LGBT Children’s story, part 4. I really need to get this divided into chapters (Patreon)

Dakota sat on a bench near the office as students streamed through the arches now that classes were over. Some walked through alone, but most vanished into the shimmering illusions in small, chattering groups. It seemed like every age attended here together although Dakota had only seen a few dozen students his age. Some of that had probably been because a teacher had walked him from class to class, and he’d never been in the hall during passing period.

But now he twitched with anxiety as hundreds or maybe thousands of students streamed through the main hall. His brother walked past, sneered, and then headed for a distant arch with his three friends in tow. Dakota say anything.

“Hey, what are you doing? School’s over,” Faye said as she dropped onto the bench next to him.

“I thought you had math tutoring.”

She shrugged. “I think the teacher doesn’t have the energy to deal with me after teaching all day. He tried saying that he was giving me a day off, but I’m pretty sure he’s giving himself one. Why aren’t you in line to go home?”

“My father said I should wait here.”

“That sucks.”

Dakota shrugged. He hoped his new family didn’t forget about him as easily as his old one. Even when he’d been little and Aunt Anita had told him to wait for her to walk him home, she hadn’t come. That’s how Dakota had met Sir Knight. He missed his friend. And Sir Knight was more friend than dog. Dakota would give up his new room and pile of presents and fancy school if he could just wrap his arms around Sir Knight and hide in his broad shoulder.

Above, the air shimmered and then a gold net materialized far over their heads. “What’s that?”

She glanced up. “Safety net. So, how was the rest of your day? Was science as dreadful as math?”

Dakota didn’t think either class was dreadful. He just felt stupid for being so far behind. At least his science teacher wasn’t always asking him questions he couldn’t answer. She let him sit in the back and read about how cell energy could be diverted to physical or magical uses depending on how the mitochondria processed it.

“Faye,” Fikru said as she walked up to them. She hesitated a second before adding, “Dakota.”

“Hey.” Dakota tried to inch away from the girls to give them space.

“Great. You’re here.” Faye clapped her hands together and rubbed them like a demented villain. “So, we need to talk about how we’re going to make our challenge.”

Fikru blinked before slowly turning a baleful look in Dakota’s direction. Dakota tried to vanish into the background. However, movement overhead distracted him. A group of students appeared in the air, each balancing on a square not much bigger than a poster like the one he used to make his science project in 4th grade. “What is that?” The students started to move around the perimeter of the space, floating in the air and bumping into each other.

“Carpet practice,” Faye said. “Prosaics know about flying carpets, don’t they? I mean, they’re in all sorts of movies.”

“Those aren’t carpets.”

“Sure they are,” Fikru said. “My family weaves racing carpets, so I think I can recognize them, even from below.” She watched as the students started flying faster.

“But they’re small,” Dakota said.

“Oh, the movies usually show family carpets, they’re different,” Faye said. “People haven’t used those in ages, not since arches were invented.”

Fikru sat on the end of the bench. “Family carpets used to be the only way magical people travelled with kids, but it’s not safe having toddlers up in the air like that and the prosaic world is so full of cameras that no one wants to chance an invisibility rune failing at the wrong time.”

Dakota watched as several of the students crouched on their tiny squares of carpet, leaning forward as they began to speed through the air.

“Mostly racing carpets are just used in sports,” Faye said. “So, let’s go back to our challenge. Technically everyone challenges individually, but kids do usually make their announcements in groups. It’s traditional. When are all of us available to visit the heart tree?” She turned her back on Fikru and smiled brightly at Dakota.

He glanced at the other girl, but she was chewing on a hangnail and ignoring him.

“I don’t know when my parents would allow that. Besides, I don’t know that announcing a challenge would be the best thing right now.” Dakota wanted to vanish into the background and go find his dog. He didn’t want to tell the world that he wanted to claim ownership over the sword Merlin and May had made for King Arthur.

“Sumra is made for the sword challenge. Besides, like I told you, people who challenge for real and make an effort to find the sword always get good gifts from magic.”

Dakota still suspected that the parents were buying the gifts although Faye and Fikru both insisted that magic herself provided the gifts. Maybe they were testing how gullible he was.

Overhead a girl fell off her carpet and tumbled into the golden net with a shrieking laugh. Her carpet floated down after her, and Dakota watched her struggle in the bouncy net before she climbed onto her carpet and knelt on it. A heavyset boy with a flat face few down to taunt her, but from her smiles it seemed like they were friends who enjoyed making fun of each other.

“So, when are we going?” Faye asked again.

“Are you always this pushy?” The second Dakota said that, he wanted to apologize, but Fikru laughed so loud that it startled him out of it.

“Merlin and May, yes! She thinks that she has to be loud to make up for the fact that she’s tiny,” Fikru said.

“Well, duh.” Faye rolled her eyes. “People look right past me if I don’t make an effort to be seen. I have an obligation to share my awesome ideas.”

“Wasn’t it your idea to hide in the school overnight so we could explore all the teacher workrooms and club spaces?” Fikru asked.

Faye waved her off. “I was a kid then.”

“Look,” Dakota said before Fikru could answer. “That’s my father. I should go. Thanks for sitting with me, both now and at lunch. It was nice to have someone to talk to my first day.” They’d been nice—nicer than anyone at his old school. However, it was time for him to go home, so he grabbed his bag and hurried over to Chester.

“Hey kiddo!” Chester closed the distance between them so quickly that for one horrible second, Dakota thought his father was going to hug him, so he stopped dead. A half second later, his father stopped, and then they stared at each other awkwardly. “Um, so, have you figured out the riddle?”

