Magic is an App | Book 1 | Chapter 11

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CHAPTER ELEVEN

Magic yoga cleans out my pores

Once I said “Yes,” a shock ran through my mind as if a lightning bolt had struck me. I doubled over, gasping in pain, but this lasted only an instant. In the next second, the massive headache that hacked my brain was gone. With my mind clear, I suddenly knew what to do as if I’d relearned another memory I’d forgotten.

“I’m never getting used to this.”

While I massaged my brow, I wondered if learning magic had always been this easy. I imagined it shouldn’t be, requiring years spent inside dusty archives, back bent and pouring over arcane scrolls and brick-sized tomes. On a more macabre note, maybe sitting cross-legged inside a magic circle while demons whispered the secrets of the universe into one’s ears was how dark sorcerers learned their magic. Reality, though, seemed significantly less mysterious. To put an idea inside someone’s head and let it bloom into new knowledge like downloading a file from the internet…it felt so twenty-first century. But I guess that was the point. Magic for the modern mind, but with one caveat.

“Just because I know a thing doesn’t mean I have mastery over it.”

This was a line my old karate master used to say after ten-year-old Ollie quickly learned advanced moves like the axe kick or the double-handed punch, and she wasn’t wrong. My form might have looked perfect on the outside, but none of my punches or kicks could smash those wooden breaking boards Master’s limbs easily demolished with just basic moves. I assumed it would be the same for spells. What I could do with Ghost must’ve been levels of magnitude lower than if Briar Rose used the spell.

These weren’t just educated guesses either. Proof of my musings was in the spell’s description. With practice, and maybe more mana circuits, I could learn to levitate in the air or entangle physical objects with each other while in Ghost form. That must be what mastery meant for spells—possibilities.

Don’t get me wrong, instantaneously learning the basics of a spell was still a monumental accomplishment. Mastery was only something to aspire to afterward.

I downed the last of my orange soda. “Into the breach I go.”

Speaking of the basics, it was about time I tried Anthem, which I now understood differed from a spell like Ghost. Anthem was as advertised, a mana-breathing technique meant to help me find the rhythm to absorb and refine mana quicker than simple resting could do.

After throwing the squashed soda can into the trash, I got comfortable on the window bench, crossing my feet underneath me and putting a blanket over them. Then, with hands clasped together, one palm over the other, I began meditating.

Instead of magic words or Buddhist chants, as my newfound knowledge dictated, I began singing one of mine and Dad’s favorite rock songs—Drive, by Incubus.

Dad used to blast alternative rock on the speakers whenever he was free to fool around with his kid. A couple of pop-rock choices joined his playlists, some Michelle Branch and Alanis Morissette, but Dad also enjoyed heavy metal when he thought I was napping and couldn’t hear Metallica screaming over the speakers. So yes, I too began loving early 2000s rock music, because even now, as I murmured the lyrics of Drive, the song reminded me of the good old days when I had a family. That made it my anthem.

Clearly, Anthem wasn’t your typical yoga breathing technique. It was surprisingly easy to sing while breathing in the surrounding air, as if the rhythm of the song was guiding me into taking the right breaths. Singing also helped me focus inward, allowing me to tap into that warmth around my chest, a familiar sensation that I now felt as I drew breath from the air.

I need to remember this feeling.

The beats of the song helped me lead the new stuff toward my heart, which was when pain blossomed in my chest. I gritted my teeth, but I didn’t panic or stop singing. My downloaded knowledge had already warned me this could happen when I drew the impure mana of the world into myself. That’s what refinement was for.

With a second dish of the song’s chorus setting my mood, I sent the almost tangible warmth circling around my chest. With each rotation, I spun it faster, and it got hotter, so hot that I nearly missed that high note in my singing. Eventually, as if in tune with the end of the song, I finished with refinement. It’s also when I realized I couldn’t keep all the mana I’d absorbed. Only about a tenth of the whole could go into my magic circuit, which spoke volumes about my lack of magic talent. Fuck talent, though. Baby steps.

I started a new track, Chasing Cars by Snow Patrol. Then, as I got my rhythm going, I let the refined mana flow into my magic circuit, feeling how it strengthened the lines and smoothed out those jagged edges. Firmness flowed through me, and it felt amazing. I sensed I could do more now, like how Ghost might feel easier to use next time, and with maybe less painful aftereffects, too.

