Kyle The Apprentice Warlock
Enter the world of Kyle Watkins, the most average everyday warlock he could possibly be. Who also happens to have wizard powers. His closest coworker is constantly arriving at work covered in blood and everyone but Kyle thinks he might be a serial killer. Together they intern at The National Museum of Unnatural Science and History, where their vampire boss oversees the study, restoration, and containment of magical artifacts.
As a Warlock of the Archivist, the living magical embodiment of the collection and preservation of knowledge, Kyle is ubiquitously qualified for his position. This is a good thing because there is nothing remarkable at all about him when compared to his family of famous mages and warlocks.
Chapters
CHAPTER 1
7:00 AM September 13th 2026
Manhattan Island in Central Park
Outside The National Museum of Unnatural Science and History
It was a nice day, a nice morning. Clear, skies. It was also stupid-bright for this time of day and Kyle was shading his smartphone’s screen, walking from the shade of one security golem to another as he tried to read.
“Cook!?” He whisper-screamed with irritation and a flare of magic enveloped him as he expressed his displeasure. One of the dozens of security golems that lined the perimeter of the park turned its head to assess him as a threat. "Oh. Oops.” The young man looked up startled. "Don’t mind me. Just reading. Good golem. I’m not a threat. See?”
He groped for the lanyard around his neck and held up his tie instead of the identification card he’d been intending to. Large, blocky, and vaguely humanoid in shape, the dark granite security golem’s supposedly emotionless stare began to seem terribly baleful at that moment.
Kyle realized he was holding up his tie and fumbled around his neck again before successfully holding up his ID badge. He stood very still as he was magically scanned because he was pretty sure that they did not like him. No siree.
In Kyle’s, admittedly, biased opinion, those golems thought Kyle was shifty as heck. Were the other golems watching him out of the corners of their eyes? Were their heads turned ever so slightly to keep focus on him?
The surface of his badge flashed pearlescent as the magical security identifiers it was enchanted with activated at the golem’s query. Satisfied, the golem returned to its assigned position, looking like nothing so much as a statue facing outward from the protected grounds of Central Park. The others in the row also shifted slightly as well, their heads returning to a neutral position.
“Pft! I knew it.” He crowed quietly. "They are watching me.” After a second of squinting his eyes at them to make sure the golems had returned to their normal behavior, he let out a relieved breath and ran a hand through his short wavy hair giving it a quick tug of frustration.
“Whew! That was...” The young man scrubbed a hand over his face. "I’ve got to talk to the boss about lowering the sensitivity on their sensor enchantments. That is way too high.” Grumbling, the young man returned to hurrying along while quietly cursing under his breath and scrolling on his phone.
“Cook. They said I’m a bloody cook? Damn this sun.” Kyle squinted his eyes and shook his fist in the general direction of the sunrise as he continued with his distracted rant. "Anna gets a brilliant write-up, but me? Oh, he’s just the family cook.” His voice changed pitch and octave as he mocked what had been written about himself. "I can’t believe...ah, hello.” Noticing someone standing in his path, Kyle looked up to apologize and saw that it was just another golem.
This one was not the impeccable imposing dark stone edifice of the others. Nor was it one of the security golems that he swore held some kind of grudge against him. Instead, it was old, one might say ancient even. It had clearly been destroyed and reassembled.
The white marble of its weathered body was a crisscrossing tracery of golden lines welding the cracked stone together in a beautiful example of Kintsugi style art being used to restore an artifact. Of course, the regular type of lacquer used in pottery kintsugi wasn’t strong enough to hold a marble golem together. This was enchanted.
Bright morning light reflected off the repairs where it hit them but shone with magical light where they were in shadow. And a series of enchantments and runes of restoration were carved into the stone body to reinforce the welds. They glowed softly on the parts of its body that were shaded from the sun. The magical carvings were not bright enough to glow in the sun, but in the lighted areas, the carvings of the runes could be seen faintly in the old stone.
It was the Apple Tree Golem, a favorite feature of the park and one of the many wonders curated by the museum. This golem was actually a New York City mascot, and its image was used heavily in tourism advertising. Visitors to the museum could buy miniature, non-functional versions of it in the museum gift shop.
The Apple Tree Golem carried a woven basket of golden apples over one arm. They really do just look like solid lumps of apple-shaped gold. Kyle mused at how they glinted in the morning light. As he paused on his trek to work, the golem took one golden apple from its basket and held it out to Kyle with its free hand. The apple glowed softly despite competing with the sun.
Magic apples. Magic apples the golem harvested from the tree it guarded and offered to parkgoers as they wandered by. A tree that was gifted to Central Park and The National Museum of Unnatural Science and History by Ladon, the guardian dragon of the Garden of Hesperides. These weren’t those magic apples, the apples of immortality. Landon would never give one of those trees out if he could even be persuaded to admit that they existed.
But the tree had been a historic gift to celebrate the restoration of the ancient Golem which had been destroyed during a monster battle decades ago. It had protected the remains of its sacred grove until the very last. Landon had been so moved by the story he’d felt the Golem deserved a new grove to protect and the tree he’d gifted was the first planted in the museum’s Magical Tree Grove in Central Park.
It stood across from the entrance to The National Museum of Unnatural Science and History, golden apples glowing faintly nestled among the leaves of the tree. Kyle could see it over the golem’s shoulder. Beyond that, the multi-story façade of the museum with its wide steps and pillars making it look like some ancient temple of the Gods sized for them to appear in their true forms. Already, the leaves of some trees in the orchard were beginning to change colors for the Fall season. That didn’t matter though. The trees would fruit year-round.
“Thanks.” Kyle took the proffered apple as the golem once again offered it to him. While it might not make him live forever, one of these a day would keep the doctor away for most minor ailments.
It wouldn’t work on anything a good elixir couldn’t fix just as well or even better. Which was probably why no one fought over them or tried to steal them. And museum employees received an Apple Stipend as part of their benefits package. He shoved the apple into the deep pockets of his Warlock’s robe, a rather modern design that resembled a dark trench coat with a hood but was enchanted to protect the wearer from magical and alchemical mishaps. Kyle hurried on, his robe swirling around his knees as his cell phone began to ring.
The ringtone was set to a song that amused him and the Mountain King Mover’s advertising jingle began playing. It was complete with lyrics set to the iconic In the Hall of the Mountain King music. The young man began to sing along as he squinted at his phone screen angling it away from the sunlight again to see who was calling.
“When you need to move your stuff,
Trust in us,
We are tough,
When you need to move your stuff,
We will get it done.”
