Shards of Reality

By Alex Siegel

SHARDS OF REALITY is the fourth and final book in a series which begins with Seams in Reality.

Lies, betrayals, and massacres have ruined the fragile peace between normal people and the community of sorcerers. Now the FBI is watching. Even the President of the United States is fearful and suspicious. If the sorcerers make a single mistake, they will be permanently imprisoned for the sake of "public safety." They are surrounded by enemies and can only rely on each other for protection.

The apprentices, Andrew and Charley, must build a path to peace, but they have a formidable adversary. Frank Webster, the former director of the Bureau of Physical Investigation, wants to see sorcery banished. He uses torture and murder to achieve his objectives. The conflict can only end in total victory for one side or the other in the climax of the Seams in Reality series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alex Siegel
• Release date: Sep 26, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310204678

Alex Siegel

Alex Siegel grew up a math and computer geek. At the age of twenty-five, he received a Ph.D. in Computer Science from Cornell. He continues to make a good living as a software developer in Chicago. In his late twenties, he took up creative writing as a serious pastime with the intention of eventually making it his career. This goal has been elusive, but failure is not an option. In 2001, his wife gave birth to triplet boys. People often ask him how he still finds time to write. In 2009, he began the Gray Spear Society series, and he hopes it will be his key to literary fame.

Book preview

Chapter One

Andrew was sitting in the seam chamber in the basement of the Fine Arts Building. The Theosophical Seam hovered in the center of the room, invisible to normal eyes, but to Andrew's inner eye, it was a frothing cauldron of black power. Raw, chaotic energy saturated the air, giving it a greasy feel. The flow lit up his mind like a Chinese lantern. His awareness had expanded so much, he felt like he was floating outside his body. His thoughts raced around in his head.

Andrew had learned sorcery in this chamber, and the tools of his trade filled the many shelves. There were three-dimensional puzzles for honing visualization skills. Raw materials of many types were available for practicing transmutation, but he hadn't progressed to that point in his apprenticeship. Charley was the genius in physical sorcery. Hand-held video games had improved Andrew's focus. He had also spent time playing with little toys as a source of inspiration for illusions. Imagination was the soul of sorcery.

Six other sorcerers shared the chamber with Andrew, and the gathering included Charley. They were holding hands as they sat together. He looked at her and admired brown hair which flowed like silk over her shoulders. Dark brown eyes stared ahead at the location of the seam. A white, knit sweater with a loose weave fit tightly on her slim torso, and the white contrasted against the natural tan color of her skin.

We still don't have a workable plan, Tonya said. Come on people! Think!

Andrew turned to his instructor. She was technically a professor at the university, but her only students were Andrew and Charley. Tonya had never revealed her true age, but she looked good for a woman who was clearly old enough to be a grandmother. Straight blonde hair was cut short and even. Her pale skin had only a few wrinkles, and she had remarkably bright, blue eyes. A black tunic and black pants were appropriately dignified attire for a master sorcerer.

I still believe we should negotiate with the government, Keene said. We haven't committed a crime. There is no reason for us to be afraid. Compromise and common sense are the answer to nearly all conflicts.

Even though everybody could hear his voice, he wasn't in the chamber. He was physically located at the Avanessian Seam in Atlanta, but sorcery allowed him to send his thoughts. The transmission was so precise and clear, it came across as ordinary speech. Both the Theosophical and Avanessian Seams were unlocked, meaning they were clean openings in the walls of reality. Telepathy and other forms of sorcery could travel between them like electricity through a superconductor.

You're too optimistic, Tonya said. After the mess Blake and Phillip made, the government will never trust sorcerers again, at least not for many years. Negotiation isn't an option anymore. How many federal agents were killed? Fifty? More? And he used mind-control on them!

But Blake and Phillip are dead, Keene said, thanks to Andrew and Charley. The mission was successful. Sorcerers cleaned up their own mess.

I have to side with Tonya, Richard said. Talk will only buy us a little time at best. We should expect an irrational, fearful response, as always. I'm surprised it hasn't happened yet.

