I pulled on magic; that kindling in my chest behind my heart, flickered and caught fire. I drew it into my empty fist, forming a ball of magic about the same size as the one in my other hand.
Then I tossed the magic ball onto the floor. The magic ball swirled in candy colors that sang out like a calliope whistle as it bounced up to the ceiling, changed tone and color, zipped to the shelf along the wall, pealed out another soft note, then bounced along the floor, making happy, chuckling little toots as each bounce became shorter.
Finally, it rolled and stopped against the far wall, the colors pulsing and throwing off a little glow.
The doctor stared at it. Then he stared at me. “You used magic.”
“You told me to use magic.”
“I told you to tap into an aspect of the ball.”
“I did. It bounced.”
“You turned magic into a ball. You made magic bounce.”
“Yes?” There was no way I had failed this test. That had to be the most straightforward aspect of a bouncy ball.
“How long can you maintain that spell?”
He had gone back to looking at the little ball, so I stared at it too. It didn’t look all that impressive. It was just glowing and pulsing and giving off a slight humming C-chord.
“Well, it’s small. So, for a while?”
“No, I mean, when will it fade?”
“They don’t… I don’t know.”
“How long have you held a spell before it began to falter?”
“Not very long. I just sort of cut off the magic to make it go away.”
“You cut…” He was quiet again, his mouth flattened. “Let me make a few notes. I want you to keep the magic ball going. Don’t do anything else with it, just allow it to remain.”
He scribbled furiously on the screen. “When you begin to feel fatigue, nausea, or pain, please tell me.”
I waited. Thought about making the little ball roll or bounce, wondered if I could shift the sound to toot out Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, but he’d told me to just leave it there so I did.
“All right. Keeping the ball in the state it is in, I’d like you to cast another spell. Can you do that?” He drew a wool sock out of the box.
“I guess?” I gave him back the rubber ball, which he took, all the while staring at the magic ball.
“Want me to do anything that comes to mind?” I asked.
“Yes. Anything simple.”
The wool was soft and warm.
“Can I have your wrist?”
He extended his left wrist.
It was easier this time now that I knew the concept of how to channel magic. I tapped into the warmth from the wool. I wanted to create a magic wrap around his wrist, like a bracelet of warmth and comfort and support.
Magic spun out from my fingers, weaving a wide band that rolled from the deepest brown, through greens, reds, orange and yellow. It looked like autumn and as it wove into existence, the subtle sound of bamboo sticks clacking in a low breeze filled the air.
“What aspect of the wool did you choose, Mr. Hazard?” Dr. Phelps’ voice had gone a little soft and funny. He couldn’t seem to take his eyes off the band on his wrist.
“Warmth. Wool socks always remind me of cool weather. Autumn.”
“And so the colors…and the sound. Autumn?”
“Yeah.”
“Can you maintain this spell as well as the ball?”
“I think so.” They were each a different thread extending out of me, magic pouring from that kindling behind my heart, outward. One thread was thin and rainbow colored, one wide and rust-orange.
“Where does the magic originate in your body?” he asked.
“You can’t tell?”
“I believe it is in your chest. Is that correct?”
I tapped my heart. “Behind my heart.”
“Can you feel it or sense it in some way?”
“It’s like a pile of dry wood. When I pull on magic, it catches fire. There are strings, like lines of fire, or magic, pouring out of me.”
“More than one line?”
“One for each spell.”
“Very good. Very good.” He added to his notes. “Now.” He traded the sock for a small mirror. “What will you do with this, Mr. Hazard?”
I was starting to warm up to these little spells. I turned the mirror over in my hand and thought about what I could cast. Maybe something bigger? Maybe something that would actually impress the doctor?
What could I do with a mirror?
I drew magic through my body, pulling it past the lines sustaining the ball and the bracelet. I dragged on the magic harder, taking big gulping breaths of it, filling my lungs, filling my body.
Exhale.
