Debra and the Coven of Eternal Youth: Part 1

Jonathan Higgins was running down Hemlock Street, his shadow fleeing before him in the setting sun. He kept his eyes straight ahead, not daring to look even to either side, lest he catch a glimpse of the monstrosity chasing him. His heart was pounding almost as fast as his own echoing footsteps; if he had the breath he was sure he would be screaming. Instead he could only look ahead and listen to the sounds of his flight punctuated by the slow, steady whoosh of the thing flapping behind him.

He could see his house now; he had rounded the slight bend in the street. Dead ahead, 28 Elm Road, on the other side of the intersection. He sped up, sprinting faster than he ever had in gym classand th, arm already reaching out for the doorknob even though he was at least fifty metres away. He had to slow as he went up the driveway and leapt up the concrete stairs, at’s when it happened: SMACK! He hit the ground. No, not ground, concrete steps. His face felt like it had exploded, but he couldn’t move, he was all tangled up in … he didn’t want to think about what he was tangled in. He was trying to get his right hand free to reach for the doorknob.

His mother was screaming. Jonathan heard the door open, a couple frantic footsteps, and then a broom were being swung repeatedly; it hit him as often as his assailant, but he didn’t care anymore. Everything was fading to black.

Mrs. Higgins stopped swinging her broom when two men in black seemed to materialize out of the twilit air. She held it up before her warily, unsure what part these men had to play in the unbelievable scenario she was drawn into: a gigantic brassiere had chased her son home and tried to kill him.

One of the men, the shorter, stouter one, pulled something from inside his coat and pointed it at Jonathan. The brassiere went still and slid off of him. The man looked at his companion, a taller, thinner man with red hair, and the two remained silent; Mrs. Higgins was fairly certain the reason was simply to keep them from letting out the burst of laughter they were trying so hard to contain. The shorter one handed her the brassiere.

“Step inside, Ma’am, and we’ll bring your son,” the taller man – he was younger, she could now see – said, before looking at the older man who was rolling his eyes. “I was supposed to ask if this is your son first.”

“Yes, yes, come on in,” she said, too confused and bewildered to care about much more than the fact that annoyance felt so much better than the fear of moments before. “Are you going to track down where this thing came from? Find who is responsible?”

“Uh … you seem to be handling this quite well, Ma’am.” Again the look to his older partner before “sure we’ll track down the one responsible, it’s our job!” He pulled a small bit of wood out of a pocket and scrunched his face muttering something under his breath. He pointed it at the giant brassiere still in Mrs. Higgins’ hands and a green ball of sparkling light shot from it to Jonathan and faded. The young man looked uncertainly at the other, who lazily flicked a similar … wand … at the bra and the same thing happened. He shrugged, though he seemed to be suddenly struck by another urge to giggle.

“I – I’m not sure how to explain this. I mean first we need to know what happened … you see he seems to have done this to himself….”

“’ow’s abou’ ye wakes da b’y up, b’y?” Mrs. Higgins blinked.

“Sh-shouldn’t we heal him first? He’ll be in quite a bit of pain….” Again the older man – a newfie? – waved his wand and the nasty cut on Jonathan’s jaw healed itself. Another flick and Jonathan blinked and sat up.

“Wha-Who are you?”

“We needs ta know wha’ happen tonigh’”

“Err, all of it?” the man nodded his head and Jonathan’s shoulders slumped; he looked at his feet. “Well, Stanley and I, on the way home we always stop at this playground over on Maple Place, because, well … every day when she gets home Veronica Gates goes up to her room and changes her clothes without closing the blinds…. Today … today I said ‘wouldn’t it be nice if just once she actually took off her bra?’ and then Stanley punched me in the shoulder because her bra had just pulled free and flown out the window – I could’ve sworn it was closed – and as it got closer it got bigger and it was flapping towards us like a giant bat so we ran….”

“Well, that seems like that’s it … that is everything, right?”

“We has ta explain it, b’y!”

“Oh, right. Well, see … Jonathan, you’re a natural magician. I mean, you’ve come to be able to use magic on your own without any instruction on the subject. So, you see … just because you’re a natural doesn’t mean you can control what you do overly well. When Veronica’s bra came off like you wanted, you panicked, I’m guessing. So you lost control of what was happening. Lucky for you it backfired on you and not the girl.”

“Nah, wha’ happen’ was there was some terd party in’erference. Mos’ likely a somewhat protective spirit or sprite ‘round this Veronica’s house. Sicced the bra on ya for tryin’ at somethin’ what ya shouldn’ ha’ been.”

“I didn’t mean to do any of it!”

“Ye didn’ mean ta be sittin’ on a swing lookin’ in the window of one Veronica Gates because you was expectin’ her ta be takin of ‘er clothes?”

“Well … yeah. But we don’t always see anything at all, and I’m pretty sure she knows we’re there anyway. I mean, we’re sitting in plain view of her window….”

“It doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter. But we have a school you can go to. You’ll learn how to control your magic. It’s a boarding school, that’s how we make it safe for you to learn. We can’t make you go, but it’s a lot less work for us if you do. I mean, could you imagine us bumping into each other every other day because you accidentally used magic again?”

“I … I’d like to go, but … I wouldn’t get to see Stanley or the others anymore, would I?”

“Unless you’re busy … err, wait. How old are you?”

“Fifteen.”

“Oh. Well, you can visit on holidays, I’m sure. And at … what is it now, sixteen? They’ve been changing the rules lately. Anyway, I think at sixteen they let you come home for a visit whenever, but only if you’re keeping up with your schoolwork.”

“We’ll go help with the crew what’s cleanin’ up and check with ye later.”

“I’ll take that from you, if you don’t mind, Ma’am.”

“Of course!”

“An’ rememmer, none o’ this happened, right b’y? Secret, it is.”

“O-okay.”



Jonathan packed left that night after the two men in black had a long conversation with Mr. and Mrs Higgins. The next day when Veronica Gates knocked on the door to ask if Jonathan was all right, Mrs. Higgins had to scramble to make up a cover story that wasn’t an inconvenient version of the agreed upon cover story – which happened to be most of the truth: that he had transferred to a boarding school.

“He … he hit his head pretty hard yesterday; he slipped right here.” Luckily there was a slight trace of blood; Veronica yelped and hopped back, nearly cracking her own skull open as she barely caught her balance when she landed on the walk. “A friend of the family in Toronto had him transferred there; a specialist will be looking after him.”

“That’s horrible!”

“It’s not so bad; honey … here let me walk you home.”

“No, it’s all right Mrs. Higgins. But why aren’t you there with him?”

“Well … Mr. Higgins is with him now; we agreed we’d take turns spending some time with him. Go on, dear, you don’t want your supper to get cold, do you?”

“Thank you, Mrs. Higgins, I’m sorry. Good luck, and tell Jonathan I miss him.”

“So we’re not going to drive there?”

“Do you see a car? I don’t see a car. But, well, I do know a few more reliable bits of magic than you, so … maybe we don’t need a car.”

“Oh, so we’ll teleport, or … or … I can’t remember another word of it.”