Kyle waited until the entire first verse had played before picking up the call.
CHAPTER 2
“Cooks R’ Us.” He smiled as he glanced at the caller ID, thought better of having fruit in his pocket, and pulled it out to tuck into his shoulder bag. If Samantha was calling for the reason he thought she was, she’d get the reference to his greeting, and he might as well beat her to the punch. Mock himself before she could.
“Kyle?” His sister hesitated slightly at his new greeting then plowed ahead with the conversation, ignoring the chance for friendly banter. "You wouldn’t happen to know any memory-erasing spells, would you?” That was...not what he was expecting. He frowned and pulled the apple back out of his bag realizing he was a little peckish.
“I am legally required to say no”. His glib reply was interrupted with a crunching bite into his golden apple. "However,” the young man continued as he crunched annoyingly, “...if you tell me where the body is and who’s involved, I can probably manage something for you.” His chewing continued as silence came from the other end of the call. After a thoughtful pause, his sister finally spoke again.
“What!?” Kyle stifled a laugh that almost resulted in apple chunks up his nose.
“Ah... So, your government friends will take care of it. Gotcha.” He sniggered at
Sam’s offended response as he swallowed.
“No! No one’s dead, Kyle! Have you...read the article yet?” Yep. She’d called for the reason he thought she called. He’d been thinking she called to tease him about what the guy profiling their family for the PR campaign his mom was part of wrote about him, but now he wondered...
“Working on it now. They did a nice bit on Anna. Too bad she’s going to hate it Just finished reading about me.” A sigh of relief came over the line.
“So, you haven’t seen the section on me yet? Good. I want you to erase everyone’s memory of those stupid tissue commercials, so they don’t haunt me until the end of time.” Oh, really? That instantly piqued Kyle’s interest. Did he smell more ammo for the sibling war?
“Haha, no! Sorry big sis. But I’m afraid you’re stuck with that.” He’d turned his body to shield his phone from the sun and began looking for the section of the interview on his sister. "Give me a second to skim...Oh! Oh. That is hilarious.”
Somehow the writer had found...well, it wasn’t that obscure. But that this, this, was what the author of the article focused on for Sam when she had such cooler aspects of her life to write about!
“What?” Samantha demanded hotly.
“I’m changing my ringtone to the jingle. Medicsayswhat!”
“Fuck you!” She called back. Kyle could just picture her face coloring with shame at the enduring nature of embarrassing stuff sticking around on the internet. The commercials she’d made for that business class project.
“Gesundheit.” Kyle cackled with delight.
“You suck, Kyle” He had intended to stop, but this was a perfect opening for another shot.
“At least I didn’t blow. Then I’d need a medic” Samantha smacking her hand into her head was loud enough to hear over the call.
“Normally, I’d have a good response to that, Kyle.” Reasoned even tones that bordered on hysterical came to him. “But I’ve been receiving calls from people I haven’t heard from since high school asking for a medic.” It came out in an almost-sob. "I had deliberately made the ads as outrageous as possible specifically so that I wouldn’t win the contest. I was trying to prevent my ideas from being featured in the Tissue Medic advertising campaign. Please help me make it go away?”
“Oh. I’m crying you a river. It’s so deep I think I need a tissue...medic.”
“Yooouuuu...! I hate you! Ugh!” The call went quiet.
“Sam? Did – she just hang up on me?” He stared at the phone as the call counter beeped off. "She did. I’ll call her back on break and apologize after she’s cooled off a bit.”
An incoming call from his younger sister started while he was dumbly looking at the just-ended call from his older sister. The new ringtone began playing. It was a jaunty jingle even if his sister had badly written the corny lyrics and Kyle chimed in with the catchy song.
“Dry your eyes.
Staunch blood flow.
Cheer you up,
on the go.
Body, heart, or mind,
enchanted Tissue Medic tissues
salve every wound from exes to skinned elbows.”
The jingle began to repeat itself and Kyle interrupted it by answering the call.
“You have reached the cook’s phone. He can’t speak to you right now because he’s busy slaving away over your favorite meals.” He was trying to cheer up his younger sister by making fun of himself because he knew she wasn’t going to be happy.
“Kyle, I think I’m going to do something my classmates will regret.” While, intellectually, Kyle knew she shouldn’t encourage it, he couldn’t help himself but to chuckle. "You laugh but if someone messes with me today because I’m in the stupid news again I’m going to lose my cool.” He sighed and put on his ‘responsible-big-brother pants’.
“If you lose your cool, just don’t let anyone find it in the chest of one of your classmates.” It was going to take a while to talk Anna down off the murder-everyone ledge and he realized with a sigh he was not, in fact, going to have time to get doughnuts before work. He stared longingly at the Enchantress Doughnuts food bike about half a mile past the museum.
“Cryomancer jokes. Ha, ha! Like that’s not the same one you use every time.” Usually, references to her magic cheered Anna up, but this was not looking like it was going to be a home run of cheering up kid sis by the big bro kind of day. "Fine. I promise I won’t get caught.”
That was...better...than outright massacring people with no regard for getting caught, he supposed. But frankly, the thought of people bullying his little sister just boiled his bones and Kyle was more than willing to bring the pain on anyone who tried. But Mom had left orders about how to deal with the inevitable article fallout. Keep her calm and de-escalate.
“It’s just one little section of a PR puff piece meant to humanize Mom to the people who might be a little bit scared that she’s the magical equivalent of a flying super soldier with nuclear laser lances and wing missiles of divine wrath.” Halfway through that sentence, he noticed a few of the pedestrians walking in the opposite direction eyeing him with concern.
“I shouldn’t have had to participate,” Anna grunted through the phone and seemed to be out of breath for a moment. She was doing something that made thumping sounds and he assumed that she was probably still getting ready for school. "I’m a minor. Aren’t there laws about protecting my privacy and safety?” Inwardly, Kyle admitted it was a valid concern. The youngest member of the family was only fourteen and she went to a super prestigious private school full of spoiled children of the uber rich for a reason.
Bodyguards.
All the bodyguards and security on campus were the reason.
“I’m pretty sure you are the only eighth-grader on the planet who has a personal I owe you from the president of their country.” This had been the plan that they’d worked out with Mom beforehand. Anna was inevitably going to be upset about whatever was written. She was a kid in a school with shitty spoiled-asshole classmates. The family knew beforehand that something, something would go down because of this. Their goal was to mitigate Anna’s reaction to the bullies.
