Science and Sorcery (7 page)

Calvin would have groaned, if he had had the energy.  He knew that their lessons were taking place in dreams, rather than face-to-face, but he still felt tired.  Harrow seemed relentless, however, and some of the spells she was outlining for him promised to be very useful.  The ability to make himself invisible, the ability to influence a person’s actions, the ability to spy on someone...oh, he could imagine all
sorts
of uses for
that
spell.  Whatever qualms he might have had about it had faded away as he realised just how much Harrow’s enemies had stolen from the world.  He could have been one of its masters if they hadn’t drained away the
mana
, destroying their own civilisation out of spite. 

“We will be meeting every night until you are ready to free us,” Harrow said, afterwards.  It felt as if they’d been training for years, yet he had the feeling that he’d barely scratched the surface of what was possible.  The
mana
levels, Harrow had said, weren’t high enough to support some of the greater acts magicians had carried out in the forgotten past, but it was only a matter of time.  Calvin was already planning his personal tower.  “And now, I suggest that you have some fun with your new spells.  Just remember to be careful how you use them.”

She snapped her fingers and the dream vanished.  Calvin jerked upright in bed, suddenly very aware that he was tired.  A quick glance at his watch revealed that it was 4am, and yet he was utterly exhausted, mentally if not physically.  His head was spinning and, now he was fully awake, he could sense the
mana
flowing through the air.  In a way, the ebb and flow of
mana
was almost beautiful. 

It had happened.  He had no doubt of it, not after remembering what had happened to Moe. 
Mana
was real, magic was real and Harrow, his tutor, was real.  Oddly, he felt a spurt of affection and respect for Harrow that he had never felt for any other teacher, even the one who had taught him how to read.  Perhaps it was receiving her full attention, or perhaps it was because she actually made
sense
.  Few of his other teachers had been so capable.

He was tired, but somehow he managed to pull himself out of bed and stagger into the bathroom, driven by an urge to test out at least one of the new spells.  Closing and locking the door, he turned on the light and poured water into the sink.  Harrow had warned him that the spell required concentration and a small amount of
mana
, but unlike some of the other spells it wasn't prone to damaging anything if it failed.  Carefully, he dipped one finger in the water and closed his eyes, concentrating on a single thought.  When he opened his eyes, he found himself looking down into Marie’s bedroom.  A shiver ran down his spine as he realised that he’d succeeded, completely.  He was living one of his dreams.

Marie had been one of the girls he'd known from elementary school, but she’d barely even known he'd existed.  She had a reputation for having done everything a girl could do at high school, rumours that Calvin had been quite prepared to believe.  Like far too many girls, she had fawned over the football jocks and acted as though they were gods on Earth.  He peered into the bowl and caught his breath as he saw her tossing and turning in her bed.  Her nightgown covered her breasts and groin, but he saw enough of her legs to know that rumours didn't lie.  She was enchantingly beautiful.

Calvin felt his heartbeat racing as he stared at her, feeling lust and desire burning their way through his mind.  It was suddenly very hard to think clearly as Marie twisted, exposing her upper thigh and the lower half of her bum to his gaze.  The blood in his brain washed elsewhere, just before she moved again and her nightgown slipped, exposing a nipple.  Calvin lost concentration completely and felt the spell dissolve into nothingness.  The water in the sink was steaming slightly, hot enough to scald someone if they plunged a hand into it, but otherwise there were no signs of what he had done.  No one would
ever
know what he had done.

Carefully, he pulled out the plug and allowed the water to drain, before creeping back to his bedroom and climbing into bed.  The tiredness had returned in force, urging him to sleep, even though visions of Marie’s body were dancing in front of his eyes.  It was easy to believe that the jocks had seen more of her, but he found it hard to care.  There would be time enough for exploring the rest of her body later.

Smiling, he drifted off to sleep.  There were the other spells he wanted to try, including some that promised to be even more fun.  Who knew what would happen in the morning?

Chapter Seven

Washington DC, USA

Day 6

Golem looked down at his notes, feeling something he suspected was akin to human frustration.  Four days of research in a public library had answered some of his questions, but the answers had somehow opened up
more
questions.  At least he’d been able to charm the librarians into leaving him alone, allowing him to remain in the library overnight.  Unlike a human, Golem didn't need to sleep, any more than he needed light to read books. 

Two of the librarians were also researchers, or so they’d explained, and it had been simplicity itself to convince one of them to assist him.  The other had a trace of magic, enough that Golem had decided to keep his own magic quiet around him, even though he suspected that the librarian didn't have the slightest idea of what he could do.  There was so little magic in this world...no, he corrected himself, there
had been
so little magic in this world.  Right now, all the reports his researcher had found for him in local newspapers – and something called the internet – suggested that the magic was definitely coming back.