“Look, magic is real. That means that just about everything you’ve ever seen on T.V. or in a movie, or read about in a book or comic, is probably possible to a varying degree of practicality. We’ve got rides.”

“Like brooms?”

“Not tha’ one again! B’y, me arse hurts just thinkin’ o’ flyin’ round with a bloody broomstick up me crack! Dozens a more comferable things ta enchant, ain’t there?” They paused at a little park, one of many and Jonathan couldn’t remember what this one was called. “’ave a seat, b’y,” the newfie said, gesturing at a bench. Jonathan sat down, with a man in black on either side.

Whatever Jonathan had been expecting, it certainly wasn’t for the bench to leap into the air at a forty-five degree angle and speed off towards Toronto through the dark, skimming just above trees accelerating the whole way keeping him pushed back into the wooden bench. But that was what happened.

“Y-you’re early!” a shrill voice greeted them when they touched down in an overgrown lot. It was a moment before Jonathan acknowledged he could see and hear again, and his skin was a little raw from the wind.

“I can see why broomsticks might not be ideal … but that could use a seat belt and some goggles,” he said, not really aware he was practically shouting a thought he hadn’t meant to share aloud just yet.

“Someone’s bin fiddlin’ with that there bench,” the newfie started.

“No! I-I d-don’t know what you’re talking about! Nonsense.”

“If I has to pick one splinter outta me arse, ye knows where she’s goin’, don’t ye?”

“Wha-what’s wrong? I did try to fix s-s-s-something earlier … I-I kinda need to know what’s wrong so I can fix it properly this time.”

“We come all da way from ‘alifax Nova Scotia in for’y-fie minutes. I hears that wouldn’ be such a bad ride in some of them new jets, but we weren’ in one, now was we? From the moment I activated her, she was flat out like she couldn’t get here fast enough. An’ I don’t suppose you has any idea why that might be, do ye?”

As they walked away, the younger man said “If I hadn’t been on that bench I’d probably say you were too hard on him, George.”

The school was two blocks away. Jonathan wasn’t sure how efficient this method of travel was, but at least it saved them a couple hours dealing with the airport. As they were waiting for the gates to be unlocked – it was about midnight at this point – Jonathan was struck by a thought.

“When I go home for Christmas or whenever, I don’t have to use that bench do I?”

“I doubt it. You’ll probably get a plane ticket and travel like ordinary folk. You know, mundane, non-magic … muddlers.”

“Muddlers? You mean muggles?”

“Sure. As good a word as any, I suppose.”

At the front desk a half asleep young woman just stared at them.

“New student.”

“At this hour? Just a second….”

“We’re early,” Jonathan said, not really thinking.

The woman squinted at him. “No dear, I’d say you’re late. I sent these two out this afternoon. Why did you bring the boy? Where’s the girl?”

“Girl? He did this all on his own. Well, maybe not. Might be a nasty spirit living at that girl’s house.”

“You waited just to see him get chased down the street by a giant bra, didn’t you?”

“N-no … never. Not that. Of course not. Well … maybe. It was pretty epic.”

“And I suppose you can justify waiting?”

“Well … we would have picked up the girl with no questions, when she probably has no ability for magic and this boy is a natural. And we wouldn’t have known to have the clean-up team looking for another presence at her house.”

“Right. Clean-up was back two hours ago. They didn’t find anything.”

George led them down a hallway to an elevator. “Jenny’s good with divination. Often finds us young folk like you, ones that need to come here and learn. Just it’s not always clear what is going on in her visions. And … well … sorry. We should have been able to stop the bra before you shattered your face on your front doorstep.” George grunted at the younger man and waved them into the elevator.

Jonathan first thought it was odd that the elevator was dropping, then when two or three minutes passed he had to ask “Why are we going so far down? Isn’t the school all up there?”

“You didn’t think the safe place to learn magic was really in downtown Toronto, did you?”

“Well, it did seem a bit odd…. But how far down are we?”

“Don’t worry yourself with that. Come on, out we get.”

Stepping off the elevator, Jonathan found himself in a small black room that was perfectly round. At first he just thought it was dark, but it was definitely just black. “See him to his room, b’y, it’s a bit late, wouldn’t want him to fall asleep on the way.”

“George doesn’t like this bit,” the younger man said as George stepped back into the elevator. “You’re gonna stand here and watch yourself, it doesn’t feel pretty.” The room started to pulse. It felt like everything was being compressed and then expanded. All of a sudden Jonathan felt like he was being crushed and then ripped apart, and then everything stopped. “Need a minute before we go up? Take a couple steps before you say no.”

 Jonathan walked over to the elevator, confused. “I’m good, but … where are we going?”

“Upstairs to get you to a bed.”

“Then why did we come all the way down here?”

“Oh. Right. We’re actually about a thousand kilometres north of Toronto, and a bit west. See, moving stuff like that is hard, we couldn’t do it from your house to here, but we could do so from the fake school to the real one. And it doesn’t feel too good; it wouldn’t be as impressive to arrive in full view after that, would it?”

The elevator ride up seemed to take forever as Jonathan and the man whose name he didn’t know stood in awkward silence.

“Room three seventeen,” a bored voice said when the elevator doors opened. They hurried there. The room was somewhat bare, just a single bed with plain white comforter and a desk or table against one wall. There was a wardrobe against the other.

“Bathroom’s down the hall. Now, allow me to provide your first decoration.” From somewhere the giant bra was produced, and with a flick of his wand it flapped its way up to a corner and hung there moving noiselessly. With an impish grin he took off. Jonathan shrugged and fell onto the bed.

Jonathan woke to a painfully loud bell. At first he was frightened, as he had no clue where he was and the giant bra was lazily flapping in circles around his ceiling. It slowly came back to him as he looked at the blank walls, and then he realized he had slept in his clothes. Wondering what the racket was about, he opened his door to find sleepy teenage boys shuffling back and forth in the hallway.

“What’s going on,” he asked. One boy jumped and stumbled into the door across the hall from Jonathan. He stared at him for a moment before he stood up straight.

“You’re new here. We’re getting ready for class, but if they brought you in in the middle of the night you probably aren’t ready. I’m sure they’ll send someone around soon enough.” With that the boy took off at a slightly faster pace and Jonathan shrugged and went back to lie on his bed.

Jonathan didn’t realize he had dozed off again until a knock woke him. He jumped up at the second knock and opened the door. A girl a few years older than him – or maybe almost twice his age, he wasn’t sure – stood there, with long blond pigtails and a pink beret, hugging a clipboard. Jonathan looked her up and down in incredulity, taking in the fuzzy slippers, velvet blazer, and what looked like a fleece skirt. She had glasses and diamond sparkles on her teeth.

“You’re the new boy, right?”

“Yes.”

“Name?”

“Don’t you have it already?” Jonathan could tell by the look she gave him she wasn’t going to answer. “Jonathan Higgins.”

“Age, height, weight…?”

“Fifteen, I think I’m six foot now … and … um … maybe one fifty?”

“What’s that in centimetres? Kilograms? What is that thing in your room?”

