Science and Sorcery (16 page)

Layla acted without thinking, driven by a primal instinct that was older than recorded history, if the internet was to be believed.  The rapist looked up as she ran towards him, far too late to escape.  Her hand became a claw that sliced through his neck, sending his body collapsing to the ground and his head flying off into the distance.  The stench of blood, even contaminated blood, drove away what little rationality Layla had left.  She turned as the woman straightened up, trying to pull her torn panties up to cover her modesty, and lunged at her.  The woman had no time to scream before Layla’s fangs plunged into her neck and started to drain her blood.

The sensation was fantastic.  Layla felt herself growing stronger with every sip, as if she could arm-wrestle a bear and win.  Perhaps she could; she knew, on some level, that she was draining the woman’s life force to replenish her own.  Could she turn her into another vampire?  Would one bite suffice to start the process that would change a human into a bloodsucking monster?  Or did it take something more complicated?

Layla started backwards, looking down at the woman’s body.  It looked to have been almost completely drained of blood.  On her neck, the fang marks stood out clearly, a sign to anyone of just what had happened.  Layla knew that she should have felt sick – she’d just killed a human being and drained her blood – but instead she felt exultant. 
This
was what she had been born to be.  She was no longer powerless.  Taking one last look at the body, she turned and walked away, heading back home.  Sunlight, according to legends, was deadly to vampires and she had no desire to test that theory, not yet.  It crossed her mind that she
should
, that she had become a monster, but she banished the thought with ease.  She was something wild and glorious, a creature of the night.  Who
cared
if one or two humans died when she needed to feed?

She was still laughing when she reached home and stumbled upstairs to bed.  Her mother wasn't home yet, thankfully, sparing her the need to explain her fangs.  Vampires were also supposed to be able to influence minds, weren't they?  She’d better hope they could, she told herself, or her mother would know that something was
very
wrong.  And then she might call the cops.

Inwardly, Layla laughed.  She was strong and powerful and
righteous. 
What could the cops do to her?

***

Officer Pasha scowled down at the bodies, using a cup of coffee to warm his hands as the forensic team began their work.  A wandering bum had found the bodies while looking for a place to sleep and reported them to the police, who had dispatched several officers to check the report.  It wouldn't have been the first time someone had called in a false report in hopes of spending a night inside a cell, rather than on the streets.  But the bodies had been real, and they’d been warned to look out for anything supernatural.  The marks on the girl’s neck were alarming enough to prompt the first responders to call for a forensic team in a hurry.

“I think that the girl is almost completely drained of blood,” one of the medics said.  “I’d need a proper autopsy to be sure, but I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Pasha nodded, impatiently.  If this was a vampire, and this wasn't the first reported vampire attack since the magic had started to return, it would have drunk the girl’s blood.  But the young man was also dead, his blood pooled on the ground, and the vampire didn't seem to have drunk it.  Maybe there was something wrong with it.  There was no way to know.

“I’ll inform the chief,” he said, tiredly.  The FBI had issued specific instructions that every case that might be supernatural was to be passed over to them and, as far as he knew, the NYPD hadn't bothered to demur.  No one wanted
this
hot potato in their lap.  “We’ll see if we can get the bodies out before the media gets wind of it.”

It was futile, of course.  By the time they started moving the bodies, a small army of reporters and sightseers had gathered to watch proceedings.  It would be all over the world in a few hours.  And then there would be panic.

Chapter Sixteen

Washington DC, USA

Day 16

The media seemed to be having some problems deciding what it was going to turn into a circus, Caitlyn decided as the car drove through the crowds surrounding the White House.  First, there was Senator Whitehall’s new campaign to bring magic under firm control, which promised political blood in the water before too long, and then there was the vampire attack in New York.  It wasn't the first vampire attack – the first had taken place during the same night the werewolves had appeared – but no one would have known that from reading the newspapers.  Given what Golem had said about vampires and sunlight, it was possible that the first vampire had either been caught outside or had committed suicide. 

“It takes around five days for a drained person to rise again as a vampire,” Golem had said, “and it doesn't always work.  But you need to destroy the body now, just in case.”

Caitlyn had agreed, although the autopsy had turned up nothing out of the ordinary, or at least nothing connected to
mana
.  Matt had developed a sense for magical creatures and he’d reported that the dead body didn't seem to trigger them, but it made him uneasy.  Unwilling to take chances, Caitlyn had ordered the body beheaded, and then cremated.  Nothing should be able to come back from that. 