He was speaking from the Manassas Seam in Washington, DC. He, Tonya, and Keene comprised the now defunct Sorcerer's Tribunal, but they still served as the unofficial leaders of all sorcerers in the United States.

Your suggestion is hardly much better, Keene said. You just want to pack your bags and leave.

What's wrong with that? Richard said. Canada has a much more relaxed attitude towards sorcery. Surviving in Mexico is just a matter of making sure the right people get paid.

Those places already have sorcerers who probably won't appreciate a bunch of immigrants competing for the best seams. How many sorcerers are in Canada?

Five, I think.

And I recall that Mexico has eight, Keene said. There are twenty-four of us. That's practically an invasion.

Twenty-nine, Andrew said. You're forgetting the five the BPI is still holding. We need to rescue them.

I'm working on it, Richard said in an angry tone. A lawyer and I are going back to the old BPI headquarters tomorrow armed with a pile of legal paperwork. They won't be able to turn us away this time.

You really think lawyers can fix this?

Webster has no legal basis for holding our people. He's breaking the law.

He doesn't care! Andrew said. We don't even know where those sorcerers are being held.

Richard didn't respond, but Andrew could sense his frustration telepathically. The sorcerers attending today's meeting were distributed among the three seams which acted as psychic bridges. The thoughts and feelings of all those sorcerers blended together at the margins. It was like being in a room full of people murmuring softly.

Despite the tension in the room, Andrew enjoyed the sensation of being part of a strong, vibrant community. When among normal people, he had to hide his true nature, but here, everybody knew he was an apprentice sorcerer and a war mage. He didn't have to lie.

When he had first become a sorcerer, there hadn't been any real community. Each sorcerer had defended his or her seam in isolation. Andrew liked the change in attitude even if it had happened for a bad reason, and now it was a necessity.

Let's stay focused, Tonya said. Moving to another country is a bad idea, but it's the best one we have. Am I right?

Andrew wished he had a brilliant suggestion to offer, but his mind was blank.

The cloud of sprites surrounding the Theosophical Seam distracted him momentarily. Sprites were tiny shards of chaos which leaked in from outside the universe. They flittered around randomly like fireflies, but they weren't alive. A sprite was just unrealized, raw potential without any reality. Only a sorcerer could see them. Using sprites as part of a spell, called organic sorcery, was strictly forbidden due to the dangers involved.

I still like my idea, Zelda said. Phillip had a law passed which disbanded the BPI. We could force more laws to be passed which protect us.

Andrew looked at Zelda in surprise. He couldn't believe she was still enthusiastic about such an unethical suggestion.

She had wavy brown hair which stuck out at odd angles. A long nose and a tall forehead gave her face a peculiar shape. She had a reputation as a conniving, selfish, vain woman. Tonya was keeping a close eye on her.

Phillip used mind-control on congressmen, Tonya said. We may be desperate, but we're not ready to abandon all morality.

I'm sure sorcerers have covert political influence in other countries, Zelda said.

The United States is not one of them. We will not wreck our democracy.

The federal government is already riddled with corruption. Congress passes laws according to who contributed the most campaign money. We're just protecting ourselves from unfair persecution. Nothing unethical about that.

Tonya gritted her teeth.

Andrew could recognize a sorcerer by energy signature alone. Individual clouds of swirling darkness surrounded the sorcerers at the meeting, and each had a unique shape. Charley's energy was smooth and symmetric. Tonya's cloud was larger and more forceful, but the flow was uneven. Zelda produced ragged bursts of energy at irregular intervals like a sputtering fuse.

Andrew detected a faint, new power source, one he didn't recognize. The newcomer wasn't in the room, so he had to be at one of the other seams. Andrew extended his awareness as much as possible but couldn't pin down the location. He was surprised nobody else had noticed, but he was more sensitive than most sorcerers.

Hello? Andrew sent telepathically.

He didn't get a response. The strange presence faded away.