“Oh … not my choice. But can I keep it? It’s kinda the only colour in here.”

“Whatever. Centimetres? Kilograms?”

“I don’t know. One hundred seventy? And maybe … um … seventy? Does it really matter?”

“No. But I need your hair and eye colour too.”

“Brown and brown I guess.”

“Come with me, lots to acquire.” Jonathan stepped into the hall and closed the door. “First things first, uniforms.” She set off at a brisk pace, her hips swaying back and forth as she tapped her cheek with her silver pen adorned with pink feathers. By the clicking sound Jonathan guessed he had been wrong about her footwear – they were actually some form of high heels. “In here, Debby will get you measured up,” she said two floors down and on the other side of the building.

Debby didn’t move from her stool where she read a magazine titled “Corsets and Crosshairs”, but a measuring tape flew at him and measured every length and circumference it could find while chalk moved across a blackboard writing numbers and working out calculations. Then bolts of fabric unrolled themselves, scissors cut it without a hand guiding them, and needle and thread flew at an alarming rate.

 “There you are Miss, have a nice day,” Debby said in a nasal voice as a folded pile of garments dropped into Jonathan’s arms.

“Thank you,” he said as he ducked out, hoping he needn’t be worried about having been called ‘miss’ by the tailor.

“She didn’t have to give them to you yet, you won’t be starting classes until tomorrow. Back up to your room I guess, you’ll have to hang those up. Actually, first let’s check on your textbooks.” The girl stepped across the hall and knocked on a door. The top half swung open and Jonathan caught a glimpse of wispy white hair and a bulbous nose as she said “Jonathan Higgins,” the little man grunted something and a pile of textbooks rose up and an alarmed girl looked at Jonathan. He handed her his clothes instead and grabbed the books; the door slammed shut instantly.

Jonathan was fairly confident as he led the way back to his room. The books he deposited on the desk – he was disappointed to find that they were all similar to the texts at his old school – and turned to start hanging up the uniforms to find the obnoxious girl scowling at the bra-bat. She didn’t seem to notice as he hung the items up one by one.

“I’m not sure I like that. Why is it in here?”

“What is your name?”

“You don’t need to know that.”

“Neither do you.”

“Genevieve Wantons,” she said after gritting her teeth and making an annoyed sound.

“I’m here because when me and a friend observed a girl changing her shirt through an open window, I somehow made that bra jump off her. It then flew out the window, grew to about ten times its normal size, and chased me home. The man who escorted me here seemed to think it a great joke to re-animate it and leave it fluttering about up there as my first decoration. I like the bit of colour it brings the room.”

“A friend and I,” she corrected absently. “Before we go on the wand quest, you should see a healer. The bruises over your face are from the bra?”

“Err, not directly, no. They’re from the concrete steps outside of my house. But I only hit them because that thing wrapped itself around me.”

The healer was located three floors up and around two corners. A man in white with a red nose and wispy white hair sat on a stool in the middle of an empty room. “Oh, dear, you should have been here sooner! How long ago did this happen?”

“Uh, about six o’clock yesterday? I guess that’s five here….”

“This might hurt, someone’s already tried to fix your jaw I see … brace yourself!” Suddenly it felt as if he was hitting the steps all over again, but it faded quickly, leaving a numb tingling sensation behind. “I suppose I should have clarified,” the man said, giving him a hand up. “I forget not everyone has experienced a magical healing before; those of you who haven’t tended to fall over like that.”

“Thank you,” he said over his shoulder as Genevieve dragged him out of the room. As he followed her down the stairs to what must have been below ground level, he had to ask. “The wand quest?”

“Yes, well, you’re going to need one. You don’t have one do you? You can do magic without one, but it gets a lot harder. And they’re better if they’re … personalized. You’ll see, someday at least, I hope.” She stopped at a door, knocked, and pushed him through.

“Oho, I bet you’re old Marty Higgins’ boy! I thought he wasn’t going to send his son here, but I guess things change, eh? Let’s see … we’re pressed for time, so we’ll see what we can do with whatever you can get this afternoon. Simple really; a crystal and a piece of wood a bit bigger than a pencil. Not really sure what else to tell you … Tell that fool girl she’s wasting time and you need to get out of doors.”

Genevieve rolled her eyes and hurried him along to a door leading out of a hillside. “He didn’t explain it to you very well … you don’t just pick up a piece of wood, though that would make it simpler. You have to ask a tree for it. As for crystals … much the same deal, I know a cave or two we can check out.”

“Are there trees between us and these caves?”

“Yes.”

“Then lead on, Ms. Wanton.” Jonathan noticed that it was far cooler here, and he found himself wishing for a coat. But as they hiked through the hilly forest, he warmed up enough coats were soon forgotten. None of the trees were looking likely, not that Jonathan really know what he was about, but Genevieve seemed more concerned with reaching the cave.

Outside the cave Genevieve bit her lip nervously. “Usually students are given days, sometimes even weeks, for this. But you’re so far behind … well, let’s get in there.” Inside, Jonathan was dazzled. Every surface of the cave seemed to be crystalline. He was mesmerized and drawn straight to a massive column made of a joined stalactite and stalagmite in the centre.

“I need a bit of crystal for a wand,” he said lamely, trailing off. To his surprise, the whole cave started grumbling, and Genevieve yelped and ran out without him. He stood gawking around, frozen in alarm, one hand still on the pillar. Then something fell from the ceiling and landed on his outstretched arm. It was a small unremarkable piece of crystal. “Thank you,” he said, and could have sworn the crystal started glowing slightly as he ducked out to show Genevieve.

“Yes, very nice. Let’s go find you a tree now then.” She was obviously flustered, thought Jonathan.

Unfortunately, getting the wood for the wand was a good deal harder. Most of the trees ignored him entirely. But then he saw a massive white birch, one that seemed large enough he couldn’t get his arms around it. He placed one hand on its trunk and tried the same thing he did for the crystal. “I need a piece of wood for a wand,” and the tree shook violently. A small branch struck him in the head, and he could have sworn the tree laughed at him as he caught it.

“Oh, good for you … now he didn’t say anything else?”

“No, why?”

“Usually we add something else, like a feather or bone, or a bit of blood or hair, to augment the power of the wand in some way. But old McGovern knows his business….”

They had just left the trees behind and were approaching the school when Jonathan saw a feather floating down through the air; he reached out and snatched it up without Genevieve even noticing. Back in McGovern’s shop, Genevieve left him to wait in the hall.

“Ye didn’t think it’d be that simple, did you?”

“I didn’t know what to think, actually. But here. The piece of wood, the crystal, and a feather.”

“I didn’t say anything about a feather.”

“I know, but it sort of floated towards me as we were getting back, I had to grab it.”

“You’ll go far, lad, I honestly believe it.” He studied the bit of wood carefully. “Now first you use the mitre saw and cut it to length; it should be at least six inches but no longer than your forearm.” Jonathan made two quick cuts so that he was using the thickest portion of the branch without the jagged end, making the length just a bit shorter than his forearm. “Now put it on this little lathe, careful like. Turn it on and use the tools to give it some shape, just don’t ruin it, that’s a good lad.” Not knowing what ‘shape’ a wand should have, he just smoothed it out so that it was more of a rod. “Solid choice, solid choice.” Mr. McGovern waved him over to the bench again. “Now we put it in this little metal box with the feather and crystal … there we go. I’ll give you the honour.”

