A Wizard of the White Council (3 page)

“I see,” said Arran. “So this nation is called the United States of America?” The old man nodded. “What is the name of this…city, then, if this is a city?” 

“Hell, you are lost. We’re in Cicero.”

Arran nodded. “So this is the city of Cicero?” 

“Sort of. Cicero’s a suburb of Chicago.” Arran frowned. “You know, a suburb? A little city attached to a big city.”

“Ah,” said Arran. He nodded. “So this is the city of Chicago in the United States of America.” The information was not much, but it was better than nothing. 

The old man’s brows creased in a deep frown. “You’re serious, aren’t you? You’re not pulling my chain?”

“You have no chain to pull.” 

The old man shook his head. “You must not be right in the head. Are you sick? You lose your mind?”

“No,” said Arran. “I’m looking for someone.”

“Who?”

“Two people, actually. A boy named Lithon Scepteris and an old man named Alastarius.” 

The old man grunted. “Never met either of them, so far as I remember.” 

“Then I will continue to look.”

The sidewalk intercepted with a broad black road. The old man stopped, staring at metal pole topped with a glowing red light on the far side. The light looked like the burning eye of a winged demon, and Arran’s hand twitched toward his sword. The red light winked out and a green light lit up beneath it. The old man grunted and started across the road.

“You a vet?” said the old man. 

“A vet?”

“You know. A veteran.” His voice thickened. “My brother and me, we were in Vietnam together. I came back with a bullet through my knee.” Did the people of Earth fight wars amongst themselves with guns? “But my brother didn’t come back at all. I was lucky. A lot of guys got it worse than me. Never learned to deal with it.” He gave Arran a fixed glance. “You look like a vet, one of the guys who never learned to deal with it. Were you in Iraq or Afghanistan?”

Arran closed his eyes. “I do not know any of these places. But yes. I have been in war. More than I care to remember.” 

The old man grunted. “Here.” He handed another of the small green letters of credit to Arran. “Buy yourself something to eat. And a shower. You really could use it.”

“What is this?” said Arran.

“Twenty dollars,” said the old man. “You really are addled. You want to come with me? The hospitals are a joke, but there are places where they can help you.”

“A dollar, you said,” said Arran. “What is a dollar?”

“It’s…you know, a dollar. A hundred pennies. You buy stuff with it.”

“So it is money,” said Arran. “Listen. I am not quite what you think I am. But thank you for the aid. And for the answers. It is more than anyone else has given me thus far.”

The old man gave him a sad nod. “That’s how it is for us vets. We have to stick together.” He held out his hand, and Arran shook it. The old man shuffled down the sidewalk. 

It seemed the people of Earth had likewise suffered from the guns and bombs.

Arran watched the old veteran go, and then resumed his exploration.

Chapter 3 - Regent

Anno Domini 2012

“Right. Um. So…right. Where was I?” The instructor, a young grad student in jeans and a ragged t-shirt, paged through the notes piled on the lectern. Ally rolled her eyes. “Now…uh…the science of the art of appreciating music. Music is, uh, an art. So is listening to music, too. But it’s a science...ah…also. A precise one. Like making a clock that…um…makes noise.” He turned a page and managed to spill his notes all over the front of the lecture hall. “Oh…damn, damn it.” Those few students still paying attention laughed. The instructor squatted and began scooping up his notes. 

Ally made up her mind to drop the class. 

She suppressed a yawn, fighting her heavy eyelids. She had stayed up too late last night finishing an assignment. The second week of school and she already had homework. 

She wondered how Mary was doing. Mary had found part-time work at a bookstore. At Katrina’s recommendation, Mary had gone to a tech school for systems administration. Granted, Mary didn’t know anything about computers beyond solitaire and Facebook, but maybe she would learn. 

The grad student restarted his lecture, and Ally gave up trying to stay awake. She closed her eyes and began to doze. 

Images flashed through Ally’s mind, one after another.

She lay bleeding in a courtyard of cold stone, flames rising up all around her. Pain shot through her body in agonizing waves. A winged nightmare of shadow and wickedness landed above her, iron claws reaching for her…

Ally groaned and shifted in her seat.

She stood on a dead plain of gray stone and dust. A colossal tower of black stone loomed over the plain like a citadel of nightmares. An old warrior walked besides her, two swords hanging from his hip, a small boy riding in his shoulder harness. 

The image changed.

Ally ran, clutching the boy in her arms. Legions of demons chased them through a vast vaulted corridor. A door of black stone loomed before her. Fear hammered in her heart. She had to reach the door…

The dream blurred. 

Now she stood in a kitchen. Katrina and Simon sat at the table, Katrina younger and Simon thinner than she remembered. A grim-faced man in a suit stood over the table, leaning on a long black staff. Ally could not take her eyes from that staff. Power crackled just beneath the black wood, and words of white fire crawled up its length. 

The kitchen door exploded. The man whirled, raising his staff. A great dark beast leapt through the door, claws digging grooves in the linoleum…

Ally gasped and jerked awake, sweat beading on her face. The students had begun to file out of the lecture hall.

Ally had slept through class.

