Chapter 2- Luther #2
I point at them and smile. “Right. Everyone in the Union goes through the competency exam and then the morality exam. This is to ensure no one is using our resources for nefarious purposes. Now, does anyone have any questions about what an agent does on a mission?”
“Do we have to like, kill monsters during every mission?” One bookish-looking kid seems squeamish as he continues, “We’ve practiced with the training dummies, but…”
I nod and pace to my left. “Unfortunately, the creatures from the Other Side cannot be slayed. We can down them, incapacitate them, and even make them bleed, but there is only one solution for those types of missions. Does anyone know what that is?”
“Return them with an enchanted binder’s jar,” the glasses kid says. “So, do we have to like, wrestle with them? Ew.”
Some kids laugh, and I nod. “It’s not always easy.
And the job can get dirty for sure. I implore you all to consider what you want to do during your internships after you graduate in a few months.
We always need researchers.” I nod back to Girish, who smiles and pushes up his glasses.
“Or even infrastructure for the Union. There’s so much we need to do for the magical community at large.
Never forget our mission―to protect mages and mortals from dark threats. ”
“But what if we run out of geo arcanum?” the girl in front asks. “How will we transport and amplify our sorcery?” Ah, the age-old question of what to do once our power source―a giant rock in the Union―runs out.
“I heard there’s a new lion man who can make his own arcana!” the boy next to him says. The crowd of students coos in interest.
I nod and say, “Yes, it is true. We have the Jade Lion. He’s a good friend of mine.” The kids are in awe as I continue, “I actually tracked him down. That’s another role of being an agent of SPELL―investigation. Raise your hand if you’re adept at detection spells.”
A few students gradually raise their hands, and I smile at them all. “Much of the job is tracking these mystical threats, then working around being caught by the non-magical folk. Have you covered basic enchantments?”
A few students nod. “Then you know how much magic is required when fully altering memories. Remember, sorcery isn’t your greatest weapon when you’re an agent of SPELL. The most crucial elements are…” I pause for dramatic effect and glance at Necia and Girish.
“Your wits and your team. Because only when we’re united can we make real change. That’s the real magic.”
The kids stare at me with blank expressions. Was that too corny?
“If we’re so good at magic, why haven’t we closed up all the rifts to the Other Side?” one kid mutters.
I open my mouth, but words don’t come out. That’s the other problem that keeps all wizards awake at night: why are we so reactive to the threats from another realm, and not proactive?
“Alright, that’s enough insight for one day,” Professor Rodante says.
“Thank you, Agent Westbrook. Class, let’s all go to lunch, then we’ll be finishing advanced mystical herbology in the afternoon.
” She wipes the board down, and before she finishes her sentence, the kids are all packing up.
The teens are eager to get out of lecture and socialize. Some things never change.
With the kids leaving, my friends approach me. “That wasn’t so bad,” Necia says.
“I think I’d rather take a hiking tour through the Other Side than face those teenagers again.” I dramatically shiver, and my friends laugh.
“Kids can be a tough crowd,” Girish remarks.
“Very. Let’s file our reports so I can go collapse for the next two days,” I say. The three of us chuckle as we make our way to the nearest portal to America.
Days later, I’m back at the Union, ready for my next assignment. Our desks and laptops are on a higher level than the main lobby, not that I spend too much time there. Typically, I type up my reports, read up on my next assignment, and head out to whichever country needs attention.
Today, however, an enchanted flying piece of paper lands at my desk. The writing informs me to meet the chief at the infirmary. This can’t be good.
Twenty minutes later, Necia and I are at the infirmary, a miniature hospital wing of the Union.
“It’s about time.” Chief Tuttle wipes his face and leads us into the small room.
He never verbalizes that he’s satisfied with our work, but the way he rubs his red beard leads me to believe he’s extra stressed.
A curtain is drawn, obscuring who’s in the bed.
I haven’t spent much time in this wing; magic has no effect on mortal wounds and illnesses, so a hospital is usually the preferred treatment for most problems.
Which is why the anxiety levels radiating from Chief Tuttle concern me. The look on Necia’s face shows we’re both on the same wavelength. “What’s going on, Chief?” she asks.
He puts his hands into his coat pockets. “Every agent’s mission is on a strict need-to-know basis. Typically, that doesn’t matter when we’re going after monsters. It’s the usual MO: detain the threats, save lives, and make sure the mortals know nothing about magic.”
I glance at Necia and nod. “Uh-huh?” I ask.
“But some missions require a bit of…finesse.” He puts his hands on his hips and gazes at the curtain. “Research in the field. Gathering intel and asking individuals about sorcery without revealing the mission.”
“Why would we bring up magic in a conversation with mortals?” I ask.
“I didn’t say mortals.” He rubs his face. “I had one agent infiltrate a group suspected of using dark wizardry.”
“Wait, like, undercover?”
