Chapter 36

Later that night, I found myself back in Mr. Lahlou’s trailer. I’d tried to convince him to start work on Bloody Lance, but he had a particular order he wanted to go in. Perhaps this was my punishment for not helping with Mulciber’s body over the Christmas break?

Regardless, he expressed a keen interest in my healing magic. “Demons can be nearly cut in two, and they’ll show up fifteen minutes none the worse for wear. I want to see this Alheln I’ve heard so much about.”

“Of course, sir. That’s easy enough.” It only took me a few minutes to write out the whole thing.

He let out an annoyed grunt when I put down my pen. “No, no, the entire thing, Soren.”

“That is the entire spell,” I said.

“We have this much of it already.” The Moroccan lifted my sheet, his eyes darting back and forth. He pulled at his beard, as he often did when deep in thought. “It’s too simple.”

“How so?”

“The runes are simply a declaration that the body is to immediately sort itself out and return to its natural shape,” he said, jabbing his finger at the human runes. “It guides the recipient’s magical energy in a predictable circuit through the body, forcing it into that ‘natural shape’, which is barely defined.”

“It works, though,” I countered. “I’d be dead a hundred times over without it. Ms. Jones, too.”

“Bah, that’s impossible.” He went over to his shelf and pulled down one of the textbooks we’d used back in school. “Pull up the Raw Spell for Subdermal Heal. It’s three times as long, and all it does is reduce bruising and inflammation.”

I did so, though I didn’t know why. We both knew the damn spell, after all. “Yes, it does go on about cell division, blood clots, and such.”

To my irritation, he wasn’t even looking at the textbook, having gone back to my notebook paper. Tugging at his beard, he turned it this way and that, as though an extra page of runes was going to reveal itself. “Why does this look familiar…”

I shrugged. It had been a long day, and I struggled to hide my irritation at the obvious questions. “Surely you’ve seen the spell before? Your whole career is built from reverse-engineering captured demonic spell books, after all. All Heal is rather common.”

His hand stopped mid-yank. “The Summary Problem.”

“The what now?”

He put down my sheet and began wringing his hands together. “The Horde keeps some high-end magic completely secret, and only puts vague descriptions of them in their general magic books. It’s the Summary Problem, and we’ve spent literal decades trying to find the ‘real’ versions of some spells.”

“I can tell you, that assumption is off base,” I said.

“It’s an untested hypothesis, but it always made sense… until right this moment.”

“Surely you can’t be serious,” I said. “You never thought to even try All Heal?”

“And how should we do that?” he countered. “There are so few wizards, and healing magic only works on those with magical talent. Who was going to take the chance of being turned inside out? Besides, even their version of Fireball took up more space than this! This is completely impossible.”

“And yet, that’s the truth,” I said. “If it’s a magical placebo, it’s one that works.”

He shook his head and tossed me a key ring. “It can’t be that simple. I’ll keep working on this; go back to my office in the main building and fetch Yoshizawa’s Treatise on Healing Magic. It should be on the third row of the bookshelf behind my desk.”

“Yes, sir.” I was glad for a chance to stretch my legs anyway. He didn’t notice my passing, as he was already poring over my notes, dead to the world around him.

Now, I want to be clear that I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. Mr. Lahlou’s office just happened to be next to Sergeant Lakhdar’s. He had the smaller space, since he mostly used it to store books that wouldn’t fit in his trailer, much as the trailer was overflow for the projects that wouldn’t fit in his office.

However, the sergeant had a set of lungs on her, and her voice carried through the wooden door.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“You’ve got to be kidding me! They aren’t ready, and you know it!”

I knew I should have kept walking, but my curiosity got the better of me. It was self-preservation, though, since I had a sneaking suspicion I knew who ‘they’ were.

Pressing my ear against the door turned out to be a mistake, as it swung open at the pressure. Really, who doesn’t lock the door when they’re having a private meeting? She was at fault.

Of course, that didn’t stop me from looking guilty as sin in the moment. Sergeant Lakhdar shot up to her feet, dislodging a connected headset from her computer. “Cadet Marlowe, what are you doing here?”

“W-well ma’am, Mr. Lahlou asked me to fetch a book for him,” I said.

She gave me a once over. “It looks like it’s in your hand already.”

“A misstep, I assure you,” I said, trying and failing to sound sincere.

A female voice emanated from the computer’s tinny speakers. “Marlowe? Oh, is Soren there? Bring him over.”

Sergeant Lakhdar turned back to the screen. “No need for that, ma’am. He was just doing an errand.”

“We were having such a pleasant chat, Carine. Don’t force me to make it an order.”

The sergeant grimaced. “Cadet Marlowe, you heard her.” Her voice was like ice, and I knew I’d pay for my indiscretions later.

