Boy Sorceress Pt. 02

"Move!"

He shook his head.

"Dude, I don't want to go to any party. This is my stop. Get up and let me out!"

"Everyone wants to party. You'll change your mind once we get there. Trust me. I know about these things."

The bus parked. "Seriously, get up and let me squeeze through!"

He put a hand over his chest. "I'm not doing this for me. I'm doing this for you."

The PA system came on with a crackle of static. "Springfield," the driver curtly announced. "One minute stop!"

"Ok, let me out!"

"Come to the party for just fifteen minutes. I bet you'll change your mind."

"Dude, I'm on the rag tonight and in no mood to party. Now move, or I'll hurt you!"

He just shook his head and crossed his legs, increasing the barrier between me and the aisle. "You need some adventure in your life. Come with me. This night could turn out to be magical. No, scratch that! Iknow it will."

I growled and rolled my eyes. Everyone else that was going to Springfield had gotten off the bus and new passengers were climbing on. We'd be leaving soon. "Listen up, jackass! Here's three things you need to know! First, you don't know shit about women, so get that idea out of your head! Second, I know you think you're being cute and charming with your persistence and shit, but if a girl's willing to say she's on the rag, then you've blown past persistent and landed squarely in irritation central. Third!" I took his hand between my thumb and index finger and tazed him slightly. "You're going to move out of my fucking way in three seconds flat, whether you want to, or not!"

Most of the people on the bus, including the driver, were now staring openly our way. Leather Jacket yanked his hand away from me with a yelp of pain. He shook it and noticed all the attention. "Geez, I was just trying to be nice," he grumbled as he reluctantly rose from his seat.

"Thank you," I said, venomously. I got up and made my way down the aisle. He mumbled behind my back. I could only make out words like cunt and bitch. I drew a deep breath and let it go. I had better things to do. I got off the bus and walked to the taxis. The bus passed me after it pulled out of the station. Leather Jacket and I smiled as we exchanged middle fingers.

A short cab ride took me to the corner of Warwick and Third. I looked around for the Broken Axe Tavern. A flashing neon sign of a double-bladed axe, with its long shaft blinking from whole to broken, drew my eye. It was on the second floor of a brick and mortar building that had a bookstore occupying its first floor.

I saw a pretty girl in dark, form-fitting clothes climb an outside staircase and disappear around the back of the building. I guessed that the Tavern was up there, so I followed her. The staircase led to a wide porch that extended along the entire back wall of the building.

About halfway along the length of the porch, a very big woman sat on a stool, preventing access to the far half of the porch. Her arms were folded across her chest and she looked just about willing and able to rip someone's head off and shit down the resulting hole. The worn leather clothing and short, spiky hair really made her image. There was a baseball bat leaning against the back of her stool. A big, wooden door was just in front of her and I guessed that it might be the tavern's entrance.

I walked forward, wary of the woman's appraising eyes. She didn't make a move, or a sound, as I grasped the door's handle and opened it. Typical bar noises came from inside and I relaxed. This was the place. I stepped in and looked around. The bar ran along most of the length of the left wall. The far wall, the one facing the street, was the only one with windows. To the right of the entrance were pinball machines, pool tables and darts machines. They took up nearly a third of the large space. The other two thirds were tables and booths.

At one of the booths, I spotted Dakota. She looked gorgeous in a black turtleneck. Her short hair was swept to the side with gel, just like yesterday. She was one beret away from looking like a stereotypical French intellectual. If they had really big tits. I smiled and walked towards her, taking my cap off. I shook out my hair and unbuttoned my coat.

She saw me coming and her face lit up. Then her eyes took in my clothes and her face fell. I was a bit confused to see her reaction, but I walked over and leaned in to kiss her. She turned her face and I wound up planting a kiss on her cheek. She didn't return it. "Hey, Dakota! It's good to see you again!" I sat opposite her.

She didn't look happy as she asked me, "Are those the same clothes you wore yesterday?"

They weren't. Those clothes were back at home, airing out. But the stuff I now wore was identical to them. I had committed a little social faux pas, appearing to wear the same clothes two days in a row. "Uh, no," I said. "These are identical to those, but not the same, you know?"

