Magic is an App | Book 1 | Chapter 13

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CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Every magician needs an assistant

With Dre busy puking his breakfast onto the ground, it was up to me to figure out how to navigate this strange world we portaled into; an expanse of beach sand spread out in all directions, and with red fog creeping over the horizon like a many-headed snake.

“I can do this. Done it before,” I said, psyching myself up like I used to do when stepping into the ring.

It was hot, like a day at Daytona Beach during the peak of summer, prompting me to pull off my school coat and stuff it into my backpack, which, luckily, I didn’t leave behind this time.

“Hey, Dre, you good, dude?”

“One second…ugh.” He spat out some nasty bile. “How are you not face-planting right now?”

“I did magic meditation last night.”

I wasn’t one hundred percent certain, but I think learning Anthem and smoothing out my mana circuit helped my body attune better to magic stuff so that sliding into the astral plane didn’t feel as brutal as it did for a magicless like Dre. As a bonus, Anthem may have also helped to shore up my nerves, because Mom’s voice in my head was oddly silent despite the anxiety-inducing scene surrounding me. The lack of sound or scents, and even the oppressive heat—the ‘me’ from yesterday would’ve already freaked out by now.

“Magic meditation…whatever that is, you gotta teach me. So next time I won’t feel like I got clipped by a subway car.” Dre straightened up, taking off his coat too, but wrapping its sleeves around his waist instead. “But what now? I don’t think this is the other Brook-Sci, amigo.”

“My guess, we made it to the astral plane, but we’re not where we need to be.” Not wanting to change my look despite the oppressive heat causing sweat to coat my neck, I rolled up my hoodie’s sleeves like I was prepping for a spar. “The question is, how do we get from here to there?”

“How’d you do it yesterday?”

I pointed a finger at the red fog rolling toward us.

“I walked into that.”

“Makes sense.”

“It does?”

“Remember when I said I was researching folktales last night?”

“Yeah, so?”

“Fog’s huge in folklore. My lola used to say it hides spirits. But I also read it’s a gateway to another realm. European legends, Mexican myths, Filipino fables—they all got the same vibe.” Dre adjusted his long bag’s strap. “Sounds loco, but I’m thinking we test that theory, and maybe we don’t get lost.”

“But find our way,” I finished his thought. Then, grinning, I said, “Okay, sure, it does make sense. Let’s try it.”

Only a teenager could be so reckless. Luckily, there were two of us. And it turned out some legends weren’t just superstitious nonsense. We’d barely crossed into the fog—our hands clasped onto each other’s shoulder so we wouldn’t get separated—when I caught sight of something faint glimmering in the distance.

“I see the X.”

The problem was, Dre could see it too, but in a direction opposite from where I pointed. Unlike yesterday, it seemed we had two pulsing signals we could follow.

“Left or right?” he asked, though I barely heard him in the dense fog.

“I don’t think there are any wrong answers here,” I half-yelled.

See, if bizarro Brook-Sci truly was a shrine to an old god, I doubted an ego like that would want neighbors camping nearby. So, it stood to reason that whichever pulsing signal we followed, both likely led back to the school. Just different parts of it.

We chose the left path this time, and eventually, after a lot of stumbling and bumping into each other, our steps heavy as if the sandy ground opposed our passage, we found the source of the flickering light, and it wasn’t what I was expecting.

Safety Is No Accident

Today, the source of the faint light that banished the surrounding fog hadn’t come from the ‘X’ of an exit sign, but the ‘No’ of a neon poster that looked vaguely familiar.

“Isn’t this the sign outside Sanchez’s class?” Dre asked.

“I’m not sure. Maybe,” I said.

It looked like the same reinforced glass door from back then, though this door’s glass had so many cracks on its surface that we couldn’t see anything beyond it. The heavy-looking door also stood rooted to the ground, moored to gravity unlike the pieces of broken walls and windows floating around it.

“Where do you think this leads?”

“Are you saying it won’t take us to shop class?”

“I’m not sure. The last door I found took me to an arena full of psychos.”

A look of disbelief passed across Dre’s face as I recounted my tale, the glint of the neon ‘No’ reflecting in his eyes. When I finished though, his unease was quick to vanish, replaced with his usual cool grin. I’d already seen it though, his calm mask cracking just a little, making him seem as vulnerable as I’d been yesterday.

“Wait—Jack Dandy?” Again, Dre’s grin faltered. “He’s in Bay Ridge Medical’s ICU. Docs don’t know what’s wrong with him.”

“Seriously?”

It was one thing to see an unconscious kid get carted off by paramedics, but learning he hadn’t woken up yet was like having cold water dunked over my head.