Did you feel that? Andrew whispered to Charley.

Feel what? she replied.

He frowned. We'll talk about it later.

Moving to Canada is our best shot, Richard said. It will be a clean, fresh start for all of us.

Yes, Tonya said, but I want to talk to our Canadian brethren before we invade. I would like this migration to be peaceful.

We know the head sorcerer up there, Andrew said. His name is Louis.

Yes. I've dealt with him in the past. I may even have his number in my office. We'll call him after we're done here. Keene? Do you agree?

After a long pause, Keene said, I suppose so. If Louis is willing, then so am I.

Tonya nodded. Good. In the meantime, stay alert. Trouble could come without warning at any time. Andrew and Charley, let's go to my office.

Tonya, Andrew, and Charley went to the door of the seam chamber. The door was made of thick steel plate, and opening it took some strength. The latch was damaged though, so it wouldn't lock properly. Andrew grabbed the handle with both hands and shoved the door open.

Four sorcerers remained in the chamber, and Andrew assumed they would just practice sorcery. Leaving Zelda behind worried him a bit, but the other three would watch her. Everybody knew she was on probation.

Tonya led her two apprentices through the basement of the Fine Arts Building. Small, tan tiles covered the walls, but the tiles were dirty and cracked. A maze of rusty pipes hung from the ceiling. Whenever anybody flushed a toilet in the building, Andrew heard the rush of water. The rattle and hum of mechanical equipment emanated from behind closed doors.

The group arrived at Tonya's office which was in another part of the basement. The furnishings were as eclectic as Tonya herself. Textbooks covering physics, chemistry, psychology, and history filled shelves. A disco ball hanging from the ceiling was a new addition, and colored lasers bouncing off the mirrors created a festive but distracting effect.

Tonya went to her big, wooden desk. She had a computer, but Andrew had never seen her use it. She preferred to type important documents on an antique typewriter instead.

Where is that number? she muttered.

She searched the desk drawers, and Andrew craned his neck to take a look. Folders and paperclips held stacks of papers in bundles, but he didn't see any labels.

What is all that stuff? he said.

Musings and memoirs, Tonya said. A little poetry.

You write poetry? Charley said. Can I read some of it?

After I'm dead.

Oh.

Tonya discovered a notebook buried in her desk. She flipped through the pages.

Ah, she said, here it is. Louis, manager of the Domestic Protection Department.

A standard office phone was on her desk. She pressed the speaker button and dialed a number.

A cheerful woman answered, Hello, this is the Domestic Protection Department.

I need to speak with Louis immediately, Tonya said.

What's the issue?

Tell him his neighbors to the south are calling.

Excuse me? the woman said.

Just tell him.

Andrew heard soft, boring hold music for a minute.

Finally, a man spoke in a deep, powerful voice, Louis here. Who am I speaking to?

Tonya. We met several years ago. I was a member of the Tribunal.

Was? I thought those appointments were permanent.

The Tribunal is gone, Tonya said. So is the BPI.

Louis paused. I heard rumors. What exactly happened?

Phillip forced a law to be passed which abolished the BPI.

Mind-control?

Yes, she said. Phillip used sorcery on at least a few congressmen, but the good news is he is dead. We took him out with a sniper bullet. The bad news is he left a huge mess behind. He killed many federal agents. We're worried the U.S. government might do something nasty to all sorcerers now, regardless of their involvement in the original crime.

There are ugly historical precedents which suggest you have good reason to worry.

I'd like to meet with you as soon as possible. We need to discuss options.

I'm not sure what I can do to help, Louis said, but I'll be happy to talk. Are you bringing your apprentices?

I had planned to. Why?

Andrew makes me... uncomfortable. I don't like being around war mages.

Andrew wasn't offended. He had grown accustomed to that reaction, and he understood it. Louis was a master sorcerer, but Andrew could still take him down if he wanted.

He'll be on his best behavior, Tonya said.

