The building looked nice from the outside. Four stories tall, red brick, lots of windows, and long with large play-yards in front and back. Children of all shapes, sizes, and colors played in various playgrounds designed to accommodate their physiology. The first floor was a school where the young orphans could get a rudimentary education.
That was the nice part. Unfortunately, the orphanage was understaffed and overstuffed with children. There was a single teacher for all 300 kids, meaning that they rarely got more than that very rudimentary education. The few who loved to read (and they were few) were the only ones to learn anything significant. Once in a while a child would get adopted, but not often enough to ease the strain on the orphanage.
Due to the wide variety of species in Nexus, human children were a small minority in the school. While children were occasionally encouraged to interact with other species, children of a kind were housed together, fed together, and sent to the same grounds to play. Perhaps out of a desire to compete with the other groups of children, or perhaps for other reasons, the human group was exceptionally noisy. On his first day, the quiet country boy thought he'd stepped into hell.
It took a long time for him to adapt. He was a trauma case, but as there were so many of those and so few doctors volunteering, he never got the attention and help he needed. As a result, he kept to himself, walking dejectedly where he was told, reading what he was told, and sitting at the edge of the playground staring blankly into space.
One day, about two weeks after his arrival, he realized that someone was sitting next to him on the bench, and had been sitting there for some time. He jerked slightly and looked.
"Well?" The girl said. He blinked once at her, taking in the dirty blue dress, pigtails, and big, brown eyes.
"What?" He finally muttered.
"What's your name?" she asked again impatiently, then smiled.
He looked back at the gravel under his feet. // Make her go away.// After a few minutes, he answered, "Vincent."
"That's a nice name. I'm Abetha." She smiled at the back of his head and looked like she wanted to shake his hand, but held back. "I've seen you sitting here all the time. I thought you might like some company."
An answer seemed necessary, so Vincent shrugged.
"I'm 14. How old are you?" She swung her crossed feet lightly.
"15."
"Neat. You only have to stay until you're 18, did you know? Unless someone adopts you. But the older ones don't get adopted." She shrugged. "So we'll both be around at least three years then. Until we're 18."
No answer.
Abetha leaned against the back of the bench and stared into the sky. "Hey, that cloud looks like a rabbit! Look!" When he didn't move, she nudged his foot with hers. "Come on, look. It won't hurt, I promise."
Vincent gave in and glanced up.
Abetha looked up again. "Oh no, it's gone. But -that- one looks like a giraffe! See?"
He saw. He sat up a bit straighter to see better.
"What's that one look like?" She pointed at a more amorphous cloud to their left.
His gaze followed her finger. After a moment, he finally said, "A pile of lint?"
Abetha giggled. "Hey, that's a good one! I've got to remember that."
As Vincent points out another pile of lint to Abetha, the two hear footsteps approaching. "Vincent?"
Vincent becomes quiet again. He turns in response to the querry.
Mrs. Atkinson, the medical assistant, smiles at him. "It's time for your session."
Vincent stands up, says "bye" distractedly to Abetha, and follows the assistant into the building.
Due to necessity, some orphanages in the Nexus come equipped with magic-dampening fields to prevent children unable to handle their magical abilities from harming others. These children were taken to a special room where they could safely have access to their magic and learn how to use it safely. Vincent was taken here once a week. A special magic-dampening bracelet -- which in his case was used in addition to the dampening field around the school -- had still remained on his wrist during these sessions. The magical expert said it would be taken off during sessions when Vincent had enough control. Vincent figured this meant never, which was perfectly fine by him.
This session was no different from the first two. Vincent sat in the chair and the magical expert encouraged him to try to control his abilities. Vincent didn't bother to try to bring them forth at all. Why should he?
"Listen, Vincent." The expert's voice finally pierced through Vincent's cloud of indifference. "The reason you had that accident was that you couldn't control your gift."
// What a gift.// Vincent thought sarcastically.
The expert continued, "I'm only trying to teach you control. Then you can decide whether or not to use it. You don't have to. But if you don't learn to control, that accident will happen again."
