Magic School, chapter 4 (Patreon)

The months of July and August weren’t as much fun as Jake had expected.  The Johnsons wouldn’t stay in the same room with him.  Mrs. Johnson sometimes shoved a list of chores at him, but when one o’clock came, she would rush to him and chase him up to his room in a near panic that Birger might show up if she didn’t enforce study time.

It turned out that she knew all about magic, but had some weird idea that Jake might be a quirk, and said that no child who lacked magic or could potentially lack magic should be raised seeing a world they would not be allowed to inherit. She had been very smug and sure and arrogant until Birger had bellowed his rage. He seemed to grow several inches and he reached for Mrs. Johnson before jerking his hands back.

Mrs. Johnson had shrieked and fled, and Birger had sort of sagged.

“Figure I shouldna done that,” he mused sadly.  Jake didn’t say anything because he didn’t mind, especially since Birger had already delivered his message that Jake needed to study at least three hours a day.

But since that night, the Johnsons had been half terrified and half furious.  If Jake came down to dinner, they would pretend that his chair was empty, which was awkward when no one would pass him the potatoes.

If Hardwin tried to push Jake to one side so he could go up the stairs first, Mrs. Johnson would shriek and grab his arm before hugging him tightly.  Hardwin was very confused.

But at the same time, it was the best summer he’d had in a long time.  The isolation was depressing, but he had discovered that Madam Journeys had slipped a number of treats into his trunk, maybe when he was at the bank.  His cold food storage had spicy tomato juice and orange juice and fruit.  His stasis storage had weird homemade style hot pockets that actually tasted good and other treats that were as warm as if they had just come out of the oven.  And in one of the storage drawers he had found magical games meant for young children.

He was particularly fond of pong-bonk.  A red ball would zip through the air leaving a light trail in a specific path.  If Jake used his wand or even the broken side of an old hanger to trace the path exactly, the ball flashed a rainbow of colors.  If he added in an extra swish or twitch, the ball would rocket toward him and bonk him in the forehead.

Another game had pictures of fantastical creatures.  The cards would arrange themselves into a grid and then all flip over so the plain back was showing. When Jake touched a card, that would become an attacker.

A holographic version of the beast would hover in the air, so a four-inch-tall warrior merman with sharp teeth would shake a trident at him.  He would then have to touch another card to summon a defender.  That meant he had to remember where all the best fighters were.

At first he tried to just find the biggest beasts–the dragons and basilisks and thunderbirds.  But that didn’t always work.

The first time he’d touched a dragon card to fight the merwarrior, the light show that followed featured the merman swimming deeper into the water and sticking out his tongue first at the holographic dragon and then at Jake.  The dragon breathed fire on the holographic lake over and over until he huffed in either frustration or shame and his card banished itself back to the deck.

Krakens, hippocampus, onyares and horned serpents were far more effective against merpeople.  It was fun to research the best creatures to send against an enemy.  Of course, both games had packaging that said appropriate for mages three years and up, so he would have to hide these when he got to school.  The others would probably think they were babyish.

Between the games and reading, summer passed quickly.  No one even opened his door to discover his desk setup with his chalksil practice spread across the wide work surface (he had to practice because he still tended to make the chalk scream when he wrote straight lines, and he didn’t want to do that in the middle of class) or tiny holograms having creature fights across his bed.

September 5th finally came, and Jake had to make his way to Grand Central Station.  Apparently mages used abandoned lower levels to catch their magic trains.  He packed everything he owned into his trunk and awkwardly maneuvered it down the townhouse stairs and into the living room.  Mr. Johnson was already at work but Mrs. Johnson perched on the edge of the couch watching morning television with a stiff back.

“I’m leaving,” Jake said. He wasn’t sure what reaction he expected, but he had lived with the Johnsons for most of his life. They were the closest thing he had to family.

“Close the door on the way out,” she said without turning.

Hardwin was still asleep. When school started for him next week, Mrs. Johnson would scream down the walls to get him out of bed, but for now she let him sleep until noon. It meant that no one watched as Jake pulled his (thankfully) light trunk out of the door and closed it behind him.

