“Has it gotten worse?” I asked.
His gaze jerked to me. “What?”
“The possible disaster you were concerned about. The earthquake…”
I’d kept quiet about it for a week. Maybe now, without Uncle Raymond around to glare, he’d share a little more.
Dad sighed. “The earthquakes aren’t the real problem. It’s the volcano.”
“The volcano—oh.” The pieces clicked together in my head with a rush of understanding. Mount St. Helens. The long-dormant volcano out by the west coast that had been stirring for the last several weeks. There had been tremors out there, but it’d been so long since I’d heard anything new about it, I hadn’t connected it to Dad’s urgent talk about an “earthquake.”
To be honest, I hadn’t thought about it much at all. While Dad picked up local newspapers from time to time, no mage I knew paid that much attention to the affairs of the magicless. Many magical families didn’t even own a TV. We got news that concerned us through the Confed’s publications and by word of mouth.
I studied Dad’s expression. “Is the threat much larger than the Dull news was reporting?”
He looked away again, his jaw tightening. “It’s a nasty situation. But as I told you before, it’s not for you to worry about. Technically it’s not even for me to worry about. Environmental concerns aren’t the domain of the Judiciary.”
“Are you going to let that stop you from speaking up?” I said.
The corner of his mouth twitched upward. “No. I haven’t ever let it stop me so far. I’m putting whatever pressure on the Environmental department that I can, believe me. They’re the ones who’d need to make an appeal to the Circle.” He reached over to clap me on the shoulder. “Leave it to me. You’ll have plenty of time to crusade once you’ve established yourself, don’t you worry.”
But it didn’t sound as if his pressure had worked yet. Was he really doing everything he could? By Hades, we were a Circle family. If more lives were at stake than the magicless officials realized… I’d have to talk to Amy about that the next time I saw her. Her dad would have his own connections, people not afraid of speaking up.
That secret, my own private crusade, burned at the base of my throat. I’d once been in the habit of talking through pretty much everything on my mind with Dad. He could hardly blame me for keeping this one—albeit rather large—thing to myself when he was being so reticent with me, could he? As soon as Amy was ready and more secure in her talent, I’d be bringing her to him to discuss how we could best ease the rest of her transition into mage society.
And maybe I didn’t see any huge rush to share her anyway. The memory of her beaming at me after she’d accepted her magic that first day sent a heady quiver through my chest.
I did know when I could use a little outside guidance in a general way, though. As I went from lecture to workshop to discussion session that day, I considered each of my professors in turn. Every mage employed in North America reported to the Circle. Which meant if I was going to nudge on any touchy subjects, I wanted someone who wouldn’t be inclined to mention my unusual new interest to my uncle or my grandfather before I was ready for it. But thankfully Dad wasn’t alone in his sentiments, especially among the College faculty.
As my International Magical Practice seminar filed out at the end of class, I settled on Prof. Kaneko. She’d come to some of my parents’ social gatherings before I’d started at the College. I’d heard her discussing the possibilities of integration with my parents. She clearly had an open mind when it came to non-magical society.
“Professor, could I speak to you for a moment?” I said, coming to a stop by her desk. The old wooden floorboards creaked under my feet, emitting a waxy tang from a recent polish.
Prof. Kaneko tucked her wavy black hair behind her ears and gave me a smile. “I’ve got an appointment to get to, but you’re welcome to talk while I get my things together, Jonathan.”
I’d prepared my story carefully. “I came across a mention in one of my texts about a mage being born into a non-magical family. I don’t think I’ve ever heard any direct accounts of that happening in recent years. It must be a fairly rare situation, I take it?”
Professor Kaneko nodded as she sorted through the notes she’d laid out on her desk for the class with a rustle of paper. “Quite. The capacity for conducting magic appears to be largely hereditary. Which many view as a good thing, since it’d be a lot harder for us to keep our abilities hidden from the general public otherwise.” The dry note in her voice confirmed that she didn’t totally agree with that stance herself. “But there are quirks of genetics, and aptitudes can spring up somewhat out of the blue.”
“How are cases like that handled? With the non-magical relatives to consider and so on.”
“Well, it used to be in a lot of countries that if a child started showing undeniable magical ability, the local mages would sweep in and essentially kidnap that child to be fostered by their own.”
She paused at my grimace. “I agree it’s a painful solution. But they weren’t being completely cruel. At many times in many places, non-magical families would have seen that kid as cursed or possessed. They’d be shunned or even abused. It wasn’t a good situation all around.”
“And these days?” I asked. “Or if an adult started showing a talent?”
“If the magical affinity is going to be strong enough to show itself in a meaningful way, we’d see it early on,” Prof. Kaneko said. “So your second question isn’t really an issue. When it comes to the children… The good news is most mage leaderships extend more rights to non-magical families these days. The bad news is that often means a child displaying a talent will be quietly burned out to avoid any conflicts.”
A clammy sensation crept over my skin. Burned out. That procedure, which only a select few highly trained mages were capable of conducting, deafened the part of the brain that hearkened magic—permanently.