“You’re right.” Anna grudgingly admitted. "I do have that I Owe You from him.” Kyle knew for a fact that it was framed on her dresser.
“Right next to the ones from three different Joint Chiefs of Staff.” He reminded her of how she’d had to be bribed into participating so that Joe Q Public could have a chance to get to know their terrifying parent as the doting mother she was. Or at least make them think she was. There were more IOUs, from various mom-related events over the years, and Kyle doubted that the individuals in debt would ever let her call them in... but if she ever did...
“It’s a hobby.” She admitted sheepishly as she tried to conquer her discontent. "Today’s just going to suck.” He could hear the resignation in her voice and his heart bled for her.
“I know.” It wasn’t hard to play the sympathetic older brother when he really was sympathetic to her plight. It wasn’t that long since he’d been her age and she had it rougher than any of her three elder siblings. She was the only one in the family who was visibly magic-touched. She stood out with her waist-length white hair, dark eyes, and tan skin. “But hey. At least you got a nice bit about you that makes you seem really impressive while I’m the cook and everyone thinks Sam’s in advertising.”
“Yeah.” Anna snorted and Kyle thought he may have heard a snot bubble pop. Someone needs a medic, a tissue medic. He couldn’t help the thought whispering in his head but wisely kept it to himself so that he didn’t aggravate his baby sister further. "But they made me out to be like I was so powerful and maybe the heir to mom’s magic and position.”
That? That had been bad. Kyle had thought it was a bad move while he was reading it. That should never have been okay to publish, and it was a damn good thing that Anna attended a school with security up the wazoo already otherwise they’d have to pack her off to some obscure boarding school built like a medieval fortress for her own safety. The crazies would be out in force for her after this.
“It wasn’t as bad as all that.” Kyle soothed while lying through his teeth. The golden apple clutched forgotten at his side.
“The writer called me the next Harbinger and said that I ‘Light Up the Dawn with my magic’.” She scoffed. Kyle was nearing the museum where he worked and paused in a shaded spot near the steps so he could keep talking uninterrupted. He heard the beep of an incoming call and pulled the phone away from his face to see who was calling now. It was, not surprisingly, his mother this time. He sighed with resignation.
“Just don’t worry about it, kid. Go to school. Have the best damn day you can. And spit icicles in the face of anyone who gives you grief.” It was not the most responsible thing he could say, but it was the most big-brotherly thing to say. "Look. I gotta go. Mom’s calling. Probably to tell me not to encourage you to do anything rash and to stop making fun of Samantha.”
“Kay. Bye, Kyle. Love you.” Her morose response gutted Kyle a bit. If he thought he could get away with it he’d play hookey, and hang out with Anna all day. But he had to adult, and they’d get caught when the school notified his parents that Anna wasn’t there.
“Love you too Snow Cone.”
CHAPTER 3
Kyle glared at the screen of his phone as the incoming call from his mother took over the place the one from Anna had just held. Whereas Anna’s image was a cute little cartoonish picture of a snow cone, his mother’s well, it was just one of the more epic shots of her that someone had taken. He wasn’t sure if it was a captured image from video footage or if someone just happened to be that lucky. But it was just about one of the most epic things he’d ever seen in his life.
The image Kyle used in his phone book was one of her in her full-powered exoskeleton armor. Her magical wings spread behind her with her lance raised and ready to fire. She was ringed with power in all the glory of divine wrath that her patron gifted her with. His mother looked like the most badass anime warrior goddess come to life. His mother, a warlock of the Archangel Michael. Known throughout the world as one of the most devastating forces in existence.
A warrior patron for a warrior woman.
Normally, Kyle was so proud when he looked at that photo. Because his mother was amazing. Today the image of her mid-attack represented the darker side of being one of her children. The expectations that everyone else placed on them to live up to her greatness.
And the teeny tiny size of the picture on the screen did it no justice at all. He scoffed, not bothering to sing along with the song playing as his ringtone. It was no longer amusing him. His mom had messed up. Fine. He’d have to talk to her eventually. So, he slid his finger over the button to answer his phone for the third time that morning.
“You promised.” That was how he answered the call. The cold flat tone of his voice trembled with anger, and he had to stop before he said anything he’d regret. On the other end of the line, Camina Watkins, The Harbinger of Dawn, The Light Bringer, The Morning Star, THE Valkyrie, The Last Sight You’d Ever See, The Last Resort, The Last Line, sighed as she heard her son’s tone of voice.
“So, that’s how it’s going to go.” It was more statement than question.
“You promised they were going to lay off of Anna.” The young man continued doggedly. If it had been himself, he might have capitulated and let himself be pressured, but for his little sister...NO!
“You promised that they were going to stop pressuring her to take Michael’s pact. You promised she’d be allowed to choose her own patron if she ever chose to become a warlock. She doesn’t need to take a patron. Anna’s got enough natural magic that she doesn’t need a pact to be a magic user.”
He kept his voice to a low growl and glared off into the park, watching pedestrians on their way while he took the time to have the inevitable conversation. He knew he was the only one who would do it too. Once again, he heard his mother’s sigh but her voice when it came was steel.
“First of all, what went to print wasn’t what I was shown and approved of. Secondly, I’m just a soldier. I couldn’t have prevented this even if I had known they’d gone this way with it. And thirdly, everyone, and I literally mean every person on the entire planet knows that Anna has been offered a divine patron.” Her voice dripped with scorn at the obvious.
"The angels put a God damned star in the sky over the hospital when she was born. It doesn’t have to be Michael or even one of the angels, but that doesn’t change the fact that the offer stands. That the offer will always stand. I can’t change that!”
“You could remind people that she’s just a kid and she’s not ready –” Kyle never got to finish his sentence.
“Not ready? Not ready?” For the first time in the conversation, Camina’s voice began to rise with anger. "Samantha entered her pact at thirteen. You? Not much older. I was burning monsters with the power of an archangel when I was ten. My entire family has been powerful military assets for centuries. Centuries Kyle. I’m literally called The Last fucking Line! You know what that’s of?” Kyle wanted to turn around and throw his phone at the wall he was leaning against, but instead, he let the word come from between his gritted teeth as his mother spoke at the same time.
“Defense.” The word was sullen as he said it, but fiery in his mother’s tirade.
“Defense!” She paused and lowered her voice. "My superiors, they look at the history of our family, they look at me aging, and they are freaking out. Have you ever seen a five-star general have a panic attack and an existential crisis because I don’t have an ‘heir? There is no one in our country at my level to replace me. Not one of my older children has chosen to be an actual Warlock despite taking warlock pacts with fairly powerful patrons.”