Nonetheless, we'll meet on your side of the border, and don't bring any seams. We won't have any sorcery at this meeting. St. Simon's Church in Detroit at 10 AM.

We'll be there. Thank you.

Bye, Louis said.

She hung up the phone.

* * *

Webster looked through a pair of binoculars at a small group of people about half a mile away. They were sitting in lawn chairs on the green fields of the Manassas National Battlefield Park. They appeared to be ordinary tourists enjoying pleasant afternoon weather on a summer day. They were wearing casual clothes and speaking only occasionally. Some had their eyes closed.

Webster knew they were actually sorcerers. The lawn chairs formed a circle around the Manassas Seam, the largest in the United States. He wasn't a sorcerer himself, so he couldn't see the seam, but he knew its location well. When he had been the director of the now defunct Bureau of Physical Investigation, he had learned as much as possible about sorcery.

Actual tourists also wandered across the verdant lawns of the Park. Webster wanted to yell at them to get away. Those sorcerers were extraordinarily dangerous despite their innocent appearance. They could control the minds of others as easily as a normal person operated a car.

The most powerful sorcerer in the group was Richard. A full gray beard and a gray mustache were distinctive even at a great distance. A floppy leather hat shielded his face from the bright sun. He was dressed in the uniform of a Confederate soldier from the American Civil War. The costume was fake, but he really was an expert at sorcerer combat. Webster had once trusted Richard as a faithful ally, but now Webster couldn't bring himself to trust any sorcerers.

The serene setting failed to soothe his anxiety. Manassas Park consisted of gentle hills and thick clumps of forest. Civil War cannons and statues decorated the landscape. A modest Visitor Center had a small parking lot half-full of cars. It was a place tourists visited after they were done with more popular attractions in Washington, DC.

Webster was far enough away from the sorcerers to feel safe. Tall, leafy trees surrounded him and covered him with shadows. Basic camouflage clothing made him almost invisible at a distance.

Let's just arrest them and be done with it, Webster said. We'll wait until they leave the seam, and then we'll grab them all.

No, Special Agent Purvis said. Our orders are to just observe.

Webster lowered his binoculars and glowered at the FBI agent. Purvis was an African-American man in his forties. He was partially bald, and the remaining hair was cut very short. His body was slim, compact, and muscular. Like Webster, Purvis was wearing a green camouflage shirt and green pants. A Kevlar vest had the word FBI printed across the front. He carried a service pistol on his hip.

We've been observing for a week, Webster said. What more do you need to see?

I want to see a crime being committed, or at least evidence suggesting one might've been. So far, all I've seen is a bunch of people relaxing on lawn chairs.

They're practicing sorcery. It's invisible to normal eyes.

Purvis snorted. Sure. His voice oozed doubt.

I've shown you hundreds of documents which back me up.

Those documents were produced by the BPI, an agency which was shut down and discredited. I'd like to see evidence that is more... robust.

Webster clenched his jaw in frustration. The Bureau of Physical Investigation had been a black project. To prevent public misunderstanding and hysteria, the agency had kept all information about sorcery top secret, and they had done too good a job. Purvis had no reason to believe sorcerers were real.

By the time you get that evidence, Webster said, it could be too late. Sorcerers could be infiltrating the FBI right now!

Raving paranoia doesn't count as evidence either.

Webster restrained himself from slugging Purvis.

What about all the BPI agents who died? Specifically, let's talk about the prison break in South Dakota.

Again, those reports came from your agency, Purvis said, and to be honest, they weren't compelling. The details were vague, and the conclusions were weak.

Seventy people died! What other details do you need?

If I recall correctly, a lot of them killed each other.

The bad guys used mind-control, Webster said.

And the leader was a nine year-old boy.

Webster nodded. With the mind of an old man.

Can you hear yourself? Do you know how ridiculous you sound? Purvis rolled his eyes. What happened to the boy?

He's dead.

And the other assailants?

Webster snarled. Also dead.

Then by your own admission, justice was served. Have these other people done anything wrong? Purvis pointed at the sorcerer's sitting around the Manassas Seam.

