Amanda locked her eyes into Tom’s. “I want you to know that I really like your daughter, Tom. She’s a really sweet girl. And you’re right...we all knew how nasty Matthew had been to her. And most of the rest of her class, for that matter.” The teacher nodded at Tom’s uniform. “You’re a cop, Tom. You know that sometimes knowing that a person is guilty doesn’t mean you have enough evidence to arrest them, don’t you? It’s the same with bullying. There are times when you know that it’s happening, but can’t do anything about it anyway. Matthew was very clever with what he did.”
The teacher paused for a few seconds. Then she moved closer to Tom and lowered her voice. “I will tell you something I know about Matthew. This is not his first school. And he didn’t change schools because of a move or anything like that. He did because he had to. That’s all I can tell you, though. If you can use this information to help Sasha, feel free to do so. Just please don’t mention it came from me.”
And Amanda rushed off, leaving Tom staring after her.
January 16th, 1998
Tom Clarkson was leaning far back in his office chair with his legs crossed. He was absently gnawing at a pencil while he kept staring at the computer screen to his side. In all his time with the RCMP he had never even thought about using police resources for personal purposes - or worse, a personal investigation. He was sure he could lose his badge over it or at list risk a demotion. But his daughter was facing a much worse fate if he didn’t take that risk. He would rather look for a new job instead of seeing Sasha go to jail.
Having made his decision, Tom swung himself back at the keyboard and typed Matthew Finch’s name into the CPIC police database.
And his jaw dropped.
***
For the second time within two days, Tom Clarkson drove to Sasha’s high school. But this time he didn’t enter the building. Instead, he just waited in his patrol car for the bell to end the last class of the day. A minute after that had happened, dozens of students were flocking out of the building in a constant stream, some alone, some in groups, some smiling, some serious.
When he spotted the person he came for, Tom got out of his car and marched up to him.
“Matthew Finch?” Tom said to the young man, who wore his arm in a bandage and had several band-aids covering half of his face.
The student regarded Tom in confusion. “Yes? Who are you? And what do you want?”
“I am Sasha’s dad. And I’d like to talk to you.”
Matthew snorted. “If you came here to get me to agree to let drop the charges against Sasha, you have wasted your time, Mr. Clarkson. As far as I am concerned, she can rot in prison for the rest of her life. Look at what she did to me!”
“After you kept bullying her around for years, despite she didn’t give you the slightest reason to other than petty jealousy. My sympathy for you is fairly limited.”
“If you think that insulting me will increase chances of me listening to your request, you are mistaken.”
“You’re misunderstanding me, Matthew. Yes, I did indeed come here to ask you for your consent to drop the charges against Sasha. But not as a plea. As part of a deal,” Tom coldly said.
The young man chuckled. “This is getting better and better. You’re going to bribe me or what?”
Tom shook his head. “Nothing of the sort. It’s more along the lines ‘If you agree not to ruin my daughter’s life, I will agree not to ruin yours in return.’”
“What the hell are you even talking about?” Matthew said, a shadow of a doubt shrouding his formerly confident expression now.
“Well, here is my proposal. You go tell the prosecutor that you don’t want to press charges against Sasha. And I will promise you not to tell this school’s parents that your legal last name isn’t Finch. Or that you had three prior drug-related convictions and got expelled just as many times from other high schools for that. And that the only probable reason why you got accepted into this school is that the principal happens to be your aunt. How about that for starters?”
Matthew’s expression froze. “You damn bastard,” he muttered.
“I will take a yes or no for an answer, nothing else. What shall it be?” Tom said.
“Yes,” Matthew pressed through his clenched teeth.
“It has been a pleasure to talk business with you,” Tom said and walked off.
January 30th, 1998
Tom had no idea how many letters he had opened in his life. But he was certain that he had never felt any more joy when receiving one.
Smiling, he carried the document into the living room, where his daughter was on her daily routine of window staring. He wordlessly placed the letter on the coffee table in front of her and left for the kitchen to get a beer from the fridge.
Five minutes later, Sasha stepped into the kitchen, holding the letter in her idly dangling hand. She stared into her dad’s eyes in bewilderment, slowly shaking her head. “How did that happen?” she whispered.
“I have no idea,” Tom said, barely able to suppress having to burst into laughter about his own lie.
Then Sasha dropped the letter and launched herself into her dad’s arms, pressing her head against his shoulders and sobbing uncontrollably.
Tom patted his beloved girl on the back while a tear of joy ran down his own cheek.
Still holding Sasha close, the policeman gazed down to the floor, where the letter had fallen that informed Sasha that all charges against her had been dropped.
January 31st, 1998
Tom reached for the ringing phone with a smile on his lips. He didn’t check the caller ID, and the call wasn’t the reason he smiled anyway. Tom smiled because he had done so for the entire morning, thinking about how his daughter had looked at him last night after she had been cleared of the charges. He knew that he’d never forget it for the rest of his life.
From the other end of the line he recognized the Crown counsel’s voice.
“Good morning Tom,” Vanderbilt said. “I take it that your daughter has received the letter by now.”