I may have been looking at this magician job like it was a game thanks to the app, but I was suddenly reminded that there were very real consequences if I messed up, and not just for me. Dre was in the crosshairs too, which made me wonder, and not for the first time, why he’d changed his mind about following me into the astral plane.

“I saw him get hurt, but I didn’t think…” My brow creased.

“Rumor is, he hasn’t woken up,” Dre admitted.

“It’s just a rumor though, right?”

“Might be true. Saw his folks with The Law when I ran into her earlier.”

Hearing about Dandy’s parents, I imagined the worst scenario; Dr. Lawson explaining to my guardian how I died at the school. Unsurprisingly, it wasn’t Mom but Aunt Odette who showed up in my head.

“We should avoid getting stabbed, cut, or bludgeoned then.”

“Yeah.”

Even with the very serious possibility of a coma waiting beyond the reinforced door, neither Dre nor I talked about running. But more than reckless courage or the thrill of exploration, I think we both just didn’t want to see another kid get rolled away on a stretcher when we returned to reality. We didn’t talk about him, maybe because it was easier not to, but Enzo Rossi being led to the boiler room was like a snapshot burned into our memories.

The faint hum of the heavy door’s vibration also helped in our decision. The closer we got to it, the more it pulled us into its orbit like gravity.

I raised my hand, feeling the buzz of energy across my skin as my fingers brushed against the cracked glass. The heavy door was reacting, stirring to life at my touch, groaning open even before I could push at it.

A whiff of wood and metal wafted out of the dark opening, though there was something else too. It was an iron scent a boxer like me couldn’t help recognizing.

“I smell blood,” I said.

Dre shrugged. “We are walking into a horror movie, amigo.”

I snickered. I couldn’t help it. The same thing had crossed my mind yesterday when I discovered the floating door that led to the arena. This bit of gallows humor helped me keep my nerve, and with a nod of support, Dre and I rushed into the opening.

We fell into a room that barely looked like the one we’d visited only twenty minutes ago.

The workbenches were gone. In their place stood dozens of weapon racks and armored mannequins, many of them sporting cracked wood and broken limbs. The overhead lights flickered, casting long shadows across a floor marked by combat, and something else, too.

“You’re late!” barked a bright, childlike voice I recognized instantly.

It was the same disembodied cherub voice I’d heard from my phone, though its speaker wasn’t like the winged baby angel I’d been expecting. A French bulldog with white fur and black spots sat atop a groaning teenage gladiator. It wore a Viking cap with an eye mask and nasal guard that perfectly fit its squished face. A mini smartphone hung from its neck like a clasp for the short red cape barely covering its back.

“Did you stop for drive-thru, monsieur?” the dog asked, voice proud over the phone’s speaker, dragging the ‘R’ like it had an actual French accent.

“Is that Frenchie talking?” Dre blinked. “Yo, this place is wild.”

“Don’t look so surprised. In the astral plane, the stranger the creature, the more reliable we are.” The phone on its throat glowed, cycling through cheerful emojis as it spoke. “So, you’re the new magician, huh?”

It felt a little weird having those adorable golden eyes scrutinizing me like a human would, but I was getting used to strange. The same huge-eyed stare drifted to Dre next, its head tilting to the side.

“And who is this charming hollow? The valet?” the voice on the phone asked, a thinking face emoji appearing on its screen.

“Name’s Dre. I’m the one keeping Ollie alive.” He drew closer, pulling a piece of beef jerky from his long bag’s pocket and offering it to the dog. “Want some rations?”

“R-rations?! Mon Dieu, you speak my love language!”

The dog gobbled up the jerky with relish, asking for seconds immediately afterward.

“Not so fast.” Dre pulled out a second string of jerky, dangling it just beyond the reach of that wide mouth. “You want this, then you gotta give something up, too.”

“What do you want?”

“Let’s start with a name. What’s yours.”

“Bruce Almighty!” He jumped back suddenly, a surprised face emoji showing on its screen. “By the hungry hosts of Hastur…I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Why not?” I asked.

“True names have power, especially here on the astral plane.” Bruce turned to me, its black-furred ears drooping, mirroring the sad-face emoji on its phone. “Telling my true name to two strangers is an amateur move a magician’s assistant shouldn’t have made. Ugh.”

Funnily enough, despite the self-chastising, the self-professed magician’s assistant’s gaze kept coming back to the jerky in Dre’s hand.

I took the treat from Dre and knelt, so Bruce and I were eye-level.

“Your secret’s safe with us,” I said, offering him the jerky.

“She Who Knows says humans lie.” The wariness never left his gaze despite how eagerly he devoured the treat. “How do I know you’ll keep your word?”

