The Magician: An Epic Dark Fantasy Novel: Book One of the Rogue Portal Series (4 page)

              "In physics, we talk about how the match falls."

              With a dramatic flair he produced a match, held it out, and, with one hand behind his back, stepped to the side and let it fall.

              "Quite exciting, you'll agree."

              More chuckles.

              "But in chemistry, we talk about why it lights," he continued, retrieving another match from the box and lighting it. "And why it ought not to be used to light this balloon containing a two-to-one hydrogen to oxygen ratio."

              He proceeded to walk across the stage toward the balloon, and touch the flame to the balloon. For a brief moment nothing happened, and then, without warning, a ball of fire engulfed the balloon, sending flames streaking into the air and sending shards of limp plastic everywhere. Those in the front rows looked as though they'd just been traumatized, others clapped, and Connor, Stuart, and Kit exchanged amused but nervous glances.

              "This is what we call complete combustion," the professor said, never jumping, never showing any emotion or change in demeanor whatsoever, "
this
is Chemistry 101, and
I
am Professor Rumsfeld."

              A hush settled over the crowd, and he allowed the moment of anticipation to linger for a moment too long before continuing. "Please open your notebooks and copy down the first assignment while I take attendance."

              The screen lit up with several problems to copy down as well as basic information about deadlines and other necessary information. Kit pulled open her Mac, Stuart opened up his PC, and both of them looked at Connor as though he was a fish that had sprouted legs and begun to hula dance.

              "What?" he said.

              "Nothing," Kit said, "just wondering what century you fell out of."

              "You know studies show you learn better and the creative process is enhanced when you write longhand. You retain more of your notes."

              She raised an eyebrow.

              "True story."

              Stuart leaned across Connor.

              "He's a psych major, he's probably right," he said, leaning back and giving an I-got-your-back nod to Connor.

              "Thanks, Stuart," he said, smiling.

              Kit just chuckled, shaking her head.

              "Kit Anderson!" Rumsfeld called.

              "And don't you forget it!" she called back, raising her hand. Black nail polish. He hadn't noticed that before, either. She'd fixed her gaze on Professor Rumsfeld, her expression turning serious, battle-ready. Connor looked at Rumsfeld, who maintained eye contact with her before nodding once and moving on. She put her hand down, still looking at him with a cold stare.

              "What was that about?" Connor asked her.

              "What was what about?" she asked, snapping out of battle mode in an instant.

              "The look of doom you gave the professor."

              "Heh. If I gave him a look of doom you'd know it." She raised an eyebrow.

              Connor laughed and went back to taking notes. In the middle of taking down the syllabus Kit jabbed him sharply with her elbow, sending his pen scrawling over the page.

              "What the --?"

              Her gaze cut him off, and she jerked a thumb toward the front. Connor looked up to find he was staring straight into the eyes of Professor Rumsfeld. His blood turned to ice water, and for a moment he couldn't breathe.

              "Connor Galveston?" Rumsfeld said in slow, irritated syllables.

              The question was not a question at all, and Professor Rumsfeld placed heavy weight on the word "Galveston", as though it was an accusation rather than a name. For a moment they stared at each other before Connor could find the words.

              "Y...yes. That's me."

              "And so it is," the professor said, maintaining eye contact for a moment longer before checking the name off the list and moving on.

              "Damn, he's got something for you, huh?" Kit said.

              "So it would seem," replied Connor absentmindedly.

              "You know him?"

              "No. Not that I...."

              And then, in mid-sentence, he realized exactly where he'd seen the man before. He looked different, but only just so. The suit, black instead of cranberry. An umbrella instead of a staff. The top hat. The voice. A fragment of a sentence that reached to him from a half remembered dream...

             
... wondering when you'd show up.

              With sudden, terrifying certainty he knew exactly where he'd seen Professor Rumsfeld before.  

SIX

⌛

"Our chemistry professor is something else, huh?"

              Stuart shook his head in sheer befuddlement over the recent events that had taken place during the previous hour. A smile toyed with the corner of his mouth, giving away the amusement he'd been trying to hide.

              Connor laughed, even though underneath he crawled with the uncomfortable feeling that Professor Rumsfeld knew him - and possibly Kit. Somehow. The crimson man from his dreams had known him, and the real world personification of that man in the form of Professor Rumsfeld had certainly seemed to know him, as well.

              "Hey, you in there?"

              Kit looked at him as though he'd just landed from another planet as she admonished him through bites of pepperoni pizza. The three of them had gotten along well in class, and Stuart and Connor had decided to invite Kit to the "pizza and chit-chat party" as she'd called it. They had just settled in with the first pizza.

              "Yeah, sorry, just...weird day," he replied.