Birger said he would be coming back here for summer vacation, but Jake felt the weight of closing the door and heading down the concrete stairs of their stoop. He was determined to be a better person–a stronger person–a person who would tell Hardwin off for eating all the chicken and leaving him with only brussels sprouts.

Maybe Birger didn’t approve of the Alexes, but after reading everything Alexes had done to change the world, for good and bad, Jake wanted that.  He wanted to be a stronger person.

An Alex had founded the school. Alexes were council magistrates (which sounded like judges) and department heads and politicians. And some of them were terrorists, and in the 1930s, one had tried to get the magical community to side with Hitler because… Jake didn’t understand the because. The book talked about eugenics, but it just sounded like a lot of adults, magical and non-magical had been very stupid during that time period.

But Jake was at least seventy-five percent sure he wanted to declare for Societal Studies. He was just afraid because so many of the adults who had known his parents seemed to want him to stay away from that program.

The nearest subway station was fairly empty, but Jake still struggled because no one could see his trunk, so they didn’t offer to help him. Even though it wasn’t heavy, Jake had to hoist it up over the turnstile, hold it steady while he swiped his subway card, go through the turnstile and then pull it down.

He was quite sure he looked insane.

With the go-to-work riders already at work, Jake found a fairly empty corner and set his trunk in front of him as he rode the subway farther than he ever had.  When they approached Grand Central Station, the butterflies in Jake’s stomach tried to escape. He could taste bile and had to keep swallowing.

Boarding school. Magical boarding school. It was almost too much to think about, so Jake focused on putting one foot in front of the other. He got off the train and followed the directions in his normieborn book. He hadn’t been to Grand Central often, so he got lost twice and ended up walking past the corridor he needed three times before he found himself in a dimly lit passage.

The walls were covered in arches that had been bricked up, like abandoned doorways. The handrail kept bending to follow the uneven line of the wall, and something like air pressure pushed Jake back toward the opening to the main corridor.

Maybe normies could feel that pressure too because there were no homeless people sitting on the floor (and quiet corners of any station attracted those). There were no performers or tourists huddled around maps of the station.  A few families with kids walked ahead of him, their footsteps echoing against the stone floor, but this definitely didn’t feel like Grand Central.

Jake shivered as he walked over a line of bright white stones set into the floor and everything suddenly felt brighter.  Several of the families turned to look at him, and a child of about four or five waved shyly.

As Jake approached, he saw that people had already pulled on the handrails, opening three of the bricked up arches to reveal a wide set of stairs going down and a wide ramp off to the side.

“Stairs or slide, dear?” a middle-aged woman with heavy black boots asked. She had a dozen red-haired children gathered around her, several of which looked too young for Chumhouse.

A girl about Jake’s age said, “Slide” with obvious delight.

“Off you go then.” The woman kissed the girl on the cheek and then pushed a trunk with battered corners onto the slide where it promptly vanished out of sight.  The girl followed, screaming with delight the whole way.

Jake didn’t feel brave enough to slide down into the unknown, so he chose the stairs.  He was dragging his thumping trunk down the stairs when one of the older redheads caught up with him.

“Do you want me to float your trunk?” he asked.

“I thought we weren’t supposed to do magic until we got to school.”

The boy leaned closer with a devilish grin. He had to be at least a ninth grader.  “We aren’t, but there are so many mages around that no one can keep track of who did what magic.  Watch.”  He flicked his wand, and Jake’s trunk was suddenly floating behind him.

“Thank you.”

“You are very welcome, good sir.”  With another grin, he hurried down the stairs. He didn’t have a trunk at all.

Jake was out of breath by the time he reached the bottom. Then the station itself stole his breath.  There was a long line of carriages with round canopies and open sides and graceful scrollwork all resting in a canal, bobbing up and down gently on the water.  And there were people.

So many people.

