Needless to say, my father did not begin teaching his five year old son how to perform magic. Despite rapidly pulling ahead of my peers, I was still a little child in form. Frankly if he had began a magical education at such a young age, there may have been something wrong with his brain.

Still, as he'd been caught red handed dad didn't try to deny it. He'd been doing magic, real magic. Much whining and needling later revealed that he'd been searching for a magically attuned password hidden inside an ancient riddle by some sort of sympathetic connection. Apparently a colleague of his needed urgent access to the password and had called for help.

So dad had reached out to a God and made an offering, hoping to receive a boon of knowledge. He'd succeeded. That icy feeling had been a mere fragment of that ancient being's attention drawn to the material plane.

Holy. Shit.

My previous assumption of having undergone some sort of wacky pre-emptive reincarnation, being reborn before I was ever born had been thrown out of the window with extreme prejudice. Maybe call me ignorant, but given all the insane things that generally happened during my previous life, I was pretty sure magic hadn't been a factor.

Being reborn into some sort of... alternate reality, where magic was real? Sign me up please. I'd done the whole 'living responsibly' thing. I'd loved and I'd lived and then I'd died. I'd been content with that experience, unexceptional that it had been. That life had been mine and I'd been proud of it.

This new life? I wasn't planning on throwing it away by any means, but I had planned to have fun. Excitement and new experiences had been at the forefront of all the idle daydreaming opportunities life provided in bulk- there wasn't much to do as a child. I'd been planning some pretty wild things... but those plans where now discarded like yesterdays rubbish.

Because compared to what I had my sights set on now, they where rubbish. So much rubbish.

Magic was real.

Magic was real and my own father knew how to perform it.

What sort of monkey would let this opportunity pass them by? I was a lot of things, but not that sort of mindless ape.

“No.” Father sternly replied when pressed, cleaning his glasses.

“You're too young.” Father rebuked when I continued pressing. He was right of course.

“Absolutely not.” Father sighed, because I wasn't about to let a little thing like being in the wrong stop me.

“Stop.” Father laid down the law, completely done with my shit. I had to hand it to the man, he had the patience of a saint. “I'll teach you when you are older, you're still far too young.”

“Age is just a number old man!” I scowled, fuming not so silently. How dare he be so reasonable when I wanted something right now? The sheer nerve of this man.

“Age is just a number.” He agreed after a moments thought, before continuing “And numbers can have significant meaning. In this case, you lack the mental... maturity to safely learn magic. This isn't up for debate.”

“How long? A year? Two?” I grumbled, itching to get my hands on some sweet, sweet magical power. It was like I was a man who'd never known the sun, coming out of a cave into the warm embrace of our beautiful star, only to suddenly be dragged back into the dark depths of the earth.

Gimme those rays.

Now that I knew magic was real, I wanted it. I wanted it so badly it burned. Was it wrong to feel this way, to suddenly throw all my life's plans to the wayside for a little taste of the bad mojo?

I didn't think so.

“I will begin instructing you... when you're eighteen years old.” Dad explained calmly, then immediately held his hand up to silence my protests.

“Hell no! That's forever!” I exploded, because I'm not enduring thirteen effing years of patiently waiting.

“That's when I believe you will be mature enough to safely begin learning. Listen to me Will, magic is dangerous. It can be so very, very easy to ruin your own life or the lives of others. Magic is not a toy.” Dad replied seriously, his face and voice as solid as stone.

“I didn't say it was a toy.” I replied, mind whirling to come up with a counter. “If it's a question of maturity then... what about when I enter university! That's normally about eighteen, right? So if I go there then I'll be as mature as an eighteen year old!”

Dad regarded me for several moments, his eyes piercing and unwavering, before he sighed in exasperation. “Okay. When you enter university and not a second before.”

“Yes!” I cheered, jumping up and down, throwing my arms into the air. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

I rushed to give him a big hug, wrapping my arms around his leg.

I was going to learn magic! Actual, real life magic. What could be better than that?

Time began to simultaneously crawl by while slipping through my fingers. With attention focused fully on slamming my own head into the grindstone, the seemingly long hours of school grated something fierce. I think I began to resent the duration I was forced to interact with snot nosed little punks, biting chunks out of my precious grinding time. I had a lot to achieve here you know?

It was petty and base, entirely unbecoming of an adult in my position, but I felt it nonetheless.

My entire life revolved around achieving a base level of physical activity that all growing children require- I had no intention becoming a stick figure, thin and weak- then stuffing myself into a chair and butchering whatever course work I could beg and cajole out of my teachers.

If university admission was the gatekeeper of my forthcoming magical education, then everything before that was the enemy. Like any enemy, it would receive no mercy. I would become the reaper of all educational requirements, slaughtering all required check-marks without mercy!

Give me tests or give me death!

“Ooooooooaugh!” I roared, weapon of war held high.

“Watch it!” Dad laughed, dodging to the side to avoid my pencil. His hand slipped into my hair, ruffling it fondly. “Excited for your maths homework?”

“I'm on a rampage dad! This train has no breaks!” I told him seriously, weapon levelled in his direction. “This year will be over in months. The front-line advances yet again!”

