“This is the address,” Warren mumbles.
I throw the stub of my cig into the dying bushes lining the little yard, then follow Warren up the set of cracked cement stairs to the house’s back door.
“1312”—he looks at me—“this has to be it.”
I shrug. “So try the door.”
Warren reaches for the doorknob, but his hand passes right through it. “Oh, wow.” He gingerly steps in, straight through the door, and I follow.
As soon as I cross the threshold, I feel it, that slow pull of walking straight through a protective force field. Like an unraveling, layer by layer, like I’m being consumed slowly by a thick, black nothing. I can’t see Warren, hell, I can’t even sense Warren—and then the void releases, the black softens into twilight, and we’re standing at another door, this one identical to the last, leading to an identical house, except each window of the house is now glowing, animated with light from within. A steady flow of jazz and conversation spills from the house’s interior.
“Holy shit,” Warren says. “Have you ever experienced anything like that?”
Call me jaded, but this force field is amateur magic at best. “A better sorcerer would have added a tactile manipulation, an actual house around the house, instead of just a protective shield,” I say. “See this little force field?” I wave my hand back through the charged, protective space. “As soon as cops or agents reach for the door, they’ll know there’s magic inside.”
Warren rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue—sorcery is the one topic I still have the upper hand on, always will. Of course I know I’m being a prick, but Warren’s pathetic, almost childlike wonder over this lackluster work of sorcery bothers me. I’m angry at magic. I’m angry at my father, at those D Street gangsters who sold him out, at myself—
These days, I’m pretty much angry at everything.
Warren grabs the real doorknob in front of him, pushes the wooden door open, and we step into a narrow hall that’s packed with college kids, whispers, and speculation. There must be dozens of frat boys idling, passing some of the legal stuff around—whiskey, rum—to warm themselves up for the main event. Dames are angling around one another, standing on their tiptoes to see the front of the line, to judge how long it’s going to take to get in. The air is heavy with perfume and sweat, and conversations bounce off the walls. A line to the freaking door for a glimpse, a taste, of magic. If declaring something criminal doesn’t render it sexier, then I don’t know what does.
“Sigma Phi attracts a crowd, doesn’t it?” I shout to Warren over the noise.
Warren throws me a self-satisfied smile. “It’s the most sought-after fraternity on campus. And on a night like tonight, with live sorcering? Place is going to shoot through the roof.”
“You really think you stand a shot of getting into a frat like this?” I mean it to sound curious, but it comes across like an accusation.
But Warren doesn’t flinch. I wait as he shakes the hands of a group of tweed-vested chaps who’ve filtered in behind us. Warren puffs out his chest a little as he does it, tosses his hair in the same way I used to, when I was a guy who could pull off a hair toss. I’ve been noticing Warren’s got a little more presence since he moved into his freshman dorm, and since I started training with the Unit this summer. It’s like he’s managed to grow into his own, now that he’s out from under my shadow. “I better.” He turns back and leans in conspiratorially. “My dad took Sam’s father and two older brothers out to Saint Michaels for a golf weekend in August, to sweeten the deal.”
“Thank God for fathers,” I say simply.
At that, Warren’s face turns beet red.
“Come on, War, I’m teasing,” I add, trying to let us both off the hook. But the damage is done.
Before the awkwardness has a chance to settle in and stay, a redheaded dame comes barreling toward us from the back door, saving us from each other. She sidesteps through the back of the line, which prompts a chorus of, “Come on! Wait your turn!”
“Sorry, gents,” the ginger announces, “but my fella’s holding my spot for me.”
As evidence, she sidles up to Warren’s other side and plants the airiest of kisses onto his cheek.