Hazard (West Hell Magic Book 1)

  “Let your tongue drop away from the roof of your mouth, I’m talking to you, Spark. Feel the outside corners of your eyes soften and sink like your face is made of warm wax, Hazard.

  “Now, I want you to focus on the magic. Where it seats inside you. How much space it takes. What it feels like.”

  Duncan’s breathing changed, getting a little more even and speeding up a tiny bit. I didn’t know if my breathing changed, but I did as he said, and took a good long, hard mental look at the magic I’d spent all of my life ignoring.

  Magic was color, flavor, smell, song, song, song.

  It moved through me like lazy winds. Ink through oil, struck strings, hushed voices. It hummed, all of it becoming a song that shouldn’t sound so beautiful, but did.

  “It belongs to you,” Coach said. “It will always belong in you. It is no more powerful than you give it permission to be. Stifling our mark, stifling the magic, only makes it push back. Makes it hungry. Denying that it has room in us, only makes it test the bars of our will.

  “So I’ll cut right to the chase now—wake up, Duncan—”

  Duncan next to me jerked a little.

  Heh.

  “Take a nice deep breath. Both of you.”

  We did.

  “Exhale. Feel that in your gut, in your lungs, in your shoulders, in your neck, in your head. Inhale as deeply as you can. Hold that breath. Feel that?”

  Full lungs? I would have asked but he hadn’t told us we could exhale yet. I cracked open one eye.

  Coach was watching me. His eyebrow twitched and a smile crooked his lip.

  Oops. Cover blown. I opened my eyes. Still held my breath, which felt a little silly.

  “Past the tightness of your lungs, past the thoughts running in your head. Go ahead. Exhale. Feel it?”

  We exhaled. I didn’t know what I was supposed to feel. Curious? Light-headed?

  “That’s peace, gentlemen. That’s you sitting there, in your own space, comfortable with your own company. That is you—marked, magic, man, hockey player, son, brother, soul. The next moment doesn’t matter, the moment that just slipped away doesn’t matter. Because you are here. Where you belong.”

  His eyes had a soft fire in them, as if this, this, this was the important thing he wanted me to hear. As if this was the one thing he wanted planted in my brain to take root.

  “This is your real power. In this calm.”

  Duncan opened his eyes and tipped his head, staring at Coach. Duncan wasn’t one of those guys who held still for very long. But he was focused like he rarely was off the ice.

  “You’ll remember it when you breathe,” Coach told us. “This point. This peace. This control.”

  He clapped his hands—not too loud, just enough to snap us out of our lull. “Let’s hit the ice and see if any of this hippy shit stuck.”

  We geared up and were out on the empty rink a few minutes later. Duncan skated at my side. I could tell he was staying close in case I fell.

  Annoying. But kind of nice too.

  Coach wasn’t far behind us. Wearing his coaching jacket that was black and red, a whistle around his neck, he looked taller and broader shouldered than in his slouchy T-shirt.

  He brought a bucket of pucks and dumped them on the ice.

  “All right, gentlemen, let’s see what you can do.”

  He spent the rest of the hour putting us through our paces. I only made it fifteen minutes at a very slow burn and nowhere near full speed or strength. My stick handling was clean, my reactions solid.

  I was out of breath, out of stamina, but all the skill was still there. Ready. Waiting.

  Coach seemed pleased. “That’s it for you, Hazard.”

  The noise in the arena was picking up as other players from the team arrived for the required early skate. There’d be a home game against Moose Jaw Owls tomorrow, and everyone wanted to put another W on the board.

  I wouldn’t be playing. I was still kicked out until our next game against the Spokane Demons this weekend. But unless my stamina suddenly turned around, there was no way I’d make it through a shift of that game, much less three periods.

  The players stepped out onto the ice. They looked surprised to see me there. I made my way over to the bench, where Roxanne lined up water bottles.

  She gave me a nod. “Morning, Hazard. Good to see you on your feet.”

  “Thanks.” My cheeks flushed with embarrassment. I expected anger from pretty much everyone on the team.