She scowled as she saw the two groups of protesters, threatening to charge each other despite the presence of hundreds of police officers.  One group thought that Whitehall was entirely correct and that there should be new laws against magic, as well as tough restrictions placed on werewolves and anyone else with magical traits passed down from Golem’s time.  The other thought that such rules were unconstitutional, a restraint on personal liberties, and wanted to ensure that magicians and magical creatures – the Changed, as the media was starting to refer to them – received their full constitutional rights.  On the internet, according to  the analysts monitoring various forums, the debate had already led to outright flame wars and trolling.  It might not be long before the real world debates turned violent.

It was a relief when the car finally reached the side entrance and she walked into the White House, passing through the security check.  The Secret Service had grown a great deal more paranoid after hearing about Voodoo magic being worked in New Orleans, to the point where they had confiscated the dolls from a party of young girl scouts who had visited the White House.  Caitlyn had heard that the President had been scathing about the whole affair, although – oddly – the media hadn't picked up on it.  Senator Whitehall and his campaign presumably made better news.

This time, the Secret Service escort led her upstairs and into the Oval Office, where the President was seated behind his desk.  He looked older than Caitlyn remembered, although that could have been stress.  His Cabinet was not in evidence; the only people in the room were the President’s legal advisor, the National Security Advisor, and General McClellan, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff.

“Thank you for coming,” the President said, as he waved her to a chair.  General McClellan fetched her a cup of coffee, although she wasn't sure if it was courtesy or a simple acknowledgement that the meeting was going to be bad.  “As you can see, the White House is under siege.”

“Yes, Mr. President,” Caitlyn said.  She felt hopelessly out of her depth.  Tomlinson, her superior, hadn’t been invited to the meeting.  What did
that
mean?

“Senator Whitehall has managed to do more than just cause rallies,” the President said, calmly.  Too calmly.  “I’ve had...other Senators bending my ear, demanding that we take harsher action.  Is that even
possible
?”

“I’m not sure,” Caitlyn admitted.  She reached for her briefcase.  “I brought a full report on our findings so far.”

“Give me the highlights,” the President said.  “What do you know so far?”

“We know very little, even with Golem’s help,” Caitlyn said.  The President would have been briefed on Golem’s arrival.  “Much of what he knows is hard to relate to anything
we
know, if that makes any sense.”

The President nodded slowly, so Caitlyn continued.  “
Mana
appears to be an energy field that is responsive to direction from certain human beings,” she said.  “We have not yet been able to produce a system for measuring
mana
in its natural form, but when the
mana
is tapped by human magicians it produced a faint signature that interferes slightly with advanced sensing equipment.  In theory, we should be able to follow up on this to produce a working magic detector.  Right now, however, we are capable of detecting it only at very short range.

“Our best guess is that some DNA is designed to channel
mana
.  Sometimes it allows a high degree of conscious control, creating magicians, people who can concentrate and shape the
mana
at will.  At other times, the use is already hardwired into the DNA, creating the Changed.  There will probably be more Changed as the
mana
grows stronger.

“Exactly how
mana
works magic is still beyond our comprehension.  We know that some spells – for want of a better word – affect human minds, rather than reality itself.  Others, however, seem to be much more...physical.  One of the scientists believes that magic alters reality through a form of quantum manipulation, others believe that it’s really just another tool for manipulating the surrounding environment.  Spells designed to summon water seem to suck moisture out of the air and concentrate it, for example, but other spells seem to do things that are completely inexplicable.  Golem tells us that it is going to get worse as the
mana
level increases.  So far, there have been no reports of people being subjected to baleful polymorphs, but that is going to change.”

The President frowned.  “Baleful polymorphs?”

“Being turned into animals, or objects,” Caitlyn explained.  “Apparently, it’s something of a fetish from when it was safely impossible.”

“I see,” the President said, after a long moment.  “And is there any way we can control this?”

“We’re still working on it,” Caitlyn said.  It had only been a handful of days since the Mage Force had been authorised, hardly enough time to do more than throw ideas at the problem to see what would stick.  Maybe the President had hoped that they would wave a magic wand and solve all of the mysteries at once.  “One of our theorists – Larry Niven, a science-fiction and fantasy writer – put forward a concept from one of his books.  The Warlock’s Wheel basically sucks up all the
mana
in a given region and burns it.  In theory, we could produce something similar and prevent other magicians from drawing on their powers near the Wheel.”

“In theory,” the President repeated.

“We are still experimenting with it,” Caitlyn explained.  “Larry’s book was an allegory about the oil crisis, that non-renewable resources eventually ran out.  In his story, there was no way of replenishing the
mana
.  But our situation appears to be different.  It’s difficult to be sure, but we think that the
mana
, once concentrated and used, fades back into the general field.  The resource might run out.”