Here Kyle thought he might be able to argue, but his mother wouldn’t let him. They both knew why she didn’t have a proverbial heir.
“I know Kyle. I know that Samantha isn’t cut out for it, and her pact item is too unstable, and her patron too bloodthirsty even if she were willing. I know your brother has a peaceful patron even if Asclepius is powerful. I know! I also know that you are capable of so much more even if no one else does. But I also know that, Anna. Is. Special. New-stars-in-the-heavens kind of special. And the whole world knows that too. There’s only so much interference I can run, and I know that I’m failing her as a mother. I. Know. And I am sorry for that.”
She finally stopped long enough for Kyle to get a word in edgewise. But she’d already said out loud the thing he was going to imply quietly without ever outright saying. She was failing Anna as a mother. Camina Watkins was a soldier first, a warlock second, a wife third, and a mother last.
That was a quote from her official biography. She didn’t say that about herself. It was something the author had said. Kyle pushed down the lump that had been forming in his throat as his mother waited patiently for his response. Finally, he spoke, and his voice was only slightly hoarse.
“Will...” He coughed to clear his throat and continued quickly. “Will you just make sure you tell Anna that?” He pleaded. "Not all the other bits that will make her feel guilty and pressured, but the part about being sorry?”
“Yeah.” Camina gave a rueful laugh. "I think I can do that.”
“In person.” Kyle admonished, as he rubbed something from his eyes. "Not a text. At least a voice call.”
“Yes. I pro –” But Kyle cut her off before she could finish her sentence.
“Don’t promise!” He felt like a jerk, but it was a well-known fact in their family that their mother couldn’t be relied upon to keep some promises. "Just do it.”
“Alright.” She was quiet; ashamed with the knowledge of shared history as to why he spoke that way. “I better let you get to work before you’re late. Lots of love baby boy.” With that, she hung up and Kyle puffed out his cheeks with a huge sigh of relief. He loved his mom, but these conversations...sometimes she made him feel like he was the parent.
He made sure the call had disconnected and locked the screen on his phone before shoving it into a pocket of his robes. Kyle looked down at himself with that same assessing self-loathing he felt whenever someone tried to ‘guide’ Anna into being their mom’s replacement. It didn’t matter that as a warlock of an archangel Camina Watkins was going to live and be a viable military asset for a good long while yet. It mattered because if Kyle had chosen a different path, maybe Anna wouldn’t have had to deal with those fools at all.
Yeah. When other people looked at Kyle, they saw an academic warlock. Someone who took a patron to help them gain knowledge more than magic. But what if...No! The young man shook his head and straightened the strap of his messenger bag over his shoulder. No. He’d chosen the Archivist and knowledge, and magic for magic’s sake. Knowledge was power after all.
Another ringtone came from the phone in his pocket, and he pulled it out again. It was just his alarm, telling him work started in fifteen minutes. His shoulders slumped as he trudged out of the shadows. Sunlight glinting off the natural blonde highlights in his light brown hair. He was just an average apprentice warlock – not even a full warlock like his older siblings – working an average job as a museum intern.
Nothing more. Nothing less.
Well, a little more. He also had some wizard powers.
Not nearly as spectacular as all the other members of his family.
CHAPTER 4
10:00 AM September 13th 2026
New York Preparatory Academy, New York, NY
It started out a nice day. Except for that stupid article. But the weather was nice. Really nice. Like most days that change the course of history, they are stereotypically either really nice weather or very terrible weather. It’s never just an average blah kind of day. Today it was an absolutely gorgeous Fall morning.
The leaves had just started turning colors, the sky was an unbelievably deep blue for that time of year, and it contrasted incredibly with the red brick buildings of the grounds for the New York Preparatory Academy for the absurdly rich and spoiled. That last part about the absurdly rich and spoiled wasn’t actually part of the school’s name. That was just something Anna’s big brother, Kyle, would say to cheer Anna up about going there.
But it was a really beautiful campus. Austere red brick facades on emerald-green manicured lawns, obsessively landscaped formal gardens, shingled rooftops, and fall leaves. That was why Anna Watkins was deep in concentration, working on a watercolor pencil landscape sketch when Sara White approached unnoticed and kicked her sketchbook out of her hands.
Confused and startled Anna shrieked in surprise and jerked her head up to see who had interrupted her while she was in the zone. Seeing it was the most popular – which everyone knew meant richest – girl in school, Anna contained her sudden urge to destroy the first person she saw. But her nostrils flared, and she pushed the few strands of hair that had escaped her bun back over her ears in a nervous habit.
“What the fuck Sara?” So, what that they weren’t allowed to swear at school. Sara’s behavior was bullshit.
“You think Liam Ecclestone would ever be interested in a freak like you?” The brat’s golden curls jiggled around her porcelain face as perfectly painted glossy red lips spat scorn at the girl sitting on the ground.
“Um, nooooo…” Anna arched one pale eyebrow unsure of what had spawned the current confrontation. "I’m not even sure who that is?” Unable to scoot back as she was leaning against a tree, Anna rose in one smooth graceful movement. That only seemed to infuriate her opponent more as Anna towered a full five inches over the other girl once standing.
“Stop pretending you aren’t into him. Gina saw you say ‘Hi’ to him before school this morning.” In a moment of clarity that made even less sense, Anna was able to place the interaction that seemed to have garnered her this unwanted attention.
“Look, I was just being polite to someone who was polite to me. He said ‘Hi’ so I said ‘Hi’ back. There’s no interest between us from either party.” Remembering her mother’s words that it’s harder to de-escalate a confrontation than to escalate it and that no one really wins in a fight, she tried to reassure Sara that she was not ‘competition’.
Anna had noticed that Sara had shown up with her little clique of bullies. Not that they were there for intimidation or anything, just that the five of them went everywhere together. But Sara’s shrill accusation that Anna was ‘into’ someone had drawn kids from around the school grounds. There hadn’t been a real knock-down drag-out fight yet as the school year had only started that week and everyone was aching for some drama and gossip. A crowd was forming, and Sara had noticed she now had an audience.
“Well, good! Wouldn’t want a freak like you who bleaches her hair white for attention thinking she was good enough for a man like that.” It was all verbal poison and vitriol from Sara who didn’t seem to want to de-escalate anything. A sigh escaped Anna that she couldn’t quite suppress. Her hair was naturally white, all of her hair. This made for a striking contrast against her dark tan skin. It was eye-catching. And who the fuck called a teenage boy a man? The dumb bitch trying to let him know she was willing to let him in her pants, that’s who.