I grinned. I couldn’t help it. This dog was as untrusting as I was.

“She Who Knows…I’m guessing that’s what you call Briar—”

A shushing emoji flashed on screen.

“I told you. Names have power.”

“Right. Sorry,” I shrugged. “So, She Who Knows, you’re on her payroll?”

Bruce’s ears perked up. “She is my mistress. I was one of her familiars before I became an assistant. A noble promotion.”

“Familiar, huh?” A curious grin flashed on my face. “What kind of magic can you do?”

Bruce’s chest puffed up. “As a familiar, I specialize in astral logistics. Portals, contracts, and snack-based negotiations.”

Dre snorted. “So, you’re a magic courier?”

“One with flair,” Bruce bowed with a twirl of his cape. “But as your assistant, I can do magic with the same flavor as yours. You’ll see.”

“Cool. Then we’re on the same squad.” I glanced over at Dre. “Him too. He’s my assistant.”

If he thought the label was beneath him, Dre didn’t say. Instead, he stooped low and offered Bruce a third piece of jerky. That sealed the deal. A food-savoring emoji popped up on the screen, and Bruce was all smiles while he relegated Dre to a magician’s assistant’s assistant.

“Hold on,” Dre’s eyebrow hitched up, “I’m below you in the pecking order?”

“Hierarchy is sacred, mon ami. You’re a hollow, and you lack the app.” The smug emoji popped up. “But worry not. I’ll give you a companion grimoire. For a modest fee.”

“What fee?” Dre asked.

“Two packs of jerky for a companion app. Trust me—you’ll need it. This place eats tourists.”

“That’s all you want?”

“Listen here, assistant, I’m not some greedy dark spirit looking to eat your soul, enslave your mind, and turn you into my meat puppet.” He put a lot of emphasis on ‘assistant.’ “Delicious treats are going to be expensive, so two packs will do.”

Dre and I looked at each other, our expressions darkening as we guessed that ‘dark spirit’ might be another name for a specter. Our worries didn’t last, though. From the way Dre tried not to grin, I guessed we both noticed the same opportunity.

“Tell you what, boss pup,” he said, plying Bruce with more butter, “we’ll buy you three packs if you throw in some…”

He glanced at me.

“What’d you call them?”

“Astral gems.”

Dre turned back to Bruce.

“Three premium packs. You throw in enough astral gems for two spell cards.”

“P-premium jerky!” Bruce’s short, round, fluffy tail wiggled. “You drive a hard bargain…but yes, I accept.”

“Now, let’s see that starter kit.”

“Oui.”

Bruce tapped his screen with his left front paw. It was an adorable scene, like watching a dog texting on a phone while its owner napped underneath it, though not exactly that in this case. After a few quick taps, a notification chimed.

I fished my phone from my pocket and saw the new option on Grimoire that showed up between Spellbook and Items—Party. This came with a new message too.

[A new assistant is available to join your party…]

“…Would you like to create a companion grimoire app for them?” Bruce recited, his voice coming from my phone instead of his.

Yes, it sounded creepy as hell, but the grinning Frenchie’s adorableness slightly mitigated the shiver climbing down my spine.

“I’m not getting used to that…Anyway, sure you want this, Dre?”

He gave a short, determined nod.

“Welcome to the club, dude. Hope you survive the experience.”

There was another ‘Ping!’ Sure enough, Dre’s phone lit up, no doubt showing him the same question that had hounded me since that ad at LAX. Unlike me, though, he hesitated only a moment before tapping “Install.”

Dre wasn’t the only one to benefit from this exchange, too. Taking in an assistant must’ve been a big deal because the act earned me another fifty astral gems.

“Dude, that looks amazing,” I said, peeking over his shoulder to look at his screen. “It’s like a card collector game.”

A quick inspection of his companion Grimoire showed us it really wasn’t anything like mine. His app had only two functions—Spell Cards and App Store.

“The store’s got some seriously tempting stuff, but it’ll suck your wallet dry if you let it,” I warned.

“Won’t be a problem, amigo.” Dre chuckled as he got up. “I don’t got money to waste.”

Speaking of the app store, both Dre and I turned to Bruce.

“Fine, just don’t forget our deal,” he said, swiping at his phone. “I’ll give you two exchange tickets to trade for spell cards.”

With the first ticket, I bought Dre Shroud Step, because I figured his first foray into magic would go smoother with a spell whose effects he’d already experienced. Plus, I really wanted to show off the only spell on the app store that had my ‘signature magic’ label on it.

“Here you go,” I said, swiping left.

A line of ghostly static flew out from my phone and into Dre’s phone.