Though it was the last thing he wanted, Vincent had to admit the guy's argument made sense. "Fine." He started on the mental exercises the expert had given him. // But I still think moving baby blocks around so they spell out words is stupid.//
A field trip. Three months of patiently spotting lint floating in the watery sky and finally, finally he was allowed on a field trip.
Sweet!
Abetha was still his only friend. The others let them alone, but Vincent had a feeling the two were labeled as "going together" or something stupid like that. Millie said it was because they were jealous. Frankly, Vincent doubted anything some councelor lady said. What could she know about teenagers?
His thoughts were interrupted by Abetha nudging his side with her elbow. He followed her finger and saw... "cottage cheese?"
Abetha giggled. "I like your clouds." Then she pointed down in the exhibit before them. As she did so, her shoulder brushed up ever so gently against his chest. "What's that?"
"I think I'd call that a lion," Vincent replied, astutely ignoring the feeling waking up somewhere above the lion and below her shoulder.
Paul shorted behind them. "I think I'd call that a lion," someone said in a very stupid, teasing tone. "Forget him, Abetha, he's a loser."
"Go away, you moron," she replied hotly.
"Hey, break it up!" Margie the chaperone moves between them and grabs Paul's shoulder. "Abetha, you should know better! Paul, I'm ashamed of you! Vincent, did you have anything to do with this?"
"He was touchin' her, miss! They was gettin' all smoochy an'-" Paul shouted maliciously.
"That's enough!" Margie shakes Paul gently to emphasize her order. "You three are going back home. Field trip's over."
Vincent takes a last look at the lion before they leave. Caged... limited social activity... fed only what he's given... never let lose or put out of his misery. And in that instant, a sympathy was forged between Vincent and the lion, but it was too late. Margie was pulling him along toward the old, decrepid school bus. // So long...//
"I don't understand you. I am so disappointed, young man! Ruining a perfectly good trip, and the first one for you, with such despicable behavior! I'll have you know that's not acceptable, not one bit!"
The lecture went in one ear and other the other. It was the meaning that stayed. One malicious comment causes a permanent guilt. Even the innocent are branded with it.
It had been a long two days. Vincent was lectured time and again and only after he promised (for the fourth time) that he would never commit a PDA again was he allowed back on the playground. He could only assume that Abetha went through the same procedure. Obviously, fabricated accusations of sexual contact were more dire than proven intentional taunting.
He sat in his usual place on the bench, near the other human children but far enough away to not be part of the games. He rolled a few pebbles between his fingers, astutely ignoring the bright, puffy balls of lint floating above him. No more cloud-naming.
Someone came and sat down nearby. Vincent glanced to the side. "You shouldn't be here. You'll get yelled at again."
"I'll get yelled at? What about you?" Abetha picked up some pebbles and turned them over in her fingers as well. When there was no answer, she added, "I don't care. Let them yell."
They sat in silence with more than the bench sitting between them, but their pseudo-peace did not last long. "Vincent 'n Abetha, sittin' in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G!" The younger children chanted. They shouted the chant over again as the older boys made smooching sounds.
Vincent paid very close attention to the slight depression in the side of the pebble in his hand. Abetha turned very, very red. "Shut up!"
The boys moved in closer, Paul at the head of the pack. "How's your honeymoon, loverbirds?"
"Did you go on a cruise?"
"Did old Margie give you a hard time?"
"I hope you slept well!"
"They probably didn't sleep at all, 'cause, you know..."
"Shut up!" Abetha got to her feet. "Leave us alone!" The little boys scattered, leaving just the teenagers, unafraid of Abetha's verbal rage.
"Ooooh, she's getting mad! Did she do that to you, Vince? Is that why you two are breaking up?"
"Come on, Vince, tell us about your lovers' spat!"
Vincent slowly rose to his feet. Although his cool demeanor seemed to show otherwise, his blood was boiling. His voice was quiet, but projected. "Don't call me 'Vince.'"
"Yeah, right, -Vince-."
"Is that your nickname? Do you only let your lovers call you 'Vince?'"
The other children took up the chant. It seemed unreal, the taunts being thrown, and they washed over him in waves, without his understanding a single one. But he knew the forest without having to see the trees.