“Well, you don't need to keep pushing so hard. Don't you want to find someone to play with?” He asked looking vaguely concerned.

“The only friend I need is a battle-buddy to murder some leaf with.” I told him primly, shaking the maths test in my hand in demonstration. Dad sighed, upset. “What's with the long face? Hey, lay down and tell Dr. William what's wrong.”

Dad laughed and walked over to the sofa, laying down and staring up at the ceiling. “Well doctor, it's my son...”

“Go on, go on.” I nodded, holding my maths sheet up and pretending to scribble on it, acting attentive.

Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

“Well, he's such a genius, I'm beyond proud of him.” Dad said warmly, a bright grin stretching across his face.

“Ah you poor man.” I 'lamented'. “To be so burdened. Outshone by your own child?”

“It's just... I worry for him. He has such difficulty reaching out to people his own age. Making friends?” Dad sighed softly, looking at me out the corner of his eye.

“Hmm... sounds like he just needs to spend time around people his own mental age.” I nodded seriously, faux scribbling some more. “Maybe you should pull him from school, so he can stop wasting so much time with little children and-”

“He is a little child.” Dad said gently, sitting up and looking serious but supportive. “And he should be with his peers.”

I swallowed but met his eyes. “He won't find peers where he is...”

We fell silent just meeting eye to eye.

“Dad...”

“Okay. We'll pull you from school-”

“Yes!”

“But! But in return, I will schedule you with several activities in the afternoons. Football clubs, maybe some martial arts groups. Somewhere you can meet people your own age and spend some time having fun. Agreed?” Dad offered, reaching out to pat my head. I bounced in response, pushing my head into his hand. Headpats best pats.

“Agreed!” I replied immediately. “It's locked in. Oath-bound, sworn in blood. Actually, go get a knife and-”

He bonked me on the head.

“Hehe!” I looked up at him, sticking my tongue out.

Since Dad worked all day and I was no longer going to school, I received a caretaker during the days, a sweet older lady named June. June was pretty cool, but didn't put up with a single lick of my antics. Spoilsport.

Still, she didn't try to coddle me or adult-splain all over the place, merely repeating the occasional offer to help or explain something if I was stuck and then just letting me get on with it. The most annoying part of her presence was the reminder to get up and move around every now and then, interrupting my almost meditative flow.

Lady, I'm grinding out boring work meant for children here. Lady, please don't reset my mental state. Lady, please, I'm begging you!

That slight annoyance aside, I was free to begin my all out scholarly offensive. This wasn't just war, this wasn't just total war- this was a genocide! I was going to hit every node, every single point and direction in all topics and murder them all! No mercy for the child-work!

June, so what if I'm cackling like a madman? No, no, this level of evil intent was completely normal. I'm not having a mental breakdown Lady, no need to call my father.

Yes, I was just like this.

This was fine.

My evenings were filled with active events, mostly football but the occasional karate club meeting. Surprisingly, or perhaps not, there were a few separate clubs for kids. While yes, these events were also full of evil children, they were mostly focused on actually participating, which severely cut down on their general level of annoyance.

This was a level of bratiness in my life I could live with, thankfully, as it's not like I could talk dad out of letting me drop the events.

Later at night in the scant few hours I had to spend with dad, I waged a war of espionage and psychological warfare upon him, unrelentingly acquiring intelligence for my future wars of conquest into the magical arts.

Oh, you thought I'd stop after my war against the British schooling system was won? Hahaha!

No.

Call me Nazi Germany, because this pain train has no breaks!

And in the metaphorical world of war upon education, there's no yanks to come riding to the rescue. All the knowledge will be consumed in the flames of my eternal hunger...

Wow this metaphor's kind of got away from me, hasn't it? What am I even thinking?

Dad reached over my shoulder and yanked the bag of sweets out of my hands.

“That's enough sugar for you, I think.” He attempted to excuse his declaration of war.

I wasn't having it! War-crimes were my domain. You dare turn my own spells against me, father?

“Give it back.” I whined, reaching for the pack of starbursts

“You were cackling.” He tried to reason with me, but more fool him.

I was beyond mere reasoning!

“I'm allowed to cackle.” I informed him plainly, squaring up in challenge as much as I could while cuddled up to his side. Which mostly meant tilting my jaw up... aggressively!

“No. No you are not.” Dad counter-attacked, demolishing my entire military in a single blow.

I deflated in defeat.

You may have won on this day, but the war was far from over.

Victory would be mine in the end.

“Fine, but only if you tell me more about the demons.” I sulked in exaggeration, turning my battlefield defeat into an intel victory. Yes, yes, give me your deepest secrets.

The information war will be won on the backs of my dead soldiers.

A price I was more than willing to pay...

They were all metaphorical anyway.

“Are you sure? It wasn't too much last time?” Dad questioned delicately, scanning my face for any sign of fear. Not an unreasonable stance to take when informing your child about literal demons that apparently lived among us, travelling from distant dimensions to invade our own.

Scary stuff.

In the year since discovering magic existed, I'd been slowly drawing out stories in an attempt to understand more of the world I now lived in. As expected, Dad pushed back but I'd eventually broke him.