“Hi Nelson. And yes, she did. Hell, I can’t possibly express how relieved we all are. Last night was the first in three weeks when Sasha didn’t cry herself into sleep.”
“I can imagine Tom. How is she holding up?”
“It will still take a while for her to get over what she did. She takes it very hard on herself. And we need to think about what she is going to do now. Dropped charges or not, but she won’t have it easy finding a new school willing to take her in. She still has the expulsion on her record.”
Vanderbilt cleared his throat. “Well, this is actually why I am calling you, Tom. I take it that you have read the notice on my letter. The one on the bottom?”
“That Sasha still might be subject to some conditions as set by court?”
“Yes, that one. Did you get your office mail today yet?”
Tom reached to his desk where a pile of unopened letters still waited for him to open them. With one hand he browsed through the stack until he pulled a letter from the prosecutor’s office from it. Pinning the phone receiver between ear and his shoulder, he ripped the envelope open. And Tom frowned, for there was no letter in it. Just a business card.
“Ok, what’s this all about, Nelson?” Tom asked.
“Sasha’s condition is to call the number on that card. That’s all. No further strings attached. Just call. What she does after that is up to her. Have a nice day, Tom.”
And the Crown counsel hung up.
Tom stared at the business card. It was a standard white cardboard with a large silver circle printed on the left side and a U.S. phone number on the right side. No names of either persons or the organization that had issued the card were given.
Confused, Tom pocketed the card.
***
“What is this?” Sasha asked as she stared at the business card.
“The strangest condition ever ordered by a court? Other than that – I don’t know,” Tom said.
?
??Well, a court order is still a court order, Sasha. And I think a phone call isn’t too much asked for, if that’s really all they want you to do,” Laura Clarkson said and slid the phone receiver over the table in her daughter’s direction.
Sasha shrugged and punched in the number after she had set the loud speakers to on, so her parents could listen in.
“Yes?” a male voice said into the other end of the line.
For a second, Sasha didn’t even know what she was supposed to say. “Umm...my name is Sasha Clarkson. I was asked to call you...”
“My name is Peter Vanderbilt, Miss Clarkson. My brother told me to expect your call, yes.”
“Your brother?” Sasha asked in bewilderment.
“Yes, the Crown counsel.”
“Right. So...”
“You’re probably curious what this is all about, Miss Clarkson. So let me explain. My brother has told me that you have certain...talents. And how said talents got you in trouble lately. I believe we can help you preventing this from ever happening again.”
“Call me Sasha, please. And I don’t think I understand.”
“I am the Director of the Silver Circle. Don’t be surprised in case you have never heard the name before. We are not a shady organization by any means, but we still like to keep a low profile. In short, the Silver Circle is an organization that aims to expand and collect magic knowledge of all sorts. And help talented individuals such as yourself to control and enhance their powers. We operate a library, conference and research facilities...and the Academy, of course.”
“So...what exactly is it you’re offering me? An anger management class for mages?”
The man on the other end of the connection chuckled. “Not exactly, although I can promise you that the art of placing your powers under the control of your mind and not your emotions is indeed a part of what we teach. You have barely tapped into your potential so far, Sasha. Your innate gift for magic is actually very rare. Most mages need intensive training to work spells remotely as powerful as what you’re able to cast just like that. But great power also comes with great responsibility, Sasha. Forgive me for the comparison, but right now you are the equivalent of a Neanderthal who has found a machine gun. A tool of great power she doesn’t understand how to properly use. Sure, she might figure out how to use it on her own. But chances are that someone might get hurt in the process.”
“Someone already did,” Sasha whispered.
“I know. And the only way to prevent even more serious accidents is proper training, Sasha. That’s all I am saying. The offer stands. Think about it. You know how to contact me. I will be waiting for your decision. Oh, and I am not sure if I have mentioned that, but we are used to teach apprentices from an age much younger than yours – so we also happen to operate a private high-school for our students, to provide them with their more worldly education. You would be more than welcome to finish your diploma here. But regardless of how you are going to decide, I shall inform my brother that the condition set in your court order is hereby satisfied. Do not feel pressured in any way to accept my offer. It’s all up to you and what you think is best for you.”
The phone clicked and Sasha sat there, holding the receiver still in her hand.
February 17th, 1998
The older man stared hard at Sasha. “Concentrate harder, Sasha. I know you can do it.”
The white haired girl bit her lips and nodded. Using her talents in an extreme or life-threatening situation was one thing, but she found it frustratingly difficult to control the more subtle aspects of her powers. Sasha closed her eyes once more and drew a deep breath. In contrast to what many people believed, spell casting didn’t necessarily involve muttering guttural words in an abstract language or drawing paintings into the air with one’s fingers - although some mages would do just that in order to help them focusing on the actual task, which was opening one’s mind to the ambient arcane energy surrounding all living and dead objects in the universe and draw power from it.