“Cool,” he said.

The second ticket was for a random spell card, but not one limited to the single-circuit options. That’s how I got lucky and pulled a two-circuit Faerie Fire card, which, according to its description, was basically a fireball spell with a homing feature twist to it.

“Wait, how do I use this if I’m not a magician?” Dre asked.

“Mana exists in all living things. Even in the air you breathe. Hollows like you simply lack the magic circuits to access it like magicians and familiars can,” Bruce answered.

“Meaning it’ll hurt worse than when Ollie casts magic,” Dre guessed.

“You’ll be risking your life with each casting. So be cautious, mon ami,” Bruce said, hopping off his perch. “Now, I assume you didn’t rush into this shrine to meet me?”

“We’re looking for someone,” I answered.

“Tall, scrawny kid,” Dre weighed in. “See him around here?”

Bruce’s ears twitched. “If he’s one of this shrine’s victims, then you’re already late.”

That’s when we heard a groan.

“You can ask that brute,” Bruce said, nodding to the other end of the room.

On the ground next to a set of monkey bars that had a floor riddled with rusty nails, another teenage gladiator with a familiar buzz cut and wide frame began waking up.

“Is that…Hank?” I asked.

Dre nodded, turning to Bruce. “You did that to him?”

“I merely survived him.” Bruce shook his head. “Fortunately, he’s not fully possessed. Yet.”

I could see what Bruce meant for myself as Hank scrambled to one knee. Even unfocused, his eyes blazed crimson, hatred burning like hot coals. But it was the shadow underneath him that really got my engine revving. His shadow was red.

“If Hank’s possessed,” one of Dre’s eyebrows hitched up, “what does that mean for Enzo?”

A grim emoji appeared on Bruce’s phone. “If this hollow you’re looking for is a candidate for sacrifice, then he could be next.”

“Shit,” I cursed. “Things keep escalating…”

The last time Hank tried to bash my brains in, he was barely supernatural. The way he seemed now, it looked like he was about to level up into a full-blown boss fight. That thought sent a shiver racing up my spine. It flipped a switch in my head, and I was rushing at Hank even before my brain caught up with my feet. I stepped into range, and exhaling, my fist raced forward in a haymaker meant to topple the rising bully.

Having just woken up, Hank lacked the awareness to duck away, and my fist connected with his cheek while carrying the momentum of a bum-rush. I expected to knock him back at least, but the blow barely turned his face aside.

He pushed against my fist, his gaze snapping toward me.

“Where’s my mask, asshole?”

Hank spoke in two voices—his own and a distorted echo.

I resisted the urge to flinch, flashing him a roguish grin instead. “Sold it. Sorry-not-sorry.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck you, too.”

Then his arm came hurtling toward me—the speed was unreal, like a cobra strike. I barely had time to lift my arm and block, and that’s when I got caught in his trap. Hank wasn’t trying to hit me but grab my shoulder in what I assumed was the setup for a throw.

I quickly launched a hook into his ribs—three times in rapid succession—though even these well-placed body blows failed to dent the armor of fat around his gut.

Hank’s foot landed between my feet, but years of martial arts training warned me I was about to go for a ride, so I preempted him with an uppercut that cut his chin, causing his head to rock back—finally!

It wasn’t enough. Not even close.

When his head snapped back, I saw Hank’s face going through a chilling makeover. Still pudgy but sharper, hardened, and more beastly. Hair—or maybe it was fur—grew around his cheeks while giving his buzz-cut a few more inches.

“Dude, you’re looking a little puffy. Drink too much of the cult Kool-Aid?”

I couldn’t help mocking the guy. It was the only way I could keep from screaming in terror.

Bizarro Hank’s eyes flashed an unnatural red, pupils narrowing into slits that glimmered in the dim light. A low, guttural snarl rumbled in his throat, vibrating between both of his voices in a way that made my skin crawl.

“You took my mask. Made me look weak…The apostle taught me a new lesson and gave me a new face.” The hand that kept me close tightened around my shoulder, the nails on his fingers sharpening, digging into my hoodie. “You’re lucky. I’m going to share this lesson with you. I’ll beat it into you.”

Honestly, I was so caught up in his terrifying transformation and his mad raving that I didn’t notice his other hand coming for me before it was too late. Luckily for me, this wasn’t a one-on-one duel. This time, I had someone backing me up.

In a whirl of wind and magic and ghostly light, a glowing Dre appeared at my side. His fencing foil had just blocked the sharp-nailed fingers that should’ve taken out my eyes.

“Yo, Hank, cabrón,” Dre called, his voice its usual cool tone. “Mind if I cut in?”

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