Dakota looked annoyed. I suddenly found myself wishing I had spent my afternoon shopping, instead of tinkering with my new phone. Wait, what was it that I told her yesterday? "I couldn't go home and get my clothes because I didn't know if that guy was watching the place. I just bought these yesterday, two identical pairs of zip-up sweaters and sweatpants."

"Well, it's too late to do anything about it now," Dakota said in a quiet, bitter voice.

I stared at her, unsure of her meaning. Two gorgeous girls walked up to our booth at that moment. They were both tall, an inch or two shy of six feet. One was a round faced blonde with big, bright blue eyes and thick lips spread into a wide smile. She was wearing a dark violet dress that just flowed down her slender frame, all the way to her ankles. Her arms were left bare and when she put them on her hips, I just knew she was a model. She definitely had the build and the stance for it.

Her dark-haired friend was also slender, but had slightly bigger curves. She was wearing form-fitting tights and a T-shirt, both in black. Her body was amazing and practically on display. Her face was heart-shaped and nicely framed by her straight hair. She had a really sexy mouth and a dimpled chin.

"Hello, Dakota," the blonde said. "This must be Sheila."

I nearly asked her why I must beSheila, but I remembered that was the alias I used with Dakota. "Uh, hello," I said and extended a hand. "Nice to meet you..."

The blonde giggled and put her hand in mine. "Flora."

I noticed she had long, rounded fingernails that extended half an inch past her fingertips. "Flora," I said, halfheartedly. "A lovely name for a lovely lady."

Flora looked me up and down and I had never before in my life felt so carefully scrutinized as I did in that second. Not even when I had been picked apart by an unknown entity that gave me my power. When she finished her sweep of my appearance, she smirked. I disliked her already, on account of her nails. Now, I decided I hated her.

"Yes," Flora said, "I heard about you. You're not quite how Dakota described you."

Dakota looked to be barely suppressing rage at that point and I started wondering what the hell was going on. At a loss for words, I decided to just repeat hers. "Dakota described me?"

"Yes," Flora said and squinted her eyes in mock concentration. "What was it that you said, Dakota? Artistic, sophisticated, free-spirited and open-minded?" She reached over and touched the lapel of my coat. "It's amazing what you've started to consider sophisticated nowadays, my dear. I clearly remember you having exacting standards, once."

My fists flexed and I barely kept myself from knocking this gangly bitch out cold. I did deduce from her scathing tone of voice, as well as from Dakota's seething rage and the brunette's annoyed expression, that Flora and Dakota used to be an item.

Flora and Dakota then proceeded to engage in that abhorrent practice of trading veiled insults and sarcastic compliments. They were the kind that, if you read a bare transcript of them, they could totally pass for civilized conversation. It was the tone of the voices that delivered those backhanded compliments that infuriated me so much. Wars had been declared over milder insults. I will never understand how that kind of behavior can be acceptable in civilized society. I'd find more honor in a pistol duel.

I barely managed to keep my cool. If I hadn't been waiting for both the meaning of the symbols and a night of sex with Dakota, I totally would have slugged them out cold and dragged them to a dark basement somewhere to reprogram their behavior.

As it was, I just sat and listened. I learned that the brunette was named Bianca and that she was a fashion model, just like Flora. Dakota was all smiles when she chided Flora for cheating on her with Bianca. Flora sweetly put Dakota down by pointing out she wouldn't have had to go looking for happiness elsewhere if Dakota had been able to provide her with any.

My fists were starting to hurt.

Some insults later, Flora and Bianca moved over to the bar, to get some drinks with friends. I sighed with the kind of relief you feel after a particularly nasty bout of diarrhea had passed. I rubbed the blood back into my fingers.

Dakota said, "You couldn't have dressed up a little?" in a low growl, surprising me.

"Well, I didn't know that..."

"That what?! That we were going to be around other people? Look at you! You're a disgrace to be seen with!"

She had tried to use me to make her ex feel jealous, or something, and now she's pissed at me? I guessed that Dakota wanted to get slapped around a little and I nodded to myself. After all the faint praises and half-concealed insults that had been thrown my way over the last few minutes, I was in the mood to dish out some violence. I sighed and reluctantly let it go. There was business to attend to, first. "About the symbols, I-"

"I'm so disappointed. You just humiliated me in front of...and all you seem to care about is your high school drama. This is the real world, Sheila. Where you hurt real people." She was practically in tears when she finished saying that and got up to leave.