As for the mana I couldn’t absorb, I wouldn’t let it go to waste. Anthem had a hack that would let me use it for cleansing my insides.

I pushed the excess mana away from my center, guiding it through the clogged pipes of a teenager who enjoyed way too much junk food, and out every extremity, pore, and hole I had. It was as disgusting a process as you might imagine, though I wouldn’t realize this until later. The cleanse was uncomfortable, like pouring George’s expensive whisky down my throat, but spreading that disgustingly hot and itchy liquid throughout my body instead.

Once all the weird vibes of mana-breathing finished washing through me, I let out one final murmured tune. Then I opened my eyes—and discovered I was no longer alone. Aunt Odette’s face was so close to mine, I nearly jumped back in surprise. I couldn’t have, though, because she had one hand tightly grasping my shoulder. The other hand had a handkerchief over her nose.

“Um, what’s up, Auntie?”

At a guess, I’d say she’d been here for a while. Possibly calling my name too.

“I’ve been trying to wake you for ten minutes,” she said, her voice laced with concern.

Bingo.

“Wait, why’re you down here in the middle of…”

I cut myself off because my back felt strange. It was hot, like the sun was shining down on it through the window.

A peek over my shoulder told me I’d surmised right. The street was bright with morning light, which meant I’d been meditating all night. Weird, because I thought Anthem had only taken two songs’ worth of time.

Aunt Odette noticed the confusion spreading across my face.

“Are you okay?”

“Y-yeah, I was just meditating…”

Technically, it wasn’t a lie. Half-truths weren’t much better, I knew, so I couldn’t help looking away. Otherwise, the FBI agent in my aunt would’ve noticed the guilt on my face.

“Meditating?”

I nodded sheepishly.

“Ollie…”

I peeked, noticing Aunt Odette’s raised eyebrow.

“Are you on drugs?”

“What—no!” I pulled away from her. “I’ve never done drugs.”

I would never-ever think of doing drugs, and not because I was a boring guy who didn’t like to party. The asshole who’d killed Dad was a drug addict. So, for me to take drugs, it’d be like spitting on Dad’s grave.

The skepticism was obvious on Aunt Odette’s face.

“You’re sweating too much, Ollie.”

That was an understatement.

Now that she’d pointed it out, I could feel that every pore was wet, sticky, like someone had poured melted candy all over me. It made me regret wearing my limited-edition Hay Hat Luffie shirt, which now clung to me as if it were a second layer of skin.

“You smell awful.”

Aunt Odette was downplaying it. A quick sniff, and I realized I reeked like a public toilet at a park that no one’s cleaned in days.

“Oh, God…”

I glanced down.

Let me say that I am thankful for my foresight. If a blanket hadn’t been covering my legs, Aunt Odette would’ve seen what was happening down there, and I would’ve died from embarrassment.

“Ollie, I’ve called your name dozens of times, I’ve shaken you, I’ve contemplated slapping you in the cheeks—”

“Whoa,” I interrupted, but Aunt Odette wouldn’t stop talking, as if she couldn’t shut her mouth now that she’d expressed her panic in word vomit.

“—I nearly threw water on you, dialed nine-one-one, and I even threatened to call Liza—nothing I did woke you up!” she said, nearly screaming in my face.

“I’m okay,” I promised.

Her eyebrow rose another half inch.

“Breathe, please,” I said.

Aunt Odette took my advice. She shut her eyes and took a few deep breaths. When she opened them again, they were a little wet.

“Geez, you punk, I thought you had a stroke,” she said, biting her lip. “I thought…”

She didn’t need to finish that sentence. I knew what she meant. After all, I was all the family she had left, too.

I would’ve hugged my aunt to reassure her, but I was getting kind of uncomfortable with all the waste sticking to me. Particularly the nasty stuff below the waist. Instead, I patted her shoulder and promised her again that I was okay for real.

“And you’re not on drugs?”

“You know I won’t touch the stuff.”

Concern still filled Aunt Odette’s expression. Tinted with mild skepticism, some irritation, maybe a little affection too. Honestly, it was impressive seeing how many emotions a person could have during a brief conversation.