“Honour of what?”

“Push the button, lad, push the button!” Jonathan pushed the button and there was a whoosh of heat and light from the box. He was afraid he ruined it but Mr. McGovern said “very good, very good! Now open it, careful, it might be hot….” Opening the box, Jonathan found his wand but no hair or crystal. He reached in and picked it up. “There you go lad, run along and show Ms. Wantons.”

“Very nice, back to your room we go.”

 “Why?”

“You need to be dressed proper for dinner.” Back in his room, she again squeamishly examined the bra-bat without speaking. Suddenly she asked “did he have you test it?”

“What?”

“Did you test your wand?”

“Oh, no, why?”

“Do you inspire people to be forgetful or do they just want to annoy me? Give it a wave, let’s see it works.”

Not knowing exactly what to do, Jonathan flicked his wrist, which in the small room meant in Genevieve’s direction. Nothing seemed to happen at first, and he was disappointed. But then she yelped and then started giggling and swatting at her chest and back. A few minutes later, her bra crawled out of the neck hole of her shirt.

“Oh very nice. Not really, but, well, yes. I mean … it was an impressive bit of magic, but not very nice of you. Anyway, the big one looks a bit lonely, so I’ll give it some company!” With a flick of her own wand Genevieve’s bra – a garish purple with pink flowers lacy number – flapped up to join Veronica’s white with little pink roses. “Careful, Jonathan, you wouldn’t want to get a reputation.” She winked before laying out the uniform he was to put on and leaving.

He was dressed and had used the washroom and returned before the dinner bell rang. He opened his door and joined the throng of boys heading down to wherever they ate and nobody even noticed. Certainly nobody jumped out of their skin as if he were a ghost.

Dinner was served buffet style with a massive counter between the kitchens and the dining room, and Jonathan picked out some food and sat in a fairly deserted stretch of table. He was quickly joined by two students, one the boy he had startled that morning and a girl. “Nice to see you got your face healed up,” the boy said.

“You’re new,” the girl said.

“Got here last night, really late. Thank you, I hadn’t realized it was so bad.”

“You have a wand yet?”

“Yes,” he said, finding the girl annoying.

“Let’s see it then.”

Hoping the girl would go away; Jonathan drew his wand and set it down next to his knife. She just looked at it. He ate in the peaceful silence that followed. It didn’t last long. Soon other curious students gathered around.

“Well, lets see what it does,” one said, and the request was quickly taken up.

“I doubt that’s a good idea,” he tried to say, but was drowned out. “I’d rather not,” he said louder, but still couldn’t be heard. “It’s really not a good idea!” He pretty well shouted that last, and the crowd quieted down.

“While usually I’d be inclined to agree, in the interest of expediency, why don’t you try something?” Jonathan looked up at a tall, stern looking older woman. He shrugged and waved the wand. Nothing happened. He tried a few more times, shrugged again, and went back to eating. “Well of course nothing is going to happen if you just think about what you don’t want to happen; you have to think about what you’re trying to do!”

Still hungry, Jonathan pictured the bowl of mashed potatoes floating over to his table, and carefully waved his wand. Suddenly there were mashed potatoes all over the annoying girl who had started this whole ordeal.

“That’s not what I meant to do, I swear!” He could tell he wasn’t believed, but the teacher sighed and waved away the potato all over the poor girls face.

“Try again, but try something closer this time.”

Looking around, Jonathan saw an empty chair. A wave of his wand, and it rose a few inches, floated towards him, and fell to the ground. Disappointed, he looked to the teacher.

“Very good. One more try.” Jonathan didn’t even think about it, he just waved his wand. But the chair didn’t move. Then all the girls started giggling.

“Oh no,” he groaned. “No, no, stop it, I didn’t mean to … not again!” he sighed and slouched down in his seat to hide his face in his hands as bras started crawling out of the neck of every female’s shirt.

“Impressive. And this has happened before?”

“Twice. Well, not exactly. The first time is why I’m here … and the second was … err … a little bit ago when Ms. Wantons insisted I ‘test’ my wand.”

“You have potential. I trust you won’t test your wand anymore without a teacher present? Now if you’ll excuse me.”

“Dude, Mrs. Crichton actually smirked! You are a god!” Jonathan couldn’t agree with the sentiment. He tucked his wand into his pocket and slipped out to his room, not believing for a second the fame would turn out to be a good thing.

Back in his room he lay on his bed and pointed his wand and Veronica’s bra, hoping to make it normal-sized again. He wasn’t having any luck and welcomed Genevieve’s knock some time later. “We still need to get you pen and paper and whatnot, now don’t we? And your schedule and it’d probably help to take you around to show you the different classrooms…. Come on then.”

Jonathan found himself lying on his bed later that night, staring at the flapping bra-bats and wondering why his life had suddenly changed so much. It was only then that he realized that Mr. McGovern had said he knew his father and hadn’t expected Jonathan to be there. He decided he would have to ask if he had a chance to speak with the man again.

Classes actually blurred together in normalcy and boredom. It seemed his accident in the dining hall had been impressive but not too significant for the attention to last long, and he was able to stay forgotten by not drawing attention to himself. Most of his schoolwork was actually simple enough stuff that he would have learned at his old school. But there was often magic thrown in, and at first he struggled. But he found he had pretty well caught up by the time the snow started falling.

Then he Mrs. Crichton asked him a question.

“How do the bras crawl out of our shirts when our arms are still through the straps?” Now Jonathan had never thought of it too carefully before. He hadn’t even really paid much attention to how a bra was worn. He had just assumed they were unhooked and that was that, but apparently it wasn’t.

“I suppose the straps undo themselves completely … well, that can’t be right, or why would they go back? I honestly don’t know, it’s not me guiding it, is it?”

“Of course it is, even if it is part of your subconscious. I suspect you were right to some extent, the straps ‘undo themselves’ and then reattach. In any event the real lesson here isn’t how a bra can escape a body without the arms freeing it but that your subconscious is what does most of the controlling of magic. You don’t really have to think about specifics too much unless there is something you’re trying to avoid. Even then you can’t think about what you don’t want to do but what you do.”

“Why bring this up now instead of … weeks ago?”

“You’ll be going home for two weeks next month, and we won’t be taking your wand or able to restrict your use of magic. I thought it time to point out that if you have any sort of mind-altering substance, magic becomes very unpredictable.”

“Mind-altering substance?”

“Alcohol, marijuana, absinthe … any other drugs, like most mushrooms. Even sugar or caffeine in to great quantities can have some effect. Anyway, no need to dwell on it.”

The problem was that it stuck in the back of his mind, even though he had never bothered with any of it, though opportunities enough had presented themselves.