  “Well look who we have here,” Watson said, skidding up beside me. “If it isn’t the man on fire himself.”

  “Watts.”

  “Wiz. You look terrible.”

  “Thanks.” I drank water, then shifted so my back was to the boards and I could see the team. They were in various states of warming up, laps, shots, stick-handling, stretches. I knew they knew I was there. Now that I was facing the ice, they all made a point of skating past me.

  “Welcome back, Wiz,” JJ said as he soared by.

  “Good to see you on your feet.” That, from Troiter.

  “Atta boy, Hazard,” our first line right winger, Balstad the “Baller” said.

  “Total bad ass, slinging magic like that,” Tetreault said with a grin. He got close and grabbed me into a rough hug, which I wasn’t expecting. “Never seen a wizard pull so ghetto. My sister wants your autograph.”

  I huffed a quick laugh and shook my head.

  It was a chorus of similar welcomes, stick taps on the side of my leg, pats on my head as every player on the team came by.

  I nodded, said hi or thanks, and tried to keep the lump in my throat from turning into tears and embarrassing me.

  When Josky skated over, wide and bulky and powerful in her goalie gear, she stopped and punched my arm with hardly any weight behind it. I must really look bad if she was pulling her punches.

  “Thought the doctors said you should stay off the ice.”

  “They did. But…you know how it is.”

  “No, I don’t because I’ve never pulled down that much magic. For hell, Hazard. I practically dropped my panties watching you do your thing. Too bad you’re not my type.”

  I laughed and shook my head. She was crazy.

  “And,” she went on, “I’ve never been ejected for five games. What were you thinking? You’re a wizard. You’re supposed to be smart. But no, you go out there and set the world on fire. Must be terrible for all the other wizards out there to see a noob like you show them up.

  “They’re going to throw you out of their First Marked club or something for being too good, too soon.”

  “Never liked that club much anyway,” I said. “There any room in Third Marked club? I hear you sensitives do delicate things like knitting sweaters for featherless chickens and hugging forlorn trees.”

  “Bite my sensitive ass, jerk,” she laughed. “You just earned yourself another dance, and no more standing there staring at your girlfriend when you’re supposed to be dancing with this girl.” She tapped her chest, then leaned in to get a water bottle.

  “Glad you’re back, you ass,” she said a little quieter.

  “Thanks. Me too. I don’t know why everyone is being so cool about it.”

  She poured some water on the back of her neck. “We’ve all lost our shit on the ice. This sort of makes you part of the club now, you know?”

  “Which club? The freak one?”

  “The human one.”

  “Oh.” I flushed hot. Maybe she was right. Maybe I’d sort of missed that with all of my whining about being a wizard. “Thanks for standing up for me back there. Before the game.”

  “Naw, it’s cool,” she said. “Anytime. I have a thing for fourth line.”

  Duncan skated to a stop, grabbed water. “What thing do you have for fourth line?”

  “Pity,” Josky said while she looked him up and down like he was just the biggest doofus on skates. “I pity you fourth liners. Too bad you can’t score.”

  “You are so sassy when
you first roll out of bed,” Duncan said. “Just like your mama.” He made big eyes and his mouth opened into a ridiculous “O.”

  Josky hit him and did not pull her punch. Duncan grunted.

  “Ow.”

  “Dick,” she said. “Who’s your roomie this weekend?”

  “I’m sure I don’t recall.” Duncan rubbed his arm where a bruise was probably already spreading.

  “All right. Well, I’m sure there won’t be any payback for you shit-talking my mother. None at all.”

  “Crap.”

  She laughed and pushed off, heading toward the net so she could do some extra stretches before Coach called the drills.

  “You okay?” Duncan asked.

  “I’m good. Better now. Now I’m here.”

  His smile was quick and sharp. “They give you shit, you tell me.”

  “Don’t need you to fight my fights, Dunc. They give shit, I give it right back. Go. Skate. Coach is glaring at you.”