It was odd that werewolves had been the first to discover what their ancestors had been, thousands of years ago.  Golem actually suspected that the modern world had a mental block when it came to considering magic, judging from the tone of the first news reports; it was quite possible that magic had been coming back for some time, only to be ignored until it became impossible to avoid.  Some reports actually suggested accidental magic, including a vague report of three kids being burned to death at a school. 
This
society didn't think to test its children for magic at an early age, nor did it segregate mundane children from those with magical talents until the latter had learned control.  Someone – accidentally or otherwise – had managed to trigger a spell and killed three children.  It wasn't the only unexplained death over the last two weeks.

The real question was what, exactly, should he do.  Enchanter hadn't given him very specific instructions, pointing out that the world might be very different and any instructions might become invalid.  The only real order Golem had been given had been to protect the world against the Thirteen, an impossible task unless he received help from other magicians. 
Human
magicians, those with the ingenuity to do more than recite spells by rote.  Enchanter had bent or broken a great many rules when he’d created Golem, but he hadn't given him a human soul, or a spellcasting ability equal to a trained human mage.  In hindsight, that might have been a mistake.

It was clear that the locals didn't have the slightest idea of what was actually going on.  The news reports on politics made that clear, even though the news appeared to be hideously slanted one way or the other.  Golem had read an article attacking the President and praising one of his political opponents, and then another article that did the exact opposite.  It made no sense to have a system which seemed to work by throwing mud at the other side in the hope that
something
would stick.  Maybe a human could have understood it, but Golem found it strange and unworkable.  And then there was the endless series of political codewords, none of which made any sense at all.  Why didn't they just say what they meant?

He’d have to talk to the local government, but to whom?  Back when he’d been created, anyone could go petition the local king for an audience, yet it didn't seem as if the President allowed visitors from the common folk.  Golem suspected that he could break into the White House, but there were so many technological surprises in place of the familiar wards that he doubted he could do it undetected.  Enchanter had designed him to be indestructible, yet Enchanter had never dreamed of machine guns, laser beams or flying objects that flew under their own power.  No, he would have to find someone else to talk to, and quickly.  Matters were already getting out of hand.

A final possibility had occurred to him, one that bothered him more than he wanted to admit.  His time had had almost no technology; magic had handled almost everything.  But...what would happen if science and magic started to collide?  It was easy to imagine spells that would damage technology; indeed, it
was
possible that the presence of
mana
had been deterring the development of science.  What would happen now that the
mana
was flowing back into the world?

He stood up, picking up his notes and stuffing them into a bag he’d taken off a thug who had tried to rob him.  Any footpad from back home would have known better than to try to steal something from a clay-man, but these footpads didn't even have the ability to sense magic, let alone the glamour that hid Golem’s true face from watching humans.  He’d snapped the man’s legs and stolen everything in his pockets, along with his bag and coat.  No doubt he would learn a few lessons as he crawled to hospital.  The healers here seemed to be far more capable than non-magical healers had been back home.

One report had attracted him, so much that he’d read it time and time again.  A policeman, armed with one of the strange
guns
, had killed a werewolf.  And that should have been impossible; werewolves could be killed by silver and fire and beheading, but not tiny slugs of metal.  Unless, of course...lycanthropy wasn't the only magical condition that might have been passed down from the era of magic to the return of
mana
.  It was just possible...

With a new objective in mind, Golem strode out of the library and headed towards the river.  There were some spells he had to cast, and then he'd know where to look for the policeman.  And if he was lucky, he would have his first ally.

***

“Charming place,” Matt muttered.  He’d never been on a military base before, even when he’d arrested soldiers who had been caught drinking themselves into a stupor, or fighting with protesters who thought that the team ‘peaceful protest’ included throwing insults, stones or even brandishing live weapons.  “Do you really think we can do some good here?”

“I very much hope so,” Caitlyn said.  She sounded on edge too, as if there was something wrong about the building.  But then, Matt had
never
liked hospitals of any sort, even when he’d been escorting wounded arrestees to be treated before taking them back to jail.  “My boss had to call in a few favours to convince the hospital director to allow us to experiment here.”

She grinned over at Kaleen, who looked back at her nervously.  Matt wouldn't have taken her for an EMT if he’d met her in the streets; she looked barely sixteen, with long dark hair that framed a brown face and a rather shy smile.  But she was a qualified doctor who had been working in an emergency department when she’d discovered that she could heal the sick simply by laying hands on their wounds.  She’d reported her powers, proved them to a whole series of sceptical doctors, and then found herself forwarded into Caitlyn’s care.  Matt was mildly surprised that she hadn’t been scooped up by one of the hospitals in Washington, perhaps the one that handled the President, but perhaps they were still doubtful of the long-term effects of her treatment.

“Welcome,” a voice said.  Matt had expected a military doctor to be in uniform, but he wore a white coat over a white shirt and trousers.  The only thing about him that suggested the
military was the ID badge he wore on his coat.  “I am Doctor Hamish Watson.  Is this the young girl you mentioned?”