When December 18th rolled around, Jonathan was exhausted from the frantic pace of his classes. Apparently the more magic you learned the more you had to learn right away, theory and practical, which meant more and more hours of homework, studying, and practicing. But it was the day he would be going home, and he put on his old clothes. They felt weird after so long wearing the uniforms, and he was pretty sure they didn’t fit right anymore. His backpack packed, he went down to join everyone for one last breakfast, and then they were all leaving as fast as the elevator could take them down and pulse them over to Toronto.

The second time making the trip, or the reverse of the first, anyway, Jonathan felt worse. It might have been the presence of other students, or the fact that one of the others puked, but he wasn’t feeling well at all as they dragged themselves over to the elevator and waited out the long climb. From the fake school they were splitting up depending on where they were headed, but Jonathan didn’t have time to stick around as his flight back to Halifax was fairly early.

He was met at the airport by his parents holding his winter coat and gloves. His mother squished him in a big hug and smothered him with kisses while his father stood uncomfortably off to one side running his fingers through his hair. Once at the house, his mother started baking cookies happily humming Christmas carols and Jonathan sat down in front of the TV and turned it on, having missed it over the last two months.

“So, son, how much have you learned?”

“Too much,” Jonathan said, still focused entirely on the television.

“Yeah, I remember that feeling. But you’ve been learning to duel?”

“Yes … I’ve gotten quite used to it. They make me practice more than most because if I flick my wand without thinking about what I’m doing, girls’ bras start climbing out of their shirts….”

His father burst out laughing and Jonathan turned bright red. “That doesn’t sound like something most fifteen year old boys would be so upset about happening.”

“I suppose it would be kinda cool if I was doing it on purpose, and only to one girl at a time, but when it happens, it happens to every girl in the room and once it was only because I dropped my hand too fast with a wand still in it!”

“I asked because I still have my wand and it’s been a while since I … since I duelled with anyone. I used to enjoy it, you know.”

“Why didn’t you tell me before I left?”

“It was a lifetime ago, I was a little in shock at realizing I had convinced myself it was all a dream.”

“Mr. McGovern said something about not expecting to see your son the first day I was there.”

“Yes, well, that’s a story for another time, I’m afraid. Up to the attic for a little extra practice?”

“I guess, it’s not like there is anything on anyway.”

As Jonathan climbed up the ladder and through the hatch after his father, he realized he had never been in the attic before. It was roughly finished, with plywood floor and drywall hung and plastered but not painted, lighting fixtures tucked up between the beams so as to not be hanging down in the way. There was nothing else up there, except sitting on a cushion at the other end, a wand.

Mr. Higgins believed himself to be rusty and slow, but Jonathan found he could barely get a proper spell off in defence let alone offence. Some two hours later, they climbed back down, both exhausted.

Mrs. Higgins had cookies laid out, and Jonathan sat down at the computer to check his email fir the first time in months. He wasn’t looking forward to it. Surprisingly two hundred thirty four of his two hundred forty two emails were junk and the other eight weren’t anything he needed to reply to. As he turned from the computer, bored, there was a pounding on the front door. He opened it to find a very excited Stanley. “Hey! How are you? You’re home?”

 “Hi Stanley. I’m good, home for Christmas.”

“Busy?”

“No, come in.”

“Could you come out?”

“Well, yeah, but come in a minute, I have to dig out the rest of my snow gear and I can’t have the door open so long.”

“Oh, sorry.” A few minutes later they were outside walking away from Jonathan’s house. “You remember the last time I saw you right?” Jonathan nodded. “The Veronica Gates’ bra flying out the window at us, a great big monstrosity?”

“Yes, but … you remember it?”

“Of course! How could I forget something like that? Well, actually … I did for a while. It wasn’t until Veronica disappeared I remembered, and it was a while after that.”

“Veronica disappeared?”

“Oh, you didn’t know. After you got transferred, sometimes me and Veronica would sit on the swings before she went inside. She closed the blinds though. Halloween, we were going out together. Not really trick or treating, but we didn’t really have a party to go to either. We just dressed up and went out to run around. Or we were supposed to. But she came out of the house and this black van pulls up, someone gets out and drags her in. I was sitting on the swing waiting, I don’t know why I got missed, but everyone else thinks she was wearing a provocative outfit and was picked up by some old man, even found someone to stand trial for it and everything. But it was an old woman in a witch costume that took her, Jon! I swear, but nobody believes me.”

“I … I think I believe you, I mean why would you lie?” They had just arrived at the playground on Maple Place; as Jonathan spoke, Stanley’s eyes glazed over and he slumped to the ground. Not even a second later he blinked and stood up.

“What happened? Why would I lie to you? About what? Why are we here?”

“Nothing … I don’t know. Let’s go back to your place.”

“Yeah, I think I could use a nap….”

It wasn’t much, but for an instant Jonathan felt it: that ‘protective spirit’ George had mentioned in his explanation. Jonathan didn’t have his wand, but he reached out and grabbed the spirit anyway, latching onto it and hoping he could hang on until he could properly confine it – not that he knew how.

When he got home he was about to ask his father what to do with the spirit, but remembered being told that anything he had seen on TV or read in a book was probably possible to a varying degree of practicality and effectiveness. So he grabbed an empty water bottle and forced the spirit inside it, closing the lid and trying to impress on the bottle the need to kept he spirit confined. He even got his wand out and added a few more spells he made up.

“I know you’ve been behind, so I thought you might want to look through some of these old books,” his father said behind him, startling him. Jonathan turned as Mr. Higgins deposited a dusty old trunk on the floor of his bedroom. “Well, I’ll leave you to it.”

The next six days blurred into dizzying duels with dad and endlessly skimming some books his father had collected decades ago. He didn’t find much he cared about, mostly vague references to things more advanced than he was ready for anyway.

Christmas day, however, was interesting. It started with Jonathan stretching to find a stocking stuffed full on the foot of his bed. He picked it up and dumped it out, finding it mostly candy – which was slightly disappointing at this point; he had had way too much candy already! – And a couple cheap toys. He went downstairs to the living room, to find his mother staring at a bunch of sooty footprints coming from the fireplace and walking around the Christmas tree and back, her eye twitching and her lip pinched between her teeth.

“Who did that, mom?” There was no answer. “Mom? I’ll clean this up for you, okay? You just make breakfast?” She still didn’t answer, so Jonathan ran back to his room for his wand. When he started waving it and making the footprints disappear, she blinked and went to the kitchen.

“What are you doing?”

“Mom was practically having a stroke at all these sooty footprints over the carpet.”

“Sooty footprints? No … it can’t be.”

“Can’t be what? Santa?”

“Of course it’s not St. Nick. But there are other things … when I was little the magic users devised a gift-delivery system based on the whole Santa Claus myth. It’s possible … I guess it’s possible someone sent you some gifts.”

After a delicious breakfast of more French Toast than Jonathan should have eaten, they sat down to open their gifts. “Who is ‘Debra Higgins’?” Jonathan’s head sagged and he closed his eyes.

“Not Debra, De-Bra. I still haven’t found out who came up with the name, but it stuck with several of the others.”

Mrs. Higgins’ eyes narrowed. “You aren’t—”

“No, mom. It was all an accident, but … well … gossip and rumours, you know. And teenagers with nicknames and teasing.”