The anti-magic bracelet was growing so hot that it was beginning to burn his skin, but Vincent did not notice. He was falling--or her mind was falling, he couldn't tell which--and anger grew up within him. It was as if the anger was having a feeding frenzy on all the verbal abuse, and it multiplied like bacteria in a nutrient-filled sugar solution.
"Stop it!" Abetha shouted, but her words barely reached Vincent's ears. "Leave him alone!"
A memory faintly edged its way into the turmoil that was Vincent's mind... a gentle brush on his lips, a kiss made only half a year ago.... Then, as before, all hell broke loose.
Vincent never felt it coming. He never even felt the aftereffects. It was as if he were in a bubble in which time had frozen while his mind created visions, sounds and smells in which he got lost. But after the bubble disintigrated and his mind cooled away, its anger spent...
For the second time in his life, Vincent stared at desolation around him. He was standing in the middle of small crater. There was fire in a twenty-foot ring with little patches still blazing. Only the stone bench and charred, melted metal remains of a jungle gym remained. And twenty-four charred, human shapes. One of them was Abetha.
A string-thin band fell, still burning, from Vincent's wrist as he stood and stared.
A bare half hour after the incident, Vincent has been lead to the non-magic room in the building. He allowed himself to be lead, but gave no other response to the teachers' inquiries. He didn't even sit until someone pushed him down.
As he came back to his senses, Vincent could barely hear the loud voices and cries from other parts of the building. He heard someone quite close by say, "Close that door." The noises were shut out and he was left in thankful silence.
There were two other people in the room. Millie, the counselor, knelt down beside him. "Vincent?" She picked up one of his hands and felt his pulse.
The man walked forward, knelt beside Millie, and opened his bag. "He's been hurt pretty bad." He pulled out a stethoscope and some ointments, then checked Vincent's pulse and felt the boy's forehead. The doctor let out a slow whistle. "He needs to lie down. Call an ambulance. Find a hospital in a non-magic reality."
Millie nodded and, after a furtive glance at the unresponsive child, exited the room.
"Now, Vincent, I need you to lie down for me." The doctor pushed Vincent down and began his checkup. "Vincent, can you hear me? I need your help. I need you to tell me where it hurts."
The whirling ceiling slowly came to a stop. "I... don't hurt. Where's..." But that is all Vincent could say. The ceiling began to spin again.
"Hold still, son, that's a good boy. You're in shock and I need you to stay awake for me. Just listen to my voice. What's your favorite subject? Math? History? Sports?"
It took a moment to respond. "I don't hurt," Vincent said. It seemed a strain to talk.
"That's all right, we'll get you fixed up, but I need you to stay awake. Do you understand me?"
"Wh-" Vincent struggled to sit up, but something firm was holding him back. "Why can't... why don't I hurt?" The ceiling was fading. "Where is Abetha?" Despite his attempts to listen to the doctor's faint voice, the world was fading away.
It's important. What is? I must find her. Is she lost? she's not lost I must find her somewhere out on the bench she was I was hot they were laughing screaming I can't see where is Abetha I can'tfindmywaywheresheis...
A dream. No, a memory. In a dream. Fields, town, poor people, country. Foreign army, marching through, burning, all is fire and destruction. The crops are lost, the food is plundered, the women hide in fear. Such a large army. It is gone. Winter. The army is back, devastated, running away. Gone. Springtime, new food new flowers new feelings. A kiss. Blackness.
Vincent fell completely unconscious as they loaded him onto a stretcher. Thirty minutes away, a hospital especially for burn-victims, located in a quiet, very non-magic reality. An orphanage, left forever. Twenty-four children, snuffed out like candles. A little memory named Abetha washed away in a flood of medication.
It took a month for Vincent's burns to completely heal and, due to the efforts of the Children's Burn Center, few scars remained, if any. Physical scars, at least.
It would be impossible to say that Vincent was the type to bounce back from such circumstances. Few would have. He had always been withdrawn and quiet, but he was even more so now. A counselor worked with him daily and, after the first week, finally convinced Vincent that learning to control his gift was the best way to go. No non-magic reality was guaranteed to remain so, especially considering the relative instability of Nexus.