She climbed out of her seat, dug a drop form from her backpack, and walked to the podium. A long line of students had formed up by the desk. The instructor scribbled signature after signature. Ally joined the line.

She reached the instructor and put the form before him. “My reason for leaving is…”

The instructor scribbled a signature on her form and handed it back to her without looking up. 

Ally went on her way. 

At least had gotten out of class ten minutes early. That meant she had time to get to the administration building, drop off her form, and eat lunch before her next class. Though the necessity the drop form annoyed her. It was 2012, for God’s sake. Couldn’t the university let her do this over the Internet?

She wove her way through crowded sidewalks of the University of Constantina’s campus. Students on bicycles zigzagged through the press, sometimes darting over the lawn. A male student on a battered red moped that looked as if it had been manufactured around 1973 chugged past. Ally crossed the street, hurried up the front steps to the expensive-looking administration building, and went inside. University employees in suits and polo shirts walked through the corridors of the administration building, many of them tapping on iPads in a self-important fashion. A long line of students stood at the door to the registrar’s office. Ally sighed, got in line, and waited. 

Fifteen minutes later she got to the head of the line. A young woman with a severe ponytail in a black business suit sat at a computer terminal. Her nametag proclaimed that her name was Suzie and she worked for the registrar’s office. “Can I help you?”

“Yes,” said Ally. She handed over her drop form. “I’d like to hand this in, please.”

Suzie took the form and laughed. “Oh, yes. Him. I used to date him, you know.”

“You did?” said Ally. “I’m sorry.” 

“Biggest mistake I ever made,” said Suzie. She typed on her keyboard. “Let me just verify this in the system and you can go on your way.” She worked on the computer for a few moments and then frowned at the screen. 

“Something wrong?” said Ally. 

“You are a student here, right?” said Suzie.

Ally nodded. “Yeah. I’m a freshman.”

“Okay.” She typed for a while more. “Um…sure you’re a student here?”

Ally gave her a weird look. “I just came from his class, didn’t I?” 

“Right,” said Suzie. She gave Ally a suspicious look. “You’re not showing up in the system.”

“Did you spell my name right?” said Ally. “It’s Ally Wester.” 

“Is Ally a nickname?” said Suzie.

“No, it’s my name,” said Ally. “Ally Wester.” 

Suzie typed some more. “I’m sorry. You’re not showing up.”

“Why not?” said Ally. “I mean, I’ve got a schedule, I’ve got a dorm room, I’ve got an ID card, I’m taking classes, I have the meal plan, why am I not in the computer?”

Suzie picked up a phone. “I’m going to have to call tech support.” 

Ally sighed and waited. 

A portly man in jeans and a flannel shirt entered ten minutes later. He walked around the counter, looked at the computer terminal, and grunted. “Problem?” 

“Yeah,” said Suzie. “Her record’s not coming up in the database software.”

The IT guy grunted again. “You sure the monitor’s on?”

Suzie rolled her eyes. “Yes, I’m sure the monitor’s on.” 

“Okay. You typed the name correctly? It looks kind of complicated.” 

Suzie glared at him. “I typed the name right, okay? There’s something wrong with the computer.”

The IT guy grunted. “All right. Let me look at this.” He typed for a few minutes, grunting to himself. “Here we are.” He squinted over his thick glasses. “Ally Wester?”

“Yes,” said Suzie, sighing in irritation. “The name on the form.”

The IT guy emitted yet another grunt. “Here we go. Someone deleted her records.” 

“What?” said Ally. “Why would someone delete my records?”

The IT guy muttered something. “Let’s see who performed the deletion before I restore the records from the backup.” He tapped a few keys. “Ah…um…this is interesting.”

“Interesting?” said Ally, craning her neck to see the screen. “Why is it interesting?”

“Unauthorized network access at three AM Saturday morning,” said the IT guy. He scratched at his flannel collar. “That’s…um…not good.”

“So someone hacked into the network Saturday morning to get at my records?” said Ally.

The IT guy shrugged. “To delete them, I guess.” 

“Why?” said Ally. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“How should I know?” said the tech man, still typing. “Do I look like Sherlock Holmes?”

“No,” said Suzie, rolling her eyes. “You really don’t.” 

“It’s weird, though,” said the IT guy. “Hackers usually try to get at the financial stuff, or professors’ hard drives for test answers. No one ever tries to delete their records.” He gave Ally the evil eye. “Unless you wanted to delete some test scores or something.”

Ally rolled her eyes. “Oh, yeah, sure, that’s it. I hacked into the network to delete my test scores. That’d be quite a trick, because I’ve only been here a week and haven’t taken any tests yet!” The IT guy swallowed and glanced at the monitor. “Uh…your records do confirm that you’ve been here for only a week. So I guess you’re cleared of suspicion.”

Ally scowled. “Yes, the records must be correct, because they’re so secure, right?” 

“Um.” The IT guy licked his lips. “Um…I’ll head back to the office, let the network guy know about this.” He beat a hasty retreat out of the registrar’s office. 

“What an ass,” said the Suzie. “Tech guys and music guys. They’re all asses.” 

“Sure,” said Ally. “Could you process my form now?” 