Dakota blinked. “What riddle?”

“From this morning,” his father said a little louder. “The more you take, the more you leave behind. I’ll give you a hint. It’s more obvious when you’re on the beach.” His father smiled his encouragement.

“Footsteps,” Faye said as she walked up behind Dakota. “So, you’re Mr. Dromos. Dakota and Fikru and I wanted to make a challenge for the sword, but he wasn’t sure when he would be able to go to the heart tree.”

“You already found a challenge group?” Chester’s expression brightened considerably. “That’s my boy. So, where’s your brother?”

“He left with his friends.”

A flicker of a frown crossed Chester’s face before he said cheerfully, “Well, when did you kids want to visit the heart tree?”

“Any time.” Faye said. “Now works. Does now work for you?” She smiled at Dakota’s father before turning the expression on Fikru.

“Sure. Now works,” Chester said. “Let’s go.” The room was almost empty, but the fliers overhead cast darting shadows on the marble floor, and he looked up. “What do you think about carpet racing, Dakota? We could enter you into the junior bracket.”

“Um, no thanks. I prefer to keep my feet on the ground.” Seeing how fast the kids careened around the room, Dakota got a little nauseated just watching. However, his answer created another awkward silence.

Faye and Fikru filled it with talk about their English assignment—a creative writing story set in the magical Zhou dynasty of China. Apparently they had to use the story to highlight how magical and prosaic technology grew apart during the period. Fikru was going to talk about the introduction of iron tools and the use of horses during battle versus the use of official rituals to stabilize government and the introduction of velvetleaf to combat magical fatigue. Faye was focusing her story on the kitchen of a traditional household and all four of her technologies related to the use of Chinese herbs. They had a passionate discussion about whether the teacher would score her lower because she didn’t have enough variety. Fikru was of the opinion that Faye couldn’t focus on how the magical and prosaic worlds had begun to separate if she kept her story in one room of one house. Faye was of the opinion that Fikru was going to kill herself by writing a whole book if she tried to talk about all of China.

Dakota kept his attention on the casual uses of magic all around. Instead of appearing in the office from this morning, the arch dropped them into an alley behind a blue dumpster. However, there was no smell. Instead the whole alley seemed to shine and the walls had subtle distortions and wavered at the edge of Dakota’s vision. Yet the second he stared at the brick wall with the arch or the white wall across the alley, the buildings firmed up and acted like normal buildings.

At the far end of the alley, traffic passed and horns blared and so many people crowded the sidewalk that they had to be downtown. Dakota thought he could smell Lake Michigan, which shouldn’t be possible from a trash-strewn back alley. And despite a brisk Chicago wind, none of the papers scattered across the alley moved. A crumpled newspaper showing a headline from today remained perfectly still while shadows flowed slowly through the alley from the clouds moving overhead. A thousand little details didn’t make sense, and Dakota felt more tense with every passing second.

“So, you can spot magic if you know what to look for,” his father said. “Magical houses are often impossibly skinny. After all, we can expand the space inside, so we don’t take up as much room as prosaic people. But you can also look for doors stuck in places that don’t make sense or plants that are growing out of season or the tell-tale waver of a look-away charm that is set to confuse prosaic eyes. If you ever need help, that’s where you go to find someone magical.”

“I thought I was supposed to stay away from strangers, something about Nietzscheians.”

The last word made the others stop mid-step. Fikru gave a full-body shiver, and his father grabbed Dakota by the shoulder and pulled him closer.

“Almost no one in the city actually listens to them. Strangers might come in and make trouble, but the locals… a few might listen to some of his ideas, but they don’t really… They aren’t…” His father stopped. “Let’s head into city square,” he said loudly. He strode down the alley, his boots passing through an illusion of a cardboard box. He stopped at a door with peeling white paint and black hinges that dripped rust onto the wall. After waving a hand at the door, he turned the knob and pulled it open.

Inside was the most beautiful park Dakota had ever seen. Instead of having trimmed grass, like a lawn, the grasses were long and flowed with the wind and a path of gray cobbled stones led toward a hill on top of which was a single tree. It wasn’t tall, but its bare branches spread out wide and had green buds on every juncture. Dakota stepped inside, enthralled with the beauty of the place.

To the right was a tall, white building with balconies four stories high and a first story with windows like at a bank tellers. The path that led that direction was wide and well worn. Even now a dozen different mages in wild colored clothing waited their turn.

To the left was a three-story high waterfall that fed a deep pool barely visible between dozens of trees—some tall and some fat, some bare and some covered in flowers. Dakota thought he saw something long, like a giant snake, rise to the surface of the water before disappearing back into the depths. Sunlight glittered off the water, and dozens of small trails let in that direction.

“It’s beautiful,” Dakota whispered. He felt like speaking loudly would be rude.

“Isn’t it?” Faye asked.

“Welcome to Chicago’s Magical Town Square,” his father said.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

They followed the path up the hill, Dakota leading the way. A tugging at his bones urged him forward. The closer they got to the tree, the more people seemed to appear as though from out of a mist, but Dakota detoured around them. His father waved to most of them, exchanging a few friendly words with a tall woman in red and slapping the shoulder of an old man that looked like Christmas has thrown up on his clothes. They were red and green and so garish they made Dakota’s eyes ache.

“Why do people wear such wild colors?” Dakota asked as he tugged at the bottom of his own sky blue shirt with abstract splotches of white. It has been the most subdued shirt he could find in his closet. He never thought he would miss his cousin’s cast off clothing.

“People want to be unique,” Faye said. “Who wants to be like everyone else?”