So when the counselor came bouncing into the hospital foyer on Vincent's release day, Vincent was at least mildly curious. "What?"
"I've got a surprise for you! It's a ways away, but I'll take you there. Up for a bus trip?" Mike asked, taking up Vincent's (small) suitcase and leading the way.
"I guess."
The public transportation bus was waiting for them outside. Mike waved a card at the driver and he and Vincent were admitted. They took seats in the middle of the bus because the front and back were already full.
The bus took off and Vincent stared listlessly out the window. After passing through a concrete wall into another reality, Vincent jerked slightly. He could feel it, this time. He knew the difference, he felt the magic wake up inside him. Immediately, his fight or flight instincts took over and he had to fight to keep from jumping or yelling.
Mike patted his shoulder. "Relax, it's all good. Trust me."
Only the trust built up with a full month's worth of personal care allowed Vincent to put aside some of his anxiety at Mike's command. // How could he possibly know it's all right? He doesn't even have any magic at all.// Vincent blinked, then realized that he -knew- Mike had no magic on a deeper level than he should have.
Despite his past experiences... it felt good to know in this new way. This feeling helped more than anything to calm Vincent's mind and body. A few minutes later, as Vincent mulled over his new discovery, the bus stopped next to a large red-brick building.
"Here we are," Mike said. Vincent stood up obediently. This seemed to be a popular stop; everyone else was getting off, too. Mike said "thanks" to the bus driver as they passed, then they were back on solid ground. "Inside!" Mike steered Vincent into the building. They, along with nearly everyone else that had been on the bus, walked down a hall and entered a largish room.
There were couches and easy chairs everywhere, a table with cookies and juice in a corner, and a desk in the opposite corner. A medium-tall man with graying hair and beard rose. "Welcome, Vincent! Have a seat, wherever you'd like." He gestured toward the chair nearest his desk and Vincent, after a glance at Mike, sat where the man had indicated.
"I'm Dr. Poffer, headmaster of this school. We are one of the forerunners of magical education in the Nexus and we're proud to have you join us here. You'll board here, study here, and we'll help you learn to control and use that nice gift of yours. First, we'll need to measure your ability." The headmaster smiled assuringly at Vincent and Vincent felt the rest of his anxiety wash away like dirt in the shower.
By this time, the other men and women had taken seats in couches in the room and were reading out of books or magazines. Two of them had taken out briefcases and were shuffling through some papers. One man had put on a white lab coat and knelt in front of Vincent. He gave Vincent a paper and asked him to read it aloud. While Vincent did so, the doctor felt his forehead, felt his pulse, then cleaned Vincent's finger, pricked it, and took a blood sample.
Whenever the doctor touched him, Vincent could feel him probing, measuring his magic. Vincent's stomach twisted, but he allowed himself to be examined, finished reading the paper (a list of school rules), and watched the doctor pack his equipment away in a small black case.
"Vincent?" Headmaster Poffer knelt down in front of him. "This is an important commitment. We expect you to work hard and get along with your classmates. No half-hearted efforts. After you graduate, it's up to you what to do and where to go; but meanwhile we need your full effort. Understood?"
Vincent nodded. "Yes, sir." But that wasn't the only thing he understood. He also knew why these other professors had been on the bus, why they had come into the room with him, and why two of them now accompanied him to his new room. They weren't taking any chances.
// But,// he thought as he stood in the room, looking at the four bunked beds, the desks, and the three other studying boys, // at least it wasn't some excuse of a bracelet thing. And they didn't make it all obvious either that I couldn't control. Can't control. But shouldn't I be uncomfortable? Can they really stop it if something happens?//
The other boys solemnly shook his hand and, after the first few minutes of awkwardness, started chatting about classes and football. They didn't seem to know anything about Vincent's past.
Despite his misgivings, Vincent felt more secure and... well, -happy- than he'd ever felt before, even at home before the first incident.