I stared after her. A part of me wanted to follow her and beat any and all information out of her. On the other hand, I didn't know that she knew anything helpful. I had no reason to believe any of the thirteen murderers had ever even seen her shop, let alone found anything of use in there. It might be best to let her go and proceed to the mall.

I'd have to wait until the mall closed and that was still a while to go.

While Dakota was putting on her coat, I looked around the bar. I noticed that there were no men here. Furthermore, none of the women were alone. Most were in pairs, the rest in groups. I saw one pair of girls kissing at the bar. In a booth beyond them, I saw another pair of girls kissing.

Kissing girls, no men, the axe sign...holy fuck! My mouth fell open when it finally dawned on me that I was in a lesbian bar! I had found El Dorado! The Pearly Gates had opened and I was in Heaven! I was a girl who liked girls in a bar for girls who liked girls. I gaped around, smiling at all the nubile females.

I saw Dakota storm out of there in the edges of my vision. My elation at being in a lesbian bar gave way as my shame for not saving Jen and the rest of the sacrifices resurfaced. I was a man on a mission, so I got up to follow Dakota.

Besides, the Broken Axe wasn't going to go anywhere. I was sure I'd be coming back there very often.

Dakota was out of sight by the time I set foot outside the door. I ran down to street level and looked around. She was getting into a dark car across the street and she didn't react when I cried out her name. Cars zipped past, preventing me from crossing the street and getting to her. I yelled out her name, jumped in place and waved to get her attention. Cars honked as they whizzed by, reminding me to stay on the sidewalk. When the nearby light turned red and I was finally free to run across the street to her, she was also free to pull out and drive away.

I stamped my foot and growled after her retreating car. Why was she acting like such a bitch? She definitely heard me calling after her, as well as the cars honking. Another car honked as it passed me by and I jumped up onto the sidewalk. I buttoned up my coat and put my cap on. I walked in the direction she had gone. I checked on my phone and saw that her apartment and shop were that way, too. Just seven blocks away. I stuffed my hands into my coat pockets and marched on, keeping an eye out for a cab.

Two blocks later, I was shivering and cursing after an occupied cab that had passed me by, when my phone rang. I didn't know the number, but I answered, all the same. I was hoping it was Dakota, calling to apologize and come pick me up for a night of wild lovemaking.

Before I could even open my mouth, a computer-synthesized voice spoke in my ear. "They know who you are. The werewolf has smelled you at your home. Lose your phone and log in to a chatroom titled 'Coriolis'. Call yourself Asker."

The line went dead and I took the phone off my ear to stare at it in shock. It was a nightmare come to life and I found myself earnestly praying that it was just a prank call from Stephen Hawking instead. The number the call had come from had a New York area code and I searched my memory for anyone I knew from there. I was coming up blank.

The message they gave me thundered through my mind, just as my heart thundered in my chest. The crazy, magic-wielding murderers had identified me. My hands shook as I grew increasingly numb and I dropped the phone.

I crouched to pick it up. My hands clutched at the flat piece of plastic uselessly for half a minute before I finally managed to get my fingers to grab it. I immediately heeded my mysterious benefactor's warning. I took the battery out and put it in one pocket, the device in another. I looked all around me, desperate for any clue as to what to do.

The city of Springfield went on about its business, unheeding of my panic. The cars glided over the tarmac, streetlights blinked and people walked in and out of the nearby buildings. I stood up from my crouch, hoping to fill my lungs. The flow of nearby traffic seemed to have stolen all the fresh air from the street.

Some pedestrians stared at me as they passed me by and that snapped me back into a semblance of sanity. I needed to do something. I needed to stop attracting attention. According to the mystery call, they knew who Kevin was, but I was Ashley at the moment. I straightened out my coat before continuing to walk in the general direction of Dakota's place. I remembered the instructions the call ended with and decided to follow them. It didn't seem logical that it would be some kind of trap. Whoever made the call had my number. They could have easily tracked me. Instead, they warned me to get rid of my phone.

At an intersection, I saw a coffee house down one of the side streets and I jogged that way. I bought the fastest beverage they could pour and grabbed the receipt with the password for the computer screens next to the front door. I weaved my way over there and typed as fast as I could on the touchscreen. I made many typos and only found the chatroom on the third try. I logged in as Asker and found only one other person already logged in. Their handle was Mentor. As soon as I was in, they shot off some text.

