《Liquid Magic》 Prologue - How To Get From Once Place To Another There¡¯s a trick to walking in New York City. You gotta keep your head up, face forward, and keep a determined pace. If you don¡¯t you become vulnerable. Well, it¡¯s not like you¡¯ll be attacked or anything, I guess. Just it¡¯s that everyone has a place they have to be and if you get in their way, heaven save you! Or damn you, depending on who you¡¯re in the way of. Such has it always been in the Big Apple, and even The Change hasn¡¯t changed that. Only now people tend to keep in mind what they might run into as they go from one place to the next. After all, having magic all the sudden punch everyone in the nose with its existence, (and all the upsetting snarls of hexes, curses, ghosts, and creatures of supernatural and magical disposition) is just a little world changing. Heck, before The Change, I rarely, if ever made the hour something train ride into the city. Not only is it fairly expensive, but cities are not really my cup of tea. Because before The Change I was just your average reclusive bum staying in my parents¡¯ home. Now, as I¡¯m heading through the city, after getting out of the underground asap, (man, not only does it stink down there, it is full of people (and I¡¯m including the not human people in that)) I¡¯ve got work in a warehouse down somewhere in the parts of the city no one really wants to go. Not because it is a slum, but because the other inhabitants make it a little hard for regular folk to be there. And my work is to make it so regular folk can work, and do whatever it is they want to do. I like to think of myself as a magic manipulator, because I¡¯m not a magician or mage or whatever. No chanting spells or the like, thank-you-very-much. I might accept being called a wizard, or more aptly a witch, but I don¡¯t use wands, but I do try to accumulate knowledge and brew potions. Or maybe a sorceress since I do deal directly with the manipulation of magic and don¡¯t really need words to make my spells work (or if I do (like in the Belgariad) I just need the will and the word). Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there. But enough of my thoughts on what I can be classified as now. I¡¯m a person people hire nowadays for a little help to make life easier. I¡¯ve got my bag of tricks that also helpfully has my contact info, what I do, and my prices written right on it. ANTONINI¡¯S WARDINGS STRONG - $60 AND UP MEDIUM - $45-55 NORMAL - $25-50 WEAK - $10-20 STRD CHRMS - $5 Which brings me to an other reason one should keep up a good speed when traveling through NYC. If you have something people want, and you are beginning to run a bit close to your meeting time, you don¡¯t want to be stopped. As to how I do what I do? We¡¯d need to go back to how things were for me before The Change, and how I¡¯ve adapted after. It has been something like 3 years now, maybe a little less, but still enough for people to get used to magic being apart of their lives now, though not they are still unsure on how treat people who can use magic. Chapter 1 Part 1 Everybody Loves Their Family I was born the second child to a Abigail and Kenneth Antonini on the thirteenth of April, 1989. Not only am I their second child I¡¯m also their second daughter. The third is my, doing-all-things-right, little brother Benson (2 years my younger). My older sister, Diana (18 months older), and I have been wonderful examples for him to learn what you shouldn¡¯t do. Diana taught Benson and I that drugs are bad, and that you shouldn¡¯t let your emotions and desires have the majority say in the choices you make. Benson learned from me that you actually have to work hard at school and actually make decisions in order to make anything of yourself. Good for him right? Well, I¡¯m the first in line to say yes. I¡¯m glad, not only because my little brother will be able to take care of himself, but he also gets all the expectations and such from our parents. Not that they don¡¯t love us all. And whoever says or believes that parents don¡¯t have favorites is an idiot. Of course they do! Though being around at home, available for chores and being a sounding board for complaints and such does also make you a favorite in a way, I guess. Before The Change, at age 23, still at home, taking 2 classes at the local 2 year college, and fooling around on the internet with my ginger tabby cat Strawberry (Berry for short), on my lap, you can imagine my parents weren¡¯t all that pleased. They were glad that I wasn¡¯t having the rehab and boy trouble Diana was having, but definitely upset that I hadn¡¯t either moved out, gotten a job, or gone to a 4 year college (like little bro Ben (majoring in architecture)). You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author. My mother¡¯s family is from a very old American family. She says W.A.S.P. (white anglo-saxon protestant for those who don¡¯t know) and my grandparents have lots of money, some of which is