Sasha outstretched her arms to the side and turned her open palms toward the ceiling. She tried to empty her mind, which she found to be a challenge with her being aware of her teacher’s attentive presence next to her and the expectations he placed on her to succeed with her task. Eventually she felt the faint presence of the arcane energy around her. She opened her mind and let it flow through her body as if an electric current. Directing and shaping the energy inside her, she concentrated a magic potential in her right hand and allowed it to slowly build up. It was a very different experience from every single time she had used her powers in the past. Where she formerly had just opened a flood gate, allowing the raw magic energy to hit her intended target in any way it wanted to, she now carefully shaped the build-up until it had reached the exact desired level. When she was satisfied, her mind issued a command. Sasha opened her eyes and glanced at a bright blue ball of pure light floating a half inch above her palm. Keeping her eyes firmly locked onto the slightly humming globe, she directed the ball to move up her arm, across her chest and then down the other arm until it was resting in her left hand.
Only then she looked up at her teacher. The man nodded and clapped his hands. “See, I told you that it’s not hard at all!”
Sasha smiled at him. “It’s...glorious. So hard to believe that we can do things like this just because a comet exploded in our atmosphere,” she said.
The man shook his head. “That’s a common misconception people have about mages, Sasha. The truth is that magic didn’t come with the Halley event. It created the portion of metahumans we call mutants. But magic has been around forever. There are records of arcane masters dating back as far as ancient Egypt. Merlin has taught magic at King Arthur’s court in the 5th century and founded what we consider the modern school of magic. At this time magic was a widely practiced art.”
“I had no idea that mages even existed,” Sasha said. “Until I found out that I am one, that is.”
“That’s not very surprising at all. Although every now and then some word is getting out, the general public isn’t aware of our presence at all. And we prefer to keep it this way, which is also why you won’t exactly find our institution in the Yellow Pages. It’s also one of the reasons why we picked Seattle to place our headquarters in. Most people wouldn’t expect an organization with a millennium of history to be based in a city that was incorporated less than 150 years ago. We also do our very best to prevent reports about us becoming headlines in mainstream media for overly long. You’d be surprised if you’d know how many newspapers and TV stations are owned or otherwise controlled by mages. It’s really helpful.”
“I am not sure I understand that. Why all the secrecy?”
The teacher shrugged. “People don’t trust us. Never have, never will. We have been outcasts throughout history, as people generally tend to be if they are just different enough from the majority. People turned to us whenever they needed a scapegoat for anything bad happening anywhere in the world. King Charlemagne declared magic to be devil’s work in 794 AD. Starting with that date narrow-minded people have tortured and killed tens of thousands of magic users. They hunted us for almost a thousand years. After they executed the last witch in Switzerland in 1792, they thought we’d be extinct, so they celebrated their victory over the ungodly darkness we supposedly represent. Thankfully, that assessment was a bit premature, for our kind prevailed. But to survive we had to go into hiding. We formed secret circles to practice and teach our art to the next generations. The Silver Circle is one of these organizations. The Halley event of 1910 has made humans having special talents a bit more normal for most, but most magic users still prefer not to advertise their talents too openly. Some also never forgave the mundanes for the witch hunts and don’t want to have anything to do with them. Unfortunately some mages’ actions aren’t exactly helpful in conveying a more positive image about us to the public as a whole, so I am afraid our status is unlikely to change anytime soon.”
“Like my mother?
My real one, I mean?” Sasha whispered. “Dad told me that she did bad things, didn’t she?”
The teacher nodded. “Being a mage makes us neither good nor bad persons. It’s up to us what we do with our powers. Your mother...believe it or not, but she was a good person. But she had a hell of a temper and she was also fairly ambitious. In the end it was her undoing.”
Sasha frowned. “You make it sound as if you knew her?”
The teacher looked at her long before he answered. “Come with me,” he said.
***
When the heavy metal door fell open with a creak, Sasha couldn’t help but gasping. She had seen libraries before, even huge ones. But when she peeked into the endless rows of bookshelves inside the cavernous hall, she could even make out the far end.
“Woah,” the young woman uttered, drawing a chuckler from her teacher.
“Impressive, isn’t it? We’re keeping around ninety million books here. I am proud to say that they are representing most of the knowledge humanity has ever produced. Don’t tell the Library of Congress, though. They have less than thirty million, but they still like to believe that they are the world’s largest library. And we wouldn’t want to take that illusion from them.”
The teacher led his student to a sturdy wooden door in one of the library’s side walls. From his pocket, he produced a key that looked ancient enough to have seen the crusades. A faint yellowish glimmer told Sasha that it was no ordinary key, though - and that the lock it was meant to unlock was probably much more secure than it appeared at the first glance.
The teacher turned the key in the lock and the two inch thick wooden door slowly opened all by itself. Sasha peaked into a second, much smaller room. Like the main library it was stuffed to capacity with leather bound volumes and document binders, filling a good dozen shelves seaming the walls.
“That’s where we’re keeping the more...sensitive stuff,” the teacher explained. “Like the records of the first alien landing on Earth, or the complete history of the Illuminati after they went underground in 1785. Rather fascinating read, I must say.”
“Right,” Sasha said, eying the teacher curiously.