              "Mmm," she said, responding as best she could through crust and cheese.

              "What's eatin' you?" Stuart asked.

              Connor thought about divulging the dream he'd had and, almost immediately, thought better of it. No matter how he put it, the notion would sound crazy. Hell, it even sounded crazy to him.

              "Nothing, just didn't sleep well, I guess," he replied with the most genuine smile he could muster.

              "So Kit, where'd you grow up?"

              "Port Orchard, you?"

              "Seattle...ish," he laughed.

              "Does anyone ever live right
in
Seattle?"

              They both laughed, and then, realizing that Stuart didn't understand the context of the joke, muffled their amusement and took a sudden and intense interest in their respective slices of pizza. Connor took a bite as Kit explained the meaning of the joke to Stuart, that locals considered just about everywhere in the Pacific Northwest a "suburb" of Seattle. While he seemed appreciative of the attempt, he still didn't quite understand the comedic value of it. The joke found an audience with natives of the area, but probably took an extended residency there to understand. They let it go.

              "We sure are a league of misfits," Kit laughed, surveying the group.

              "What's that supposed to mean?" Connor replied, feigning offense.

              "I mean look at us. We're the three least likely people to be seen together hanging out after class, but here we are."

              They all looked around finding sudden amusement in the appearance of their little group. Stuart with the heavy glasses and sweater vest, Connor with his sweatshirt, jeans, and recently declared psychology major, and Kit with her edgy appearance and punkish charm.

              "I suppose you're right," Connor laughed.

              "Makes us unique," said Stuart, with a smile.

              "Indeed," Kit said. "You guys are alright," she added.

              "She means that as a compliment, she just has a funny way of expressing it."

              The airy voice coming from the hallway caused all three of them to turn their heads. A tall girl stood in the doorway wearing a long, white, lacey cotton dress, brown boots, and a crown of daisies in her waist-length blonde hair. Her lips were a light shade of rose pink, as were her cheeks, and if she'd put on any other form of makeup Connor couldn't see it. Not that she needed any.

              She stood as a stark contrast to the dark wood and dreary view outside the window, and her smile lit up the room.

              "Oh, hey there Hazel."

              "Hey, Kit!"

              "You do know it's raining, right?" she said, passing a questioning glance to the girl.

              "Only if you see it as raining," she laughed in a sing-song tone.

              The group exchanged amused but slightly uncertain glances at each other.

              "Sooo...who's your friend?" Connor asked.

              "Oh, guys this is Hazel. We're roommates." And then, as though offering a hybrid apology and explanation for her friend, added, "She's a philosophy major."

              Connor and Stuart nodded in tandem, as though it all suddenly made sense.

              "You want some pizza, Hazel?" Stuart asked.

              "I'm vegan, but thanks," she replied, trying to be polite but allowing a half-frightened sneer to cross her face as she glanced down at the boxes.

              "Oh. Sure thing."

              Stuart looked around as though trying to find something to take his focus away from the girl who, in his mind, had just rejected him. Hazel rushed to recover the situation.

              "But, I'd love to hear whatever you guys were talking about. If you don't mind another person joining?"

              She smiled brightly, and Stuart abandoned his search for the Invisible Distraction on the Ceiling. As she made her way over to sit by him, Stuart adjusted his clothing, fidgeted with the sleeves of his shirt, and made room for her, scooting over in brief, jagged motions. None of this phased Hazel, who smiled serenely and took a seat next to him.

              "We were just saying what an unlikely bunch we are. Although," Kit said, motioning toward Hazel and coming very close to rolling her eyes, "now it's almost more fitting."

              Hazel laughed, shrugging. "I'm unlikely, that's for sure. But aren't we all."

              "What the hell does that even mean?" Kit responded, chortling.

              "Actually, she...she has a point," Stuart responded. A look of surprised crossed his face, as though he didn't know he'd been speaking out loud. Looking everywhere else before finally looking at a very pleased Hazel, he continued.

              "Well um, statistically, given death rates and plagues and natural disasters and human disasters and...dinosaurs...you know, they figured out that the chance of any of us being born when we were born, with the DNA set we have, is one in four hundred trillion. So, Hazel's actually exactly right. We are all quite unlikely."

              A silence settled over the room as they all took in the information. He supposed, for a moment, that he felt incredibly lucky to be alive, sitting in that room with the Band of Misfits, all of them amazing. Sitting next to the equally unlikely Kit. Lucky to be there at all. And then, immediately following that thought, came a brief flash of resentment toward his father for taking stage left and finding the exit door on his one in four hundred trillion chance at this beautiful existence called life.

              The thought must have registered on his face, because he looked up from his musings to find a room of people staring at him with looks of mixed concern and curiosity. The Funeral Look, as his mother used to call it.