in trust for us and all our distant relatives. Mom has one younger sister, Jody, who, if you want to go into archaic speech, is a spinster and a blue-stocking. They even live just down the street from us, which was their intension. They currently live in the house my great-grandparents had built and lived in, and when my mother and father got married they offered to let them buy (at a great deal) the house we currently live in. Mostly because my father is a fourth generation Italian and they don¡¯t really trust him. Snobbish jerks. Dad¡¯s a nice dude, perhaps not the best of fathers or spouses, but he treats my sister and I like princesses (which we aren¡¯t and pisses my mom off) and is strict and proud of my brother (which mean mom gets to baby Ben and has to put her foot down more with us). All in all, we have me living at home with the ¡®rents, older sister coming back after a bad break up or when she feels like it, and little bro off finishing his junior year at college. This is the setting for just before The Change, February 29, 2012. Chapter 1 Part 2 Were Lucky Leap Days Dont Happen Too Often The day started out like any other day before it. Woke up a little after 8, carefully got out of bed so as to not dislodge adorably sleeping Berry, the ginger fuzzball. Shuffled over to the bathroom, did stuff in there. Then of course getting dressed and carefully waiting a few minutes to make sure I wouldn¡¯t have to bump into anyone downstairs still having breakfast (mom and dad are usually gone by 9). That leads to me nibbling on something, drinking a glass of cranberry juice, and emptying the dishwasher (and then filling it back up again with everyone¡¯s breakfast dishes, it never ends!). So, yeah, when midday comes along, and I¡¯m in the middle room (a room on the second floor of our house that is in between mine and Ben¡¯s rooms (Diana¡¯s is just before mine)) sitting at the desk there writing homework for a class starting in an hour or so, I¡¯m not expecting it. It felt like a sudden wave of humidity, a pressure of syrupy air, blasted by me and then stayed. It was bizarre. Everything gained a new dimension in my eyes, a new detail. Fabric almost breathed it looked like it was so alive, the character of a chair almost made me think it would start talking, the paper I was writing on seemed to tell me the stories of the trees it was made from, and ink seemed to shimmer with potential energy. Still really not getting what was happening I started to continue writing my homework. The new magic, thick in the air, seemed to meld into the words I was writing, making the ink of the words shine iridescently to my eyes. It was when I was examining this new quality to my writing, and the magic in the air, that Berry came skittering into the room, his hair all up and standing, making him actually look even more like a ginger fuzzball than he normally is. Vaguely amused at a sight I don¡¯t see from him often, and the way he stuffed himself under the couch behind me I got up asking him, ¡°What was that all about Berry? Get shocked that you couldn¡¯t actually fight your reflection again?¡± Luckily, or perhaps unluckily (I hate scary stuff), I saw what freaked Berry out. A ghost. Walked (maybe floated? I wasn''t really paying attention) filled the doorway and came into the room. Not that it is all that surprising to have a ghost in a house as old as the one I live in. But still, one doesn¡¯t really expect to see one so well defined (if he weren''t all faded out and vaguely... blue? I would think he was just a regular creepy dude (now I know that it takes considerable power for a ghost to appear so, but then there was a lot of power around for him to do that)), nor does one want to see one as grumpy looking at this one (though as time passed, my seeing ghosts has not lessened, much to my regret (though a lot more transparent and "blue"). Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.Being the scaredy cat like Berry showed himself to be, I froze, gripping the pen I was gripping to hold back the instinct screaming at me to run (what good would running do? It¡¯s a ghost and I live here). The discontent ghost caught sight of me then, and the air crackled and flashed with his anger (still not sure why Mr. Ghost back then was so upset about, but I think being stuck here so long made him go more senile than an alzheimer''s patient). The magic in the air seemed to swirl around him. That was when something clicked in my head. Without really knowing what I was doing, I lifted the pen I was holding and started writing in the air. Magic started to swirl more around me than around the ghost, the pen actually losing ink as well. As I wrote, letters formed, golden and shimmering, occasionally showing blue from the ink of the pen, floating in front of me. While thinking of my home, the house and land, my family, and all the creatures (because if Mr. Ghost was here and real and freaking me out, what other scary