Technically, no, but they might. It could even happen by mistake. Sorcery can spin out of control and create horrors like banshees.

So you want to throw them in prison because they might commit an unspecified crime in the future?

We don't have a choice! Webster said. It's the only way to protect the American public.

The same argument was used in World War II when the government put a hundred thousand Japanese into internment camps even though they were completely innocent.

This isn't the same thing. Not at all. Sorcerers could take over this country if they wanted. North Korea and maybe China are already controlled by secret cabals of sorcerers.

Purvis sighed. Every time you open your mouth, you dig yourself a deeper hole.

The President...

I read his orders with my own eyes. He wants hard evidence of criminal activity before any arrests are made. Until then, your so-called sorcerers have the same rights as all American citizens.

You're making a huge mistake, Webster said.

I don't think so.

Webster forced himself to calm down. He needed to stay on good terms with Purvis. Now that the BPI was gone, the FBI was the agency most qualified to deal with renegade sorcerers. Webster had to rely on the Bureau for help.

OK, he said. I guess we'll keep watching.

He raised his binoculars and continued to observe the circle of sorcerers. He silently swore he would find the hard evidence needed to put them away. One way or another.

* * *

Kiera listened to water lapping against the shore. For more than a week, that sound had been her only form of entertainment. She couldn't see the water, but she could feel the cool dampness in the air. Once in a while, she heard a distant boat horn.

She was lying on a cheap canvas cot inside a cage made of welded steel bars. The cage was just big enough to let her stand up and walk around a little bit. As a redundant security measure, a chain went from an iron collar around her neck to a ring in the concrete floor. A steel bucket served as her toilet, and it badly needed to be emptied. She had no source of water.

Kiera couldn't see out of the cage. White sheets were hung across all four sides, and she had been punished more than once for messing with the sheets. Other cages held other prisoners, and she occasionally heard them moving around. Speaking out loud was also grounds for punishment.

She decided to meditate to make the time go faster. Meditation was an important skill for a sorcerer, and she was good at it. She settled deep down in her own mind. She became very calm despite the unsettling circumstances.

Sometime later, she heard footsteps on the cement floor. She desperately hoped they were coming for somebody else this time. When the sheets on her cage were pulled back, fear made her tense.

Four men and a woman were standing there. They wore civilian clothes, but Kiera knew they were government agents and employees of the BPI. The men all held guns in their right hands.

The woman was Dr. Imelda Plank, a scientist who specialized in sorcery even though she wasn't a sorcerer herself. She had short black hair cut in a utilitarian style. Thick glasses magnified her brown eyes. She was wearing a blue shirt and slacks.

The men unlocked the cage and entered. Three held guns pointed at Kiera, while the fourth unlocked the chain on her collar. Everybody watched her warily even though she was almost helpless. The heavy collar remained around her neck.

Can I have some food and water? Kiera asked softly.

If you behave yourself during the experiment, Plank said.

Kiera sighed.

Two men grabbed her firmly by the arms, and the other two stayed behind her with their guns drawn. She was marched out of the cage.

The cage was inside an old aircraft hangar big enough for a jumbo jet. Dust and spider webs covered high, small windows, and some were broken. The floor had cracked and settled unevenly during the decades since the hangar's construction. Water stains marked the cinderblock walls, and the steel roof beams had rusted. The words Burr Naval Air Station were painted on a wall in faded blue letters. Kiera had concluded she was being held on an abandoned military base.

A scientific laboratory occupied another part of the hangar. She saw computers, microscopes, chemistry equipment, a centrifuge, and an X-ray machine. Everything was placed on temporary folding tables. A diesel generator outside the hangar supplied electricity using a snarl of extension cords.

Plank pointed at a complicated apparatus standing by itself. Over there.

Kiera nodded. If she didn't comply, the men would beat her.

She walked over and sat on a wooden chair. The men secured her wrists and ankles with heavy nylon straps. Another strap across her chest was pulled tight enough to interfere with her breathing.