“Yes,” Caitlyn said briskly, as Kaleen shrank away from Watson.  “I understand that you have patients who need treatment?”

“Right this way,” Watson said.  He led them down a long white corridor and into a small office.  “You do understand that whatever happens here cannot be discussed outside the building without my permission?”

“I understand,” Caitlyn said.  “I’ll copy you into my report and you can edit it, if there’s anything classified inside the paper.”

Matt had a different question.  “What made you so eager to invite Miss Patel here?”

Watson studied him for a long moment.  “There was an...
incident
at a nearby military base,” he said, finally.  “We have four men who were wounded, one quite badly.  I heard about Miss Patel and thought that she might be able to help them.”

He opened a second door and led them into a small ward.  The first patient was lying on his side, one leg covered in bandages.  A pair of attractive nurses were feeding him from a bowl of mush, something that he didn't seem to like at all.  Matt caught his flat stare and knew, instinctively, that this was a very dangerous man.  Kaleen seemed to recoil away from him before plucking up her courage and stumbling forward until she was standing by the side of his bed.

“Training accident,” the soldier grumbled.  “Some REMF faggot managed to fuck up his gun and put four bullets through my leg.  I’ll kill him when I get out of here.”

“Try to heal him,” Watson said.  “His grumblings are driving everyone else insane.”

The soldier actually grinned.  “I try, sir,” he said, mischievously.  “But I guess I’ll never play football again.”

Kaleen ignored him, her fingers touching the bare skin beside the cast.  “We’ll have to take it off,” she said, bluntly.  Matt watched in some amusement as the shy persona was pushed aside, replaced by someone who could remove a cast without difficult.  The soldier sucked in his breath as she exposed the flesh underneath, and then pressed down on it with her fingers.  A tingle ran down Matt’s spine as he sensed...
something
flowing around Kaleen, reaching down into the wound and slowly healing it.  The soldier let out a gasp as his leg twitched once, and then started coughing.  Kaleen stepped back and admired her handiwork.

“Try to stand up,” she ordered, holding out a hand to help him to rise.  The soldier tottered slightly, but otherwise remained upright.  Doctor Watson was staring at Kaleen in absolute disbelief, as if he hadn't really believed the reports when he’d read them.  “And I...”

Kaleen staggered, slightly.  Matt caught her before she could hit the ground, while Caitlyn produced a chocolate bar from her handbag and passed it to Kaleen.  The experiments had proven beyond all doubt that whatever Kaleen did – they’d started to call it healing, for want of a better word – cost her energy.  No one was quite sure how her talent worked, but no one could deny that it
did
work.  And who knew what else might be just waiting to be discovered?

“The next patient was wounded in an IED explosion in Afghanistan,” Watson said, when Kaleen had finished the chocolate bar.  “We patched him back together, but there are wounds and scars that we cannot deal with quickly.  I thought that you might like to try.”

The next healing went as simply as the first healing, although it was clear that it cost Kaleen plenty of energy to heal two people so quickly.  Watson insisted on running a few tests, including x-rays, only to discover that pieces of shrapnel that had lodged themselves inside the IED victim’s body had disappeared.  There was no clear sign of where they’d gone, but they certainly didn't seem to be life-threatening any longer.  The third soldier had lost an arm completely, thanks to a terrorist sniper in Afghanistan, and had been waiting for an artificial replacement.  Kaleen started to heal him, but then collapsed on top of his chest and had to be rushed to a bed herself.  Matt couldn't help wondering if they’d overstrained her before Doctor Watson pronounced that she’d simply depleted her body’s natural reserves of energy too far.  All she needed was rest and an IV containing an energy solution.

Leaving Caitlyn to take care of Kaleen, Matt wandered forward, guided by an instinct he didn’t fully understand.  The military hospital had dozens of tiny rooms, each one holding one or two patients, but his senses led him unerringly to the last room in the corridor.  Peeking inside, he saw a middle-aged man reading a paperback book with a picture of a young lady wearing Victorian dress on the front.  Oddly, there were airships flying through the sky behind her. 

“Come on in,” the man called.  Matt couldn't see any wounds on him, but he guessed they were probably covered by the hospital robe.  “Did you bring me any smokes, or booze?”

“No,” Matt said.  The sense of
wrongness
was growing stronger.  “I’m just visiting the hospital.”

“No one brings me anything,” the man bemoaned, with a sly smile.  He held out a hand and Matt shook it, gravely.  “Specialist Joseph Buckley, 3
rd
ID.  I go to Iraq and don’t get scratched; I go to Fort Hood and get bitten on the bum by a oversized mutt some idiot brought into camp.  And then they insist that I get sent up here for observation.  I think the CO must have realised that I was buggering his daughter on the side.  What did you do to get sent up here?”