thing is out there?!) I wrote. ¡°PROTECT FROM YOU¡± Once I finished writing those three words (which was actually a lot harder to do than you might think) there was a brilliant flash, and all the magic that was before just sitting in the air (and apparently all throughout our property as well (I looked around after)) just disappeared. Thankfully, along with the ghost. Exhausted and drained, heart still beating fast, I collapsed back into my seat. I could still see the faint flickers of magic in the objects and walls of the room, but it was nothing like when that wave came through and flooded everything (actually since the first few days of magic first arriving I haven¡¯t seen something like that at all). I decided that it probably wouldn¡¯t be a good idea to go to class later. Chapter 2 Part 1 The Aftermath Most people, including myself, remember that day with a stricken sort of awe. As you would imagine, a global occurrence of magic, with all the good and all the bad, and with little understanding of magic and our new neighbors we had to live with right off the bat, there was a high death toll. Looking back on it now, though, I¡¯m surprised that so many people did survive. Humans have become quite secure in their seat on the apex of things, all the sudden having creatures quite happy to kill you (or eat or whatever they like doing to humans) appear or the ability to use magic (and doing something really stupid, like summon said creature to you) led to a lot of mess (as I said, a lot people actually survived). The worldwide average for deaths on the day of The Change was every 3 people out of 10. Not too many people right? Not until you add it up, or consider the fact that at least one of your friends and family is dead. Our town used to have something like 20,000 people (I¡¯m averaging up because exact numbers aren¡¯t really available) living in it before, now it was closer to 14,000. 6,000 people, dead, and that is just in the town I live in. It¡¯s easy to see the horror of that day with a look at comprehendible numbers from a small town right? In text books now, they say ¡°an estimate of 2.1 billion¡± people died. Well, even that gives me the shivers. Luckily, my immediate family survived The Change. Mostly thanks to them getting home as soon as they could. My first warding, while slipshod, was strong (I mean, all that magic does a spell good, heck, it¡¯s still up even today, I¡¯ve just added onto it and refined it a bit). Mom got home first at 3pm, she¡¯s a teacher at the elementary school down the road (she teaches computer stuff, not homeroom or whatever). She said at 2 the staff (the whole school district) had noticed strange things were happening, and the news was going crazy with it too, and decided to call parents and have all students go home and stay with their families. Sadly, even then there were signs of the losses, because a number of parents couldn¡¯t be contacted. The children on their own, from all the schools in town, were brought to the town library (mom said till either their parents were found, but it was really till they were gathered up either by the state or relatives. A lot of kids who lost their parents didn¡¯t survive The Change. Though some parents survived their children, kids are a delectable treat to some creatures, and also some kids figured out how to use magic to make quite a mess (but the mess up at the middle school is a different story and I¡¯m not going to go into it)). Since after my warding I was just investigating the remaining magic around the house (and on other things in the house), Mom was the one to turn on the news. It was all over the place, newscasters saying magic this magic that and not really believing it, interviews with people who survived close encounters with ghosts, ghouls and dragons (most encounters that were told about (and survivable, or at least let people go back to where they want) were those kinds). Maybe a half an hour after Mom got home, Diana arrived. She looked a little wigged out and jittery, apparently current boyfriend was not that great a guy (his dead ex-girlfriend had a few words to say to him) and she made her way home as quickly as she could. She said the roads were crazy, said she thought she saw a centaur (she did). Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.After another hour of tense waiting Dad got home, rather calmly, which was rather annoyed Mom (Diana and I were ambivalent, we just don¡¯t understand him very well at all, and it seemed like something he¡¯d do). He was worried about us, which is why he came home, but for himself, nothing all that much happened. He did see some strange creatures (centaurs and satyrs, they actually decided to make their home in a few parks throughout the county) but they weren¡¯t all that interested in him (why would they be when all the sudden they find themselves in our world?). His day was pretty uneventful. He did finish up building the retaining wall for his client, though, so he was a little pleased about that. I have found, after studying (what he¡¯s like and how he appears magic wise to me), that my father, because of his affinity with the earth and how solid his personality is, isn¡¯t all that interesting to the more dangerous of magical creatures. Ghosts were no problem to him either because he is a pretty good guy (not to mention his faith (good Catholic boy) makes him hard to approach (a great deal of magical creatures have trouble with people who have strong faith, especially faith in a religion). Now all we were worried about was how Ben was. He was at Harvard. From watching the news we knew that schools seemed to just explode with all the troublesome things magic brought with it (magic is also extremely thick there, it has to do with a meeting of a bunch of young minds, those eager to learn and play, those who are suffering, basically the extremes of the emotions and desires, and it makes it easier for spells to be activated). Why didn¡¯t we call him? We did, in fact, while Mom and I first started watching the news we tried calling everybody. Nothing would get through (I think the magic was so thick that the calls just couldn¡¯t make it through (sometimes calls still just drop all the sudden (though I¡¯ve tinkered with my phone so I don¡¯t get that problem)). So all we could do was wait and hope. And happily, Ben did make it home safely, if a little tired, wane, and shaking from what he¡¯d seen (he still doesn¡¯t like talking about it, he said that his study group was¡­ eaten and the only reason he was spared was that whatever it was wasn¡¯t interested in him (I had come to the realization by then my spell might¡¯ve gone out and given my family some protection)). Though he made it home around midnight. The drive (we didn¡¯t ask him how he got a car, which is a story in itself) was a tough one. It took days, even weeks for the turmoil of The Change to settle somewhat. You can imagine the effect The Change had on the government. Actually, it cleaned up a lot of the dirty politics, and the fact that so many people cared about what had happened made it so a lot of people made sure the right person was voted in. There was also the emergence of those of us who could use magic (about 1 in 10,000 people can use magic, and 1 in a 100 of those have a great ability (you know the ability to use an insane amount of magic (I¡¯m not in that group just so you know)) and the people who were definitely noticeable were marked by the government). Many people used their magic to save people, some to hurt, some to gain fame, and some to make a buck. All in all, by the end of that spring, the world knew, magic was here to stay. Short break, in return short story Was a little under the weather for a few days, promise I''ll be back with more of the story. For your reading pleasure I will give you an old piece of writing I did my... junior year? of high school (so I was about 15). So please pardon the inadequacies of the writing. Perhaps, if enough people are intrigued or into it, I will write some more short stories and post them occasionally. I''m far better with short stories than longer ones. I''ve a short attention span. Anywho, here it is, a short story called Robomime ---------------------------------- The street is dirty and gray as I head for the dark red and foreboding prison to pick up Robo, again. When will he learn that the government just isn¡¯t as lax as it used to be? No one, not even a lowly robot, is supposed to wear ¡°face concealments¡± or ¡°disguises¡±. Only terrorists, criminals, or maniacs wear such things, and they are a danger to us. Anyone seen wearing such things is immediately arrested. That means no more Halloween. In fact, I doubt anyone even knows what Halloween is anymore, except for maybe me and Robo. I lived with my parents, of course, in Lingdabong, and did, until my 20thname-day. Now I live in an apartment complex in The City. Like other parents, mine put me into school once I turned two. They had much better things to do, the government, the Politics rather, say, than taking care of children. Lingdabong is the center for fruit production in the world. I believe that they are both managers and fairly more secure in Lingdabong than most. I think that is why they got Robo, when I was seven. He was a newer model then, the latest in Lingdabong¡¯s society. He was able to directly hook up to the internet and print out papers. Of course I still had to write them, but I was able to access information that many other of my classmates could not. When my parents acquired Robo, I ended up spending more time with him than my classmates. They no longer liked me, and I didn¡¯t want to deal with the looks or the accusing stares or the taunting for having something they did not. The more I talked with and worked with Robo, the more of a personality he got. He loved helping me with my homework, and I had to admit I understood the