“It’s naturally white. I asked my parents if I could dye my hair dark to look more natural, but they said that they weren’t going to let me change the way I look just because an insecure little cunt like Sara White is afraid a shallow boy that only cares about looks will like me more than her.”
It was wrong. Everything her parents preached was for her to stay out of fights and avoid conflict. Yet she was done tiptoeing around the girl who had made the lives of half the students at school miserable for years. If the spoiled little princess wanted to throwdown with ‘the next Harbinger’, Anna was more than capable of beating some sense into her. She was having that kind of day and in that kind of mood.
“You expect us to believe that you have skin that dark with hair that white. Puh-lease!” Sara scoffed and glanced at her gaggle of girls who laughed along with her. "That’s complete and utter bullshit.”
“I come from a magical family. Sometimes magical abilities affect the way a person looks.” She paused for a moment to let that sink in with the crowd. It couldn’t hurt to remind Sara where she came from and what picking a fight with her really meant. "You would know that if you had been smart enough to pass any grade and not just had your parents bribe the school into advancing you so you could still play with your friends.”
“You bitch!” The shorter girl gasped.
“At least bitches don’t get known for being easy like you, skank!” Anna shot back unconcerned as Sara dropped her bag and handed her coat to one of her friends in preparation for the fight she’d been looking for.
“I’m going to kick your freak ass.” The crowd let out a collective ‘ooOOOOhoooo’ of appreciation.
“You sure you want to do that?” She was more than willing to fight and deal with the consequences. It would be her first offense, she was a decent student, and her parents would support her decision even if it was against what they would encourage. Okay. Her dad, the pacifist, would be hella disappointed. Her mom would one hundred percent approve of Anna’s choice to beat the ever-living hell out of this obnoxious immature little shit. Maybe. "You know who I am.”
“You can’t hide behind mommy’s skirts forever. Eventually, you’re gonna have to take your medicine like the upstart piece of trash you are.” For a moment, Anna couldn’t believe she had just heard what she’d heard. Did Sara White, the girl who called on her daddy’s wealth and power to threaten, bribe, and coerce everyone from classmates to teachers, to school officials really just accuse Anna of hiding behind who her mother was?
“Bwahahahaha!” Laughter erupted out of her, and the pale-haired girl doubled over with uncontrollable amusement. The crowd watched in stunned awkward silence. Then a few chuckled while others smirked. "See?” Anna straightened as she caught her breath. "They get it.” She gestured broadly at the giggling teens around them.
“Get what?” Bewildered disgust twisted Sara’s face and Anna took pity enough on her to explain.
“That was funny. That you, who only have anything because everyone is afraid of her father, accused someone else of hiding behind their parents.” Unable to stop herself, Anna giggled again. "It’s funny.”
Sara had been glancing around at the crowd whom she had thought were on her side. Now she realized that maybe they were not rooting for her but laughing at her. She balled up her fists and lunged for Anna only to stop short when Anna pulled her hands up to a ready fighting position and each fist flared with balls of cool white light. A crisp chill wave blasted out from the white-haired girl and her hands frosted over with ice.
“Oh, what the heck. Kicking your ass without magic is going to be so much more fun.” She shook her hands and dissipated the spell. Where the balls of summoned ice had been moments before were just bare knuckles now. Then she swung a hard uppercut into Sara’s stomach driving her fist through the girl’s diaphragm.
The teens around her screamed with delight as the biggest bully in school doubled over gasping. ‘Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!’
“Oh, for fucks sake!” Anna muttered under her breath. "Why do teenagers have to be such animals.”
“That’s not fair!” Shrieked one of Sara’s clique. "You’re bigger than her.” The girl threw a bookbag at Anna.
“And there’s five of you who wanted to fight over some boy whose name I don’t even know.” Snatching the bookbag out of the air, Anna hurled it back with superhuman strength at the girl who had interfered sending her sprawling on her back several feet away.
Meanwhile, Sara had caught her breath and rushed Anna. Which was a mistake. With a general air of unconcern, Anna backhanded Sara across the face. Her head jerked to the side with a split lip before she fell.
“Anyone else want a piece of me?” It looked like one of the three girls from Sara’s clique that were left standing might have been about to step forward when an adult could be heard shouting. The group who’d been chanting ‘fight, fight, fight’ let out a collective ‘ahh’ and a few ‘booo’s’ and parted to let a teacher and several security staff through.
“Anna Watkins? Fighting with magic? What would your mother say?” The teacher tisked her disapproval.
“Hit hard, hit fast, make sure they don’t get up.” The teacher scowled at Anna as she quipped the famous Camina Wattkins quote almost automatically. “Hey, I didn’t use magic to fight. Just to try to convince her she didn’t want to fight.” Shrugging, Anna pointed a finger briefly at Sara then collected her belongings while trying not to scoff at the girls who were now worried about getting in trouble. "Besides, Mom says it is the moral obligation of the strong to stop bullies and protect the weak. Didn’t we just cover that quote from her in modern history class?”
“Get out of here everyone.” The teacher frowned, her face looking like she had a bad taste in her mouth as she made expansive shooing gestures with her hands to send the gathered teens off. "Not you five.” She whirled and pointed a finger at the three trying to help their two fallen comrades slink away quietly with the disbursing crowd. "You are going to the dean’s office with Miss Watkins. We need to have a chat with your parents.”
And the day was still gorgeous. Multicolor leaves rustling in a brisk breeze under a sunny azure sky. Anna sighed up at the heavens in resignation. Was this really what Michael and the angels had in mind when they chose her?
CHAPTER 5
10:45 AM September 13th 2026
35,000ft Altitude between New York City and Washington DC
A statuesque brunet rested her head against the window frame watching the landscape and fluffy clouds slide by beneath her. She let the vibrations of the passenger jet soothe her while she tried not to offend the young gentleman sitting next to her. He had already requested her autograph while jabbering on about what a big ‘fan’ he was of her work.
“Really, the way you took out those monsters during the last Appalachian magic surge…” He shook his head and exhaled with what appeared to be something between a sigh and a moan."…It was pure artistry. I watched the whole operation. Everything that the embedded journalists filmed.” His gushing was annoying, to say the least.
“Embedded journalists can’t film everything in high magic areas. High enough levels of magic can cause even magically hardened electronics to fail. So, the monster battles that were filmed and broadcast to the public were only a small portion of the cleanup that actually happened."