The bloom of honey coated my tongue and I felt a little dizzy.
Time to get amazing on this shit.
I sent magic to fill my vision. To shape what I wanted it to become.
I dove into that, gave magic cut and arc and shape and form.
Bells filled the air, a sweet high chime offset by the deeper thrum of lower notes. The room seemed to fade. Walls became a forest covered in snow, trees made of mirrored bark, silver leaves shivering in an unfelt wind. The floor poured out like a frozen lake, mirroring a blue sky and dusky clouds where the ceiling had been.
The scent of campfire filtered through the pure, clean cold. My breath made small clouds in the air.
Then the scrape and scuffing of skates coming from far off grew louder. The skates cut ice in rhythm to my racing heartbeat and then…
…and then…
…yes…then…
Two hockey players made of silver, glass, mercury, mirror, pushed through the forest of trees, following an impossible river as they tapped a puck that was gold gold, like fire, gold like battle, gold like victory.
The players looked like Duncan and me, one tall and brawny, one short and skinny, both monochrome as winter’s dreams, chasing after the win.
I laughed as the mirrored-Duncan hooked at the mirrored-me’s skates, trying to trip me up, a move that never worked.
Mirrored-me pushed past him with a burst of speed, stretching out with his stick, sailing, flying, as if it were not skates that were carrying mirrored-me, but wings.
I could feel the cold, smell the sharp clean scent of snow in the breeze that shouldn’t exist.
Dr. Phelps’ and my reflection slid and shattered and warped across mirrored-me’s face, arms, chest, and legs as he rushed past, magic and speed and cold fire, mirrored-Duncan on his heels.
The crack of a puck hitting a net filled the room. In the distance, a crowd cheered.
It was glorious. It was beautiful. It was a dream.
“Random,” Dr. Phelps said quietly. “You can let it go. You can let it all go.”
I was sweating, my heart pounding as if I had been skating drills. I shivered from the ice and snow in the room, panted as if I were the guy out there on the ice shooting the net.
But this was not real snow and ice. Not a real game. This was only magic. Nothing more than a mirror of my mind.
I mentally pictured scissors in my hand and made the snipping motion with my fingers.
The ice, the snow, the trees, lake, sky, and skaters, all disappeared. Dreams and hope swallowed by the sound of rain-drenched chimes.
The room was the room again. Lit by fluorescent light: just a desk, two chairs, Dr. Phelps and me. The space felt too small. Too bland. Too plain.
“This one too.” Dr. Phelps held his wrist in front of my face.
I blinked sweat out of my eyes. I was thirsty and sick to my stomach and was going to barf if I didn’t get some water.
I made the snip motion and the bracelet melted away with the sound of a plucked string. I shivered again as sweat slipped down between my shoulder blades. My hair was stuck to my forehead. It itched.
“Random? Do you need to lie down?”
“Uh…could I have some water?” My mouth was almost too dry to make the wo
rds, but Dr. Phelps understood because a bottle of water was in my hand almost instantly.
I drank it down. It went a long way to settling my stomach but I was so hungry, my gut was cramping.
Then there was a bar in my hands. I wolfed that down in three bites, sucking the last of the water to chase it.
Another water bottle appeared in my hand. I looked up and Genevieve gave me a small smile. “Feeling better yet?” she asked.
Dr. Phelps was taking my blood pressure. I must have missed a couple minutes.
I hated that. Losing track of things when I used magic.
“Did I pass out?”
Dr. Phelps shook his head. “You’ve remained conscious, just hyperfocused on food and water, which is to be expected.” He pulled the stethoscope ends out of his ears and the blood pressure cuff deflated with a hiss. “How are you feeling?”
“Good. Fine. Better. Fine. Normal.”
He flashed a light in my eyes. “Any pain?”
“Not much.”
“Stomach? Head? Spine?”
“It’s okay. Really.” I wanted to push him away so I could get out of here fast. This was just a test, but I felt like I’d cracked myself open and shown him my gooey middle.