“Oh, well, here,” she said, handing over several oddly wrapped gifts.

“I’m not sure I want to open these; whoever sent them couldn’t even own up to it and put their name on the tag.”

“Bah, go ahead, open them.”

Jonathan did, but three of the boxes contained only crumpled paper and another was full of rocks. The fifth gift marked ‘Debra Higgins’, though, had a small quilt depicting Genevieve with a purple and pink bra flapping free of her shirt.

“I don’t get it,” his mother said. “It’s not much of a joke.”

“I … I’m not sure. It might be from Genevieve Wontons. I don’t know why she would put ‘Debra Higgins’ on the tag though, she … actually I think she’s only called me ‘new boy’.”

“Well, here, open some more!” His father had sorted out the remaining presents and toppled Jonathan’s pile towards him. Jonathan wasn’t sure where all the presents had come from but started opening, soon completely confused as to who had given him what. But there was one from his father he remembered. It was a book, titled ‘Spirits & Constructs: How They Go Together’, which was suspicious enough on its own, but his father winked and said “Yes, I saw.”

The only other gift of note was a battered cookbook from his great-grandfather on his father’s side, full of rather disturbing recipes. His mother was quite disgusted by it, but his father winked and whispered “take it with you; you’ll understand later.” For the first time in his life, there were no toys begging to be taken out and tested. There weren’t even any video games – he wasn’t even overly upset by this; he was consumed wholly by his quest for knowledge of things magical.

Jonathan read all of ‘Spirits & Constructs: How They Go Together’ before he went to sleep that night. He didn’t understand most of it, but he wasn’t worried. He would eventually. He hoped it would be sooner rather than later though.

The next morning Jonathan’s mind was racing. He was planning out the construct he was going to build. He could probably make it the size of a human adult, but it would be time consuming and rather conspicuous. He could make it the size of one of the ‘action figures’ he used to play with, but at that size he feared it would be pretty useless. By the time he had finished breakfast, he had decided to make it stand about a foot high, no bigger than his boot.

Back in his room he dug frantically under his bed, through every drawer of his dresser, and emptied out his closet in search of every toy, tool, and utensil that had broken or bent and he had tucked away because he ‘could make something with it’ over the years. It was quite the pile, and he added an old pair of earphones that he couldn’t stand.

It took Jonathan six days to work out a configuration for the body and persuade the pieces to fit together with the careful application of magic. Then he shrunk the bottle down – melted it, really – until it was a little plastic ball containing the condensed spirit, and inserted it into the cavity he had left in the construct’s torso.

And then the project came to a stand-still. The book didn’t give any specific instructions for binding the spirit to the body when it was released, only vague theoretical mumbo-jumbo and conjecture. When it was nearly supper time, Jonathan gave up. But instead of abandoning the project for later, he pointed his wand at the thing and put all his frustration behind a magical push, saying merely “Birth!”

Jonathan nearly fell when the body cobbled together from random items sat up and looked at its ‘hands’. It tried to speak, but all that came out was garbled static. “I-it worked? You’re alive? Well, I mean … you’re in the body?” The construct nodded. “You were supposed to be able to speak, I’m sorry.” A wave of the constructs hand Jonathan took to mean ‘don’t worry’ and then it was gesturing at a pencil on the desk.

Curious, Jonathan picked it up and set it by a pad of paper and handed it a stubby pencil almost too short to use anymore. It quickly went to work, scribbling out all kinds of symbols that Jonathan couldn’t read.

“I’m sorry; I don’t understand any of that. Anyway, I have to go down to eat supper; it’s New Year’s Eve. I have to leave you alone for now, but I should be back later.” His new companion just waved him away and continued scribbling.

“Jonathan, Stanley called earlier, you didn’t answer when I called out for you. He wanted to know if you would like to go see fireworks with him and some others.”

“But—”

“Nonsense, you’re fifteen! You shouldn’t be stuck at home with family. Run rampant with your friends, you’ll have tomorrow to recover before you’re headed back to that school of yours.” Jonathan was glad his mother was so encouraging, though she had misinterpreted his reluctance. Still, he would go. When supper was over, he gave Stanley a call.

After playing some video games and catching up, Stanley’s older brother – he was in University, Jonathan was surprised he was hanging out with them – gave them a drive down to the Halifax waterfront, and they all stood huddled around waiting for the fireworks. There was a lot of foot-shuffling and shivering as they watched their breath puff out like smoke, and they carried on a bit. When it was getting close to the time for the fireworks to start, Stanley’s brother offered him a cookie, and thinking nothing of it, he took it and ate it, though Steve seemed to think something about it was rather amusing.

When the fireworks started going off, something odd that Jonathan couldn’t quite put his finger on started to happen. The colours seemed too bright, the noise too loud. He wasn’t cold anymore, and….

The next thing he knew Jonathan was back in his living room with his parents, George the newfie standing over him all in black. “There, tha’ ought a se’ ‘im straigh’.”

“What happened?” Jonathan asked, groggily.

“Put on quite a show downtown, you did. Luckily most of it has been explained away as a unsanctioned fireworks display.” Jonathan turned his head to see the other guy from before there too.

“I’m never taking anything Steve offers me again…”

“Don’t worry, the cover story is the drugs in the cookies reacted badly with your meds.”

“What meds?”

“We didn’t specify, but since you were transferred to a special school in Toronto after you cracked your skull, we thought it believable.”

“Whatever. I didn’t do anything too stupid, did I?”

“No … not really.”

“I’m just glad I didn’t have my wand then.”

“As are we; your dad says you’ve become quite the duellist for a beginner. Even an amateur is tricky to deal with in muggle public.”

“Can I go to bed now or did I miss my flight?”

“Yes, b’y, go on.”

Halfway up the stairs Jonathan realized the two were following him. At his door he turned. “Didn’t want ta say nothin’ in fron’ o’ yer parens, bu’ an awful lot o’ girls lost their brassieres tonight.”

“Got them back though, don’t worry. Though every last one had an email address on it. Hopefully none of them remember.”

“I don’t remember your name,” Jonathan said, looking at the taller redheaded one.

“Frederick. I prefer Fred, thank you. Much better than hey you, don’t you think? Whatcha hiding?”

Before he could even object, Fred had his door open and was peering into his room. “Ooh, what do we have here?” Dreading what Fred had found, Jonathan turned. Sure enough, he was hunched over the construct prodding it with his wand. “I’d have thought this was a bit advanced for you, Jonny!”

“Where’d ye get da spiri’?”

“Nasty thing hanging out in the park over on Maple Place. Was messing with Stanley’s memory.”

“Let’s ‘ave a look then, see ya ain’t made something dangerous.”

The construct seemed to get rather annoyed with them poking at it, but all it could do was wave its arms and emit a crackling sound. “Bit crude, rough around the edges. But hey, it worked. And the spirit is securely imprisoned. Try not to go around undertaking these projects when you aren’t at school, though, would you? Things can go wrong….” George gave a bark of laughter but motioned for Fred to continue. “Take this, hang it around its neck tomorrow. Should be able to walk right through airport security with it. We’ll take care of this trunk now; wouldn’t want those unmagical security poking through it, thinking you’re completely nutso, would you?”