Now he began to drip feed me what I suspected were heavily sanitised stories and general overviews of the shape of the hidden side of the world.

Turned out my new daddy dearest worked as a kind of magical manager called a Watcher, part of some globe spanning Council. They worked to gather and collate as much information on demons and threats as possible, liasioning between thousands of different organisations around the world to present a united front of humanity against the demonic threats.

How. Bloody. Badass!

“If you're certain. But if you get scared, it's fine to stop. Okay?” Dad informed me needlessly, as he often does.

Seriously, best father.

Now give me all of your secrets!

“Stop that cackling.”

Gaaah!

“Yes. Yes. I... I understand.” Dad said through gritted teeth, holding the phone receiver to his ear, eminently unhappy. “We'll be there. Goodbye.”

I didn't quite squeak when he slammed the phone down but I certainly did jump. Just a little.

We'd been interrupted by a phone-call during dinner, a rather routine occurrence as dad often had multiple people on the line at all hours of the day. My full attention had been drawn by the raised voice and nearly snarling tone Daddy Rupert threw down the line. Yikes. Not something I'd heard from him before.

“Will... why don't you finish up your dinner, then grab your coat.” Dad sighed after a few moments, leaning fully back against the wall, looking into the air.

“Where we heading?” I called, heading back to munch down on some spaghetti bolognaise, slurping each string of rubbery food into my mouth and smearing the sauce everywhere.

Yummy.

I didn't receive an answer for a moment before...

“Your Grandfather's. He wants to meet you.” Dad answered, clearly fighting through each word with extreme reluctance. Ouch. There sounded like a long list of stories behind those words.

“Cool, meeting the fam.” I answered blandly. “You wanna, eh, fill me in?”

Dad sighed heavily. “I was talking to some friends from work and our children came up. When I mentioned that you began doing secondary school work just after your seventh birthday, it caused a bit of a stir. Certain rumours started... I imagine they made their way to your grandfather's ears.”

“So... he's a watcher too?” I asked, connecting the dots.

“Retired. Sort of... it's complicated.” Dad replied, taking a seat to begin munching down on his food. Hey, watch it old man, you'll chip a tooth.

Hey, seriously, eating that aggressively is dangerous.

Dad, stop!

“Ouch!”

“S'what you get.” I muttered around a mouthful of good, watching as he nursed a bit tongue.

Honestly, adults are such hard work.

Dad drove the car down a large driveway, gravel crunching heavily under the tyres. Grandpa's house wasn't quite a mansion but edged beyond what could comfortably be called a house. An estate maybe?

Old, in need of some serious repair in some places. Thick strands of vine coated most walls, giving the house a rather intimidating appearance. We pulled up beside an old, old car that still looked to be in pristine condition.

The car shut off and Dad just sat still for long moments, hands on the wheel.

“So... he rich?” I asked just to break the silence.

“Not quite no, but the family certainly isn't struggling.” Dad admitted a moment later. “Being a Watcher isn't quite as well compensated as perhaps the risks entail, but the Council doesn't skimp much either.”

I hummed thoughtfully, but my decision regarding that particular life path had already been made.

“Come on then.” I said, forcing some cheerfulness into my voice. “Let's go meet the old-old man.”

“For the love of God, don't call him that.” Dad replied in a strangled voice.

Hehe.

Just try to stop me.

I stepped out of the car after ensuring I had my basics. Cross around the neck, check. Small bottle of holy water, check. Obnoxiously loud whistle, also check.

I jogged up to the door then ran on the spot as the old man trudged slowly up to the solid looking entrance. Hm, now that I looked... where those threaded wires through all the windows?

At first glance the house looked pretty normal but a second look showed all kinds of strange sights. Was that a large bucket above my head, connected to some wires, hidden in the porch rafter?

Dad followed my upwards glance and muttered “Holy Water.”

“Paranoid huh?” I asked.

Dad hesitated for a moment but shook his head. “Not quite. It's complicated.” With a deep breath he grasped the knocker and announced our presence.

Within moments the door swung open, revealing an older man. White haired and balding, he couldn't be younger than sixty but still stood straight. Despite his age he looked in impeccable shape and carried his years well.

“Well, you came at least.” My apparent grandfather snorted, looking at his son with a complicated expression. His eyes swung to me and warmed considerably. “So this is my genius grandson then? Come in, come in.”

I heard my father sigh, but we followed the old man inside, taking off our shoes and coats in the doorway. The interior was richly decorated if showing signs of its age.

We took seats on a large plush settee while grandpa bustled around, coming back with a large silver tray bearing cups of steaming tea. The older men exchanged stilted words of welcome, visibly struggling to communicate between themselves.

It told a story of mistakes and hurt on both sides.

I kind of wanted to stick my oar in, but the seas were most definitely troubled here.

“So.” Grandpa asked after a moment of silent passed. “When are you sending him to the Watchers Academy? He's a bit young for it but if everything I've heard is true, he's more than ready academically.”

I couldn't help it.

I snorted.

“Ain't no way I'm wasting my time there, old man!”

Father just laughed, snorting into his tea.