There were mages in their tunics with the beaded fringe and mages in t-shirts and jeans and mages in saris and mages with strict black suits.  Students were already climbing into carriages, ten or fifteen to a carriage, and the crowd milled about, visiting those who had already chosen carriages or greeting each other in clusters of students who were roughly the same age.

Someone set off a firework that exploded overhead and showered the room with purple sparks that gave the room an eerie glow.

Jake was so overwhelmed that he stood at the bottom of the stairs and stared. And he wasn’t the only one. Jake could tell who had grown up in the magical world or at least grown used to it (they were rushing around greeting friends and claiming carriages) and who hadn’t (they, like Jake, were staring at everything with open mouths).

Jake spotted the blond boy from Warts and Mall.  His parents stood beside him, statuesque and dressed in fine tunics with subtle embroidery that outshone most of the people in the station. The boy’s father had silver-white hair pulled back in a low ponytail and a silver tipped cane, and he watched the crowd with wary eyes.

The mother had rich brown curls that tumbled over her shoulders, and she was almost as tall as her husband. They both towered over most of the other mages. She focused on the boy.

Jake drifted closer.  Maybe the boy was rude, but he was a familiar face. In the far corner, a family flashed into existence in a tornado of black smoke and a mighty crack. Jake jumped.

“Oh, it’s you,” the boy said. “At least you’re dressed properly this time.”

Jake stared at the rude boy in shock. Maybe he hadn’t worn the nicest clothes before, but he hadn’t been given a choice about that.

“Tarben,” his mother said reprovingly.  “Introduce us to this young man.”

Tarben turned red.  “I’m not sure—“

“I’m Jake Newhouse, ma’am,” Jake offered.  “I saw Tarben when we were both shopping for school.”

Tarben’s father immediately turned his full attention toward Jake, his gaze like a hawk as he studied him so closely that Jake wanted to squirm or run away.  However, Jake straightened his shoulders and reminded himself that he was going to be a stronger person–a person who stood up for himself. Besides, if what Birger and the had said was true, lots of people were going to act weird when they heard his name.

“Oh.”  Tarben’s mother sounded startled.  “How nice you meet you, Mr. Newhouse.  I’m Svala Garcia, Tarben’s mother, and this is my husband, Gunne Garcia.”

Mr. Garcia inclined his head slightly, but his hand tightened on the head of his cane until his knuckles paled.  “Mr. Newhouse,” he said smoothly.

“But if you’re a Newhouse, if you’re JAKE Newhouse, why were you dressed like that at the mall?” Tarben demanded.

“Tarben!” His mother said, her voice as sharp as a whip, and Tarben flinched.  Mrs. Johnson used that voice all the time, and Jake sympathized with Tarben’s clear embarrassment.  A boy with dark skin stood a few feet away, watching silently.  And a girl with a button nose and round face stood near her parents and all three kept glancing over.

“He’s right,” Jake said, “I was wearing old clothes I bought second hand.  I don’t have parents, and my foster family doesn’t like wasting money on me, and I didn’t know I had money in the magical world because I didn’t know I was a mage until Birger showed up and said we were going to Warts and Mall right that very second.”

Mr. and Mrs. Garcia exchanged a look that Jake couldn’t interpret.

“Do you mean to say you didn’t know anything about the magical world?” Mr. Garcia asked.

Jake shook his head.

“In our world, answers should be verbal,” Mrs. Garcia said gently.  “People can use elixirs or enchantments to disguise their appearance, so anything that hides your voice is seen as rude because you’re refusing to confirm your identity,” she explained.

“Oh.”  Jake hadn’t even considered that.  “I’m sorry.  No, sir.  My foster mother told me that my parents were drug addicts who abandoned me and then disappeared.  I didn’t know anything about magic at all.”

That seemed to leave Mr. Garcia speechless and he exchanged another concerned look with Mrs. Garcia.

“Really?” Tarben blurted out.  “But why wouldn’t you be with a magical family?  Mother’s maiden name is Dijarl, and your grandmother was a Dijarl, so you’re second cousins with Mother.  Why wouldn’t you have come to live with us?” Tarben looked to his parents, unaware that Jake was suddenly so dizzy that the world was spinning around him.  He stared at Svala Garcia trying to wrap his mind around the idea that this beautiful woman was his cousin.  His family.  He had family—magical family.

