Chapter 3

 

Olga parked the jeep at an empty campground. With the enchantments embedded in it, no one would pay it any attention. Setting up camp was easy. First, though, she warned Darius, who’d been silent since she introduced the idea of a modern Shangri-La. “I have a shield that will cover the jeep and the area around it. We’ll be protected from physical and magical attack, and from the weather, as long as we stay within twelve feet of the jeep. So you can put your sleeping bag wherever you like.” She liked to lie out and look at the stars, which was why she’d made the shield invisible.

She activated the protection.

His head turned as he tracked the weaving of magic that flowed out of the enchanted roll cage.

For anyone outside the shield, the magic would be invisible. She’d crafted her enchantments to hide themselves even when active.

Darius maneuvered himself out of the jeep. They’d driven for just over four hours. Some stiffness was to be expected, but the caution with which he walked across the uneven ground suggested his leg was troubling him.

She watched him vanish into the trees. She reminded herself that she wasn’t his nurse and that he had more than sufficient magic to alleviate any pain. Yet the fact that he was hurting annoyed her. She committed herself to that lie. What she felt was annoyance and not concern, and certainly not guilt that she’d insisted they drive to Minnesota.

She cast a quick spell to confirm that they were alone. Confident that there were no observers, she cast a second spell, calling dead branches to collect beside the ring of stones that framed a fire pit.

He re-emerged from the trees. “I was going to collect firewood.”

She shrugged. “There’s no one around.” She arranged the branches in a crisscross pattern in the fire pit and set them alight with a thought. No need for kindling when magic could feed the flames.

From the food he’d brought from the cabin, they made a meal of steak and eggs, grilled corn and tomatoes. She boiled water for instant hot chocolate.

Their magic let them form seats out of the dirt. They sat with the jeep at their back and the fire in front of them.

They’d been silent for too long; only talking about food or camping arrangements. She’d let the silence stretch out, allowing him time to consider all the information she’d dropped on him, from his animate magic problem to the notion of a new Shangri-La. However, with dinner over and tidied away, and hot chocolate to comfort her, they had to push forward.

Over the years, she’d learned tactics for easing into difficult subjects. Giving up one of her personal memories helped to build rapport. “My grandmother was sick as long as I can remember. She raised me, but I was her carer. Nana warned me against wizards. ‘A wizard’s only real relationship is with his magic. People in his life don’t matter.’ That’s not true.” She hesitated. “Or it’s not true for all wizards.”

She gathered her hair back in a loose ponytail, then let it fall rather than tie it. The night was cool enough that her hair warmed her ears and throat like a scarf. She picked up the mug of hot chocolate that had been resting near her foot. “Since my magic showed itself around the age of ten, I’ve always been a sorcerer. Your experience as a wizard is something I never had. You were taught to call and coax magic. The more magic you could draw on, the bigger the spell you could do. Wizards even copy witches and do group spells.” Her nose wrinkled.

“You don’t like the idea?”

“Surrendering my magic to someone else’s control? No.”

He nodded. The firelight danced over his face, obscuring the nuances of his expression. He seemed thoughtful rather than resistant or judgmental. His shoulders were relaxed. Whatever pain he’d been feeling earlier, he’d dealt with it. “There’s a power beyond magic in being part of a group. It grounds you.”

“Is that why you reformed your combat courier team?”

The crackle of the burning branches, the wind through the living trees, the whole woods-at-night experience brought a pensive intimacy.

“Maybe partly. Rest needs back-up. As a lone courier, he’s vulnerable. People want to control him.” People like Svenson. “The team has a bond. Not family, but just as strong.”

She valued the confirmation of her belief in his loyalty. As his temporary partner, she would give him the same.

Facing danger together, surviving, and doing so repeatedly built trust. Darius’s team were confident in one another and were building their post-army lives on that foundation. What she taught Darius would help him in protecting the team, and those who relied on it, like Rest’s partner, Donna.

“Being a sorcerer is a balancing act,” she said. “We have to use our magic regularly, at least daily, but we mustn’t grow dependent on it. And you’re still in the stage of exploring what you can do, what’s changed.” She folded a piece of paper swiftly, forming it into a paper owl. She held it in her cupped hands and whispered an enchantment into it.

The owl rustled. Paper wings, ones she hadn’t folded, emerged and the white bird took flight. It flew up, little more than a jump, before diving into the fire.

Darius made an abortive move to save it. The construct mimicked life with disturbing accuracy.

“Watch the flames,” Olga advised. She hadn’t simply enchanted the paper to animate.

As the last of the paper burned to ash, a bird of flame flew upward, and broke apart in a shower of fire. The idea was of a phoenix transforming and vanishing.

“You should play with your magic.” She didn’t look at him, but stared into the flames, feeling their heat against her face. “Wizards are taught that magic is serious. The sorcerer who taught me believed the same. But you don’t have a problem with discipline or ego. Playing with your magic is an effective way to learn new skills and to train your subconscious that it doesn’t need to ration magic any more. Now your problem is surplus, not austerity.”

She separated a tiny ball of fire from the flames in the fire pit and floated it over to rest on the air above her outstretched right index finger. The flames, separated from the wood, were fueled by magic. When she waved her hand gently, the fireball followed. She tossed it back to be lost in the ordinary flames of the campfire.

“A sorcerer uses different spells to a wizard. In general, the different options are a matter of efficiency. You no longer need to include in the spell a way of continually siphoning power to maintain it. As sorcerers our magic is sufficient for all but the biggest castings. In fact, you’ll find that if you include a siphon element in everyday spells that you hold for longer than an hour or two, the spell will likely burn out. Ordinary wizarding spells aren’t written to channel a sorcerer’s magic. In effect, you overload the spell.”