Suzie nodded and began typing. “It should work now…there we go. You’ve officially dropped Music Appreciation.” 

Ally smiled. “Thank God.” 

Suzie put the drop form into a metal basket. “We might have to call you later. I think having your records intentionally erased is a federal offense.” She shrugged. “The tech guys will probably pass it off as a system hiccup.” 

Ally nodded. “Thank you.” She headed out of the office, looked at her watch, and groaned. 

So much for lunch. 

###

Ally took a deep breath, smelling the coffee and the bagels. 

Rows of booths lined the coffeehouse’s walls, while tables stood strewn about the floor. A long bar ran the length of one wall, covered with an impressing array of gleaming coffee-producing machinery. Students sat at the booths and tables, books, notebooks, and papers spread out before them. Dozens typed on laptops. 

Ally had never seen so many berets, goatees, and pink-striped hairdos in one place. 

She made for the cash register. A bearded student in a black polo shirt ran the register, multiple earrings glimmering in his ears and lips. Ally shuddered. She hated needles, and had never even gotten her ears pierced.

“Can I help you?” said pierced student. He frowned. “Are…you okay?” 

Ally stammered. “It….those lip rings…” 

A memory of iron claws ripping through flesh shot through her mind…

The cashier grinned. “You like them?” He fingered a lip ring with a red stone. “I just had this one done last week.” 

Ally shook her head. “How can you do that to yourself?”

The cashier rolled his eyes, his eyebrow rings glittering. “You sound like my parents.”

“I mean, just…just the feeling of metal ripping through your skin. How can you stand that?” Ally began to shiver.

The cashier looked frightened. “You sure you’re okay?” He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Is it a bad trip? Are you having a bad trip?”

Ally’s unease vanished with a laugh. “Oh, God, no. I’m sorry. Just a long day, you know?”

The cashier grinned, his lip rings gleaming in his beard. “Amen and hallelujah to that. So…um…you doing anything later?”

“Yes,” said Ally. “And I’ll take a grilled cheese sandwich, an apple, and a regular coffee.” 

The cashier sighed and took her order. A few moments later she took her tray and navigated through the crowd. She found an empty two-person booth in the corner and sat down, dropping her backpack and the tray on the table. Ally sighed and put her feet up. She had to stop skipping meals.

“Ladies and gentlemen, if I may have your attention!” A male student in a dark suit stood atop a table, waving his arms. He had Wycliffe/Jones and Gracchan Party campaign buttons on the lapels of his coat. 

“You and I are the future of this nation,” said the Gracchan student, his eyes wide and fervent. “We will, one day, be the United States of America. And our future has been mismanaged. Greedy businessmen and corrupt politicians are bankrupting the country, destroying the environment, and plundering your natural resources.” He sounded like many of the other campus radicals Ally had heard in the last few weeks. “Are we going to just sit back and let them despoil our future? I urge you, in the name of all that is good and right, to join the Gracchan Party Students’ Organization.”

A few students cheered. Most ignored him. Ally shivered and huddled deeper into her booth. She remembered her conversation with Dr. Francis and what her parents had told her about Wycliffe. Perhaps Wycliffe had been involved in Katrina’s stay in the hospital or perhaps not. 

She didn’t want to think about it too much. 

“All alone?” 

Ally glanced up. The Gracchan student stood over the table, his eyes gleaming with intensity. 

“Yeah,” said Ally. “I’d prefer to stay that way, too.” 

“But it needn’t be that way,” said the Gracchan student, leaning forward. “The Gracchan Party can build a better future for America.”

Ally rolled her eyes. “Oh, that sounds splendid. Are you going to break out a little red book now? Quotations of Chairman Wycliffe?”

His eyes narrowed. “Senator Wycliffe and Senator Jones are great men.”

“Sure,” said Ally, another retort on her lips, and she froze. 

A shadow writhed around the young student, dancing around his head. The echo of Wycliffe’s voice, strong and powerful and resonant, rang through Ally’s head for an instant. She jerked back into her booth, revulsion spreading through her.

A puzzled look came over the student’s face. “What is it?”

“Just go away,” whispered Ally. The student hesitated. “Go away! Just leave me the hell alone!”

The Gracchan student cringed, fearful of making a scene. He turned and hurried away. Ally sighed and pressed the heels of her hands into her temples. A sharp bolt of pain dug through her mind and then faded away. The dreams were bad enough. But if she was starting to see things in the daylight…

Maybe she really was crazy.

Or maybe she had a brain tumor.

Or perhaps she was only hungry.

“God. I really have to stop skipping meals.” 

She devoured the rest of her lunch. Ally wanted to go back to her room and close the door to keep out visions and Gracchan Party members. She pulled on her backpack, dumped her garbage, and hurried out, ignoring the press and babble of the crowd. 

The early September sun shone bright and clear over the sidewalk. Some of the trees had started to turn, a bit of red and orange threading into the green leaves. A bus stop rested on the corner of the intersection, the bench empty. Ally dropped onto the bench with a sigh. The bus wouldn’t come for another ten minutes at the earliest. So she opened her backpack and rummaged for her homework.

“Pardon.”