“So they’re made Dull,” I said, trying to suppress my horror. I shouldn’t have been surprised. The magical leaderships always had strict policies when it came to the magicless. I just hadn’t ever had reason to think through how that would extend to actual mages who just happened to be born into the wrong family. No one among the mage families faced burning out unless they’d committed some severe crime.
“There are situations where the Confederation is able to bring one of those rare children into the fold.” Prof. Kaneko shoved a few books into one of the desk drawers. “The rest of the time, it’s presented as for the greater good. You and I might want to argue that, but until we’ve established some sort of accord with the magicless… It’s a tricky balance.”
My mind clung to her first comment. I was on the right track, then. Amy would be able to show she’d kept the secret from her family and everyone else around her—that she was prepared to continue keeping that secret.
She could switch from her current school to private tutorials at the College without much trouble. Get a mage’s job, make mage friends. It wouldn’t take long before everything that mattered in her life was magical other than her father. Her circumstances were totally different from some toddler spewing out conjurings with no self-awareness.
“You seem pretty concerned about this subject,” Prof. Kaneko said.
My skin prickled as she considered me. I couldn’t risk anyone finding out about Amy yet, not before she was fully prepared. Not after what I’d just heard.
“Just curious,” I said, as breezily as I could manage, but my hands clenched where I’d tucked them behind my back.
Fates help me, no way would I let the Circle take away Amy’s talent now that she’d found it.
Chapter Six
Amy
For once in my life, I was glad Dad was a packrat. An entire month’s worth of the New York Times Science section was stacked beside the living room bookcase for his possible—but unlikely—re-reading. I grabbed the top half of the pile and carried it into my bedroom.
Not all of the papers
had an article on Mount St. Helens. It’d been acting up for long enough without any startling developments that I guessed just reporting that it was doing the same old thing didn’t qualify as news.
So far there’d been lots of little earthquakes. A couple minor landslides caused by larger ones. Periodic explosions of steam and ash, but nothing that had really threatened anyone. Plus this weird bulge was growing on the north face. No one felt great about that.
But I didn’t see anything that suggested the kind of destruction Jonathan had been worried about the last time we’d met up. He’d said his father had felt there was a huge risk of lives being lost, but it sounded like loads of scientists were monitoring the site. The governor had declared a red zone around the volcano where no one was allowed to go, for safety’s sake. Shouldn’t that be enough?
Mount St. Helens hadn’t erupted in over a century. I guessed it was hard to know what to expect. Would Jonathan’s “mage” community get involved if the situation got bad enough? He hadn’t seemed all that sure about them.
I tapped my newspaper-ink-stained fingers against the paper in a habitual beat. The air around me shifted, and my breath caught. I could sense it now, almost without trying—that magical energy Jonathan talked about. Or “hearken” it, like he would say. You don’t really hear it or feel it or use any of your regular sense at all. It’s somewhere in between them. That’s why most people never notice it. That’s what makes you special.
A jitter of my excitement shot through the energy just as my fingers stilled. The pages ruffled. I hadn’t even meant to do that.
But I had. I could make things move without even touching them. Because I had magic.
The practice exercises Jonathan had led me through were clearly having an effect. I turned back to the articles. Maybe soon I’d be able to ask what I could do to tackle the volcano’s threat. With power like this, I didn’t have to sit back and hope someone else would figure it all out, did I?
A key clicked in the front door. Dad was home. A moment later, he knocked on my bedroom door.
“You home, Ames?”
“Yep.”
Dad eased the door open. “I was thinking—” He paused as he took in the newspapers scattered across my bed. “What have you been up to?”
“Oh, I…” There wasn’t any point in lying. He could probably see the photos where I’d left the papers open. “I was just wondering about Mount St. Helens. It seems like it’s been stewing a long time. I can’t help being a little worried about the people out there.”
Dad made a humming sound and came over beside the bed. He checked out the articles I’d been reading.
“I’m worried too,” he said. “When you have a background on the subject, it’s hard not to be concerned.”
“Do you think they’re doing enough to protect people?”
His mouth twisted. “It’s tricky to say. There are commercial interests—logging companies—in the area that are pushing back against what the scientists are saying. Claiming their suggested precautions are going overboard. And money sways politicians more than I’d like. I’d feel better if the red zone was larger, for example, even if it turns out to be unnecessary.”
“That makes sense,” I said, and waved toward the papers. “It’s hard to tell exactly what’s going on from these. How far can lava travel anyway?”
Dad sat down on the edge of the bed. “Well, not all the way out here, so we’re perfectly safe,” he said with a lightly teasing smile. His expression turned more solemn as he looked at the newspapers again. “It’s not so much lava that’s the problem as the hot ash that’ll pour out into the air. That can travel so fast even a car will have trouble staying ahead of it if it spreads into inhabited areas. We can’t know exactly how much the volcano will expel or how quickly.”
He hesitated, peering at me through his rectangular glasses. “Do you want to go through some of these articles with me? I’d be happy to give you the full scientific perspective. If you’re interested.”