Chief Tuttle looks up in exasperation. “Unfortunately, it went awry. This is what happens when we don’t have partners to fall back on.”
“What happened to the agent?” Necia asks. “Who was it?”
Chief pulls back the curtain, and we see our old schoolmate, Max, sitting in the bed. He’s wearing a pajama shirt and a quizzical expression.
“Max!” Necia says as we both move closer to him. “You’re alright.”
“I haven’t spoken to you in months. How are you, man?” I ask. I smile, elated to see him in one piece. When I see the chief’s look of concern, my smile falls. “What is it?”
“He went undercover in what presents as a community organization in Minnesota. When he missed a check-in, we detected where he was to extract him, fearing the worst. I found him sitting in the apartment we set him up in, just like this.”
“Max is fine,” Necia argues. “Right, Max?”
I turn to our old friend, and he nods. Then, he opens his mouth. “Zzxxbbuuooouhzzzuoh!” Inhuman, unintelligible sounds come from his throat, like a record playing backwards.
I gasp at the sight―as he talks, his face spins, fractured and wild, like a Rubik’s cube. It’s a shocking, almost incomprehensible image, as his jaw spins backward and the top half of his face spins the other way.
“He’s been hexed,” Chief Tuttle says.
Max’s face stops spinning and returns to its normal, not-Picasso state. “What…how…who?” Necia stands up, asking all the questions I have.
“A group of suspected warlocks. Our monitoring of the world’s ley lines has detected powerful dark magic for weeks. And we don’t know,” the chief replies. “In that order.”
“Why don’t we undo it?” I ask.
When I move my hand towards Max’s face, the chief bats it away. Max says more gibberish, and his face spins again. School taught us hexes are unpredictable, but we never learned about anything like this in a textbook.
“Of course I thought of that. Our best HQ agents have attempted for two days now to get Mr. Potato Head here fixed.” The chief rubs his eyes, and it’s evident he hasn’t been sleeping.
“We’ve tried interpreting it, to no avail.
It’s not any language, and the way his head is moving is clearly the result of dangerous magic.
Max won’t follow directions; he just sits here, and I fear permanent brain damage if we let him remain hexed. ”
“Cauldrons,” I mutter. I move closer to his face and put my hands out.
Undoing hexes has always been complicated, but it’s my duty to help a fellow agent and old friend.
I attempt to feel for the threads of magic keeping him in this entropic state.
Hex-breaking can be complex, and all I sense is a tangled ball of natural entropy, like the most complicated knot of all time.
After trying to pull apart the strands of arcana for almost a minute, I stop and catch my breath. “Nothing’s budging.”
“That’s what I was afraid of,” the chief says. Necia attempts to undo the hex as well, but to no avail. “This all but confirms our suspicions.”
“What suspicions?” I ask.
“Typically, when we suspect magic is being used for destructive purposes, we’re able to identify and neutralize the threat.
One single agent going undercover should have been able to sniff out the new wizard with uncontrolled powers.
Or perhaps even a warlock practicing magic in a destructive way.
Then, our agents could stop them. But this time… ”
“They turned Max into a human slot machine,” Necia remarks with a frown.
“The amount of organized magic this required…” the chief’s voice trails off, and fear crawls up my spine. Max may have been hexed by multiple wizards working together. Or one powerful warlock.
“You sent him after what could be a…cult?” I ask.
“We had to be subtle. Our reports stated that they only let in folks who look like Max,” the chief remarks. “Young White men. But since things have gotten shaky…this is now a multi-agent case.”
“Send us in,” I say, ready to stop this threat before it grows. “I mean, I know I look nothing like my blond friend over here…”
“Which means you’re not right for the undercover mission. Besides, now that this has occurred, we have confirmation that foul mages are at play. We need more intel, but the only lead we have sounds like an old dial-up internet connection.”
The chief points at Max, and he opens his mouth, only to have his face spin again. “These are desperate times. So, I’ve called in a consultant. A new, temporary agent of SPELL.”
“What kind of consultant?” I cross my arms. We agents train and study hard, so trusting some random wizard isn’t easy.
“A newer member of the Union of Mages who wrote the book on complicated hexes. Literally.” The chief opens the bedroom door and leaves.
Necia and I share concerned looks with each other, then Max.
It hurts my heart to see him in this state.
Sure, the hex will wear off eventually, but there could be devastating effects if we don’t act soon.
On top of that, every moment he’s in this state is a moment we could lose our lead.
Who knows what a cult of warlocks can do?
“Agent Westbrook, Agent Anderson.” The chief’s voice walking through the doorway pulls me out of my thoughts. “Meet our temporary consultant for SPELL.”
My breath hitches at the sight of the man leaning on the doorframe. With an easy smile and long blond bangs, it’s the boy I never thought I’d see again, all grown up. Taz Devries stands before us, and if his cocky grin is any indication, he remembers me and our school days all too well.