  Duncan took off and I moved down to the door so I could sit on the bench. The skate had taken everything I had out of me. I was too tired to hop over the boards.

  “Hazard.”

  I turned to the captain. Waited.

  His gaze quickly cataloged me from toe to head. There was something in his expression that made him look worried and a little confused.

  “I don’t even know how you’re standing,” he finally said.

  “I won’t be in a minute.” I smiled to take the edge off that truth.

  He frowned at me.

  “Uh, so…” I slid toward the door. “Congrats on the win. Good game.”

  His eyebrows did an extra dip, then he looked across the ice. When he looked back at me, he’d unclenched his jaw. So that was something.

  “I misjudged you, and I was wrong.”

  Wow. That took a hell of a lot to just come out and say.

  “You shut down that brawl in seconds. And no one was hurt, except you.” He nodded once. “As a man, I appreciate your effort in trying to keep the team safe. But as your Captain?” His eyes went stern again.

  “I don’t want to see you sacrificing yourself like that unless we are on the edge of death and dismemberment. That fight would have blown itself out. There wasn’t any reason for you to overreact like that.”

  I nodded.

  But he hadn’t seen Steele’s eyes before he shifted, the drowning desperation that turned to hatred, rage. Steele hadn’t had any control over his animal. Lock might not know it, but there could have been more than blood lost on that ice. There could have been lives.

  Yes, I had overreacted. If I’d been better with magic, I could have pulled Steele out of his shift without having to hoover down a block’s worth of power. Without pulling everyone else out of their shifts too.

  “Was there?” Lock asked.

  It took me a second to remember what we were talking about. Oh, right. He was asking me if there was some reason I overreacted.

  “It was overkill,” I admitted.

  Truth.

  “It wasn’t because I was up in your face? Before the game?” he asked.

  “No. That’s sort of normal, right? I have no problem with that.”

  Coach blew the whistle and called everyone to center ice so he could break them up into drills.

  Lock tapped his stick on the side of my ankle. “Okay. Good. Good. Because I’m your captain, too, Hazard. If there’s something going on, you can tell me.”

  “Sure,” I said. “Thanks.”

  He nodded and then he was off, halfway across the space to center ice without any effort in his stride.

  I hadn’t told him Steele had lost control of his shift. Partly because he and Steele used to be friends. Partly because pointing out someone had lost it in West Hell was the definition of redundant.

  Even Josky had said everyone did it at least once.

  That game was over. We’d hit the next one with fresh legs and fresh minds.

  I lugged my tired, shaky body around to the bench and sat with a grateful sigh. I leaned my elbows against the boards and put all my remaining energy into staying awake to watch my team work hard and laugh hard, like a team should.

  Thirty-One

  My mandated magic training was down in Salem, with two well-respected and currently retired teachers who had their master’s in magic study, specializing in wizardry.

  They were also both wizards.

  Mrs. Able and Mrs. Strong headed up the Able & Strong wizardry training courses. Mr. Spark knew them from his college days before they’d gone to set the world standard with their innovative teaching techniques for the marked, and especially for the first-marked.

  “Do you want me to come in with you?” Mr. Spark asked after he pulled up next to the quaint cottage-style house across from Bush Park.

  “I’m good,” I said. “See you in an hour?”

  “Call if it lets out early.”

  I got out of the car, wandered up the curving walk and knocked on the door. There was a stone gargoyle on one corner of the porch. Someone had given it a knit hat.

  The door swung inward and two women stood in the space.

  I expected them to be a lot older. Grandmotherly. But they were about the same age as Mr. and Mrs. Spark.

  One was tall, thin and pale, her heavy black hair long and smooth, her lipstick bright red. She reminded me of the mother from the Addam’s Family.

  “Random Hazard, I’m Mrs. Able.” She nodded, almost a bow, but did not offer her hand.

  The other woman was shorter by a head, her hair also black but kinky and free in a cloud around her slender face, her skin darker, her eyes deep set, the color of amber.