“No. I mean, go ahead, and thank you. He was supposed to be able to talk though, but all he can make is that crackling sound.”

George looked closer and did something. “I’m not fer knowing if that worked or not, but b’y I say you did a good job. See you.”

“We have to stop running into each other like this,” Fred said as they left.

Jonathan glanced at the charm, a little bracelet with some sort of symbol hanging from it, and set it down on his desk next to the construct. Then he crawled into bed and hoped his head would be on straight when he woke up.

Next morning, Jonathan groggily checked his email. There were hundreds of them, all about bras. Most were girls demanding to know how he wrote on their bras, a couple guys wanting to know how he came to write on their girlfriends’ bras, and three girls angrily blaming him for causing their boyfriends to break up with them. There were even a few from lawyers and law enforcement trying to pin a crime on him but clearly not having any idea how to do so as they only had a bra that hadn’t been written on when a female had put it on but had been when she took it off.

In short, he was responsible for one of the biggest mysteries in Halifax and he didn’t dare take the credit for it.

Throughout the day it just got worse. The emails kept coming. The presence of female radio hosts, reporters, and journalists at the fireworks the night before meant it quickly spread throughout the media. But nobody could explain it. He laughed at the explanations some interviewees gave. He was looking forward to getting on the plane and leaving all the excitement behind.

Then came the pictures. Not having received a response, many girls started attaching pictures to their emails as if this would help him remember writing on their bra. In fact, several even added a little note reading ‘remember me now?’ Some of these pictures were probably rather inappropriate and Jonathan shut down the computer, red-faced, and went up to his room to try and make sense of what his construct had written for him while he was out last night.

Despite the early hour, Jonathan was virtually vibrating with excitement as they drove to the airport. He hadn’t expected to be so excited to be headed back, but he was. Being home had been great and all, but school and magic were just where Jonathan wanted to be, he decided as the car rolled on.

His mom cried when he went through security. He was trying to keep from laughing. He hadn’t expected any problems when even his parents hadn’t asked any questions about the junk-golem on his shoulder. But still. Best not to look suspicious, he decided.

He had a window seat for the flight, but that didn’t mean much, as the two middle aged men next to him were snoring the whole time. He hadn’t taken a book or anything, and he was regretting it. He started to go over everything that had happened that Christmas break, lest he pop off the flight attendant’s bra and not be able to cover it up.

Soon enough he was standing at the arrivals door waiting for the school’s van. A girl a few years older than him sidled up beside him. “You’re that bra boy, aren’t you?” Jonathan whipped his head around to look at her and cocked an eyebrow. She smiled. “You were at Alderney Landing, weren’t you?”

“Nope.”

“New Year’s Eve. Clean up crew didn’t bother with me.”

“I wasn’t at Alderney Landing.”

“This is your email address, isn’t it?” she pulled open her blouse. He turned red again and quickly looked ahead. “Our ride is here.” She took his hand and pulled him through the door to meet the van at the curb. There were no more of their fellow students waiting. “I know it was you, so what were you doing? How’d it go so badly?”

“My friend’s older brother brought some cookies with him, shared them just before the fireworks. Special cookies. I don’t know what he had in them, but I don’t remember anything after feeling weird when the fireworks started. We were over on the Halifax waterfront.”

“If you were out with some non-magicals you shouldn’t have had your wand.”

“I didn’t have it.”

“Really?”

“Honestly. I’m glad to have an excuse to not check my email anymore.”

“What are you talking about? We have not one but three computer labs! There is also free wireless throughout the grounds, I have my laptop.”

“Oh … I didn’t know. I’ve been too busy, I guess.”

“I never got your real name.”

“Jonathan Higgins.”

“Tamara Jenkins,” she said, smiling again, holding out her hand. He wasn’t sure, but he thought he was blushing when he shook it. “What’s with you and bras, anyway?”

“I don’t know! I mean … sorry … I found out I’m a natural because one day on our way home from school me and a friend stopped to watch a girl getting changed through her window; it wasn’t the first time, she never closes her blinds. Anyway, I said ‘wouldn’t it be nice if she took of her bra just once?’ and it popped off, grew, and attacked me. Since then it comes up whenever I try to do magic without thinking about what.”

“Must be a little rough. But it could be a lot worse. There was a guy a few years older than me who couldn’t use magic without farting. Nobody could explain it and it was rather embarrassing.” Jonathan actually laughed. They fell into normal idle chatter, and suddenly they were at the school. The fake school, anyway.

They were alone in the elevator going down, too, but now they were quiet. Tamara giggled like she was nervous and leaned against him to lay her head on his shoulder and bat her eyelashes at him. He was uncomfortable, second guessing what was going on, and cocked an eyebrow as he kissed her on the nose. He wasn’t sure what the noise was, but she didn’t pull away.

“I-I don’t like this part. Could you hold my hand, Jon?” Nobody ever shortened his name. And she was all quiet and subdued, not acting like she had been since she had approached him at the airport. He held out his left hand and they walked out into the centre of the room.

Tamara didn’t leave his side as he walked up to his room. He found it weird, but he was afraid any attempt to dislodge her would be considered rude. And so she was there when he opened his door and she saw Veronica and Genevieve’s bras flapping around the ceiling.

“You don’t have a thing for bras, eh?”

“Well, the white one with the roses, that’s the one that wound me up here. The other one … she probably doesn’t want me to tell me who she is; it was an accident and she put it up there herself. Well, Fred put Veronica’s up there, said I needed decorations.”

“You’re so cute when you’re defensive,” she squealed, shutting the door and tackling him onto the bed. He didn’t know what to do. He knew what she wanted him to do. He was tempted to do it. He couldn’t think of any rational or logical reason not to, aside from his parents’ potential disappointment in him. Still, he panicked and she flew back. Her bra crawled out of her blouse as she sat there stunned.

“Come on, Tamara, stand up and we’ll get you to your room. Or the healer?”

“Healer, please…. You’re being awful nice for someone who doesn’t like me,” she said pouting.

“I like you, but you kinda startled me. Just be glad my wand is in my backpack.” She grunted and flicked her own wand, causing her plain white bra to flap up to the ceiling and join the two already there. He didn’t want to say anything, but he wasn’t overly pleased with the addition of something white to the already too white room.

“Back again Miss Jenkins? What did you do this time?” When she didn’t answer the healer looked to Jonathan.

“She … err … she fell backwards and smacked her head.”

“Well, she’ll be fine in a minute. You can take her to her floor, but it’s a female floor so you won’t be able to get off to walk her to her door. Hopefully there’ll be another girl about.” Magical healing was completely unremarkable from this reference point. You didn’t get the overwhelming sensation and the flopping to the floor until your senses cleared. You just saw an old man in white put a hand on someone and they looked better a few seconds later. Tamara didn’t even fall, just swayed in place.