// Thanks, Mike.//
Mike waved to the most recently released trauma burn patient as the ten-year-old's parents drove him away. He checked his watch--three in the afternoon. And a few days to rest, unless new patients arrived in droves. Time for a little stroll.
Mike took his coat from the rack in the staff room and headed out. It was almost as short a walk as it had been a bus ride, but then a bus can't go through as many portals as an individual can. Soon, Mike was standing in front of a tall, red brick building.
He pushed his way inside, then headed for the headmaster's office. The office was located on the inside of the building, which was a square with a square "park," as students called it, in the center. The park itself was very large and only from its interior could one appreciate just how huge this school was.
After leaving the office, the back wall of which was really a window into a small private portion of the park belonging to the headmaster, Mike headed for room 367 West. The two flights of stairs left him winded and wondering how much exercise he must have been getting recently.
Mike knocked. He was surprised when Vincent opened the door. The boy had grown these last few months. He now stood at close to six feet tall, his hair had lightened to a blond-flecked brown, and the eyes were still as sky blue as ever. Vincent grinned--revealing rows of newly evened teeth--and shook Mike's hand.
"Mr. Tisun, it's wonderful to see you! How are you?" Vincent led the counselor into the room, which was currently empty of its other occupants. "I didn't expect to see you again."
Mike smiled. "It's Mike, you can still call me Mike." One of the first things Mike noticed was that the room was -very- neat. The other thing was that Vincent's desk, which Vincent was leaning against now, was covered in books and papers (not very neatly). Mike nodded toward the desk and asked, "What're you studying?"
"Oh, mostly the basic stuff. They won't start me on advanced yet." Vincent frowned. "It's kinda annoying to take all of my classes with ten-year-olds, but I'm advancing quicker than they are. I'll be in the advanced classes soon, I think."
Mike smiled. "Must be tough, being sixteen in a young class like that."
Vincent shrugged. "Yeah, I guess. There're a couple of older students, too. But it's not bad, I mean, those aren't my only classes. I've got a tutor, Mr. Stumpje, who's been helping me get things straightened out. He's really great. Check this out!" Vincent held out his hand. Mike watched the air seem to compress, then a red, round object appeared.
"An apple. But not good enough to eat, yet." Vincent smiled and tossed the apple into the trash. "I'm getting better at it."
"I'm glad. I'm so glad it worked out, Vince." Mike clapped Vincent on the shoulder.
Vincent winced, but not at the impact. "Please call me Vincent." There was a very brief, awkward pause, then Vincent said, "Anyway, it's working out. Thanks for finding it for me, Mike."
Mike smiled again and shook his former charge's hand, but as he left he couldn't help but feel that something had caused a slight rift between them. // Why did he react like that to the name? I suppose I'll never know,// he sighs.
Vincent watched from his window as Mike took a shortcut across the park. As he watched, he took a bite from an apple, then made a face and spit out the bite. // Wrong apple...// he thought, and started looking for the right one. // Hope I didn't throw it away.//
"It's clear! Come on!" A young male voice whispered loudly.
Three shapes slid down a rope to land lightly on the ground outside the school. Like outlaws, they snuck around the building, avoiding the lamps in the street. One form scurried to the corner, glanced around, then signaled the others over.
They followed, slipped around the corner, and several bushes down the path found what they were looking for: a small shimmering hole, about two feet tall and three feet wide.
"You first," the leader nudged one of the companions. Another took up watch. The second helped push the first the rest of the way through, then crawled into the portal himself. The boy on watch followed, then the leader.
There was nothing left of their sneaky maneuver but a faint wind in the leaves. And fresh, distinct footsteps in the soft mud.
The bar doors swung open and four boys, all students at Paddenmire Institute of Magic, sauntered in and ordered drinks. The bartender, who had some sort of understanding with the students, took the orders and directed them to sit at a table farther from the light.
Their drinks arrived and the "leader," David, raised his glass. "To the end of finals!"
"Yeah!" said the others. They drank, and drank again.
"And congrats, Vincent, you finally get to leave the little classes." They clapped him on the back, but he just stared at his drink.
"I don't."