  “I’m Mrs. Strong.” She held out her hand and I took hers, shook.

  “Look at you,” Mrs. Strong said, still shaking my hand.

  “Come in, Random, we may call you Random, might we?” Mrs. Able asked. “Or is there another name you prefer?”

  “Random’s fine.” I crossed into the room. They walked backward deeper into the house, never looking away from me.

  “We are going to have a hell of a lot of fun today,” Mrs. Strong said. “Coffee or beer?”

  It was ten in the morning. “Coffee’s good, thank you.”

  “I see. Apparently only some of us are going to have fun.” She chuckled and turned down a hall.

  “Come right this way.” Mrs. Able glided off toward the living room. I expected antiques and mystic frou-frou. But it was clean, modern, with several bookshelves, and a couple green leafy plants in the corners.

  “Welcome to our classroom,” she said, waving her hand out toward the room and offering me a choice of couch, chair, or love seat. I picked the couch.

  She settled in the love seat.

  Stared at me. Just. Stared.

  I waited. Tried not to fidget. Fidgeted anyway.

  Mrs. Strong returned with three beverages. Coffee for me, beer for herself, and something in a black mug that smelled like cinnamon and cloves for Mrs. Able.

  Mrs. Strong slipped onto the loveseat next to Mrs. Able.

  “We’ll begin with a question that will guide every step of your training,” Mrs. Able said. “You will need to be as honest as possible.”

  Sweat popped across my forehead and upper lip. This was it. This would make the difference in how I was trained to handle my magic. Make a difference in what kind of a wizard I could be.

  I swallowed and nodded.

  Mrs. Strong leaned forward, the beer dangling between her fingers. “Who was the greatest hockey player, and you can’t choose Gretzky.”

  “You may choose Gordie Howe,” Mrs. Able said.

  Mrs. Strong made a dismissive noise. “Or you can make the right choice and pick Bobby Orr.”

  I blinked. Looked between both of them. They were absolutely not kidding.

  “I’m going to have to go with Sidney Crosby.”

  They both gasped. Mrs. Strong booed me, while Mrs. Able laughed and held up her mug. “Gretzky
it is.”

  I grinned.

  “So who do you think it going to win the Stanley Cup this year?” Mrs. Strong asked.

  I spent the rest of the hour talking and arguing with two smart, funny women who loved watching hockey, and who were very excited for my career.

  But it wasn’t all hockey and heckling. They’d also loaded me up with mental exercises and homework I had to finish before I saw them again next week.

  No spells, though. No using magic. They’d been firm about that. They’d issued threats about that.

  Said they’d curse my team.

  Which…I didn’t think curses were real, but I was not going to make a couple of hockey-loving master wizards angry enough to find out.

  “How’d it go?” Mr. Spark asked as he made his way to the freeway north and home.

  “They were, uh, nice.”

  He glanced over at me. “You mean frightening?”

  I laughed. “They can’t really read minds, can they?”

  He shrugged and merged into traffic. “I could never prove they couldn’t.”

  “I started thinking about testing out one of the spells they were explaining—a way to put a volume control on magic—and I swear they answered my questions as I thought of them.

  “I like the idea of a volume control. It makes sense. Because that’s what it was like last time. It was turned up too high, all the way to eleven before the game. And in the locker room, and then when Steele shifted and Duncan was fighting, it all went, so loud or maybe just big and I could feel it and hear it, and it was everywhere. I knew I had to take it all in, and make it do something else. Something different. Something quieter. That wouldn’t get Duncan hurt.”

  I stopped because my throat was still sore.

  “Is that what it was like? When you pulled on all that magic during the game? You haven’t talked to me about it.”

  “I talked.”

  “Not really.”

  True.

  “We have an hour until we’re home,” he said. “How about I pull off, get us some food, and you can fill me in. No judgment. No rules.”

  He’d said that to me since I was in first grade. He was the first adult in my life who had listened to me. He was good at it. The best. But we hadn’t talked about my magic, because I’d been hiding it for so long.