“Are you alright, dear?” Mrs. Garcia asked.  “Gunne, conjure a chair, please.”

Mr. Garcia took his wand out of his cane and gave it a lazy wave.  A chair with curved legs and embroidered upholstery appeared, and Jake sat.  “We’re cousins?” he asked.

Mr. and Mrs. Garcia exchanged another long look before she answered.  “Second cousins, which is rather distant.  I take it you’ve been living with your mother’s family?”

Jake nodded before correcting himself. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Gunne,” she said, and he waved his wand again to summon a matching chair.  Mrs. Garcia sat on the edge of it.  “You are more closely related to her, but I would be more than happy to renew our familial relationship.”

“But why would he live with those sorts?” Tarben asked with disgust. Mr. Garcia’s hand landed on Tarben’s shoulder, but Jake wanted the same answer.  He looked at Mrs. Garcia.

She offered a small and sad smile.  “At the end of the war, our family was investigated because the Hinter Jarl had imprisoned my husband and used his name and wealth.

“Hinter Jarl?” Jake knew that was a title that many people applied to Hardrada, but he didn’t understand what it meant. “What does that title mean?”

She blinked for a second.  “A jarl is a leader–a clan leader one step below a king, although the Norse rarely recognized a king. They are a very independent people. So often a jarl is the title of the highest ranking member of a clan.  Hinter means that which is behind or beyond, usually land or magic that is beyond what is cultivated. Since Hardrada championed feral magic, he called himself a Hinter Jarl–a Lord of that which is Untamed.”

“Oh.”  That made sense.  “And the Hardrada imprisoned you?” He looked at the boy’s father. If he had been imprisoned, that might explain the way he watched the world warily.

Mrs. Garcia put a hand on the arm of the chair Jake was sitting in. “It was a difficult time, and no one would have trusted us with another child, particularly one who had been targeted by the Hinter Jarl himself. By the time our family was officially cleared of any wrong-doing and the Hinter Jarl’s schemes revealed in the Thingvellir, you were no doubt already placed with your family.”

“Even now, the Thingvellir would hesitate to give us custody,” said Mr. Garcia, “because too many suggest I still follow the Jarl.”

The Thingvellir was the ruling body for all North American mages.  Jake didn’t like the thought that the magic parliament would make decisions about his life. It was bad enough when social workers had that power, and they mostly ignored him. “But he’s gone. And my parents were the ones to cast the protective spell. There’s no reason for anyone to pay attention to me.”

“The Hinter Jarl is gone,” Mrs. Garcia said, “but not everyone who supported him is.  My family was targeted and my husband put under a spell that controlled him because my sister was a true follower.  She was caught, but no doubt some escaped justice. Many people will show interest in your life.”

That was horrifying. But at least unwanted attention wasn’t as bad as what Mr. Garcia had gone through. He’d been imprisoned by the Jarl. Maybe that was why he watched the crowd with such suspicion.  He glared at almost everyone who passed. And a spell that could control a person sounded like a plot for a horror movie.  His normieborn books hadn’t mentioned anything about that, but maybe he shouldn’t be surprised. He’d found mage books were badly out of date.  One of them compared a transarch to a biplane and described the comparison with such enthusiasm that it was clear the author thought every non-magical person flew biplanes on the weekend. Jake had never even seen a biplane.

“If you have questions, feel free to mirror me, dear,” Mrs. Garcia said.  “If you let me touch your mirror so I can leave my magical signature on it, then you will only have to say my name, and I will receive a notice that you are trying to mirror me.”

She waited as Jake opened his trunk and retrieved the small mirror he’d purchased at On the Wall.  She took out a long, white wand and touched the tip to the stone set at the top of the mirror. “When you want me, look at the mirror and say ‘Svala Garcia.’

“Thank you, ma’am,” Jake said.  He stood.  “I should get on the subway.”