The correction was almost automatic now and she tried not to groan in frustration. This was why she hated traveling on civilian airlines even if the seats were slightly more comfortable. And quiet. Was it weird that she was more relaxed flying in some giant military cargo plane with the rattling and the roar of the engines getting ready to do a high altitude jump into an untamed magic zone overrun with monsters than sitting in relative comfort next to a... fan?
But, if the public continued to believe that the dangers out there were all known and easily dealt with, they wouldn’t take funding the military seriously. And that’s the problem she was having with the Senate Appropriations Committee. Somehow, the fact that known dangers had been successfully eliminated or removed meant to the politicians that the military didn’t need as much money as they had been giving it. So, she said the words that needed saying.
“Really?” Her seatmate brightened at her words. "So, there was stuff that you saw that wasn’t broadcast?” Placing one tanned hand to her face the woman rubbed the bridge of her nose in a failing attempt to ward off the migraine she knew would soon follow. "I’d love to hear all about it?”
Before she could think of anything to say to avoid this part of the conversation, her phone rang. Her shoulders sagged with relief as she jumped at the excuse to avoid talking to yet another Gore Groupie about disemboweling monsters. The number wasn’t one she recognized yet she was determined to take the call anyway.
“Excuse me. She interrupted the young man. "I need to take this.” Seeing the flight attendant on their way down the aisle, she paused for a second before answering the call and whispered hurriedly to her seatmate, “If I’m still on the phone when the flight attendants reach us, tell them I want coffee with two sugars and one cream.” Then she quickly answered the call.
“This is Camina speaking.” Camina hadn’t recognized the number, but anything had to be better than talking about work on her day off while traveling for work. Right? The young man next to her narrowed his eyes in suspicion and casually tilted his head as he nonchalantly strained to listen in on her conversation.
“Hello, is this the parent of Anna Watkins?” The voice was brusque and tinged with a level of disgust Camina had never before heard directed at her by someone she didn’t know.
“Yes. This is her mother, Camina Watkins. How can I help you?” For a few breathless moments, Camina was worried that something had happened to her daughter, and she pursed her lips together expectantly.
“This is Dean George from New York Preparatory Academy. I’m calling because Anna has been suspended for fighting and a parent or designated guardian needs to pick her up. I’ve been unable to reach Mister Watkins." A frown creased Camina’s forehead and the corners of her full, expressive lips turned down.
“Suspended for fighting? Well, certainly I hope it was the bully that keeps breaking her stuff because I told Anna I’m not replacing anything else that Miss White breaks anymore." Silence from the other end of the call strung out long enough that Anna’s mother thought the line had disconnected. "Are you still there, Dean George?”
“Ahem. Yes." Hearing the discomfort in the Dean’s voice, Camina’s frown curved up into a smile. "Be that as it may, your daughter participated in a fight and has therefore been suspended along with all the girls she had been fighting with. When can we expect someone to pick her up from school."
“I’m currently on a flight heading toward New York, but I’ll be landing within the hour. I could probably pick Anna up within two hours if there aren’t any delays on landing. You could just release her and let her walk home. We don’t live far from the school." She’d tried to sound as cheerful as possible but let some aggravation into her voice.
“Umm…Unfortunately, school policy does require that a parent, guardian, or an adult designated by a parent or guardian pick the child up when they’ve been suspended." The Dean had been taken aback by Camina’s suggestion that her child be released to walk home.
“Then I’ll be there as soon as I can." She paused artfully knowing full well that she would be annoying the heck out of the Dean. "Probably around 1:00 PM but maybe not until after 2:00 PM. I really can’t speed up the plane. That’s a bit beyond my control."
The young man beside her stifled a giggle as a flight attendant handed him a hot coffee, two sugar packets, and a creamer. Glancing over her shoulder Camina winked at him as he handed her the coffee and condiments and she mouthed Thank you!
“Umm hmmm." Her mouth occupied with a hot sip of beverage; Camina agreed absently to something she didn’t quite hear. "See you then. Ba-bye, Dean."
“Ba-bye?” The young man next to her sniggered as the call clicked off.
“I’m allowed to say ba-bye." She blinked innocently at her neighbor. "Thanks for grabbing my coffee for me." The cool air of the plane made a pleasing contrast on her face as the steam from her cup caressed her cheeks while she took another sip.
"I haven’t had a chance to have any yet today and I’ve been craving it."
She fumbled with the knob to release the seat back tray in front of her. One hand held her coffee, and the other, her sugar, creamer, and the snap-on lid to her cup. Juggling the way she held her condiments, she easily opened the tray and lowered it to set her things on.
“Trouble at home?” Camina’s erstwhile traveling companion asked with a look of intrusive concern that bordered on glee.
“No, not really." Her smiled reassurance was more than just an act. She was sure that her husband had just been busy with a patient and that he would be picking up their daughter soon. As the gears in her mind spun up back into ‘mom mode’ after the time she’d spent away, Camina absently doctored up her cup of joe the way she liked it before taking a thoughtful sip. "Mmmm…” Tension poured out of her body with the taste of her caffeinated savior. Her shoulders sagged gratefully. "So, good. Thank you, again."
Gesturing with her cup, the woman indicated what she was thanking her neighbor for. Then she opened the contacts list on her phone and scrolled through. Finding the name she was looking for, she dialed. The phone rang, and rang, and continued ringing several more times before eventually going to a generic voicemail box prompt asking her to leave a message.
“Hey, honey. It’s me. The school called and needs someone to pick up Anna. I’m on a flight back to New York now and should be landing in less than an hour. I came back early to surprise you. So…surprise! If you get this message before I pick up Anna, let me know if you are planning on doing it."
She hung up. There wasn’t any reason to be concerned that her husband wasn’t answering the phone. He was sure to have patients today, and he’d check messages between them. It was almost guaranteed that he would be calling her before she landed.
CHAPTER 6
10:50 AM September 13th 2026
Radio Empire Concert Hall New York, NY
Backstage was bustling as sound and light crews jogged and speed-walked through the final preparations for the show. Backup dancers, showboating rockstars, and the puffed-up wannabes who were going on before the main lineup made for colorful and flamboyant obstacles as they ducked in and out of dressing rooms calling for makeup artists, hairdressers, and last-minute costume alterations.
Of course, there were the inevitable groupies too. Wearing outfits that were too tight and consisting of too little material to justify the outrageous prices of designer clothes. One particular groupie in a loud purple jacket and jean shorts, with back pockets hanging out a hem that might as well have belonged to a bikini, caught Deveraux’s attention. His long blonde hair swirled loosely around his shoulders as he spun to watch her go by.
