Young Writers Society

author's note: I tried posting this awhile ago but i read through it didn't like it and revised it some more. lol But hopefully when you read through this you won't find any problems. However if you do. My ears are open for comments. =) thanks.

“Son, I want you to promise me. No matter what; you and your brother don’t leave this pantry.” Jason Conner’s Dad Allen crouched in front of his son. In normal circumstances he was a man who allowed nothing to drag him down. The crows feet he developed at the corner of his eyes from years of smiling, had deepened with age lines and worry. His warm welcoming smile turned into a thin lipped grimace. His dirty blonde hair had streaks of white. Jason nodded and hugged his brother close.

“Good boy.” Jason’s father shut the door. The welcoming darkness was final. It encompassed everything except from the few bits of light that drew a box around the door frame. Jason leaned forward (being the rebel he was) put his ear to the door. Silence. A rush of quick footsteps (probably his father’s). A loud bang and terrible wrenching noise as if a giant had just ripped off a side of the house.

Raised voices, crashing sounds, and pitter patters from machine guns echoed across the door frame. A man groaned, and a terrible scream from some sort of animal split the air. Jason heard his father’s voice, and the cold reply of another man. Then a loud CRACK! A sickening THUD!

…silence.

He heard only, his brother’s ragged breathing next to him. He heard footsteps coming towards the door. Jason crawled back. His eyes wide spheres of terror. The terrible scraping sound of sharp claws on a tiled floor and ragged irregular breaths accompanied the small shadows flittering beneath the door frame. Jason huddled next to his brother their backs against the wall. The rust colored knob of the ragged pantry door twisted half a circle. It clicked. And the freed door creaked open.

****

The first thing that normal kids learn is magic isn’t real. It’s fantasy. But for people like me that’s not true. I live in student city, a small scholar utopia tightly packed with shops, malls, and school buildings (usually hot and over crowded), Classic Roman theatres and memorials, fancy art buildings and wide parks. But most of all it’s the epicenter of the arcane and dark sciences. In other words a huge city built for teaching magic.

It provides housing and education for Mages and Alchemists, and other classes too (I’ll tell you more about those later). Bottom line is: magic’s real, it’s legit. And it’s a flourishing art.

Now Imagine this. In the year 1700 at the close of the Dark Ages, a famous alchemist discovers the philosopher’s stone. This stone became the source of all magic and power but was unfortunately lost (so they say) in an accident.

The path of science became the most common approach to magic. People considered magic a skill of intellect in those days. Later though: Asia shook the very foundation of that belief with a different outlook. They used magic not only to improve their minds but their bodies. This is what led to the creation of the great elemental Clans (earth, wind, fire, and water). They become four of the great Magical powers. They call themselves, Mages.

The Mages and Alchemists are the two major powers and both fought frequently to prove whose art was best. During this time other minor Magical races surfaced: Slayers, Tamers, Casters, ability types, and Necros. The Wizard wars continued for decades all their battles bloody and fierce. One morning after a terrible battle Both sides had had enough and 7 representatives from all the races formed and made a pact to end the fighting (ability types aren’t usually included). Those were the Glory days. It was before the Atlas tribunal had become Atlas Corp: dictators and ruling government of Student City and the rest of the magic world.

The reality I now live in has me trapped in a remedial class with a bunch of low level students. My name is Jason Conner and I’m a part of Student City’s failing class.

****

Emily Walker had been taken into custody at 4:20 a.m. She was placed in a temporary holding facility where they kept her over night. Twenty-year old Gray Sorbeigh pulled up in a black Royce to escort her to Evaluation. Gray Sorbeigh didn’t look like much of a threat. He was roughly medium sized, blonde, and lightly built. His hair was cut short and spiked. Gray despised transportation missions. They were often a pain and he always somehow got stuck with douche-bags like the rat faced Dowley who stood next to him. The guy was annoying. He always had crap to say. All he talked about were accomplishments he’d made as a cop in New York (all of them he expounded to the grand scale of curing heart cancer).