“I haven’t noticed my spells burning out.”

“Have you used many?”

He leaned back against his earth seat. “I use a basic healing spell daily…ah, I don’t actually hold it. I recast it when I need it. Interesting. When I actually think about the spells I use, I haven’t been using many. The ward around my land is one of the few I maintain. Others are short duration, defense or attack or to find or hide something.”

She nodded, accustomed to the duality of magical activities. Spells clustered at either end of an activity spectrum. So, finding lost items at one end and hiding things at the other. As a sorcerer she pushed her magic into what she needed it to achieve, but part of her enchanting objects hobby paid attention to keeping the balance. When people spoke of light and dark magic as good and evil, they misunderstood. A well-lived magical life danced the whole length of the spectrum. It was when you only drew on one part repeatedly that things went out of balance and caused problems.

“Can I adapt the spells I’m used to casting?” he asked.

“Spells are always adaptable.”

“Well, that’s a great non-answer.” His anger was muted but discernible in his low voice. “Can I cut out the bit that writes in the siphoning of magic aspect?”

She reminded herself that he was dealing with a lot. She wasn’t really the target of his anger. It was just splashing out over her. “If you understand spellwork, your experiments with changing things to fit your sorcery and your personal style will succeed most times. This drive is your opportunity to test that.” She gestured at her heavily defensified jeep. “Safe testing zone, remember? Go for it.”

She got up and retreated into the woods for a bathroom break. When she returned, he was still seated in front of the fire, brooding. She went to the other side of the jeep and set up her bed, softening the earth to form a mattress. She took off her boots and slept in her clothes. It had been a tiring day after exhausting weeks of working double cases: the official 13OPS cases she was assigned, and her off the books investigation into Svenson.

She hadn’t confided in Darius her other reason for choosing to drive to Minnesota: being in the woods soothed her. Her spirit had gotten ragged and worn over the last year. She was aware that Gregory was grooming her to advance to a sub-director position within 13OPS. That meant taking the lead on difficult cases; not necessarily cases that stretched one’s ability to resolve them, but cases that meant leading teams in emotionally and magically challenging situations. She was tired, and she hadn’t anticipated having to babysit a new sorcerer. Darius’s ignorance of the changes in his magic had surprised her.

So she lay on her bed, listening to the quiet sounds of the forest and sensing the ebb and flow of his magic as he followed her advice and played with it. Half-asleep, she thought she felt a warmth nestle against her feet. She opened her eyes, but in the darkness there was nothing there, and no danger had tested the jeep’s shield.

The forest was her place of rejuvenation.

Only as she drifted into sleep did the thought vaguely surface that the warmth felt a lot like the shadow lion’s false weight when it leant against her knees in the cabin.

 

Olga woke into trained alertness at the sound of a zipper. Rolling to her side, she looked under the jeep to see Darius rolling out of his sleeping bag. Time to rise and shine, as her nana used to say.

A personal cleaning spell wasn’t as enjoyable as a shower, but it served the same purpose.

Jeep packed, they headed out in search of a diner and breakfast.

The diner they found smelled of coffee and bacon, and the waitress was quick to provide the coffee. Olga made a mental note to tip well.

“Coffee, how I love thee.” She took a cautious sip, found it only moderately warm, and gulped half the cup. When she looked up, Darius was smiling crookedly. She raised an eyebrow.

“I thought you were incorruptible, but now I realize you’d sell your soul for coffee.”

“Only in the morning. And I’m not that bad or I’d have made coffee before we broke camp.”

He smirked, raising his own mug of coffee. “Uh huh.”

“You’re in a better mood,” she observed.

He’d been silent and thoughtful in the jeep. Now, his eyes were clear and, though he scanned the diner and parking lot visible through the window, his body language remained relaxed.

The tables around them were empty. However, he kept his voice low, barely above a whisper. “You were right about my magic. I used it a lot last night, and it became smoother, more responsive. Before your explanation I would have put the difference down to practice, but it wasn’t. The more I used it, the less over-accumulation I was fighting to control. It’s manageable, now. I hadn’t even realized how much I was suppressing it. I thought it was part of being a sorcerer.” He raised a finger in acknowledgement. “And it is, but I didn’t realize I could reduce the problem.”

Their waitress delivered porridge and toast for Olga and eggs on toast for Darius.

“I practiced a few different things,” he continued when the waitress retreated. “Levitation, shields, animating twigs. You suggested committing to a project.”

She nodded. There was real maple syrup on her porridge and she had a mouthful of the deliciousness.

“I’m thinking of focusing on constructs.”

She swallowed, then cleared the clagginess of the porridge with a swig of coffee. “Constructs would certainly keep you occupied.”

“I’d start simple, obviously. Something basic. Then research, trial and error.” He ate efficiently in between the conversation.

“Speaking of constructs.” She finished her porridge and crunched some toast.

“My lion.” He ducked his head. “I let it loose while I practiced. I know the jeep has containments enchanted into it, but I wasn’t sure what my magic might do—my animate magic—when I started playing with magical possibilities. So I let the lion out to swallow any magic before it could hurt you. I didn’t expect it to curl up at your feet.” He wiped a trace of egg yolk off his lips. “Did it bother you?”

“No. I only suspected it was there. But I am glad to learn that it found me at your command, and didn’t seek me out independently.”

He nodded in understanding of her worries. “It’s under my control. And the fact that it’s eager to guard you is okay since we’re colleagues.”

Just yesterday she’d been the one to supply that term. Colleagues. Not friends or partners.

“I’ll be in complete control of my magic by the time we reach Minnesota,” he promised.

Given the determination in his dark eyes, she believed him.