“The bubbles,” Mrs. Garcia corrected him.  “Tarben, perhaps you could help Jake find a seat.”  Tarben looked from his parents to Jake.  Afraid that Tarben was getting forced into helping the way Mrs. Johnson had set up Hardwin’s play dates for him well into middle school, Jake quickly backed away.

“I can find a seat. I’m sure you need to talk.”  Jake caught the handle on his trunk.  “Maybe I’ll see you on the… um… bubbles, Tarben.”

Tarben went to follow, but his father pulled him close, and Jake took the opportunity to find a seat.  He pulled his trunk after him up into the first empty bubble. It had tan, tufted cushions and carved backs on the bench seats that sat so high that his trunk slipped underneath.

Jake was eying the seat, trying to figure out how to gracefully get onto such a high surface without having to belly crawl when a step magically unfolded. He stepped up onto it and settled into the thick cushion.

Jake took out his elixir textbook because one of the normie-born guides warned that it was one of the most difficult subjects, and he started rereading what he’d read in summer.

On the platform, an old woman with a pair of ravens leashed to the top of her hat walked next to a boy with a round face.  “Gran, I think I left my gloves at home.”

“Oh, Johnny,” she said with a sigh.

The red-haired boy who had made Jake’s trunk float was talking to a cluster of students his age.  “Let us see, Alo, go on.”  Alo, a smiling boy with dreadlocks, held a box in his arms, lifting the lid enough to let a snake’s snout escape, and all the kids around him shrieked and yelled.

The red-haired boy leaned close to Alo and then looked over his shoulder.  Jake followed where he was looking and spotted the mother with her gaggle of children.  She had out a handkerchief.  “Alicia, you’ve got something on your lip.”

The girl in question tried to jerk out of her mother’s way, but the mother grabbed her and began rubbing her lips.

“Mum—get off!” She pulled free.

The mother looked down at the handkerchief. “Alicia Weasley. Are you wearing lipstick? At your age? What would your father say?”

The boy who had just been peering at the pet snake went darting back to his family. “Awwww, has Ally-Pally been sneaking into momma’s make up?” he teased.

The mother whirled around to wag a finger at him. “Don’t you start Loke. And I had better not get any more reports of you causing trouble.  One mirror, just one mirror about you setting off fireworks or turning people’s hair purple and I’ll… I’ll… I’ll…”  She just wagged her finger some more.

Jake wondered if he was a General Studies student. The books he read said that they valued balance and keeping a sense of adventure as they grew up, but considering that the same book also acted like people parked biplanes in their garages (not that anyone in New York had a proper garage), he wasn’t sure how much of that to believe.

Time was almost up, and there was a last-minute scramble into the carriages.  Most had kids hanging from the sides where curved poles supported the canopy overhead. They were screaming the names of siblings or waving to parents. Jake saw Mr. and Mrs. Garcia in the crowd, standing close to each other with an island of space around them, even on the crowded platform.

Jake couldn’t believe that she was his cousin. Jake was so plain with curly brown hair and light brown eyes and every other trait that a person could call average, and she had thick hair that a model would envy and storm gray eyes. Maybe he should grow his hair out. He noticed most of the adult mages had long hair, as did about half the school-aged kids.

The magical world still felt special and wonderous, but a tiny niggle of worry crept into Jake’s brain.  Why didn’t he know he had at least one cousin? Why didn’t his cousin know about him?  It made sense that no one would give them Jake’s address while they were under investigation, but once they were cleared, why didn’t anyone tell Svala where to find him?

Jake wondered how different his life would have been if Mr. and Mrs. Johnson knew someone was watching. And if the someone in question happened to be as intimidating as Mr. Garcia, Jake suspected they would have been far more careful to treat Jake fairly.  Jake had a fantasy of Mr. Garcia showing up at the house and glaring Mr. Johnson into silence before lecturing him about proper behavior. Then Mr. Garcia would look down on Mrs. Johnson–literally because she was a short woman–and tell her that she was rude. It was a nice fantasy.