assignments better with his help. It was actually during my 10th year in school that I had to write a report about the 21stcentury culture, and we found some pretty interesting stuff out. We found all sorts of pictures of people all over the world, but mostly the dead nation America, wearing the most outrageous and colorful clothing. Buildings weren¡¯t all the same color, or built of the same material. Gardens had bright flowers and everybody was allowed to walk in them. People even had their own gardens. It was amazing! Who would¡¯ve believed that people were allowed to do such things without fear of punishment? I remember the project well, because I got a 200 failing grade on it, even when it was far better than anyone else¡¯s project. ¡°Too bright and creative¡± was why, not that they said it right out. Robo, I think, was quite moved by it though. ¡°Why,¡± he says, ¡°shouldn¡¯t we be creative or imaginative? Why can¡¯t we dress up and play, like people did in the 21st century? Why does the government refuse to let us create?¡± Robo was always thinking up unsettling questions that I could never answer. That is why he is a freebot today. As the years went by, and I graduated from school (all 20 years worth) my parents got tired, or maybe it was frightened, of the questions Robo kept putting in my mind, and the fact that he is/was my only friend. They sold him. Every time he¡¯d been bought, Robo would eventually find himself back on the market. I know of this, and the troubles he had with owners trying to make him more obedient, as we kept in touch. I had promised Robo, when my parents sold him, that once I had gotten enough money I would buy him and then make him free. It was a few years later, after I had moved into The City, that I had enough to buy Robo. I sent in a petition for Robo¡¯s application for citizenship and what felt like a year later, Robo was given it. If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.With Robo free we were able to share rent and live in one of the better parts of The City. I¡¯ve been getting into politics, or trying to. It is very hard to get into those circles when you weren¡¯t born into a political family. They have private schools and they all live in a sanctioned part of the city in which no one but Politics or their friends or their robots, very special and very obedient robots (practically computers), are allowed to go. The Politics and their community are actually the reason why Robo got into jail the first time. He had wanted to see what their part of the city looked like. I mean, we are all citizens, right? and we all have the right to go where we want? Well, Robo proved that wrong. The Politics are apparently more than citizens. Robo told me, after I picked him up from prison that first time, that they have gardens. They have art work, they have colors. They have creativity. After Robo told me of all of this, I didn¡¯t know how to feel. Here we are, the majority of the world, stuck in a world of grayscale and one percent of the world was living in color and luxury. Not letting us think for ourselves, and squashing any original thought an individual might have. Robo, probably three times as angry as I was, changed his appearance. Dramaticly he painted his gray panneling white and wore an old black jumpsuit with a ragged hat. A mime, he said he was, when I asked. Robo went to the market forum and preformed. Always explaining, ¡°In many cities, before our government was formed, and there were many nations, people preformed and shared art¡­¡± Then he¡¯d go on to explain what HE saw in the Politics¡¯ City. Many people came again and again, beginning to cry out with the injustice of it, demanding of the Politicals to make a change. They wanted to make a change. During one of Robo¡¯s performances the Politics ordered a raid and arrested all the people in the forum. Many of the people arrested that day were let out after two years in prison, but not Robo. He has been in there now for five years. If anything, I¡¯d say that after Robo had been arrested there has been even fewer colors in The City, and probably back home in Lingdabong too. The citizens are unhappy and there is a simmering tension filtering throughout The City as Robo¡¯s release draws closer. I see the blood red doors of the prison open, creaking from the rust it has on the hinges. Not many people get committed to prison, and even fewer people get released. I see Robo being rolled out stiff on a carrier and dumped into the middle of the street. His metal joints are rusted and he clatters and red dust flies as he lands on the heavy asphalt. The doors close and Robo lays still. I go to him, as do the other people who were waiting in the alleys behind me. Robots and citizens side by side stand around us as I pick Robo up. We go to The City gates. We hear the stamp of enforcement people behind us, and we don¡¯t care. We are walking through a continuingly brighter world, each step we take.