"What?" Jerome asked. "I thought you were doing well! And all that studying-"
"I know," Vincent answered. There was a moment of silence. "I still don't have enough control, they said. They're still in my mind, controlling me, keeping me from doing anything, and I can't handle it on my own. That's why I can't advance, they said."
Another moment of silence. "That's tough, man," said David. The other boys nodded and added their own versions of the same phrase.
"Right." // But you don't have to live it.// Vincent stared at his refilled glass, then drank its contents and continued, "They don't have enough time to spend with me. I saw it. They didn't tell me, but I could see what they were thinking." This gave the other boys pause. "My skills are growing but I can't control and they don't have the resources to spend working with me one on one all the time. Five hours a week is already stretching it and they can't give any more. That's why."
// Be cool. What are the chances you'd get into a school, anyway? You're not even paying! They can't afford to give you that time. They're giving you a lot already. You should be grateful.// -But I'm not.-
The other boys drank with their friend and spoke, but their comfort bounced off his mind like water off of rubber. The good feeling and confidence that had been planted in his mind since he'd arrived had left, now that the professors weren't around to put it there, and the true, annoyed, anxious, teenager-lonely feelings came surging up to replace them.
"It's not fair!" Vincent said loudly, accentuating his words by slamming his shot glass against the table. It shattered, and not from the force of impact.
"Keep cool, man, it's all right." David patted Vincent on the back. "We'll work with you. It's all good, we can fix it." He watched as Vincent gets another drink. // He's getting himself plastered.//
"That's right." Jerome pounded his fist onto the table, albeit with fewer dramatics as Vincent. "We can't let our roomie get screwed over by the Man."
Patrick, the quiet one, nodded.
Vincent simply ran a hand through his hair, his head resting on his other palm.
"Least we're away from them for now. Cheers to a holiday!" Patrick lead. Everyone cheered except Vincent, but he did drink.
"They're still here, I feel them controlling me," he said morosely. "I can't get away even when I run away." He rubbed his face in his sleeve.
David glanced around nervously. "They can't be, Vincent, we came through a portal, they can't stretch across realities. Unless they followed us?"
The boys looked around anxiously, then spun back to stare when Vincent jumped and grabbed the edge of the table. He was staring, but not at anything they could see.
"Vincent?"
But Vincent was listening to something else. Something in his mind.
~See? Not them. Me. I heard you coming along and thought it might be safer. I understand how you feel.~
"How?" Vincent asked aloud. Jerome replied, "Vincent?"
~Same thing happened to me. I've had problems, and I've learned how to deal with them, just like you will. I've also had apprentices, from time to time.~
"Are you saying-"
"Holy Moses, look at the time!" David shook Vincent. "No time to talk to the air, Vincent, we've gotta get back before the portal goes away!"
"But-" Vincent allowed himself to be led out, but as he followed his eyes searched the bar for the owner of that mental voice.
~Do not concern yourself. We will meet again.~
Back in bed, arms tired and hands raw from climbing three stories by rope, mind and stomach in turmoil from a combination of events and alcohol, Vincent tried to put things together. Before long, the feelings of good will returned and he wondered idly just before falling asleep whether, since they kept almost constant mental contact with him, the staff had noticed that he'd disappeared for an hour.
White, fluffy lint turns red, blossoms and explodes into a thunderhead--flashes of light strike out at all disturbances in a confused and murky pattern, like fingers from a hand drunkenly touching one person, then the next--the thunderhead shatters, sending glass shards into the sky, accidently piercing the eyes of his friends--I'm so sorry, I didn't mean!...--they open their mouths to reply but there is only
*beep* *beep* *beep* *beep*
Vincent opened his eyes, then swung his arm over to turn off the alarm clock. He sat up, then lay down again when the headache attacked. "Ugh..."
A bottle landed on his stomach.
"Here, Vincent. Aspirin," David's voice said from somewhere above.
"Thanks," Vincent muttered. He stood and stumbled over to the bathroom, bottle in hand.
"Yes, sir?" Vincent closed the door to the headmaster's office behind him. Mr. Stumpje, the tutor, and an unfamiliar middle-aged man were also present. Everyone had serious expressions on their faces.