He wasn’t checking her out. No. But her aura was out of control. Angry and swirled up with hints of vengeance and rage. In the dressing room she had just walked out of the band was gathered around a pre-concert snack table filled with baked goods.
There was a small tingle of magic surrounding the food. Not enough to set off the security monitors or affect the electronics of the building; but enough to be no good if the dark spell coiled through the cookies was anything to judge by. Deveraux considered going in to warn the main attraction yet was discouraged by the dour-faced security guard at the door.
“You might want to warn the band to not eat any of the…whelp…never mind…” He had tried, but the leather-clad young men had already started stuffing treats into their mouths.
“They wouldn’t have listened anyways. Not when there are ‘magic cookies’ to eat." The security guard harrumphed with disdain. The way he had made air quotes when speaking the words ‘magic cookies’ implied that the band was expecting something recreational.
“OH…” The long-haired hippie…or maybe he was a hipster douchebag…sucked in a sympathetic breath through his teeth. "It’s not the kind of magic they think it is this time. The girl who just left was very upset." He shook his head and shrugged as the security guard laughed before heading into the room to wrangle some discipline into his charges.
The show would be starting any moment now and Deveraux wanted to get a last look at his makeup before heading up on stage. He ducked into his dressing room and pulled his cell phone from his back pocket. Checking it for messages and then setting it to silent, he chucked his phone into his bag.
Wouldn’t do for it to go off while he was performing and distract him. Or worse, for it to be picked up on a microphone. Or…worst of all, for him to lose it. The thought made him pale, and he blanched at himself in the mirror while he was giving his makeup a cursory final glance.
He looked good. He knew he looked good. Muscular? Toned? Long sexy hair? Check. Check. And check! Jeans that made his butt pop? Check. He headed up to the stage prepared to face the biggest audience he had ever Deejayed for.
While the sound crew next to the stage fitted him with his wireless mic, he could hear the announcer introducing him. He blushed and grinned when the crowd cheered for DJ Deveraux as he jogged and jumped out on stage. Raising his hands like a prizefighter for the crowd to cheer.
They weren’t really cheering for him. They were cheering for the main act that would be coming out later on, but DJ Deveraux didn’t mind one bit riding the high their response gave him. After all, how often did he get to shed his normal persona of a responsible husband and father to indulge in his craving for praise and use his talents in Technomagery the way he loved most? Back in his changing room, his phone in his bag was ringing with a call he was missing from his wife.
10:50 AM September 13th 2026
Industrial Park District Near the Port of New York
Two individuals in black padded motorcycle gear with molded black body armor sped through the streets of New York City without a care for the flow of traffic. They weaved and dodged expertly among the sparse vehicles in an industrial part of town as they headed toward their quarry.
Their target was an innocuous everyday average moving truck. It moved placidly along at the average speed of traffic. There wasn’t anything to call attention to it aside from the fact that maybe it was unusual for it to be in this part of town. Though not out of the question.
It was the kind of moving truck anyone could rent for about fifty bucks a day. It was shades of blue and white with the Mountain King Mover’s logo of ice-capped mountains under their name in gold. A company that reliably had franchise locations in every large city and small town in America.
Not until the driver of the truck heard the two cyclists and glanced in his side view mirrors to see them pulling up behind him did the moving truck have anything about it which would draw attention to it. Once the driver realized he was being pursued, his behavior changed drastically. The truck accelerated and passed the vehicles ahead of it, narrowly avoiding a head-on collision with an oncoming flat-bed semi, laden with small crates.
The semi swerved off the side of the road. Water exploded from barrier barrels as it impacted. Restraints securing it precariously stacked boxes snapped and the crates toppled from the flatbed and spilled across the road. The two individuals in pursuit dodged the rolling boxes.
One motorcycle nearly crashed the armor on the rider’s kneepad sparking on the pavement as the vehicle slid onto its side. The rider released the handlebars with the hand closest to the ground and punched the pavement, launching themselves and their vehicle back upright with a visible shockwave of magical force.
A chase was on, and the pursuing motorcyclists gunned their engines as they followed determinedly. Behind the speeding vehicles, a crack split the road where the fallen rider had righted themselves. Traffic in both directions was stopped by the widening rift in the ground.
CHAPTER 7
10:52 AM September 13th 2026
Industrial Park District Near the Port of New York
Inside the back of the Mountain King Movers truck, four security guards uniformed in armor and covered with weapons huddled uncomfortably around a locked steel crate. They looked like a typical group of Hollywood-ugly heroes from an action movie who were about to launch a four-man war against the Bad Guy. In reality, they were…maybe not the Bad Guys, but they definitely weren’t Good Guys either.
They were guarding the locked steel crate and a man in a lab coat. None of the guards liked the balding, middle-aged, arrogant asshole who pretended to be cocky and confident, but who clutched his briefcase too tightly to his chest to be anything other than terrified. His nervous habit of pushing his spectacles up his nose gave him away further. He’d push them up even when they did not need to be, then had to adjust them back down to see properly.
When they felt their vehicle’s speed increase, the four guards glanced at each other with only mild interest. One raised an eyebrow and another shrugged back at him. When they were jostled to almost fall over as the truck swerved to miss the semi, that’s when the lead guard became concerned. He frowned and grabbed the radio clipped to his uniform chest.
“Check in.” His voice was steely, calm. Then the vehicle swerved again, zigzagging through traffic wildly. “Hey, I said check in.” There was no answer. The radio clicked. It whined. The radios of each of the guards began to whine, a low buzzing at first that ran steadily up through the octaves.
“Shit!” One of them exclaimed, unclipping his radio and staring at it horrified.
“High-level magical interference. Radios off. Eject the batteries before they blow.” Their leader was still calm, but his voice had an edge to it. “Don’t worry. The truck is hardened against magical activity so we’ll keep moving and the collector will maintain ambient magic below toxic levels.” He’d been removing the battery from his radio as he spoke, and his subordinates followed suit. “Just be ready. There’s something out there.”
10:52 AM September 13th 2026
Radio Empire Concert Hall New York, NY
Deveraux finished his set to so many cheers. The crowds were screaming. He couldn’t see them really, just a seething mass of bodies in the dark, his eyes blinded by the stage lights. He didn’t care.
His heart was pumping, racing so fast. It was so gratifying. So, exhilarating. Sooo intoxicating. He could sense the emotions riding high and he’d been able to use his magic to accentuate it with the tones and rhythms of the songs he had played. They were ready for the main act. But the main act was probably not going to be ready for them.
