Wand: A Fantasy of Witches, Wizards, and Wands
Chapter Thirty-Four

The man took the whammy of Nick’s knowledge in his stride. He hesitated for only a moment before reaching forward and yanking Nick back into the shadows and out—presumably—the way he’d come in.

“How’d you get past the ward?” Nick asked as he stumbled alongside the sorcerer.

The man shrugged. “My intentions must not be malevolent.”

On reaching the edge of the Institute’s property, they marched over a breach in the fence. Nick realized this was one of only a few short stretches of fence where the Mage officers were not posted or patrolling. Once they were on the other side, the man rebuilt the breach using earthcraft, holding onto Nick while he did it.

A squirrel and robin dropped dead nearby.

For ten minutes they walked on in silence. Nick wondered more than once why the sorcerer did not ask how Nick had known to expect him.

In an especially dark patch of forest, where crickets did not creak and owls did not hoot, Nick realized he was alone, or at least that he could no longer see the sorcerer.

At length he took in his surroundings; a rather grim clearing in the trees about a half mile north of the ward surrounding the Institute. There was nothing out here. Nothing except for a single barg snuffling around for its next meal. Nick saw its brilliant red eyes first. Harsh barking came second, and this was immediately followed by the scratching of claws in dirt.

Nick flinched, backed up to a tree and squinted into the darkness. The hunting call of the barg was easily distinguishable from the bark of a dog by its higher pitch, hyena-like tone and the alien quality of the way its cries echoed, going on and on. Bargs enjoyed a good long call before leaping after their prey, and this one was two sniffs away from that maneuver, Nick knew, from frequent perusals of Fantastic Beasts and How to Kill Them.

The page on how to kill bargs flashed before Nick’s eyes.

Bargs always caught their prey. Nick was tired of running, anyway. He took a deep breath and stepped out from behind the tree. He held out his hand, trying not to picture the barg biting it clean off, and said, “Come here boy, come on. Come to me.”

The barg, absurdly, crept out of the shadows, its scraggly black-as-the-night fur covered body blending into the darkness. Like a skittish wolf it made haltering steps towards Nick. Eventually, trading its growls for soft whimpering, it sniffed the boy’s hand and lowered its head.

Nick petted the fur atop its head while reaching up with his other hand toward his belt.

With one fluid motion he drew his athame and sank the blade into the barg’s waiting neck. Warm blood washed over his hand. The mythic unleashed a piteous yelp, flailed around violently for ten seconds, and then dropped to the forest floor where the unearthly light of its crimson eyes finally faded to black.

Though he was trembling, Nick’s voice was firm. “I just killed an efrit! Did you really think I was going to get eaten by some two-bit ugly-ass mutt? Well?” He kicked the dead barg.

When Nick had calmed enough to process thoughts and information, he stood up straight and looked around. He flung his arms out. “Well? I know you’re there.”

The sorcerer once more stepped out of darkness, as if ripping loose from the shadows. He strolled up to the boy. “That was impressive. Tell me, why did you seem to be expecting me?”

Nick said nothing.

The sorcerer sidled a little closer, shuffling through recently fallen leaves. They were not yet crunchy. “No matter. Soon enough there will be no secrets between us. I will share everything with you, and you will learn to trust me.”

“I doubt it.”

The man snorted. Nick meekly followed him to a copse of sugar maples near a precipice boasting a panoramic view of Lake George. Moonlight shimmered off the water, much as it had these past few nights.

The sorcerer pulled aside a natural-looking but actually man-made patch of entangled vines and branches, to reveal a small alcove, totally obscured from outside eyes. The only object within was a tall vanity mirror carved with glyphs. It reeked of mineral oil and sandalwood.

“What’s this then?” Nick asked.

The sorcerer finished checking through the patch as though to make sure no one had followed, and then he stood between Nick and the mirror. “We are two thirds of a mile northeast of the Institute’s warded fence. You remember how we reached this alcove?”

“Duh,” Nick said, arms crossed.

The sorcerer faced the mirror and spoke using a flowing, harmonic language. The glyphs on the mirror frame glowed and the surface of the mirror appeared to soften, before swirling like a tiny whirlpool.

“After you,” the sorcerer gestured widely, but then grasped a tree branch to catch himself. Whatever he had just done, it was not sorcery; the effort had cost him.

Nick peered into the swirling mirror. “Where are we going?”

“Home.”

This singular word seemed to compel Nick; he stepped forward, first carefully with one foot, and then more quickly until he’d entered bodily and vanished into the mysterious depths of one of the sorcerer’s long hidden traveling mirrors.

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