“But if everyone wears ridiculous clothes, doesn’t that mean that everyone is the same?”

Fikru leaned close. “Shh. Don’t confuse people with logic.” She flashed him a smile, the first one he’d earned from her.

“You’re impossible,” Faye complained. “Don’t listen to her. She’s an impossible pessimist. Everyone should have their own style. I always wear contrasting colors.” She smoothed her hands over her shirt with blue and orange abstract flowers.

“But wait. When I saw my… mother and father back in my old neighborhood,” Dakota said, still feeling uncomfortable using those words, “they were dressed in gray and they looked like fashion models. The people around here look more like escapees from a crayon factory accident.”

“Most of the clothing has dulling charms so they don’t look as vivid to prosaics, but those magics don’t work as well when actually talking to prosaics. So when people are going to interact with non-magicals, they have to imitate the clothing of prosaics in magazines so we won’t stand out.”

Dakota was fairly sure their attempts to blend in had failed miserably.

“You need to find your own style. You could do black and white clothes or nature inspired clothing or jewel tones. You can decide on any style you want.”

“Sure,” his father said as he came up behind them, having just finished exchanging enthusiastic greetings with a pair of tall men in solid colored shirts—one gold and one silver. “We can go shopping any time. There are some great magical clothing stores that can make shirts that are spell resistant or pants that can keep you dry even during one of Chicago’s famous rainstorms. There are endless possibilities with magic. So, I wanted to introduce you to Romulus and Remus Lona.”

“Nice to meet you,” Dakota said with his best manners.

“No, we’re the honored ones,” the one in gold said before putting a hand on Dakota’s shoulder. “Imagine, one of our children returning from the prosaic world. It’s an amazing thing. Simply amazing.”

“That it is, brother,” the one in silver agreed. “We both serve on the city council with your mother, and we remember how heart broken both Mildred and Chester were when you didn’t show any magic. They were truly heartbroken. But now you’re back.”

Dakota retreated a step.

“Are these your friends?” the brother in gold asked.

Faye smiled brightly. “I’m Faye and this is Fikru. We’re here to make a challenge for Merlin and May’s sword.”

The two men exchanged the sort of condescending smile that Dakota was used to seeing on adults who found him amusing. He used to see that a lot back when he used to tell people that animals spoke to him.

“That’s wonderful,” the one in gold said. “Every young person should challenge.”

“Indeed. It’s part of our culture,” the other added.

Dakota took another step back and spotted a familiar face. “Mr. Vig!” He waved madly. He would rather talk to his social studies teacher than have this strange conversation with his parents’ friends.

The man had been facing the tree, but now he turned. He scanned the mages gathered near the tree for a second before he spotted Dakota.

He smiled and started toward them. “Dakota. And I believe these are Fikru and Faye.” He looked at the girls.

Dakota nodded. “They are, and this is my father—Chester. This is Mr. Vig who teaches social studies.”

Chester had looked shocked at Dakota’s behavior, but he quickly smiled and thrust a hand toward Mr. Vig. “Ah, one of my boy’s teachers. It’s nice to meet you. I hope he can move into regular classes within the year.” Chester’s voice had an edge that made Dakota shift uncomfortably.

“Dakota seems willing to work hard. I would like to see him challenge himself to be in advanced classes within a year.” Mr. Vig smiled at Dakota.

Chester’s expression warmed and he gave Mr. Vig a huge smile. “That’s exactly what I like to hear. Dakota is such a bright young man. He’s going to catch up in no time.”

“I’m sure of that,” the man in gold said. “You’ll be running your father’s company in no time, won’t you, my boy? You and that brother of yours. Twins are special, after all.” He looked at his own brother in silver.

“I hope he aims higher than running a travel company, Mr. Romulus,” Mr. Vig said.

Mr. Romulus Lona turned toward Mr. Vig. “Do we know each other?”

“I teach social studies. I try to keep up with local politics, since I am charged with making sure that the next generation understands our laws and governmental structures.”

“Of course, of course,” the brother in silver who had to be Remus Lona said in a friendly tone. “That’s the curse of being somewhat famous, I suppose. Everyone seems to know us, even when we don’t know them. I’m sure you know something about that, young Dakota.” He gave Dakota a wink.

Dakota was frozen to the spot.

Romulus chuckled. “You understand it brother.” He turned to Dakota. “First you’re the son of the Dromoses, the most famous family from Chicago. Then you’re a twin, and everyone knows magic blesses twins, and then you return from the Prosaic world after a decade of exile. Had I known as an infant that I wanted to be a politician, I would have demanded that my parents give me those exact circumstances so I could demand the public’s attention the way you must. Work hard, young man, because you already have the beginnings of greatness.”

Remus looked disturbed by the speech, a sentiment Dakota agreed with.

“He’s my son. Of course he’ll be incredible,” Dakota’s father said, which made him even more uncomfortable.

Luckily Fikru interrupted before Dakota could figure out a way to sink into the Earth and vanish. In fact, for the first time, he thought he could feel his magic, although it didn’t come from his chest. His skin felt as if it were vibrating with energy, like he might shock anyone who touched him. And maybe he would. However, Fikru’s distraction kept anyone from trying. “We need to make our challenge because I have a lot of history and science homework I have to get finished tonight.”

“That is a young woman with priorities,” Mr. Vig said approvingly. He stepped to one side, clearing the path toward the heart tree. “My apologies for delaying you.”

Dakota wanted to point out that his father and the Lona brothers had been the ones slowing them down, but his father had a rare skill of turning any comment into a full conversation, so he darted up the cleared path. Fikru and Faye followed.

“Does your father know everyone?” Fikru asked once they had some distance.