Mentor: I am here to give you guidance and answer any and all questions you have about The Thirteen. Know that they are not as powerful as they seem. Know that you are not alone in this. Ask me anything you want, if you are alone. I will tell you much and more.

My eyebrows rose at the capital lettering of The Thirteen. It was as good a name as any for the murderers. My fingers hovered over the touchscreen as I struggled to decide which question to ask first. As appealing as the idea of answers was, I still had no idea who was on the other end. Whoever they were, they shot off another line of text.

Mentor: First tell me if you're free to type openly!

I hesitated, but decided I was going to ask away. A quick glance over my shoulders confirmed that none of the dozen guests, nor the two employees, were paying me any mind. I typed away hastily.

Asker: i asm

I rolled my eyes and groaned softly at the typos. Caps were engaged with a separate icon on the touchscreen. I made a more deliberate effort and retyped my response.

Asker: I am.

Mentor: The first thing you must know is that their powers are limited. Just as yours is.

Asker: They lose weight to poiwer their magic?

I squinted at my typo and then shook my head to myself. Murderous magicians were searching for me by name and a typo was irking me. Way to keep my priorities straight. Again I wondered if this was The Thirteen typing at me, fishing for intelligence data before they made their move against me. I bit my lip as I regretted my last line. There was a lull in the chat.

Mentor: Lose weight?

I drew a deep breath and slowly let it out. The cat was out of the bag, but I wasn't going to go run after it.

Asker: i ask the qwuestions here. what are their limitartions?

Mentor: Just like you, they are limited by the number of minds that perceive their magic.

My eyebrows rose. I didn't have that any such limit. I had welded a door shut in front of seven asshats yesterday. And I had tazed three of them, plus Leather Jacket on the bus earlier. What this person was typing began to reek of manure.

Mentor: The ritual gave them magical power, the ability to bend reality to their will. However, reality is reinforced by every mind that perceives it. The Thirteen can't cast spells that are disbelieved by thirteen minds.

Asker: why not?

Mentor: Because that was the limit set by the ritual. May I explain things in order?

Asker: sure

I shifted in my seat and looked around again. No one was paying me any mind and I sipped my shake, barely registering its taste. When I turned back towards the screen, a big block of text was on it. It must have been pre-typed. I put my chin in my hand and settled in to read it all.

Mentor: The Thirteen jointly own a dangerous tome of magic. The tome is an indestructible conduit for an otherworldly entity that grants magical power in exchange for lives taken in its unholy ritual. However, any and all breaks to reality are fundamentally opposed by the minds that perceive them. This causes a feedback to be experienced by the mind that is trying to affect a change to reality. Currently, The Thirteen (and you) can freely use your powers when you are perceived by a few minds. You would only notice the feedback when you shattered the reality of several minds. The feedback would cause a headache and fatigue. It would be proportional to both how big the break from reality was, as well as to how many minds perceived it. A tiny change perceived by twelve people would hurt you as much as a very impossible change perceived by just a few. And neither would be possible if there were thirteen people seeing it happen. So take heart, The Thirteen effectively cannot use their powers when they are seen by more than several people. Just as you can't, either.

My mouth opened. This was a whole new take on the headache that had nearly made me unconscious yesterday night. I had welded a lock shut in an instant, without any equipment, and it was perceived by seven rape-happy asshats in that bar, one of whom even burned his hand on the doorknob. Shit, if that was the feedback from seven minds, I was pretty sure I'd never like to feel the feedback from a dozen. I returned to my reading.

Of course, there is a work-around to this. If your change to reality is seen as the result of something mundane, there is no feedback, regardless of the number of minds perceiving you. If you can convince a crowd you're doing a magic trick, you get no feedback, even if your "trick" fills them with awe and wonder. Also, any magical creation you can accomplish unseen must not be considered impossible by thirteen other minds when it is used, or it would be dispelled. If you were to create a unicorn and ride it, if more than a few people saw it as an impossibility, rather than a white horse with a glued-on horn, you'd feel feedback and risk the unicorn getting dispelled. This limitation can be overcome and that is why I am contacting you. The Thirteen will repeat their ritual during the next full moon and sacrifice another thirteen people.