestured to my own stack of books. “I’ve been throwing myself into schoolwork to try and avoid thinking about it, but it hasn’t helped much.”

They nodded. “I know how that is. I did something similar when I was starting to come to grips with being nonbinary - I thought if I kept myself busy those thoughts would go away, but...”

“...but they keep breaking in,” I agreed. “It’s a real pain.”

“Sure is,” they said, then took the first paper off of their stack. “Well, I’d be happy to try and give you advice if you’d like. If you’d prefer silence, I need to read these papers.”

“Advice would be nice, but... maybe in a little bit,” I said. I needed to figure out exactly how much I was going to tell them. “Let’s try distracting me at least once more. What papers do you have there?”

“I’m doing research for a patient with a particularly stubborn type of Alzheimers,” they explained. “I can’t give you identifiable details, obviously.”

“Of course.”

“That said, I can tell you it’s a tricky situation. It’s not any of the most common types of the disease - the hospital’s magical healer can treat those just fine, if slowly. It’s some kind of odd variant that hasn’t been seen before.”

“Already troublesome,” I commented. “Do you have any idea why?”

“Some,” they said. “The patient in question apparently has decades of exposure to magical artifacts, which may have affected their genetics or even caused them to build up a resistance to magic.”

“Have you tried contacting Arthur Peregrine?” I asked. “Greatest magician and greatest healer in the world, he might have some ideas.”

“That insight was the result of contacting Peregrine,” Devon informed me. “I’ve been treating this patient for three years, and sent a message to him about a year and a half ago. He only just got back to me, along with suggestions for studies I should look into that might help me untangle the magical mess.” They patted the stack of papers. “Therefore...”

“I assume the patient can’t afford Peregrine Hospital?”

They shook their head. “No. There’s an anonymous donor who’s paying for their stay at NV General, but their pockets don’t run nearly that deep - or they’re not willing to, for an Alzheimer’s patient who still has at least a few years longer. I’m told the family is trying to raise money for it, but...”

I nodded. “Not an option right now. So this magical mess is keeping the magical healers from being able to treat it?”

“It’s keeping them from diagnosing it properly, too. So we’re stuck with conventional methods, which have never been all that successful for Alzheimer’s, let alone this weird variety.”

“That sucks,” I commiserated. “I hope you can find an answer for this guy.”

“So do I.”

We fell silent, each returning to our reading.