A modified motorcycle helmet was placed on her head. Many circular sensors shaped like small radar dishes were attached to the helmet, and the dishes pointed at her brain. A thick bundle of wires ran from the sensors to a computer in a rack.

Plank turned on the equipment. She studied the display on the computer with a serious expression.

Kiera knew she was supposed to be quiet, but a shred of her rebellious nature still burned within her.

I can't believe this is legal, she said.

Be quiet, Plank barked. Hold still.

If you let me go, I won't tell anybody.

You just lost your dinner. Only water for you tonight. Do you want to keep pushing?

Kiera closed her mouth.

Plank appeared satisfied the apparatus was working properly. She walked off to another computer station about fifty feet away. The men also stepped back to a similar distance, but they kept their guns aimed at Kiera.

A robot with four wheels came to life. It carried a portable seam in its rubber grippers. Kiera could feel the tiny energy source from across the room, but it needed to be much closer for her to perform sorcery. The robot rolled towards her.

Don't use your tricks to damage my equipment, Plank warned, or you'll be very sorry.

I won't, Kiera said.

Her helmet began to produce an electrical hum. It grew warm, and she wondered if her brain was being microwaved.

For the thousandth time since being brought to the derelict aircraft hangar, Kiera looked around for a way to escape. Plank's experiments could kill Kiera, but even that wouldn't be the end. Plank had four other captive sorcerers to torment. Their covered cages stood against the walls.

Kiera didn't see anything that might help her. Her captors rarely let her out of her cage, and they were always extremely cautious about it.

The robot came close. The portable seam in its grasp was a set of antique manacles. They were made of forged iron and showed crude hammer marks. The locking mechanism was so rusted it probably didn't work. Black energy streamed outwards from a spot inside the metal. Kiera expected the manacles had a horrifying story attached to them. Seams were created in crucibles of terror, pain, and violent death. Even small ones came at a high price measured in blood.

The energy improved her mood nonetheless. Her thoughts accelerated, and her imagination expanded like a balloon filling with air. She sensed a better connection with the universe.

Unfortunately, Kiera couldn't use sorcery to escape. The men were much too far away for her to employ mind-control. If she broke the nylon straps with physical sorcery, the men would just shoot her. The most she could do to the robot was fry its circuits, and then she would be severely punished. Plank valued her equipment more than her test subjects.

The robot was also grasping a thermometer. It raised the thermometer until the silvery bulb was inches from Kiera's face.

Raise the temperature to 150 degrees, Plank ordered.

Kiera sighed. She was thirsty, hungry, tired, and frightened, poor circumstances for attempting physical sorcery. She had no choice though.

She settled down and extended her mind outwards. She focused her awareness until she could detect the vibration of atoms inside the thermometer. They were too tiny to perceive individually, but she sensed the collective thermal energy.

She engaged her willpower, and the line dividing her imagination from reality became blurred. It was like wrestling with the universe for control over truth. She forced the thermometer to accept a new, higher temperature just because she wanted it to be so. The column of mercury began to rise.

Great! Plank said. Your brain is emitting radiation across the entire I-band. Keep going. Maybe I'll feed you dinner after all.

* * *

Seven sorcerers were sitting around the dining room table in Tonya's house. The gathering included Andrew, Charley, Tonya, and Zelda. Even though everybody was worried about what the future might bring, they were smiling. Andrew felt like he was part of a big, peculiar family.

Clocks of all varieties decorated the room. Wrist watches formed ranks on glass shelves. Three grandfather clocks stood together with swinging pendulums. Wall clocks rested on plastic stands, and none had the right time, but all were running. A constant ticking noise competed with the conversation at the table. Clocks projected predictability and rationality, and their presence soothed sorcerers.

A few pieces from Tonya's extensive but bizarre art collection were also on display. One painting showed a human heart cut into red cubes. A fork was stuck in one of the cubes.

Assuming we move to Canada, Charley said, we have to think about the next steps after that. We'll need money and real jobs. The BPI isn't paying us anymore.