Monday morning and classes came too soon. He had thought he had been busy before Christmas, but now he only had eight hours free to sleep with half hour breaks to eat. A martial arts class was added, as well as ‘field botany’, which consisted mainly of his class hiking at a near run and being quizzed on the plants as they passed – a rather pointless exercise as there was three feet or more of snow on the ground so they could only see the trees.

He left the trinket on his construct, and soon lost track of it himself. He didn’t notice it in his room. He wasn’t too worried, George had pronounced it safe. He didn’t have time to be worried about it, anyway.

The first time he entered the duelling class after Christmas, he was shocked. Everyone seemed so slow. He noticed it before his turn, so he calmly and lazily drew his match out. The instructor rolled his eyes at him but didn’t say anything.

The Wednesday before Easter, Jonathan was sitting in the dining hall with just about everyone else in the school when three men, two in black following one in gold and brown, strode into the room fast and purposefully. “Jonathan Higgins?” the leader called loudly, looking right at him. Before he could acknowledge properly, the man had his wand out and said “defend yourself,” letting fly a spell before Jonathan had even stood.

He responded faster than he had been in class lately, without even drawing his wand. He was forced to defend himself twice more before he was standing and had his wand out. A dozen more spells were exchanged before the other students had even begun to scramble for the edges of the room to watch. Jonathan was forced to speed up.

Whoever this man was, whatever he was doing, he was fast. But he didn’t seem to be out to kill Jonathan, and none of the staff were stepping in. Still, Jonathan could be wrong and didn’t want to lose. He was pressed too hard at one point and suddenly bras were appearing. A flick of his wrist and they flapped up into the air. The man hesitated a fraction of a second, and Jonathan almost landed a stunning blow. But his attack resumed, as hard as before. Another flick and the bras were growing; he wasn’t sure it was wise of him to not attack the man directly, but he was paying more attention to Jonathan than his surroundings.

Jonathan would have lost right then, but giant bra-bats started swooping down at the man, and he gained the respite to press his own attack. But it didn’t last long. The stranger sped up, becoming a blur to Jonathan; he was far faster than Mr. Higgins had ever been in their bouts. Jonathan was down in seconds, blinking at stars that danced across the ceiling.

“I cannot name ye Initiate Duellist,” the man said, which was met with jeering from the crowd. “Ye are too good fer that, despite yer lack of knowledge. I name you Conditional Novice Duellist instead.” And with that the three men walked out of the dining hall.

“What was all that?” he asked when a face appeared above him to help him up.

“Someone must have informed the League you were ready to be named Initiate. They always test someone first.”

“Oh, hi Genevieve.” She rolled her eyes at him.

“I barely made Initiate last year. There are only a handful of other students here who’ve made it even that far. I’m impressed.”

“You have some explaining to do, Mr. Higgins!” Jonathan’s duelling instructor was approaching.

“I spent Christmas sparring with my father,” he began, but was cut off.

“Why haven’t you been duelling like that in class?”

“Err … I didn’t see any point in it. I mean, my opponents couldn’t … couldn’t keep up, could they?”

“You’ve made life more interesting for yourself now, boy. From now on you face me in class.” Jonathan was stuck dreading the matches and looking forward to sessions with someone who knew what they were doing.

Easter was quiet compared to Christmas, though the four days went a lot faster than Christmas’s two weeks. His father nearly cried at the news that he made ‘Conditional’ Novice in the Duellists League. He was loaded up with chocolate and jelly beans, and sent on his way back. Four days wasn’t long when a morning and an afternoon were taken for travel.

Back at the fake school – no Tamara Jenkins accompanying him this time – Jenny at the front desk said “Jonathan Higgins? The League sent this for you. Not wearing it endangers other students and magicians, but wearing it can make you a target. Still, our laws state you must wear it while in regions frequented by magic folk.” Opening the box she handed him he found a little steel brooch, a starburst on which two horizontal lines were etched, a diagonal slash down between them marked on. He pinned it on his shirt.

“Thank you, Jenny, he said.” The transfer from school to school went better when he was alone. He wasn’t sure why.

That afternoon he found himself called to an office and sat in front of a table on the other side of which sat all of his instructors and teachers, as well as one ancient man he had never seen before. Suddenly he remembered the construct animated by a malicious spirit that he had left loose in the school while he was away. He gulped.

“Jonathan Higgins, you have been pushed hard these last few months; we regret doing so but you were horribly behind. Two or three years at the least, we believe. But now … We are of the opinion that you are quite caught up. In some subjects you appear to be two or three years ahead. Therefore … we are imposing free time upon you. This is your revised schedule. You are free to go.”

Jonathan blinked. That hadn’t been what he had been expecting at all. He glanced at his schedule. He now had hours at a time to do what he chose with. He tried to think of what he would do but couldn’t. At first he tried reading more of his father’s old books, but it felt wrong. Still, he persisted, at least until his first session with his duelling instructor.

“Let’s see that wand of yours,” he said after Jonathan lost. “What did you make it out of, anyway? Feathers and pine?”

“I used a piece of birch and a feather.”

“What kind of crystal did you use?”

“I don’t really remember; it was small, and a crystal. It might have been white or it might have been clear. It wasn’t anything special.”

“Well, if you’re serious about duelling you need a proper duelling wand. This one is great for general use, but about the only specific thing it seems to want to do is lift things up.”

“What would you recommend it be made out of then?”

“Oak, for one thing. Something tough, volatile, or with strong meaning to augment it, for another. And I’d use a topaz for the crystal.”

“How am I supposed to get a proper topaz?”

“Earth elementals are good at that, if you know how to find them.”

“Do you know how to find an earth elemental?”

“Yes … but I don’t have time to teach you. There is a book in the library though; I think it’s called ‘Earhart’s Earth Elemental Encyclopaedia’, you should see.” The book itself took three days for him to locate on his breaks, which turned out to not be as long as they had seemed on the paper. After that he had to cross-reference it with other books to figure out what it was talking about, this was made all the more difficult while still attending classes.

A few weeks later Jonathan found himself atop a rocky hill two hours hike from the school, scratching lines in the rock with another rock. When the crude glyph was finished he sat to meditate, hoping it worked. It didn’t. It took six more tries and quite a bit of elaboration and adjustments. Even then, all that appeared was a being smaller than his foot, roughly humanoid though without discernable features.

“I’m looking for a topaz. There is a problem, though: it cannot be taken, it must be given. If this wasn’t so, I’d have one by now. I would appreciate it if you negotiated on my behalf, find one for me. I’m in no rush, but remember I am human and mortal.” The little elemental seemed to heave a sigh and melt back into the rock.

One day, after sending the little elemental on the impossible quest, Jonathan lay on his bed watching the bras swoop back and forth across his ceiling, and noticed a couple hairs stuck in the strap of Veronica’s bra. He managed to grab the bra and free the couple hairs, hoping for a few more but not managing to find any. He released the bra, which seemed to flap angrily upwards, as if snubbing him. The hair would probably make a nice addition to a proper duelling wand, as it could be seen as a representation of his desire to recover Veronica from wherever she was.

Jonathan took to walking whenever he could. Some probably thought it odd, as they had expected him to use his free time to socialize.