“I think he’s just as good at talking to strangers,” Dakota said. “When my Prosaic uncle told my parents to go away, he’s the one who came back even though Uncle Norbert is my mother’s brother. I guess he thought he could talk my family into giving me up.”

Faye’s expression curled with pity, but Dakota walked faster.

The heart tree grew larger and larger as they drew close, and the tingling under Dakota skin grew so strong that he felt like he had to do something. He had to run or jump or summon a fire to burn the world down. That last probably wasn’t a good idea. Instead, Dakota quietly drew the grasses toward him. Their leafy heads bowed in his direction before he waved a hand to make them bend the opposite way. He could almost feel the cool leaves under his palm as he waved his hand through the air, the magic as natural as breathing.

Faye stood next to him and Fikru stood on the other side of her, towering over their diminutive friend. “What now?” Dakota asked.

“We ask magic to bless us with a quest and offer us Merlin’s sword.”

“If Merlin and May ruled together, why is it just Merlin’s sword?” Dakota asked. He’d already been informed in no uncertain terms that while Arthur had once used the sword, he had never owned it. Arthur was a Prosaic king while Merlin and May had ruled the magical population.

“May had a pair of daggers. If you look at magical coins, one side has a sword crossed with two daggers. That’s the symbol for Merlin and May.”

“And we want Merlin’s sword?”

Faye huffed at him. “That’s the challenge. May never put her weapons up to be claimed. Merlin did.”

Dakota put his hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Fikru rolled her eyes. “Both of you are being ridiculous. This is the heart tree, the most sacred magical spot for hundreds of miles in any direction. Both of you stop squabbling, close your eyes, and make your offer to magic.” She had a tone of voice that reminded Dakota of a teacher, and one at the end of her patience.

Still feeling ridiculous, Dakota closed his eyes. He didn’t know if he wanted Merlin’s sword. He didn’t want to rule, and he definitely didn’t want everyone looking at him, expecting him to be this amazing boy who had returned from the Prosaic world. He feared he would disappoint everyone. But he did want to discover magic. This feeling that crawled under his skin—it felt good. It felt powerful. Dakota wanted to connect with it. He wanted to feel magical. That he could hope for, even if he didn’t want to pull a sword out of a stone and use it to lead the magical community.

That just sounded like work.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Dakota pulled on the door to his history and social studies class, but it didn’t budge. Putting his back to the wall, Dakota sank down and pulled out his textbook. He’d always been pretty good at school. He earned more As than Bs and he didn’t get many Cs at all. So he should be able to catch up.

He pulled out Magical and Mundane Wars and Warding and started reading about the various wars he’d learned about in school, only with a new magical twist. He was in the middle of how one of the Crusades started when a magical school switched from using Roman numbers to Arabic and the local families had gone from protesting to attacked the staff. A well known Egyptian numerologist had died in the riot that followed. His family had led a counterattack by magic carpet. Apparently Egypt had made the fastest and strongest magic carpets of the period, capable of carrying riders and their horses and their armor and weapons. The Egyptians had burned the town, sending the surviving mages fleeing into the forests.

The locals had wanted to strike back, but they didn’t have carpets that could carry them that far and they’d lost some of their best fighters to the Egyptian raid, so they had convinced the church to launch a new attack on the holy lands and had used that mission as an excuse to stop in Egypt and burn a few magical towns along the way to the holy lands.

Apparently people were people no matter if they had magic or not.

Dakota was lost in descriptions of the war when the door opened. Dakota looked up to see Mr. Vig looking down at him with confusion.

“I was waiting for the door to open,” Dakota said as he climbed to his feet.

“It wasn’t locked.”

“I pulled on it.”

Mr. Vig stepped back, allowing Dakota into the room. “The doors don’t lock, not like prosaic doors. If the teacher isn’t in the room, the door vanishes into the wall.”

Dakota frowned. “But I pulled on it.”

Mr. Vig sat on the edge of his desk. “I believe you. Mage doors can be stubborn. If a teacher is around long enough, the door will act like the teacher. A member of staff walked you around yesterday, right?”

Dakota nodded.

“Then keep in mind that you might have to convince a door to open for you. The students tell me that art Brown’s door wants you to draw something on it before it will open. A simple flower shape works and you can use a finger, but without some sort of drawing, the door won’t let you in. I think I saw art on your schedule today.”

“Yes, sir. Right after this class.”

“Then I’m glad I mentioned something.”

“So, what about your door?”

“I’m afraid I haven’t been here long enough for my door to develop a personality. It just sticks. Pull harder and it will open.”

“Thank you for explaining.” Mr. Vig had a way of explaining things that didn’t make him feel stupid.

“Of course.” Mr. Vig considered him for a moment. “I imagine people assume you know a lot of things you don’t. It’s not often that someone comes back into our world after leaving it.”

Dakota studied the toes of his shoes.

“That feeling will pass, at least as long as you apply yourself and work hard. anything is possible if you push yourself.”

Dakota nodded. He’d heard that speech from plenty of teachers.

Mr. Vig sighed and sat on one of the student chairs. “It’s entirely possible for you to continue to vanish into the shadows. You can deny your own power and become a nothing. It’s your choice, but I don’t think that’s the choice you want to make.”

That startled Dakota into looking up. “I’m trying to get caught up to my classmates in history and science first and then I want to move to regular classes in English. I have two friends in English class, and it sounds like I need to know more about the magical world to do the assignments, so I’m leaving that for third. Math is really different and that may take me longer, but I’m not going to be a nothing.” He spat the last words out a little too rudely considering he was talking to a teacher, but Mr. Vig smiled.