"You went out last night without our knowledge or consent. Are you aware of the consequences of such actions? Of what might have happened?" Mr. Poffer's tone left no margin for excuses.
Vincent felt his heart drop into his stomach. He replied, quietly, "Yes, sir." He fought to keep his eyes from looking at his feet.
"I know that your talents have troubled you, but you are intelligent enough to have no excuse for flauting your responsibilities in such a manner. You put yourself, your comrades, and innocent bystanders in a dangerous position the instant you forget that."
Despite herculean efforts to the contrary, Vincent's eyes rolled downward and he fidgeted. His hands couldn't seem to stay still. "Yes, sir."
Dr. Poffer looked hard at Vincent for a moment, then said in a softer tone, "You have a visitor, Vincent."
Vincent glanced up. // Then I'm not expelled? Or... what...?// He looked at the third man in the room, who also stood up and held out a hand in greeting.
"Hello, Vincent. I'm Marcus."
Vincent took the hand and shook automatically. Marcus seemed to be about in his late thirties or early forties. The hair just above and behind his ears was beginning to go gray and the rest was a light brown. The lines across his face were thin, young, and age-related rather than ones created by stress. He was built like Vincent: tall and fairly thin. His grip was firm, but not too tight, and his voice was deep and soft.
"Nice to meet you, sir," Vincent replied, but his speech carried an obvious question.
Marcus smiled like a father to his son. "Vincent, this school is no longer the right place for you. It's the perfect place for many talented young people, but you require more specialized training. I have agreed to take you on as my apprentice. Of course, this will take a great deal of commitment from you, Vincent. You must promise to never go anywhere without my permission."
Vincent nodded. "Yes, sir." He glanced at the headmaster and tutor, then back at Marcus. "I promise, sir.
"Very well. Please pack your bags. I will provide you with clothes and anything else you need, so bring only what you wish to keep for sentimental value. You will need no books." Marcus turned to the headmaster. "I will not be taking any other apprentices for some time, Dr. Poffer. David, however, is ready to take some challenging students, in my opinion. You might try him if the need arises."
Vincent took this as his cue to go to his room. No one was present when he entered--he had a feeling that they, too, were receiving lectures. He glanced around his part of the room.
He had few possessions. He picked up a sack and dumped its contents--little knacks he'd received as rewards for his achievements--onto his bed, then glanced around.
First there was a little air-tight jar filled with water in which, if it were turned over or shaken, bits of white would float around and eventually settle back down on the floor of the little farm scene inside. The white flakes reminded him of clouds. The jar went into the sack.
Next, a music box. Mike had given it to him when he was in the hospital as something to provide beauty during Vincent's painful experience. Vincent turned the wheel at the back, and a few notes of "Trepak" from "The Nutcracker" sang to him. He dropped it in the bag.
He briefly thought about the wizard's cap his roommates had made to welcome him when he'd first arrived (it looked remarkably like a dunce cap), but decided against it.
That was all. Two things. For a moment, Vincent felt homesick. // Just two things? That's all I have in the world to treasure? How lame...// A stone dropped into his stomach, depressing his feelings. He scrunched the neck of the sack in his fist, roughly made his bed with his free hand, then opened the door to leave.
Vincent looked back for only a moment, trying to freeze in his memory the better moments he'd experienced. They'd really been great roommates, all of them.
He finally turned away, shutting the door behind him.
They met in the small front lobby. Vincent, in his gray school uniform; Marcus in a light, gray cloak, blue clothes and black boots.
Vincent followed Marcus out the door, through the parkinglot, and along the street. "Are we taking a bus or something?"
"No, we'll walk. It's good exercise." Marcus stopped, waited until the light at the intersection turned green, then walked across the street. Vincent almost had to jog to keep up. The pace was so quick that Vincent concentrated more on staying with his new master than on asking the other questions burning in his mind.
Marcus led him to a very poor section of town. Homeless people of various species in the alleys stared blankly at them as they passed. When one held up an alms bowl, Marcus stopped and dropped several coins in it before continuing.
They slowed down in front of a charity house for the homeless. "Wait here." Marcus ran up the steps and went inside.