There were a few more openers before the band was scheduled. Maybe they had time to get themselves unhexed before the show was on.
“Thank you, New York.” Deveraux grabbed the bottle of water a stagehand had set aside for him. He took a long gulping drink letting some of it run down his throat and front. Making magic was hard work and he was dripping with sweat, but this was part of his act...and some of the ladies, and lads, loved it. The water made his tight shirt stick to him and transparent where it was wet.
Then he grabbed the single red rose laying on the same side table where the water had been. He swaggered jauntily to the front of the stage and tossed the rose as far out into the audience as he could. Deveraux didn’t wait to see where it landed. He swiftly exited the stage as the screaming fans surged to even greater excitement. Overhead the announcer’s voice gave him an outro.
“That was DJ Deveraux. He makes music that the heart always knows.” There was a suggestively lewd lilt to the announcer’s voice but that was show biz. Sex sold. And Deveraux was sexy, if he did think so himself. At least, his fans told him he was sexy. “Now where is the lucky audience member who caught that rose. What’s that? You’re sharing it with your friend? Well, congratulations ladies. You have just won yourselves a backstage pass to meet Maiden’s Voyage after the show tonight. Say, thank you, to DJ Deveraux.”
Even more wild screaming followed the DJ, and he smiled broadly all the way back to his dressing room. He continued smiling until he saw the missed call from his wife. By the end of the voice mail, Deveraux was frowning with disappointment.
Now his plans for rubbing elbows at the afterparty and spreading his name for more gigs was going up in smoke. Or maybe that should be frost, considering it was his icy frost queen of a daughter who had messed things up. No. That wasn’t fair. She’d been complaining about that bully for a long time. It was bound to happen if the school didn’t take action.
This just...
It wasn’t fair. None of his other kids had ever.... No. That wasn’t true. Samantha..., Samantha was a statistical outlier and while she’d never started fights, she made sure she finished them. In a way that prevented the loser from ever wanting to fight her again.
What had Kyle called her? Oh yes. The Prodigy of Pain. Remembering that bit of his oldest daughter’s hellion years made Deveraux feel a bit better. And remembering that his son Kyle was now old enough to pick Anna up from school made Deveraux smile with guilty but unrepressed glee.
Just this once.
He sent the text.
‘Kyle. Need you to pick up Anna from school. She got suspended I’ve got a busy schedule today. Your mom took an early flight but she’s still not back. You can just drop her off at home. Thanks, Dad.'
CHAPTER 8
10:53 AM September 13th 2026
Radio Empire Concert Hall New York, NY
DJ Deveraux was just packing up to get a head start on the afterparty when he heard the call. The drummer and the second bassist of Maiden’s Voyage were out of commission and the lead singer was desperately calling for anyone who could fill in from the openers. Before he could muster the arrogance to volunteer himself, someone else chimed in that ‘DJ Deveraux is a technomage, he could cover both parts”.
“Really?” The leather-clad singer grasped at the statement with desperation and relief. “Where is he? He hasn’t left yet, has he?” Swallowing the crow of joy that threatened to leap from his throat, Devereaux sauntered up to the frantic frontliner as he turned to look for the technomage.
“I’m right here.” Devereaux gave the other musician a big friendly grin even though he knew the star would never have given him the time of day in any other circumstances.
“Did you hear? Are you willing to stand in? There are thousands of tickets we’d have to refund if…” The man trailed off as Devereaux held up a hand graciously. One might even say he did it calmly. This was it. This was his chance. This was his one shot at being famous for his music. He was shocked that his hand didn’t quiver even the slightest and his voice was clear and firm, reassuring even.
“I’d be honored and delighted.”
As if the entire backstage had been holding its collective breath for a frozen second, unsure if he would accept, some hoping he wouldn’t so that they might have a chance, then the spell broke, and everyone sprang into action.
“Alright, Comeon.” The singer had an accent that Devereaux hadn’t noticed at first. Now it came out strongly. Though the technomages could not place it. “I got George’s bass on stage. Hey, you, roadie,” he called out to one of the technicians dressed all in black that were all over the backstage and most definitely weren’t all part of this particular band’s personal roadie group. “Set up the bass for hands-free operation.”
“Don’t forget the drums,” Devereaux added.
“The drums too?” The technician called back uncertainly.
“They’re electric, aren’t they?” He turned to the singer from Maiden’s Voyage who nodded.
“Yeah?” His tone was voice made it clear that he didn’t think they could be used that way.
“Then I can operate those hands-free also, I can switch back and forth between the two if you like. The grin of delight that met his words was immensely gratifying.
“I do like.” He clapped the DJ on a shoulder as they walked to their locations on the stage. “I would like that very much.”
Before he knew it, the curtains were going back up and he was reading sheet music someone had discreetly placed for him. It was cleverly lit with one of the effects lights that were on him. But it wasn’t necessary. He recognized the song from the radio, and he was playing it mostly from memory.
They’d started out quiet and the announcer was letting everyone know that Technomage DJ Devereaux was guest appearing with the band. Like no one was going to notice that he was covering for two missing members. That was fine.
His magic was humming through the drums and the bass as he sat down and started playing by hand. The singer and the backup were belting out the lyrics, but they were not looking good. They were looking quite bad actually. Sweating and swaying like they were about to topple over.
The lead singer lost it first as he ran for the side curtain. He barely made it past the sight of the crowd before tossing his cookies all over the stagehand who had rushed to bring him a bottled water and a bucket. There was a faltering in the cheering of the crowd before DJ Devereaux started a crazy drum riff.
He rolled out the snare into a fast complicated rhythm on the toms that wasn’t part of the song but that he knew would punch it up a bit. After laying into the hi-hat with a crash for good measure, Devereaux chucked the drumsticks out into the crowd. Then he pointed at the lead singer’s abandoned guitar lying on the stage and made that baby stand up and walk into place as it rejoined the song.
The lead guitarist waved at the technomage to get his attention and clutched at his abdomen. Devereaux nodded and gestured for the guitarist to toss his instrument at him. With a doubtful cock of his head, the musician complied.
The audience lost their minds.
And Devereaux flicked out one hand and caught the guitar with his magic only to set it playing immediately. With a quick gesture of his other hand, one of the abandoned microphones leaped into his fingers. Coordinating so many instruments at once was only a light strain for him. He’d practiced this kind of thing for years. Now, he began to sing, finishing up the song he’d started.