“Excellent plan. Is there anything I can do to help you move that plan along?”

Dakota clutched his book. Teachers often made offers like that, but most of the time, they didn’t want to take extra time with a student. So as much as he would like someone to explain things, he decided borrowing a book would be the safer request. “Can I borrow the regular textbook for my year and see what assignments they’re doing?”

Mr. Vig’s smile grew wider. “Of course. I am happy to provide that, and if you want to try any assignments to get my feedback on where you can do better, I would love to help.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely. As a teacher, there is nothing better than seeing a student who actually wants to learn. School should be about pushing yourself and figuring out how to be the best possible version of yourself. It shouldn’t be about just doing what adults tell you, should it?”

At first Dakota thought this was a trap, but eventually he shook his head. “No.”

“Exactly. No. So, when I see a student who wants to understand something, I am more than happy to provide some extra assistance. In fact, I think I’m going to move your seat to Alvin. He’s the student who uses the flying carpet. Because of his disability, he didn’t start school with his peers, but like you, he has a drive to catch up and exceed. You two can push each other.” He waved his hand and a seat in the back of the classroom lit up.

“Thank you, sir,” Dakota said as he moved to his new seat.

He liked Alvin more than the girl he’d been sitting next to the previous day. He had arms that were thinner than sticks and his magic carpet curled up around his legs and back, holding him upright while he dictated his answers to magic paper, but he had a wicked sense of humor. “You couldn’t think your way out of a year one challenge room,” he shot back at a pink-haired boy who made fun of one of his answers in class.

“Students,” Mr. Vig said, but he didn’t sound upset.

“What a jerk,” Alvin muttered. His school paper diligently transcribed those words, and he touched the paper with a long finger to stop the spell. “So, you’re Ambrose’s brother.” Alvin studied Dakota.

Dakota grimaced.

“Is he was must of a jerk at home as he is in school?”

“More,” Dakota said. “He makes fun of me because…” Dakota stopped. History was one of the only classes where students didn’t have to use magic. They could. They could make their pen fly across the page or, like Alvin, use dictating paper. They could tap their desk to play videos or shoot red sparkler like lights across the room with messages. They could do all sorts of things with magic, but as long as Dakota gave those up, he could hide his wand.

“You have to use a wand, don’t you?” Alvin asked. “It’s okay. I did until a year ago. Because of my disability, I grow slower, so I had to use a wand longer than most kids, but you just joined the magical world, so you should be using a wand like any other kid only learning the basics.” Alvin didn’t say that like he was being nice or anything. He sounded like he was pointing out the color of the sky. The sky was gray with pollution and Dakota used a wand. Normal schnormal. Dakota sort of loved him for it.

“Ambrose makes baby sounds at me, like crying or sucking a thumb.”

“Yep. Jerk. He once tried to unravel the threads of my carpet. And his father was convinced it was just a joke.”

“My father things most things are a joke.”

“Your father is a joke.”

Dakota winced. It was true, but he could also see how hard his father was trying to be his friend. He could see how much both his parents loved him, even if that love had allowed them to leave him behind and even if dinner was the most awkward time of the day.

“Sorry, that was too far,” Alvin said. “My father always says I go too far. He says I should have gotten put in the corner more as a little kid for the crap I say, but my parents didn’t want to punish me when they were afraid I would… you know.”

“What?” Dakota asked.

Alvin blinked at him. “They were afraid I would die. I was a sickly kid.” He held up a skeletal arm. “Magic can’t fix everything. Anyway, my dad says it’s too late now to get me to pretend to have manners. Besides, individuality is the goal of life, isn’t it?”

“Sure,” Dakota agreed, unsure.

Mr. Vig stopped next to their desks. “I take it you have finished with today’s lesson.”

“Yes, sir,” they both said. It had only taken about ten minutes, although some of the other students still had their heads in their books trying to find the answers, and the kid in the far corner had given up in favor of staring at something on the wall. It might have been a spider or a magically moving ink spot. From this far away, Dakota couldn’t tell.

Mr. Vig put two books down on their desks. “Excellent. The regular class is considering the ways different political structures led to increased or decreased conflict between the prosaic and magical worlds. Pick two political structure from the list and start researching.” He waved a hand over the desks and a list appeared on the surface, like the whole desk was a giant computer display even though it felt like wood.

Aristocracy

Colonialism

Communism

Confederation

Direct Democracy

Kritarchy

Meritocracy

Monarchy

Noocracy

Oligarchy

Representative Democracy

Socialism

Theocracy

Timocracy

Totalitarianism

“Whoa. That’s a much bigger list than the one in my old social studies book,” Dakota said softly. “I’ve never even seen some of these words.”

“Magical people love variety, including a variety of governments,” Mr. Vig said. “The only question is whether you will choose to research something you already know or if you’ll venture out into unknown waters.” He looked down at Dakota, clearly waiting for a response.

Dakota should choose monarchy and direct democracy. He knew them and he knew he could do a good job with those topics. If he wanted to get into regular classes, he had to prove that he could earn good grades. However, Mr. Vig had an expectant look. If Dakota chose those, he knew he would be disappointing his teacher. He took a deep breath and prepared to make a horrible mistake. “Kritarchy, meritocracy, noocracy, oligarchy, and timocracy all look interesting.”

“Try noocracy and meritocracy. You may find them interesting,” Mr. Vig said. He turned to Alvin. “And you, Mr. Koval?”

“Oligarchy and kritarchy, sir.”

Mr. Vig smiled. “Excellent choices. Have your projects to me by next Monday. Mr. Koval, please make sure you help Mr. Dromos with the research.”