Maybe the Canadian government has an arrangement with the sorcerers up there, Andrew said.

It would be better if we got regular jobs, Tonya said. We should keep a very low profile and avoid any more government involvement.

That's nice in theory, Zelda said, but we don't have a lot of useful job skills.

We're highly educated. We can teach.

Grade school? Sounds like a drag.

College, Tonya said.

That takes a Ph.D., and I think you're the only one here with an advanced degree.

Andrew considered his prospects. He hoped to transfer to a college in Canada, but he might not have the opportunity. It was possible all the sorcerers would end up in a secret, isolated location for the sake of their safety. At least his educational costs would be covered if he did go to school. Tonya had already promised to pay for the portion of the tuition Andrew and his parents couldn't afford.

He felt an odd nostalgia for his life before the BPI had evaporated. Living under the rules imposed by the BPI had been annoying, but at least Andrew had enjoyed some stability. Now he had no idea what the future might bring. Too much freedom was a scary thing.

We're sorcerers, not college professors, Zelda said. We should figure out a way to make money doing what we're good at.

Hearing a comment like that from Zelda didn't surprise Andrew. She was always the first to push ethical boundaries.

I won't commit a crime, Tonya said, and I won't stand by and let you commit one either.

The old rules are gone.

The difference between right and wrong is still perfectly clear. Any type of mind-control is forbidden. So is using illusions to swindle and cheat people.

There is still a world of legitimate possibilities, Zelda said. We can read the minds of criminals and solve mysteries. We can use physical sorcery to fix things. We're very powerful. She glanced at Andrew.

Those suggestions would require exposing ourselves to the public, Tonya said.

Not necessarily. We'll form a secret society and conceal our methods. We don't have to tell our clients how we perform miracles. They'll pay regardless if the job gets done. We'll use a cool but ambiguous symbol. I like the color gray....

Tonya sighed. The truth will inevitably come out, and the world isn't ready to deal with real sorcerers. The response will be fear and hatred, as always. We must continue to hide our powers.

Andrew was tired of the recurring argument, and he turned his attention back to his dinner. Charley had cooked a delicious meatloaf big enough for everybody to eat their fill. Bitter experience had taught Andrew he was only qualified to make salads, but at least he was good at that. Tonight's salad featured three varieties of peppers and some orange zest. Tonya had prepared steamed broccoli and corn on the cob.

Andrew had already finished off one serving of everything, but he was still hungry. He loaded his plate with more meatloaf and corn. Charley gave him an amused little smile.

We should also think about alternatives to Canada, she said. Louis didn't sound too enthusiastic on the phone.

There is always Mexico, Tonya said, but I've heard sorcerers are pretty much on their own there. Some try to lead legitimate lives while keeping their true nature secret. Others are less careful. I know at least one sorcerer works for the drug cartels. If we go to Mexico, it will be hard to stick together and stay out of trouble.

What about Europe? Andrew said around a mouthful of meatloaf.

Sorcery in Europe is very secretive. Even five hundred years later, the shadow of the Spanish Inquisition is dark. Sweden or Norway are interesting possibilities though. I've heard they have a more enlightened attitude.

Sweden sounds nicer than Mexico.

Tonya shrugged. We'll see. Getting everybody out of the United States safely will be a challenge no matter where we go.

Zelda stood up.

Where are you going? Tonya said suspiciously.

To the bathroom. Do you mind?

Tonya narrowed her eyes. Go ahead.

* * *

Zelda walked out of the dining room. She was deeply frustrated by the attitudes of the others, Tonya in particular. They were throwing away a huge opportunity. For the first time, a large group of sorcerers had the freedom to redefine themselves. They could become independent professionals who weren't constantly afraid of being discovered.

Zelda passed through the living room. Tonya certainly had an amazing art collection. A bronze statue of a dead fetus was both repugnant and brilliant. A painting showed a bull being launched into the sky by a slingshot.

Zelda went to the bathroom and used the