“I was lucky too. Shit. It was a freakin miracle!” Dowley was saying. “The doctor said tha bullet was ‘this’ close” Dowley emphasized the words ‘this close’ with a forefinger and thumb. The nails (on his thumb) were curled and had a faint yellow color. Gray reached for the cigarette pack he kept in his pocket. He frowned when he found a case of tooth picks instead. Crap. He forgot he was quitting.

For what wasn’t the first time Gray began to feel that it was all unnecessary. Sure, it was probably the nicotine talking, but he was frustrated with life also. He’d been waiting in line to be next in the tribunal for two fuckin years! He’d given a lot. Hell! He’d given his whole life to the order! But in no time at all his spot was taken by Sean Conner. He hated that kid. And he hated this job. In fact, the moment he entered the cell he almost didn’t care what he saw…almost. To his surprise, the girl being held in the cell looked twelve years old and barely up to his chest when standing. She had brown scraggly hair and dark green eyes. Her face was pale face and waxy from exhaustion. Gray felt that in another reality he’d be telling her to go to School.

“Criminals these days,” Dowley said. “These guys just seem to get smaller n’ smaller don’t they.” He chuckled lightly at his joke. Gray somehow found himself disliking the guy even more.

Dowley cuffed the girl. And the two of them led her out of the building.

They all packed into the car entered the busy lunch hour traffic. Emily didn’t speak much; just sat quietly in the back seat while Dowley continued his dialogue on how tough it was in New York.

“They were some tough’ times man. It was cut throat. A man could die on a subway and no one would notice until he started stinkin.” Gray nodded (not really interested). Gray turned the car onto a free-way and they progressed a little faster that way. He wasn’t sure he’d last any longer without clouting Dowley with a stick so, he could finally shut him up. Aside from his annoyance, Gray found himself peaking at the rear view mirror from time to time to check on Emily. He wasn’t growing an attachment to the girl or any sensitive bull like that. He just couldn’t help but think that she somehow found herself in her situation by accident. The system wasn’t perfect, he knew. Gray couldn’t see such a fragile girl being a dangerous criminal. Gray looked up into the rearview and noticed the girl fidgeting.

“Hey you got to pee?” Gray asked, interrupting Dowley in midst of his inspiring tale about a famous young musician he’d saved from going down the wrong path. The girl nodded.

“What she can’t talk?” Dowley said. He didn’t like being interrupted.

“Alright, let’s pull over.”

They pulled into a Coffee shop and hauled the girl out. Gray tossed a tooth pick between his lips, reveling in the cool taste of peppermint as he walked across the parking lot with the girl in tow. Thirty minutes in the car with Dowley and he already wanted to kill him self (figuratively speaking of course; the one he wanted to kill was Dowley). His irritation had him itching for a cigarette. They entered the Café and the sweet aroma of hot coco beans and warm coffee assailed them on the spot. The sounds of indistinct chatter muddled in the background under the whine of small blender engines.

Dowley took the girl out back to find a bathroom. Gray didn’t mind. In fact, he was more than relieved to have a few moments away from Dowley’s constant drivel…although he was a little worried about the girl.

****

Emily had hoped Dowley would be the one to escort her. She liked Gray. He was nice and she didn’t want to have to hurt him. Plus, Dowley was an idiot. She pegged him the first time she saw him. He wasn’t tall, and walked with a limping gate that suggested one leg was shorter than the other. But something bothered her about him. Maybe you could call it paranoia but something about him spooked her. Whether it was his buck teeth (too extra long choppers displayed front and center), pointy ears, or curved yellowish nails she wasn’t sure. All she knew was she had to take a chance. The all too appealing possibility of escape was too much for her to resist.

Dowley led Emily to the woman’s bathroom. He didn’t allow her to go in alone. He did (much to his credit) give her privacy when she went into the stall.

“Five minutes,” he said. Inside the stall Emily didn’t have a clue what she should do. So she peed. She read the writings on the wall to keep her self busy. She didn’t realize at first but it occurred to her she was stalling. There really wasn’t much to do anyway, so, she waited. Once the count down of Dowley’s internal clock reached it’s climax it chimed in the form of Dowley’s huge fist pounding the door. Tap! Tap!

“Your time’s up.” No answer. Emily watched Dowley’s shadow pace and he released an inhuman guttural growl. “I’m not playing this shit with you!”