“Absolutely,” Alvin said enthusiastically.

Once Mr. Vig had left, Dakota gave Alvin a confused look. “Why are you so excited about having more homework?” Sure, they couldn’t join a regular class until they proved they had the background knowledge they needed and could keep up with regular students, but that wasn’t a reason to be excited.

Alvin’s smile grew wider. “Hey, I don’t get to help other people very often. It’s a novel concept for me. Now, the desk can access the prosaic internet if you want information from their point of view, but you can’t sent anything out from the magical world. So you can’t text or chat or edit web pages or anything. Most mages don’t have cell phones because the second you do or say anything magical, they will stop working. It’s a safeguard to make sure that stupid people don’t accidentally “out” our world. There’s a whole agency to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

“No cell phones?” Horror washed through Dakota. He never really felt comfortable talking to people, so most of the time he preferred to keep in touch with people through texting.

“Nope,” Alvin said, apparently not realizing anything was wrong. “My parents had to look everything up in a book, but once the Prosaics started using the Internet, the magical world had a race to figure out a way to share information like that without using electronics that could be hacked. For a while, there were dozens of different systems, but most people use Alexandria scrolls now. I mean, you can access everything from the Library of Alexandria, so why wouldn’t people use the scrolls. I’m sure your parents got you a scroll, but you might not have recognized it.”

“I thought the Library at Alexandria burned down,” Dakota said as he pulled out his bag and started taking out all the supplies if parents had bought him. There were quite a few that he didn’t recognize, but nothing that looked like a rolled up piece of paper with wooden handles. So either they hadn’t bought him a scroll or a magic scroll didn’t look like a regular one.

“Part caught fire during the Crusades, but after that one time, most of the books were moved to a magically protected site. The library is still standing and new books are added every year.” Alvin plucked a long tube out of the pile of assorted thingamajigs on Dakota’s desk.

“Put your thumb on the end,” he explained, “and it will unroll. Then you have to put what level you are and what concepts you want to research. The more specific you are, the better your results will be. I’ll show you.” Alvin pulled out a matching tube and pressed his thumb to the end. The tube unrolled, becoming a shimmering flat surface. Alvin wrote “kritarchy.” After a few seconds, the surface shimmered and a series of calligraphy curves and scratches and dots appeared.

“What is that?”

“No idea,” Alvin said as he scrolled through up to see more of the document. “Might be Greek or Hebrew or Sumerian. I don’t think it’s Latin, but…” he shrugged.

“Oh,” Dakota said as he realized what Alvin meant. “The Library at Alexandria has all sorts of books.”

“Yep.” Alvin pressed his thumb to the top of the page and it cleared. Alvin clutched his pen and wrote in uneven letters… “kritarchy definition” next line “English only” next line “middle school research.”

After a second, the sheet shimmered again. This time English appeared. “Kritarchy is a system of government where judges rule a land. The form of government first appeared in Ancient Israel before the country became a monarchy under Saul. Prosaic and Magical Ireland in the 5th century CE were ruled by Druidic judges, but after Christianity become the dominant religion, Prosaic Ireland turned to a ruling aristocracy during the medieval period. Magical Ireland retains it’s kitarchal government to this day. Other magical examples of kritarchies include the Kingdom of Aksum, the Zimbabwe Empire, the Sijistan region, Fresia, and parts of China. The only prosaic area using this form of government in recent history is Somalia.”

“Way more helpful,” Dakota admitted.

“Kritarchy is actually pretty interesting. We have separate judicial and voting structures. That way they can check each other’s power.”

“Checks and balances,” Dakota said. “It’s the same in Prosaic culture.” He realized for the first time he’d said Prosaic as if he wasn’t one of them. But he didn’t feel magical either. That was reinforced when he could get his scroll to open, but his pen wouldn’t write on it.

Alvin leaned closer. “Push your magic through the pen the way you would a wand. Dakota strained, but nothing happened, just like at home when he tried to change his wall late at night after everyone had left him alone in his room. He might not be Prosaic, but he wasn’t magical, either.

“I could write it,” Alvin offered, but Dakota had seen how Alvin’s hand shook.

“I should practice,” Dakota said.

“I totally get that. I yell at my parents all the time about letting me figure things out,” Alvin said. “And then I feel guilty.” He shrugged.

“Do you want to come over this weekend?” Dakota asked. If he had someone to research with, that might keep Ambrose out of his room and he would have someone to help him if the scroll still didn’t work. He could go to his mother, but she was always so busy, and his father always looked at Dakota like he was expecting more.

“I wish I could.”

“Parents?”

“Body,” Alvin said with a sigh. “I get tired easier than most people, so when the weekend comes, I’m pretty wiped out. That’s why I’ve had trouble catching up in classes.“

“But you’re so smart.”

“Smart, yes,” Alvin said, “but even with dictation paper, I still take longer to do things. But that’s fine. So, I want to know what a noocracy is, even if you don’t want me to write on your scroll.” Pulling his pen close and clutching it in a shaking hand, Alvin printed his request, and despite Dakota’s fear that he couldn’t get his own scroll to work, he leaned close, just as curious.

If he wanted to use weekends to catch up on his school work, he was going to have to figure out a way to use his magic on these scrolls. Otherwise he was never going to catch up, and his parents made it clear that was unacceptable. It turned out that having people pay attention to him was fairly stressful.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

By Thursday, Dakota was ready to make his move. He sat on the bench while other students streamed out of school for the day. The Pukwudgies were practicing today. The school had lucky thirteen mascots, and sports were divided so that different teams claimed different mascots.