              "What?" he said.

              Everyone immediately became interested in invisible spots in their clothing, nonexistent paintings on the wall, and pizza that had long since been eaten. Finally Kit chimed in.

              "You just looked a little down."

              "No, no, just..." he looked at Stuart, who gave him the faintest nod, understanding their mutual loss as nobody else in the room could.

              "Just a staggering thing to consider," Stuart finished for him.

              "Yeah. That's it." Connor smiled.

              "Yeah," said a dreamy Hazel. "It really is amazing. And you said it so beautifully, Stuart."

              It took Stuart a moment to realize that Hazel had not only spoken to him but had also complimented him. The manifestation of this understanding broadcast itself in Stuart's smile and red face, a level of joy mirrored in Hazel's expression. Connor found it sickening. Sweet, but sickening. Like cheesecake. Perfection in small doses, but too much could ruin an evening.

             
And now it's time for bed,
he thought. They all had class early the next day - at least everyone but Hazel; he didn't know her schedule - and he felt exhausted from the day. He couldn't stop thinking about Professor Rumsfeld, the man in his dreams, the glowing pocket watch, and what it all could mean. And he had no opportunity to think of these things without causing everyone around him to offer him looks of condolences that he'd rather not receive. He relished the darkness of night when he could think things over and not have to worry that the shadows would figure him out.

              "Well, guys, I hate to cut the party short but I'm going to turn in," he said.

              "Probably a good idea, you guys have to be up early," Hazel said, still looking at Stuart, as he tried to decide whether social conduct dictated he look at her, look away, or play hop-scotch with his eyes. He'd settled on the latter.

              "Yeah, class and all," he mumbled.

              "Yep, but hey it's been fun. We gotta do this again." Kit said.

              "Sure thing," Connor replied.

              They all helped clean up the pizza boxes, long since emptied, and Hazel and Stuart continued their nervous, uncertain exchanges which finally culminated in a brief, anticlimactic hug suited only for a high school formal dance, and freshman year, at that. Kit turned to leave, and then turned back to Connor with a curious expression.

              "Hey, you ever figure out what was with your pocket watch today?"

              "Sorry?" he replied.

              "The glowing."

              "Oh, that. No...not really."

              Kit twisted her face into a determined yet uncertain expression of concern, looking at the floor. Then, looking back, she added, "You might want to look into that."

              "Yeah, I should take it in somewhere. Watch shop or something."

              "Oh, definitely. I hear Ethereal Glowing Elimination is a standard service."

              He rolled his eyes and nodded, allowing a half-smile to acknowledge the stupidity of his statement.

              "Then what do
you
suggest?" he retorted, his mouth mirroring the smile in her eyes.

              "A library," she said, lifting her chin and raising her eyebrows simultaneously, "A big one."

              She shot him a knowing look, slowly turned her back, and walked out of the room.

              A big library. Hadn't he just been in... But of course not. He shook the idea from his mind, rubbing his eyes with his palms, and closing the door behind Hazel and Kit as they left to go back to their dorms.

              "You sure you're alright?" Stuart asked.

              "Yeah, just..." Connor started. "I just had a weird dream last night, is all. And..."

              He hesitated, knowing how what he intended to say would sound.

              "And...?" Stuart prodded.

              Connor let out a sigh and ran a hand through his hair.

              "You know our chemistry professor?"

              "Sure."

              "He...looked like this man in my dream...and...I was in this gigantic library. A..."

              Before he could continue Stuart's eyebrow puppeteer had resumed its post, causing his forehead to spring into awareness and action.

              "And Kit said something about a big library. Seemed really interested in that pocket watch of yours, too," he added.

              Connor hadn't dwelt on that part of it, but now that Stuart mentioned it she
had
been rather interested in his pocket watch.

              "Yeah, it keeps....glowing."

              "Hmm. That's really interesting. Well...science only knows so much. Don't be closed-minded Connor. You never know what's possible."

              Connor looked at him, half expecting it to be a badly executed attempt at a joke. But Stuart wore a serious expression. Interested. Curious.

              "You don't think I'm crazy?"

              Stuart laughed. "I think we're all crazy. The question only comes down to degrees and variations."

              Connor smiled and huffed a singular laugh in reply. "Yeah, you're probably right."

              They both changed for bed. Stuart's head-to-toe flannel (with a collared shirt, no less) made him look like something out of a Charles Dickens book. Given a candlestick, the image would be complete. He set the pocket watch on his nightstand, opening the cover as he did so.

              "Why do you sleep with it open?" Stuart asked, now in bed, looking over from his side of the room.

              Connor offered an invisible shrug.

              "Don't know, really. Just...feels right."