“W-well, I’m not moving,” Emily replied. Why not? There was nothing better she could do. Anyway, this was the only form of leverage she had. Dowley was silent. Then when he spoke, his voice sharpened to a point.

“I’ll only count to five. One…” Emily scanned the stall.

“…Two…” The stall wall was close. Maybe she could reach it.

“…Three…” She stood on the toilet. Stretched up ward…

“…Four…” Too high. Maybe she could find a weapon?

“…Five…” Damn nothing! Nothing but shitty toilet paper!

“Time’s up.” Emily lost her nerve. She kicked open the door and charged at Dowley. The short man was oddly strong. He over powered her with ease and threw her up against the door. Emily was knocked senseless and sprawled helplessly on the floor. Dowley had undergone a horrendous transformation, during Emily’s time in the stall. Thick grisly black hair grew from his cheeks. His front teeth were sharp and came to a point. And his hands now adorned yellowish-white claws. The whites of his eyes were feverish and lacked rational thought.

He was going to kill her. She knew. She would die on the floor in front of a bathroom stall. Dowley kneeled over her. His pink tongue licked the saliva off his gleaming teeth. Was he going to Rape her?

“No!” she screamed and kicked with all her might and hit him square in the crotch. Half rat creature or not this hurt him. Dowley doubled over in pain and Emily seized her chance. She moved quickly and placed the palm of her hands onto Dowley’s temples. When her flesh touched his she felt the life ebb out of him. All of his memory’s flashed into her head, mixing with hers. The effect was immediate. One minute she sat in the dirty bathroom of a coffee shop. The next she was Dowley at age eleven on the streets of New York. She felt the thrill he enjoyed when he first learned of his abilities. Through him she knew that the balance had tipped in their favor. They realized that this power was their one way ticket out of their situation. They’d move to Student City and train to become a Tamer but first they would get revenge…

Emily released her hold on Dowley. She could have finished him but she didn’t. Instead she let him fall to the floor at her feet. She was no longer the eleven year-old in Dowley. She regained her own memories separate from Dowley’s and returned to reality. Emily’s heart resonated with exhilaration. She set to work; checking Dowley’s pockets. She found a wallet, a few pennies, and some bubble gum. Emily also found a gun strapped to his side (thank God for cops). She pocketed all she found except for the gun and looked at herself in the mirror. Her brown strands of hair were now greasy and thin. Beads of sweat collected under her chin. Emily left the bathroom and she took the gun with her. She wasn’t going to let that kind of leverage slip by.

*****

Gray relaxed in the Café enjoying the exotic smells of coffees that floated by with customers. Dowley and the girl had been gone for a long time. He wandered what was taking them so long… A Woman carrying three coffees bumped into the table and spilled some of their contents onto the table and his pants. She apologized. “No, it’s fine.” Gray said. He walked over to a counter and picked up some napkins. He started to turn around when a gun barrel prodded his back. “Don’t move,” said the voice; a girl’s voice. Gray froze.

“Let’s talk about this.”

“How bout we don’t. Give me the keys.” Gray peaked around at his captor and saw the scared face of the girl. He turned slowly.

“You don’t know how to handle that. Give me the gun.” The girl backed away. Her eyes darted back and forth like they were searching for an answer. Gray went to grab at the gun. The girl stepped back, lifted it upwards. Bam! Bam! The result was immediate. Civilians scattered and the whole place emptied. Gray asked. “Where’s Dowley?” The girl didn’t answer. Over by the counter the owner was calling the police. Gray could tell; the girl was scared. Her hands shook with every reposition of the gun. This wasn’t her choice. She didn’t belong here.

He had her. Emily knew. She may have the gun but he had time on his side. The cops would come and she would be taken away. Emily started to lower the gun but Gray already made his decision. He reached into his pocket.

“Catch.” He said, tossing her the keys. Emily looked at him blinking. She didn’t understand. Why was he helping her? Gray shrugged as if he could read the question on her face. Emily didn’t understand what led to his reasoning but she wasn’t going to let it go to waste. In ten minutes, she took the car and was gone.