The Pukwudgie and Cipactli were brutal competitors in both carpet racing and challenge rooms, although Dakota hadn’t quite figured the last sport out yet. The Sirin and Unicorns seemed more popular with the students, and the Kasa-obake seemed to goof around as much as practice. He’d seen them yesterday and they’d spend more time in the nets than in the air. They often pulled each other off their carpets and then fell into the nets, screaming with laughter. Faye had suggested he try out for the Aglooliks if he wanted to try out a sport. He didn’t ask if that meant they were the inept team.

Ambrose strolled over, Gregory of the violet hair on one side and Harvey on the other. “Come on. I’ll get you home since you still can’t get the arch to turn on half the time,” he said, his nose in the air. He gave Dakota a long, pitying look.

“No thank you.”

“Father can’t keep picking you up.”

“He isn’t.”

Ambrose crossed his arms over his chest. “So, you’re going to play martyr? Wait until you’re alone and then whine that you can’t get your magic to work.”

“What a loser,” Gregory said.

“Yeah,” Harvey echoed. Dakota wondered if he’d ever had an original thought. He always seemed to copy Ambrose, and that included Ambrose’s contempt for Dakota. He bragged about every high test score, every big project and every compliment he got from a teacher. Dinner had turned into a string of evidence all proving that Ambrose was the better brother. He told long, boastful stories about how his science teacher had praised his project on the magic of flowering plants. The way Ambrose told it over pot roast and potatoes, the whole school worshipped at his feet and teachers swooned when he passed in the hallway.

Cousin Bob could only dream of being as annoying.

“I’m waiting for Faye.” Faye didn’t know that, but she would as soon as she got out of tutoring.

“I’m not coming back to save you if you can’t get the arch to work and your little girlfriend doesn’t feel like babysitting you with your weak magic.”

Dakota watched the carpet races overhead.

“Whatever,” Ambrose snapped. “I’m telling mom and dad that you refused to come.” He turned away, and Gregory made a point of kicking Dakota’s ankle before he followed the other two. Dakota sighed and rubbed the sore spot once his brother and his friends were gone. Dakota wondered if his parents would be upset. Dakota wasn’t used to having parents hover over him and make a lot of rules. Usually his aunt let him escape to the attic or the store without noticing he was gone.

But his parents exchanged long looks over the dinner table and his father tried to get him to answer riddles and his mother asked about his career aspirations and then watched him with undivided attention. Dakota didn’t have good answers and every time words failed him, Ambrose rushed to fill the silence and explain all the ways he was the better twin.

Putting those thoughts aside for another day, Dakota watched the carpet races and hoped that Faye would get out of tutoring soon. Dakota couldn’t get the arches to work at least half the time, so he needed help getting his dog. He’d been patient. He’d tried making logical arguments. Now he was going to just get Sir Knight and ask if he wanted to move to a new neighborhood.

Of course, Sir Knight might not want to move. In the old neighborhood, the kids at lunch would slip him food through the chain link fence. And he had a secure lair underneath a building with a cracked wall that gave him access to the crawl space. Even in the hear of winter, Sir Knight said it was fairly warm. A new neighborhood would mean having to fight for a new territory.

And while Sir Knight was big and a strong fighter, he didn’t like to fight. He always said that the world would have more food and more lairs and only the flock was worth fighting for. Dakota hoped Sir Knight still considered him flock after Dakota vanished.

Dakota had seen two carpet crashes and a dozen people thrown into the safety net before Faye appeared, one side of her hair frizzy like she’d been tugging at it. Her face lit up when she saw him.

“Dakota!”

“Hey. I thought we could go somewhere together.”

Faye hitched her backpack higher on her shoulder. “You bet. Anywhere is better than school right now. Where are you thinking?”

“Drake and Lawrence.”

“Where?” She wrinkled her nose

“The streets. Drake and Lawrence. It’s in north Chicago. Near St. Luke Cemetery.”

“Um. Why?”

“Because that’s where my dog lives.”

Her eyebrows climbed all the way to the top of her face.

“Are you going to help me or not?”

“Um….” She shrugged. “Sure. Why not? I’m going to call Fikru, though. She’s better at magic, and if we get in trouble with Prosaics, we need someone who can do subtle magic. Your wand and my wild hand waving are not subtle.”

“What sort of trouble would we get in? I grew up walking those streets.”

“And you never got in any kind of problem where you might have wished you had magic or done any magic by accident.”

Dakota grimaced when he thought about the tree.

“Exactly.” She pulled a mirror out of her bag. “Magic mirror, contact Fikru Abebe.”

“How does your mirror know which Fikru Abebe to call?”

“How many do you think I know?” Faye asked with a laugh.

Dakota’s face grew warm. “I’m sure there are other people with that name, or what if I had a friend called John Wang? There were three in my last school.”

“Then program your mirror to respond to something else. Why do you think everyone calls the two Mrs. Browns art Brown and history Brown? I bet your brother has his mirror programmed to call you something not nice.”

Fikru answered her mirror, and Dakota retreated to the arch. So mirrors weren’t like phones. He couldn’t dial just anyone. Every time Dakota discovered another difference between the world he grew up in and this one, he felt a little more like a foreigner who had stumbled into a new country and didn’t know the language.

But it would be better if he could get Sir Knight back.

Dakota wondered if Sir Knight would like the girls. He’d never had friends before, so he’d never had to introduce them to his dog. In the mirror, Fikru was calling them idiots, but luckily Faye argued her into meeting them at the park around the corner from Faye’s house.

