After two days of studying the field manuals, Joey was deemed ready for weapons training. So following Joey’s ‘weekend’—Monday and Tuesday—Frankie dragged him out into the back alley first thing in the morning and handed him an antique silver hairbrush.
“Mac said you should use this one,” she explained as Joey examined the ornate detailing on the back of the brush. He ran a thumb over the horsehair bristles, rough against his skin. “It’s a good beginner’s weapon. Hard to screw up.”
Joey was immediately convinced he would screw it up.
“Okay, the basics,” Frankie held up a hand at hip level. Joey just stood there watching for a minute until she indicated he should mimic her, so he held the brush up to his hip, mirroring her, since she was right-handed and he was left. “No, bristles facing you.” Frankie adjusted his hand. “Two brushes downward against your pants, then aim and shoot for a strike. Two brushes upward then aim and shoot for a bind.”
“Won’t this ruin my pants?” asked Joey.
She gave him a look of pity. “Sweetie, your pants are already ruined.” Joey considered his clothes. Point to Frankie. “Okay, try brushing downward first. Two quick brushes.”
This took some experimentation. First Joey brushed too slowly, then he was brushing too fast. When he finally hit the right speed he didn’t turn the bristles away from himself fast enough and sent a lightning strike straight down at his left foot. Cursing quietly to himself, Joey dropped the brush onto the pavement where it skittered away. When he picked it up, he expected it to be damaged, but there were no scuffs or marks on it.
“Yeah, you kinda can’t hurt it if you tried,” explained Frankie. “Sturdy little thing.” That was a relief; it looked delicate compared to Joey’s large hand. “If you can’t make it work a second time I promise I’ll only make fun of you a little.”
Sighing, Joey went through the motions again, facing Frankie until she pointedly grabbed his shoulders and turned him toward the wall of HQ. After a few more tries, with Joey perhaps maneuvering the brush too quickly outwards after its two brushes against his pants, a bolt of bright lightning went crack across the alley and grounded itself in the wall, leaving a black, charred spot on the brick.
“Nice one, bro,” congratulated Frankie, clapping Joey on the back. “Now do it ten more times.”
The brush seemed to buzz in Joey’s hand whenever it went off, feeling uncomfortably like the rumble pack in a video game controller the one time he’d tried playing at a friend’s house. It was unpleasant then, and certainly not a lovely sensation now. But as he succeeded more and more, it grew to be a relief when the brush vibrated, since it meant he was closer to being finished with the exercise. When Joey had gotten the hang of zapping the wall, leaving a series of black marks in no discernable pattern, Frankie said they’d move on.
“We’ll work on aim later,” she said, and Joey winced. “Okay, let’s try a hold. It’s a little harder ‘cause you’ve got to do more of a flip, but it’ll let you grab a critter and keep it in place until we can Box it. Not foolproof, mind,” Frankie warned. “Some things are too powerful for a hold with the brush. But definitely helpful with lesser beasties.”
On his first try, Joey managed to grab hold of his own face with a line of lightning, which had Frankie laughing so hard she had to lean against the wall to keep herself upright.
“Be nice,” admonished Joey, heartily embarrassed, once he’d managed to release the hold. He muttered, “I don’t even want to do this.”
This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.
“Aw, buck up,” said Frankie, straightening up with only a few stray giggles. “You think I was always good with this thing?” She tapped her sheathed machete. “Got a scar right here from my first session.” Joey watched her draw a line across the top of her thigh near her knee over her green cargo pants. It was a long line.
“Okay,” he acquiesced quietly.
“Point at the dumpster.”
With Frankie’s encouragement Joey spent about half an hour trying to lasso the dumpster with a line of white lightning. When he finally managed it, the whole alley reeked of ozone, making Joey’s nose tingle.
“Got it now?” said Frankie. Reluctantly, Joey nodded. “Great. We’ve got a gig today and we’re still breaking in the literal child Home Office sent us, so you’re on your own. Mac says spend the rest of the day practicing, more studying tomorrow—he’s made you some worksheets, you lucky duck—then the next day you’ll come out with us. Got it?” Without waiting for an answer, she punched him on the arm and disappeared back into HQ, door slamming behind her with a loud clunk.
Sighing, Joey got back to work.
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It was Thursday after work and Joey had spent his day hunched over worksheets in the back room of HQ. Normally his safe space, that day the back room had instead seemed cramped, shelves looming over him as if someone were watching him study, waiting for him to fail. The others had been out all day, but when they returned Mac announced he’d take them out to celebrate Joey’s first day in the field on Friday. Internally Joey was a quivering mass of fear, but Mac seemed excited for him, so he kept it to himself.
Frankie begged off from the celebration, saying she wanted to spend time at home with her wife, and of course Indira was too young to go out to a bar, so they wound up at Poseidon Diner around the corner.
Mac had disappeared into the bathroom and Indira was up at the jukebox concentrating on punching in numbers when one of the most handsome men Joey had ever seen walked in the front door.
The man was average height, maybe 5’10”, white, with medium brown hair. He wore nondescript khakis and a black zip-up hoodie, but it was his eyes that stood out in a piercing green . Joey couldn’t help but watch as the man scanned the diner, searching for something, and when the man turned Joey’s way Joey quickly lifted his menu to cover his face so the man wouldn’t see him looking.
Pretending to study the menu, Joey saw a figure approach him in his peripheral vision, and when he looked up there stood the handsome man from the door, hands in his pockets and looking directly at Joey. “Hi,” said the man in a British accent, smile lighting up his face.
Oh no, thought Joey.
“You work at the antique shop, right?”
“…Yes?” Joey said. Was this guy a stalker? Joey had no memory of seeing this man before, and he was absolutely certain that he would have remembered seeing this man before.
“Caden Ash,” said the man, sticking out his hand to shake. “I’m your new teammate.”
“Oh,” said Joey, accepting the handshake. So not a stalker, and not a handsome stranger trying to pick him up, which admittedly would have been a first. “Joey Wilson.”
“It’s a pleasure,” Caden said genuinely, smile crinkling the skin by his eyes. Joey was staring. They were still holding hands. As soon as he realized this, Joey dropped Caden’s hand at the same time that Mac, having returned from the bathroom, slid into the opposite side of the booth from Joey.
Mac glanced up at Caden then shot Joey an almost impressed look. “And who’s this?” Mac prompted.
“He’s joining the team,” said Joey. As he spoke, Caden was pulling out a folded envelope of papers from his pocket and handing it over to Mac.
Mac accepted the envelope and opened it, examining the contents. “I’ve been told to call you ‘Mac’,” said Caden. “I’m your new Channeler.”
Startled, Mac looked up at Caden. “A Channeler? We haven’t had one of those since—I think it was 2008? We haven’t needed a magic-user…” Transferring the paperwork to Joey for inspection, Mac continued, “Well. Paperwork checks out. I guess Home Office decided to be generous when I asked for more staff. Lucky us.”
When Joey looked up from the paperwork Mac caught his eye and winked. Mac was always encouraging Joey to put himself out there romantically and Joey was always mortified whenever the subject was brought up. “Lucky us,” echoed Joey.
Mac gestured for Caden to take a seat, which he did. Right next to Joey, who was already taking up a substantial portion of his side of the booth. It was a tight fit. Joey couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or not.
Just then Indira came bouncing back across the diner as the jukebox started playing Don’t Go Breaking My Heart. “Hey, I like this song,” observed Mac to Indira. “Good choice.”
“Yeah, you’ll be hearing it for the next hour,” chirped Indira, and Joey buried his face in his hands.