They thought wrong. I repeated the spell, only with twice the energy.
One of them went out the door, crashing into Steve, who had just been about to regain his feet. My control wasn’t so good without any of my magical implements, though. The second man hit the side of the doorway squarely, and his head made the metal frame ring as it bounced off. The man’s legs went rubbery and he staggered, bleeding copiously from a wound that was above his hairline.
The second spell was more than the lights could handle, and the fluorescents in the infirmary exploded in showers of sparks and went out. Red-tinged emergency lights clicked on a few seconds later.
I checked around me. Nurse Jen was staring at me with her eyes wide. The wounded guard was on his back, rocking back and forth in obvious pain. The two who had been knocked into the hallway were still on the ground, staring at me in much the same way as Jen, except that Steve was clearly trying to get his radio to work. It wouldn’t. It had folded when the lights did.
I spread my hands and said to Nurse Jen, “I told them, didn’t I? You heard me. Better take care of that guy.”
Then I scowled, shook my head, and stalked off along the spell’s back trail, toward the administration building.
THE DOORS TO the building were locked, which was more the academy’s problem than mine. I exercised restraint. I didn’t take the doors off their hinges. I only ripped them off their locks.
The door to Dr. Fabio’s office was locked, and though I tried to hold back, I’ve always had issues with controlling my power—especially when I’m angry. This time I tore the door off its hinges, slamming it down flat to the floor inside the office as if smashed in by a medieval battering ram.
Dr. Fabio jerked and whirled to face the door with a look of utter astonishment on his face. A cabinet behind his desk that had been closed during my first visit was now open. It was a small, gaudy, but functional shrine, a platform for the working of spells. At the moment, it was illuminated by half a dozen candles spaced out around a Seal of Solomon containing two photos: one of Irwin, and one of Dr. Fabio, bound together with a loop of what looked like dark grey yarn.
I could feel the energy stolen from Irwin coursing into the room, into the shrine. From there, I had no doubt, it was being funneled into Dr. Fabio himself. I could sense the intensity of his personality much more sharply than I had that morning, as if he had somehow become more metaphysically massive, filling up more of the room with his presence.
“Hiya, Doc,” I said. “You know, it’s a pity this place isn’t St. Mark’s Academy for the Resourceful and Talented.”
He blinked at me. “Uh. What?”
“Because then the place would be SMART. Instead, you’re just SMAGT.”
“What?” he said, clearly confused, outraged, and terrified.
“Let me demonstrate,” I said, extending my hand. I funneled my will into it and said, “Smagt!”
The exact words you use for a spell aren’t important, except that they can’t be from a language you’re too familiar with. Nonsense words are best, generally speaking. Using smagt for a combination of naked force and air magic worked just as well as any other word would have. The energy rushed out of me, into the cabinet shrine, and exploded in a blast of kinetic energy and wind. Candles and other decorative objects flew everywhere. Shelves cracked and collapsed.
The spell had been linked to the shrine. It unraveled as I disrupted all the precisely aligned objects that had helped direct and focus its energy. One of the objects had been a small glass bottle of black ink. Most of it wound up splattered on the side of Dr. Fabio’s face.
He stood with his jaw slack, half of his face covered in black ink, the other half gone so pale that he resembled a Renaissance Venetian masque.
“Y-you … you …”
“Wizard,” I said quietly. “White Council. Heck, Doctor, I’m even a Warden these days.”
His face became absolutely bloodless.
“Yeah,” I said quietly. “You know us. I’m going to suggest that you answer my questions with extreme cooperation, Doctor. Because we frown on the use of black magic.”
“Please,” he said, “anything.”
“How do you know us?” I asked. The White Council was hardly a secret, but considering that most of the world didn’t believe in magic, much less wizards, and that the supernatural crowd in general is cautious about sharing information, it was a given that your average Joe would have no idea that the Council even existed—much less that they executed anyone guilty of breaking one of the Laws of Magic.
“V-v-venator,” he said. “I was a Venator. One of the Venatori Umbrorum. Retired.”
The Hunters in the Shadows. Or of the Shadows, depending on how you read it. They were a boys’ club made up of the guys who had the savvy to be clued in to the supernatural world, but without the talent it took to be a true wizard. Mostly academic types. They’d been invaluable assets in the White Council’s war with the Red Court, gathering information and interfering with our enemy’s lines of supply and support. They were old allies of the Council—and any Venator would know the price of violating the Laws.
“A Venator should know better than to dabble in this kind of thing,” I said in a very quiet voice. “The answer to this next question could save your life—or end it.”
Dr. Fabio licked his lips and nodded, a jerky little motion.
“Why?” I asked him quietly. “Why were you taking essence from the boy?”
“H-he … He had so much. I didn’t think it would hurt him, and I …” He cringed back from me as he spoke the last words. “I … needed to grow some hair.”
I blinked my eyes slowly. Twice. “Did you say … hair?”
“Rogaine didn’t work!” he all but wailed. “And that transplant surgery wasn’t viable for my hair and skin type!” He bowed his head and ran fingertips through his thick head of hair. “Look, see? Look how well it’s come in. But if I don’t maintain it …”
“You used black magic. To grow hair.”
“I …” He looked everywhere but at me. “I tried everything else first. I never meant to harm anyone. It never hurt anyone before.”
“Irwin’s a little more dependent on his essence than most,” I told him. “You might have killed him.”
Fabio’s eyes widened in terror. “You mean he’s … he’s a …”
“Let’s just say that his mother is his second-scariest parent and leave it at that,” I said. I pointed at his chair and said, “Sit.”
Fabio sat.
“Do you wish to live?”
“Yes. Yes, I don’t want any trouble with the White Council.”
Heavy footsteps came pounding up behind us. Steve and his unbloodied buddy appeared in the doorway, carrying their batons. “Dr. Fabio!” Steve cried.
“Don’t make me trash your guys,” I told Fabio.
“Get out!” Fabio all but screamed at them.
They came to a confused stop. “But … sir?”
“Get out, get out!” Fabio screamed. “Tell the police there’s no problem here when they arrive!”
“Sir?”
“Tell them!” Fabio screamed, his voice going up several octaves. “For God’s sake, man! Go!”
Steve and his buddy went. They looked bewildered, but they went.
“Thank you,” I said, when they left. No need to play bad cop at this point. If Fabio got any more scared, he might collapse into jelly. “Do you want to live, Doctor?”
He swallowed. He nodded once.