Faye had to program the arch to take them to the park because Dakota couldn’t get his magic to work. They came out in a bright, sunny park that shimmered with magic. A fountain spray had colored lights that twinkled like stars and a small group of toddlers rode on oversized magic carpets that glided a few inches off the ground. He’d seen the park from the outside, a narrow alley between two boarded up buildings, the entrance covered with a construction fence. But inside it was light and airy and huge.

“Why are we getting a dog?” Fikru demanded.

“Because it’s his dog.”

“A dog is going to get itself killed in a magical house. He should leave it with his Prosaic relatives.”

“My relatives don’t take care of Sir Knight. They wouldn’t let him in the house, so I would have to sneak food out to him, and he’s going to think I abandoned him or got killed or something, so we’re going to find him,” Dakota said firmly.

Fikru looked at him with surprise and then looked at Faye. She shrugged. “The boy wants his dog.”

“Fine. I reserve the right to say this is a stupid idea once the two of you figure out it’s a stupid idea.”

“Cranky pants,” Faye muttered.

Dakota ignored them. Faye had found an arch in St. Luke’s Cemetery, and Dakota focused on how badly he wanted to reach the old neighborhood. He closed his eyes and magic tingled across his skin. “St. Luke’s Cemetery,” he said firmly as he pressed his palm to the arch. The arch nearly blinded him with a flash of light and then the magic settled.

“Awesome!” Faye chirped before she headed right for the arch, not even checking to see if he had connected to the right place.

“Next time, try to avoid blinding us,” Fikru said before she followed, flipping her hair over her shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. At least I got my magic to work,” Dakota muttered to himself before he followed them. The cemetery looked the same, but the stark contrast between the bright sky at the magical park and the gray one hanging over the cemetery and the whole of Chicago emphasized that he had moved from one world to another.

“Where are we going?” Fikru asked. “I have homework to finish.”

“This way.” Dakota set off down the familiar streets, dodging around pedestrians and avoiding the worst of the cracks in the sidewalk where weeds stretched up toward the sky. Dakota’s mirror warmed as someone tried to reach him, but he ignored it. He felt good. An old tree with tiny spring leaves on only one branch stood guard at the corner, and Dakota rested his hand against it. He’d learned to navigate the neighborhood using this tree. It had a knothole that looked like the face of someone who had smelled fresh dog poop and a cracked limb at the perfect height to climb up into the higher branches. He patted the trunk and Fikru raised an eyebrow at him.

Dakota blushed. Okay, no more petting trees. “Sir Knight lives this way,” he said as his mirror warmed again. He hurried, afraid that his parents would track him down before he could find Sir Knight. After all, he had to go out scavenging for food, so he wasn’t at his den all the time. Dakota broke into a trot.

“Hey, no one said we were running,” Faye said as she struggled to keep up with her shorter legs.

“I just want to find him.” Dakota forced himself to slow down. Faye and Fikru had half-panicked expressions. This was a new world to them, and Dakota forced himself to slow down.

“We’ll find him,” Faye said fiercely. “Dogs aren’t normal pets for us,” she said quietly, a quick look around to see if anyone was listening. “What are they like?”

Dakota shrugged. “They can be all sorts. Some want to chew your ankles or threaten to eat your face if you come on their territory. Some are lazy. Some are excited to meet anyone. But none are as good as Sir Knight.”

Fikru scoffed. “I’d rather have a kerit.”

“A what?”

“It’s a magic creature from east Africa. It’s sort of like a bear, only it’s smaller with a sloping back and it’s way smaller. They’re immune to magic, and in east Africa, a lot of mages keep young kerit as pets. That way they can protect them until they’re fifty or sixty and ready to hide themselves from Prosaics.”

“Fifty or sixty?” Dakota’s voice squeaked. “I wish dogs lived that long.”

“You should get a magical pet that won’t die on you in a few years,” Fikru said. The idea of Sir Knight dying made Dakota’s stomach twist, but he focused on the sidewalk and on the familiar streets.

“Is that guy following us?” Faye whispered.

Fikru glared at the man in question, a guy carrying a grocery sack with sports drinks and who was focused entirely on his phone.

“He’s probably just walking the same way. The streets are more crowded here.”

“I don’t like it,” Faye said. Fikru just continued to glare at the poor guy.

“Sometimes Sir Knight hunts in here.” Dakota ducked under the bent up edge of the fencing that was supposed to keep people from using the alley as a shortcut. Mostly it only kept out adults.

The alley was strewn with trash and smelled like sour towels that had been forgotten in the washer. “Sir Knight?” Dakota called.

“What is this place?” Fikru asked in horror. “It smells and it’s dirty.”

“Welcome to Chicago.”

“I’ve lived in Chicago my whole life. It doesn’t look like this. Or smell like this.” Fikru pinched her nose.

Dakota scoffed. They’d grown up in different Chicagos then. Dakota was about to say that when he saw the young man with the bag of sports drink half-crawl through the hole the in fence. He frowned. “What’s he doing?”

The guy looked up, gray eyes studying the three children, and Dakota took a step backward as a chill ran up his spine. “Um, maybe we should leave,” Dakota said as he continued backing away.

“Yeah,” Faye said, her voice faint. She turned and dashed toward the far end of the alley.

“Hey, kids! Hang on. I want to talk to you!” The guy raised a hand toward them, and Dakota hesitated, politeness urging him to give the guy a chance to talk.

Fikru caught his arm and jerked him almost off his feet. “Run!” she screamed and Dakota caught a flash of a red stone glinting in the man’s palm.

—

And as a bonus, if I posted by chapter, I wouldn’t leave you on this cliff as long.  Sorry