That scared the crap out of me.
“Did I p-pass?”
“What do you mean?”
“The test. D-did I pass? Am I strong enough or whatever enough to be on the team? Did I do it right? I could practice more. I’m good at practicing. I can do better.”
“This was never about if you were strong enough, or good enough. This was simply to see what scope of magic your abilities might cover.”
“Oh. Right. Okay. So that’s…I’m…it’s good?”
“You are…this has been—” He blew his breath out and sat back, big hands waving in the air. “A very impressive test. Very. Impressive. The ice scene? Was it a memory? Was it something you once did?”
“No. Not a lot of frozen lakes here in Oregon. But I always thought it would be…I don’t know. Fun?”
“And so you cast that physical scene from your imagination and a scrap of mirror?”
“That’s how it works, right? Use the aspect of a thing, like the cold reflection of a mirror, and make it another…thing?”
He stared at me for long enough I got worried and glanced at Genevieve. She shook her head slightly.
“What did I do wrong?”
“Nothing,” the doctor said, still studying my face. “That was the most effortless and natural use of magic I’ve seen.
“You didn’t use magic to enhance a thing—make a pen bounce like a ball, or make the stapler reflective like a mirror—no. No, you used, you pulled magic—color, sound—it was cold. I could smell the snow and a campfire. I felt the ice on my cheeks.” He shook his head.
“You pulled magic and turned magic into the thing you wanted. The wrap on my wrist, the ice, the snow, the people. They were real. Solid. I could hear the exhalation of their breath. I could feel their joy. It was…” He dropped his hands into his lap.
“I have never seen any wizard use all three aspects—physical, mental, emotional—so seamlessly. I have never seen a wizard shape magic—just magic itself—so cleverly. Most wizards enhance the world around them, but what you did. What you did, Mr. Hazard…” He sounded more composed, but still looked a little wild-eyed and hadn’t finished most of his sentences.
“I passed?”
The laugh that came out of him was short and unexpected. He shook his head.
“Yes, Mr. Hazard, you passed. You rank astoundingly high in the standard categories. Your recovery rate is exemplary, your raw talent remarkable. I would strongly urge you to take further tests. A wizard of your abilities doesn’t come along very often, and the more we understand what you can do, the better we will be able to support wizards with your skills in the future.”
It was a nice speech, but all I really heard was “yes, you passed.”
“Okay, thanks.” I stood. The doctor stood. I could feel every bone in his hand as we shook, his grip was warm and sure.
“Any time you want to come back, I would be happy to continue the tests. We could fit them in between your practices. I would gladly bend my schedule to fit your needs.”
“Thank you. I’ll think about it and let you know.”
There was no way I was going to take more tests. Sitting here and throwing magic around made me nervous. A lifetime of hiding wasn’t something I was going to kick in one day.
I started toward the door.
“Mr. Hazard?”
I turned back. He had an amused look on his face. “Would you please extinguish the ball?”
I glanced over at the far wall. The little magic ball was still there, still glowing and humming to itself.
Oops.
“Sure. Uh…thanks.” I imagined scissors and this time I snipped the thin thread of magic that was feeding the spell with just my thoughts alone. I must have snipped a little hard because the ball sort of exploded with a honk and glitter splattered the wall in Technicolor.
Gen laughed, but quickly schooled her face into something more professional.
“I see,” Dr. Phelps said. “I see. You… I see.”
“So just follow the exits?” I didn’t want to know what he saw. All I wanted was normal. And hockey.
Gen pointed with a clipboard. “Here, I’ll show you out.”
She stepped in front of me and I caught the hint of her perfume again. I wished I knew which flowers smelled like that because I wanted to buy bushels of them.
She stopped on the edge of the lobby. “We’ll send the records to your coach and we’ll send you a copy too. You should see them by tomorrow morning at the latest.”