Vincent glanced around. No one was looking at him, but he felt eyes boring into his soul nonetheless. He shifted in place nervously. It was a silly idea, he knew, but he felt that he was being judged critically. He ran a hand through his hair and straightened his clothes. He tried and failed to look casual. But no one was watching.
A few long minutes later, Marcus exited the building and began his walk again, this time at a slower pace. "The family's provider was ill, so I made a sick call. I think he'll turn out fine after a few days' rest."
"Do you know them?"
"No. Ah, here we are." Marcus turned a sharp corner and Vincent followed.
They were in another place altogether. The sun was almost down in this reality, the breeze had a nip to it that chilled Vincent's bare arms and head, and a single large building dominated the area. There was no street, nothing but rolling hills and bushes around it.
"Welcome to my humble abode."
They entered the building. Vincent stopped just inside and slowly rolled and unrolled the empty half of the paper bag in his hands.
A... ballroom?
Marcus laughed softly at Vincent's frozen look. "Like it? It's just like this for us, you know. It'll change when it's time to sleep. But first, lesson number one. Here, let me take your bag...."
Vincent surrendered his bag to Marcus and shifted from foot to foot, looking askance at the ballroom floor. // Lesson number one?//
Marcus returned and touched Vincent's elbow. "Come on. Let's get started."
They walked halfway down the length of the ballroom. Vincent stared around nervously.
"Stretch."
"What?" Vincent glanced back at Marcus and realized the older man was on the ground stretching his legs. "Oh." Vincent followed Marcus' lead through a series of stretches.
"All right. You've never danced before, right? Don't worry, it's simple."
Vincent gaped at him until he realized he was staring. // How does he know... did he look inside my mind? Who is he?//
"No, I didn't read your thoughts, although you -are- broadcasting wonderfully for a young man of your training. You look very scared of the dance floor, and I'm sure it's not because you've blown one up." Marcus tilted his head down slightly and looked at Vincent from beneath raised eyebrows. "Right?"
Vincent nodded twice, slowly. His mouth hung slightly open. He was having trouble regaining control of his spinning thoughts. // But why... is this the first lesson? Learning how to dance? How will that help me?//
Marcus smiled. "You never know when it'll come in useful. Besides, dancing teaches you something else. And yes," Marcus added, nodding at Vincent's surprised expression, "this time I'm getting it out of your head. Eventually I'll teach you how to stop from broadcasting all of your thoughts."
Vincent hung his head, feeling slightly guilty that he hadn't hidden his thoughts, even though when he thought about it, he knew there was no way he could prevent it, yet. The guilty feeling remained.
"The great thing we learn from dancing is control. Control of your body, which leads, through concentration, to control of your mind. We'll do a lot of these kind of exercises at first. Know your body, learn your mind. That's what it's all about. That's lesson number one. Now, let's learn it." Marcus waved an arm almost casually in front of him.
Vincent gasped and stumbled back a pace. Now there were two other people in the ballroom! // A portal?//
"These are our models. We'll imitate what they show us."
Marcus stood back and watched, a smile playing across his lips.
Vincent felt his muscles relax. Not because Marcus was calming him. Because he had given up trying to understand all of this craziness. His mind felt like it had just been through a battery of missiles, pounding at the borders of reality. Now that the boundaries had warped beyond recognition, the only thing left was to surrender and accept the fallout as it came.
He was sweating by the time it was over. The ballroom faded and a small room (what happened to the rest of the space?) took its place. There were four doors, one leading to an office on the right, one behind him leading outside, and two on the opposite wall leading to separate bedrooms. On the pillow of a very comfortable-looking bed, Vincent could see a crumpled paper sack.
"Good night! Don't forget to stretch as much as possible, we'll be up and at it first thing tomorrow!" Marcus waved and entered his own room.
Only now did Vincent notice: there was no actual door to Marcus' room; just a doorway. His room, however, did have a door.
For some reason, as Vincent changed into the nightclothes he found neatly folded on his bead, this made him feel safer, freer, and more in control. He left the door open.
Do not copy or quote the above material without the expressed consent of the owner of this page.