“Wait, you nearly called my mom?”

“Yeah, sorry. I panicked.”

Anyway, with Aunt Odette calmed down, I got her to head upstairs with the excuse that I needed to get ready for school. But really, it was so I could clean up the mess I’d made. I wouldn’t be sitting on that bench for a while, at least not until I’ve thoroughly disinfected the upholstery. The blanket would have to go into the trash, though. There was just no saving it. The shower would work overtime to clean every inch of me too.

Interestingly, while I worked to scrub off the black stuff that had escaped my pores, I couldn’t help noticing how fresh I felt inside. I wouldn’t be surprised if sixteen years’ worth of filth had left my body. That’s how clean my insides felt, like I’d installed new hardware instead of just power-washing the old equipment. More importantly, as I got out of the shower and saw my reflection in the mirror, I couldn’t help noticing how my abs seemed more defined. I put on some pounds in my arms, too. And…did I get a little taller?

“Whoa…”

I also noticed how fresh my face looked—no dryness or acne, the skin feeling soft like a baby’s bottom.

“Okay, I can work with this.”

It’s not like I cared much about how I looked before, but no one would ever accuse me of being sloppy. Mom wouldn’t allow it. Between boxing training and school, she made sure I knew which lotions kept my skin fresh and which ointments got rid of cuts and bruises without leaving scars. Her eldest child looking good and living good despite my past trauma was proof of concept for the teen celebrities she signed. It’s one reason my arrest hit Mom so hard. I made her look like an incompetent agent. Not a parent. She’d have to be around to be given that title.

I sighed, smacking the mirror lightly with my fist.

“Today’s the day I get my fresh start.”

Hah—if only wishing something made it reality. No such luck for me, because deep down, I’d already accepted the role of apprentice magician. I still wasn’t sure what the job was—something vague like protecting humanity and a magic shroud from some unknown evil—but I would be a willing guardian if it meant I’d finally live up to Dad’s legacy. Also, maybe, just maybe, doing something good might help with that fresh start I’ve been looking for. Perhaps even balance some of the bad I’d done.

It was a lot to ask for. I knew. I couldn’t help feeling hopeful this one time, though. But first, I needed to make sure I wouldn’t get expelled on my second day at Brook-Sci.

I snuck into class just before the bell rang, though getting to my seat was a battle of nerves. More of my classmates were trying to trip me over, as if they’d collectively decided it was a challenge to see who could send me crashing to the floor. I guess I should be thankful that their bullying was more subtle than outright trying to push me around. Not everyone bothered with the new guy, though. Some of them already had kids they could bully, like that boy with too much aggro, Scum Blade. One of the bigger girls had him pinned to the back wall, one pale hand closed around his throat.

“Who told you that you could touch my boob, bitch?” the tall brunette growled.

I think Scum Blade was trying to answer, but her fingers were too tight around his windpipe, and he choked on his words.

“You think you’re hot shit now just coz you’ve won one match?” she asked.

My ears perked up.

“Hey,” the Hispanic girl with pink dreadlocks tapped the brunette’s shoulder, “you’re not supposed to talk about it.”

Both girls’ gazes darted left and right and discovered me standing next to them.

“What the fuck are you looking at?” the brunette asked.

She looked tough, built but not burly, like she’d do well in martial arts. She sounded tough, too, though I suspected that her toughness was a veil to mask suspicion, perhaps, or maybe fear. The fear that I might’ve overheard, which I did. She hadn’t been subtle.

“What did you mean by,” I nodded at the boy she held against the back wall, “him winning a match?”

Tall, pale, and brunette didn’t answer. She just glared at me in a way that said, ‘Butt out.’

Even Scum Blade, despite having his throat constricted, had his gaze stuck to me like he couldn’t believe hearing what I’d just asked.

It wasn’t just them either. Nearly a dozen gazes snapped toward me after I’d asked my question. Not the entire class, but enough for me to feel nervous about getting jumped from all sides. From the hostile way they glared, I might’ve touched a nerve. Maybe even grazed something forbidden.

I sighed, not expecting such an overblown reaction. It was too early in the day to get into a brawl though, one that would get me kicked out of Brook-Sci if The Law found out. So, I hesitated, weighing the risk of pressing further against the payoff of learning what the brunette and her friends seemed intent on keeping hidden.