“Okay, thanks.” I hesitated. I wanted to ask her out but maybe I was reading this wrong. Reading her wrong.
Say something. Ask her for coffee. Ask her for lunch. Ask her for her number. She says no, it’s no big deal. Just ask if she wants to talk sometime.
“Okay, I’ve been second-guessing this since you walked into the waiting room. Um…if you like hockey I could maybe get you a ticket to a game?”
She stood with one hand on her hip, her eyes curved a bit with her smile. “I’ve never seen a game in my life.”
“Right,” I said, stepping back. “That’s cool. I just thought I’d ask.”
“But I’d like to.”
I stopped in my retreat. “Yeah? It would be WHHL, which isn’t the same as the NHL, but it’s still good. Fast. Hard plays. Physical.”
“I don’t know what those letters mean, but it sounds like fun.”
“Good. Great. When would you like to go? Like what’s a good time?”
She gave me a considering look. “This is your cell number?” She tapped the screen in her hand.
“Yeah.”
“I’ll call you and let you know when I’m free.”
Hell, yes!
“Perfect. Thanks. Talk to you soon, yeah?”
She gave me a tilted nod and waved me off. I turned and grinned my way to the car.
Ten
The video clip went viral. It only took hours after that for reporters to start calling me. Calling Duncan, calling Mr. and Mrs. Spark.
I didn’t answer them because I didn’t know what to say. The video spoke for itself. There was a guy who was going to get hurt, and I stopped that from happening.
With magic.
My social media blew up. At first I tried to respond to some of the comments and questions, but then it got too angry, too weird.
There were a lot of wizards excited for what I was doing.
There were a lot of wizards angry about what I was doing.
Pro-West Hell. Anti-West Hell. Pro-sports. Anti-sports.
When it got too angry, I tried to bring people back to the game. To the team. My team.
Luckily, Betsy Miner, the Thunderheads’ social liaison caught me at practice.
She was barely over five foot tall, ha
d hair shaved short on one side and bangs that hung in her eyes. “Hazard, got a minute?”
“Sure.” I wasn’t in my skates yet, so I followed her down the corridor.
“We’ve been getting a lot of interest from different reporters about your time at the Avalanche.”
“The magic vid?”
She nodded, the piercings lining the edge of her ear glittering. “I’ve seen your social media, and don’t want to overstep, but if you’d like a little help handling this?”
“Yes. God, yes. Anything.”
She grinned. “All right. Good. I’m thinking you can direct any interest in the Avalanche Miracle to me here at the Thunderheads and I’ll handle those. Yeah?”
“Please.”
“And I think you should give an interview.”
“I don’t really want—”
“I know it’s been over two months since the Miracle.”
I rolled my eyes at that name, which I had absolutely not given the video.
She waggled her triple barred eyebrows. “But now that you’ve been picked up by the Thunderheads, I think it’s time to go on camera. Talk about what happened, talk about your goals for the year, and talk up the Thunderheads, thanking the team, owners, and coaching staff for taking a chance on you.”
I inhaled, exhaled. “Would you write that down for me?”
“If you want me to. But I’ll do you one better. Let’s get together after practice today and I’ll coach you through a few easy tricks for answering reporters, yeah? We can go over what you want to say and make sure it comes out how you want people to hear it.”
“I might be in love with you.”
She barked a laugh. “Yeah, naw. This is what I get paid for. See you after practice, Wiz.”
I threw myself into practice with everything I had, just like every day. I wanted to prove that Coach Clay had made the right decision to give me this chance. I wanted to prove that magic wasn’t what made me an amazing player.
Two solid months of drills had done a lot to bring the team together, but we were far from perfect. I got along okay with most of the players.
We had the multinational mix that you’d expect out of hockey, and multi-marked that you’d expect out of West Hell in particular. There were three women on the team, since West Hell was also co-ed. One of the women was our goalie Joelle Thorn. She was a sensitive, and had immediately welcomed me to the team the first day I set foot on the ice.