The brunette’s face was a bit pixelated in the calling app, which bore the ubiquitous SatoCorp logo. It couldn’t cover up the crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes, though, or the grey streaks at her temples.

“Good morning,” she said, “though I suppose it’s night for you.”

“So it is, ma’am.” I didn’t know her from Eve, but she could clearly boss my superior officer around. It was time to mind my manners. “I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage. Might I have your name?”

She pursed her lips. “What, you don’t remember your old Races of the Horde teacher from Merlin?”

Another familiar face? I wondered what I’d done to deserve such rotten luck, until I remembered my litany of crimes. Karma wasn’t part of the Enemy’s design, officially, but it did seem to be a constant in my life.

“Oh, of course, ma’am. I didn’t recognize you so close to the camera.”

“You look a little different than before, too,” she replied.

I unconsciously reached up to cover my nose, the biggest difference between me and the real Soren Marlowe. Keeping my curses to myself, I searched for any clues. She was wearing a black and red Wizard Corps uniform, but that hardly narrowed it down.

A quick glance at the app revealed her to be an ‘A. Smythe’. “Who could forget the amazing Mrs. Smythe?” I rolled the dice on her marriage status, but since the Wizard Corps wanted more wizards, I figured there weren’t many spinsters in their ranks.

She chuckled. “You were right, Carine, he has become a real flatterer. Not that I mind; keep it coming, Soren!”

“Amanda, please. Act like a dang Major, at least in front of the cadet.” Sergeant Lakhdar’s face was neutral, but her voice sounded weary. “I didn’t realize you two knew each other.”

“Not too well, I’m afraid,” she said. “I was covering for Julia Goldman’s class while she was on maternity leave. It was a pleasure to be back in the classroom. I only wish I’d gotten to know you better, Mr. Marlowe. I might have kept you away from that traitor Maggie Edwards.”

“Can’t blame yourself for my poor judgement, ma’am,” I said.

She waved me off. “You’re too kind. I can’t help but feel like I caused this whole mess, somehow.”

This Amanda Smythe had an awfully casual air for a superior officer. It took all types, I supposed. “Ma’am, I understand all about survivor’s guilt.”

“Oh, we all do,” she said. “The British curse, these days. At least I have work to keep me busy. I’ve been tasked with beefing up the defenses around the government-in-exile.”

“That sounds like a challenge,” I said, considering how many demonkin had waltzed within shooting distance of King George at the reception.

“I should say so!” she said, chuckling to herself. “A half-dead woman in a boat nearly breached our naval blockade. We clearly need the help up here.”

It was my turn for an eyebrow twitch. This insolent woman had no idea about Wendy’s loyalties, and even I felt a touch of sympathy for the dead girl. What kind of a world was it where a half-devil had more delicacy than a human officer?

“I wish you well in your endeavors, Major,” I said.

“Oh, you’ll do better than wish for that,” she said.

“What does that mean?”

Amanda Smythe looked over my shoulder to the Sergeant. “Should I tell him?”

“You might as well,” she said. “They’ll all know soon enough.”

“You have some powerful friends, Sir Marlowe,” she replied, pausing to draw out the moment. “They were insistent that you should be near your King in his hour of need.”

Oh, Bloody Hell, I was going to be yanked from my training again?

“Hour of need? What’s the matter with him?” I asked.

“Nothing immediate. Still, we all know King George is in a bad way, even if he tries to hide it.” Amanada Smythe’s tone was bored, as though she was describing a trip to the grocery store.

“If I may, you’re awfully blasé about the health of your monarch,” I said.

She frowned, as if remembering herself. “I’ve been in meetings with him, the same as you have. I’m only saying the obvious. All the more reason we need your help.”

“I’m flattered, Major Smythe, but I don’t see what I can do about it,” I said. I couldn’t even heal Mariko, after all.

“Oh, you don’t?” she asked, a playful lilt in her voice.

“Even if he wasn’t mundane, I don’t have the magic to fix him,” I said.

“Who’s asking you for that?” she asked. “You’re jumping to—”

“Amanda!” snapped Sergeant Lakhdar. “Stop drawing it out!”

Major Smythe’s lips pursed in annoyance. “You’re no fun, Carine.”

“Fun is for civilians and bored officers,” replied the sergeant, a clear note of reproach in her voice.

“Oh, all right; you’re lucky we went to school together,” said the brunette. “Cadet Marlowe, you and your whole unit ship out for North Ireland in the morning. Welcome to active duty, Private Marlowe.”

“Oh.” I looked down at the magical textbook in my hand. It seemed I wouldn’t be stuck on magical research duty for much longer. “However the Corps wants to use me.”

“You didn’t used to be so serious, Private Marlowe,” said the major. “I’m looking forward to meeting you again. I’m sure you have stories to tell.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I kept my expression neutral. If it meant serving with this boorish woman, my second trip to North Ireland wasn’t going to be as pleasant as my first.