My heart leapt. He was volunteering to spend time with me—and not just for a perfunctory meal. He actually sounded enthusiastic about it.
“Yeah, that would be great, actually,” I said.
I shuffled some of the papers to the side to make more room for him. Dad picked up one of the most recent ones and smoothed it flat on his lap. But then his gaze slipped upward to one of the framed photos sitting on my desk.
I wasn’t totally sure why I’d kept that one. Most of the time, it made my stomach knot seeing that image of Mom and Dad and me, our arms around each other, on the beach during our Florida vacation when I’d been nine. The sun made Mom’s hair flare like a flame. The scent of all the sunscreen she’d slathered on both our pale skin trickled up through my memories.
No wonder Dad seemed like he could hardly bear to look at me half the time. I was the spitting image of her.
“The move’s been hard on you, hasn’t it?” he said now, his eyes coming back to meet mine.
I shrugged. “It’s not so bad. I like the new school all right. I’ve got friends there now.” No one as close as the ones I’d had back in Cincinnati, but maybe we’d get there, with enough time.
“I mean—” He grimaced. “I know I’ve really thrown myself into the new job. I haven’t been as… available as I probably should have been. I don’t want you to think I’m shutting you out, all right? If you need anything, any time, you can always come to me.”
My throat tightened. I could only guess how hard things had been on him. But it seemed weird to say that. So instead I just said, “Thanks. I’m glad you’re here.”
Dad smiled at me, and right then it felt like everything really was all right. Like we were finding our way back to being a happy family, even without Mom.
“Now about the fracture system they’re talking about here,” he started, tapping the page in front of him, and I leaned in to absorb whatever he had to share.
The Saturday sunshine was so bright it glittered off the water in the Central Park fountain. I spotted Jonathan in the courtyard and waved as I hurried to join him. We’d made the park our usual meet-up spot, finding each other there for an hour or two most of the days when I wasn’t volunteering after school so I could pick up magic as quickly as possible.
Of course, at this point I couldn’t say that was the only reason I wanted to see him so often. Jonathan’s grin in greeting set off a fluttery sensation in my stomach. He hadn’t made any kind of move that was more than friendly, but I had to admit that some nights, when my mind had tripped back through the day’s events, I’d wondered what it’d be like if he did. He hadn’t stopped being as cute or confident or just plain intriguing as he’d been that first evening at the office.
“It wasn’t hard to get away?” he said as we headed to the more secluded area of the park where we usually ran through my magical exercises.
I shook my head. “I just told my dad I was meeting a friend. No big deal.” It hadn’t even really been a lie, even if it’d given me a bit of a twinge. Dad had really made an effort to take time to chat with me over the last few days about the latest news—not that there was much—about Mount St. Helens and about what I was up to otherwise, so leaving out this major development in my life had started to feel like a sort-of lie in itself.
“Has he seen any additional reasons for concern with the volcano?” Jonathan asked.
“No. He seems to think the threat level hasn’t changed much, just that it’d be better if the politicians were being a little more cautious. But nothing major has happened out there recently.”
“All right. I’ll keep listening to see if I can find out anything more specific about what my people have detected.” His smile came back as he shifted gears. “And have you been practicing?”
“Of course, teacher,” I said, rolling my eyes, but at the same time I had an urge to impress him. My gaze skimmed the ground ahead of us and settled on a scrap of paper someone had dropped. No one else was that close to us, and t
he breeze was tossing it around a bit. I could do this.
Jonathan had told me that the magic responded best to the old Greek and Latin phrases he’d learned in his magical schooling, but for now I was sticking to songs I could actually understand. Ultimately, according to him, it was mainly the rhythm of the words we used that allowed us to conduct the magic to our will.
I murmured a quiet line, the same one I’d used with the leaf that first day here, and focused my attention on the scrap of paper. It bobbed up into the air, swaying back and forth for a second. Then it flicked through the air into my waiting hand. My fingers closed around it with a rush of triumph.
“Nice,” Jonathan murmured, leaning close, and a flush spread rose in my face. He was so sure not just of himself but of me and what I could do… It was kind of addictive.
I wanted to think he liked more about me than just my magic. I liked more than that about him: his formal but often wry way of speaking, his patience that I so often needed during the exercises, his wonder at the little non-magical parts of life that had seemed totally normal to me. He wouldn’t be spending this much time helping me if he didn’t care, right?
“I hope you don’t mind if I hold onto that record you lent me until next time,” he said, bumping my elbow playfully as we walked on. “You were right—Pink Floyd is absolutely up my alley.”
Somehow it gave me almost as much of a thrill to have impressed him with my taste in music as with my magical powers. I nudged him back. “Wait ‘til you hear their earlier albums. Crazy stuff.”
A yelp jerked my attention away from Jonathan. A boy in the open field near the trees we were headed for had been flying a big striped kite. The breeze had just whipped it right out of his hands. He snatched after the string but missed. His lower lip trembled as the wind tossed the kite even higher. The poor kid.
Jonathan glanced at me, paused, and then said, “We could help him, you know. That might be a good bit of practice.”