Later, I promised.

I pointed beyond her. Then I shrugged. “My seat’s that way.”

Did my shrug of indifference de-escalate the situation? Mostly. The others turned away and resumed clipped conversations as if my curiosity hadn’t interrupted them. As for Tall, Pale, and Brunette, her eyes narrowed into wary slits, but her fingers slackened enough around Scum Blade’s neck that he slid off the wall he’d been hanging from. She also didn’t stop me as I walked between them, though her gaze followed me all the way to my seat.

“It’s not worth it, Margot.” The Hispanic girl with pink dreadlocks pulled at the brunette’s arm. “Let’s go. Bones is coming.”

The two girls walked to their seats, leaving the groaning boy behind as he struggled to his feet. I didn’t help him up, and I didn’t feel bad about it. Some people didn’t need saving.

The ice princess, Bella, wasn’t in her seat. Dre wasn’t around either when Mr. Bones, who doubled as our homeroom teacher, came in to take roll call.

“Mr. Osborn, son, come over here,” the half-giant called.

There were fewer classmates trying to trip me as I headed to the teacher’s desk. Tall and massive Mr. Bones looming over the class may have had something to do with it.

“Here.”

He gave me a printout of my class schedule, giving me a second to browse through the typical advanced school curriculum. Mondays and Wednesdays had block classes, while Fridays got packed with everything on the course list. I liked it. I needed to be challenged academically to keep from getting into too much trouble. Weird though, the Tuesday and Thursday schedules were blank.

“Um, Sir, I think there’s something wrong with the list. It’s incomplete,” I pointed out.

“No, it isn’t, son.” Mr. Bones handed me a second printout. “One of Brook-Sci’s key missions is to help wayward students find their way back to the victory road. Choosing which electives gets you on the right path is how we start the process.”

The printout had a list of electives to choose from, and there were a lot of choices, none of them conventional, from Wilderness Survival and Urban Exploration to art and science topics geared for rehabilitation like Art & Nature and Critical Thinking. Also…

“Adventure Education?”

“Challenge-based outdoor learning. Helps foster personal growth, group development, problem-solving, and risk assessment skills,” Mr. Bones said.

“And Saturdays?”

“Community service. Builds empathy.”

“I gotta go to school on weekends?”

“You do the crime—you do the time.”

“Sure. That’s fair.”

Despite the uniqueness of these electives, I noticed there weren’t any classes for the more occult stuff. I’d have killed for Introduction to Magic or Swords and Sorcery—anything that might help me survive the secret portal hidden in the boiler room that led to that bizarre place I would need to visit again for my new part-time job. No such luck, though.

“Can I have some time to think about it?” I asked. “I’d like to discuss it with my aunt first. She’s my guardian.”

Mr. Bones raised an eyebrow at me. He knew I was stalling, but it wasn’t like he could disregard the guardian card after I brought it up.

“I’ll give you until tomorrow,” he said. “Talk to your aunt, but don’t forget that it’s your life. Ultimately, framing your future is up to you. Not anyone else.”

Mr. Bones wasn’t half-bad at doling out motivating words.

“Yes, sir.”

Since it was Tuesday, and I hadn’t chosen my electives yet, I wondered if it meant I could go home early. No such luck. After laughing loudly at my expense, Mr. Bones told me to shadow my classmates and see which electives interested me. Fun as that sounded, I had a better idea of how to spend my time.

Today’s free pass provided an opportunity for a little investigating, which was why I was scouting the staircase leading down into the main building’s basement rather than Intro to Philosophy. I lucked out too, because my arrival overlapped with loud noises coming from down below. Most prominent were the echoes of heavy footsteps. They were uneven and laced with an urgency that suggested someone was being chased.

Again, I hesitated, weighing my options and the odd thrill in my chest. If this were a chase, then someone was in trouble, and the game was afoot. Did I have the strength to help?

“I already said I’d do it…”

It wasn’t a very adrenaline-pumping line, but my conviction got me to move one cautious foot down the steps. Then another, and a third, until, with my heartbeat skipping, I walked down into the basement to face unknown foes and unseen dangers.

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