“It might keep getting stronger,” the General said.

“Yes,” Caitlyn agreed.  “That is one possibility.”

The President looked up at her, meeting her eyes.  “Do you trust Golem?”

Caitlyn took a moment to put her thoughts into words.  “I think I trust that he is telling us the truth, as he knows it,” she said, finally.  The President lifted his eyebrows.  “But there are some curious gaps in his knowledge.  Most of the spells he knows were learned by rote; apparently, most sorcerers in his world tried to keep some knowledge private, without sharing it with their apprentices.  And he was never a
real
apprentice in the first place.  He knows very little about actually shaping
new
spells.

“There's also the fact that he isn't human,” she added.  “Some human concepts make absolutely no sense to him.  He has accidentally insulted researchers and interrogators without, I suspect, any awareness of why he was being insulting.  When it is explained to him, he remains uncomprehending.  In some ways, he is completely focused on his mission and seemingly unaware of our limitations.  He expects us to study all hours of the day, with neither rest nor food, and then expects the non-magicians to defer to the magicians.”

She shook her head.  “In some ways, it’s like dealing with a child, or someone with a mental problem, and in other ways it’s like dealing with someone from an entire different culture.  We tried to explain the controversy over birth control and abortion to him and he shrugged, utterly unable to understand why anyone would make such a fuss...”

“I have supporters I wish would shut up about it,” the President said, wryly.

“...But, quite by accident, he heard about girls having their breasts enhanced and he was
horrified
,” Caitlyn said, ignoring the interruption.  “Apparently, mutilating oneself – that was the term he used – can cost power, if someone happens to be a mage.  We decided it would probably be better not to mention circumcision to him.”

“A wise decision,” the General said.  He leaned forward.  “We keep avoiding the elephant in the room.  What about the Thirteen?”

“A very good question,” Caitlyn said.  “Golem is
convinced
that they will be returning to the world as soon as the
mana
levels become strong enough to support them.  At that point, we will be facing sorcerers who know much more about
mana
and magic than we do, with the training that allows them to create new spells.  If half of what Golem says is true, we could be looking at the End of Days. 

“The problem is that we don’t understand precisely what Enchanter did to create their prison, or where it might be.  Or, for that matter, if there is one prison or thirteen.  Golem doesn't know the answers to some of the questions or can’t render his answers in a form we can understand.  All we can really do is watch and wait and hope we can deal with them when they are unleashed.”

“Maybe they’re dead,” the General offered.  “They’ve been in prison for at least six thousand years...”

“Golem seems convinced that they did something to make themselves immortal,” Caitlyn said.  She rubbed her forehead, grimly.  “I don’t know if that worked for so long, but we have to assume the worst.” 

“Table that for the moment, then,” the President said.  He looked down at his desk and scowled.  “How bad is it likely to become without them?”

“Bad,” Caitlyn said, flatly.  “The higher the level of
mana
, the more magicians will be able to do with it.  Right now, Golem can perform all kinds of spells for us, including some that affect people’s minds, as well as producing fire on demand.  Later on, there will be spells that allow people to fly, or to teleport, or to cause earthquakes...”

“God help us,” the General said.  “Didn't you mention spying in your reports?”

Caitlyn nodded.  “A magician – a low-level magician – could be spying on us now and we would never know it,” she warned.  “Or anyone else for that matter.  As the
mana
level gets higher, we might see terrorists teleporting bombs into the White House, or jinxing Air Force One’s engines, or...”

“I’m starting to wonder if Whitehall has a point,” the President said.

The General had a more practical thought.  “Is there anything we can
do
about this?”

“Golem has been working to teach our handful of mages how to produce wards that provide a certain degree of protection,” Caitlyn said.  “We should be able to protect the White House and other installations, but...there are limits.  Golem was astonished to discover just how large many of our installations actually are; in his time, they tended to build smaller dwellings to make it easier to ward them against unwanted intrusions.  It’s possible that we will figure out how to overcome the limits, but it may take years before we have a proper handle on the laws that govern magic.”

Her lips twitched.  “It gets worse,” she added.  “The greater wizards of Golem’s time had prescience and forethought, the ability to glance into the future.  If you happened to be a wizard facing a swordsman, it was easy to predict your enemy’s actions and outthink him, or even avert the entire encounter.  Just to complicate matters, if two
wizards
happened to fight, their prescience would be useless.  They’d cancel one another out and everything would become unpredictable.  Golem outlined a story of how his creator watched, in advance, as a thief raided his home, deduced the true nature of the thief from how he’d acted, and baited a trap at precisely the right moment to catch him.”