One thing a lot of the older magical texts really don’t do a good job of explaining is that, at the end of the day, magic primarily relies on intention. It’s your intention while casting a spell that causes a large portion of the effects. Some people have a greater aptitude towards this, a greater innate potential to manipulate reality and force their intentions upon the world. And those with a less concrete connection to reality and the mundane also find this manipulation easier.
It’s all for the best that people are generally unaware of this idea, to be completely honest. It’s not that everything would suddenly collapse if everyone started believing in the idea of magic. Far from it. The period of rationality and Enlightenment though, and an absolute faith in the observable, is a small drop in a long history of humanity. Several of the worlds largest religions still teach of the presence of demons, angels, jinn, miracles and possession, and belief in these is viewed as integral to their worldview. And given some of the documents stored in this archive, it’s fair to say these are all real phenomena that one should be cautious of.
Echos of this view can be found in the very idea of the power of positive thinking. While this normally focuses more on maintaining a decent, happy world view in the face of adversity, at the root of it is the belief that if you believe things will go well, they can and will go well. There’s a figment of magical thinking at the core of positive thinking. Sure, for the average person this influence on reality will me miniscule, but at the very least it has the potential to give them some benefits over someone who’s always negative, like me.
And while much maligned by the more mainstream scientists, there are even modern attempts to study and classify the surface level of these phenomena in the field of parapsychology. If you view magic as the use of energy and intention to manipulate the world, things like clairvoyance, psychokinesis and mind reading really are just simple magic. It’s difficult to study something that relies so much on a persons willpower and observation, but it’s not like the idea of observation having an effect on an experiment is anything new. Sci-fi novels always like to bring up that famous light-slit experiment, showing that photons exhibit different properties when observed.
On a whim, back when I was starting my research into magic, I looked around into this idea of ESP experimentation. A well-known researcher into the topic, one who’s name I recognized from some of the documents related to military remote viewing studies, even has a website with much of the “classic” experiments online; remote viewing, Zenner cards to test clairvoyance, and a random number generator to test the ability to directly influence outcomes with your intent alone. Of course, after getting some rather outrageous results, I panicked and started purposely bombing some of the experiments.
[https://i.imgur.com/1B7myh5.png]
Authors Note: I honestly almost shat myself when I saw how high I scored on this test, these results aren't even faked.
While reality still has a strong basis in the observable, there’s a bit more give in the fabric of reality that most people commonly want to admit. I’m not trying to be philosophical; these are just observable facts that become all the more apparently when you’ve become a witch occult scholar. Unusual events are not that unusual when you become aware of the truth behind the supernatural. Which is why I feel completely qualified to say that the orders given to me by my boss are absolutely fucking batshit insane.
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You would think I’d be more amenable to weirdness, but some things are just too much. Even thinking about my orders conjures up unpleasant images of Nick Cage’s face spouting off absurd plot points. I suppose my own workplace strains what would be considered a credible and somewhat rational conspiracy concerning the government's actions, but having to steal this document because it’s “magical” seems like a conspiracy theory that even the most hardened aficionado of lizard people would laugh at. I’m almost afraid I actually will find a map on the back of this document.
The actual ritual is somewhat simple, using a similar base to the fae spell used previously. I call on a fairy to replace said unnamed document with the fake my boss was so kind to provide me. The biggest issue would be the need to ensure the ritual works perfectly, getting the desired outcome without any weird quirks. In theory it would work even if the document is surrounded by tourists with me half the planet away. But it’s always better to hedge your bets. Magic at its core relies on intention after all. And quite frankly my mindset towards the very thought of stealing such a national treasure is incredulous at best. So any extra bit to prime my subconscious towards thinking this will succeed would be needed.
Which is why I find myself taking a day off from school, driving towards DC at 1100 on a Tuesday. There isn’t exactly anything magical about the time or day of the week, I just picked them because I hate rush-hour traffic. The DC beltway is notoriously bad for traffic. An 1100 arrival time should place me near the National Mall right at the head of the lunchtime rush, letting me grab chow and scope out the document.
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Actually finding parking was another issue. I needed space to conduct the ritual. In the end I procured a full-size van, windowless, which adds to the overall sketchiness of the situation. There’s also the added risk of a weird vehicle parked near the Mall, but the government plates should take away from that “up to something” vibe slightly. But DC parking is rather shit at the best of times, so I ended up parked at the Watergate, a fair distance from the main building of the National Archives. It looks like I’ll be adding another chapter to their history of questionably legal government activities.
A brisk walk later, with a short stop at a restaurant for lunch, and I found myself at the National Archives. Things seemed like they were going perfectly when the metal detector went off.
An awkward exchange showing the guard my ID card followed, but luckily they didn’t seem too motivated to dig deeper into the whole “national archives special agent” explanation for why I was armed. I hadn’t even had to lie or anything.
It might seem a bit foolhardy to show an ID with my actual name and job on it right before pulling off a heist, but gaining a solid view of where the document is located is also an important part of ensuring the success of the spell. “In the National Archives” might be close enough but I really don’t want to fail this, especially since my boss did make it sound like there had been the potential for being punished if I didn’t follow her orders. And the list of promises and benefits to my new position is just a perk on top of not going to prison.
Having finished casing the joint, there was some time to kill. I figured the best time to actually cast the spell would be right as they close to tourists. Thankfully there’s plenty of sight-seeing available. As an art history student, how could I not visit the National Gallery? It’s practically right across the street, and full of everything from Da Vinci to Degas. Seeing the latter’s paintings of dancers is the perfect way to calm myself down before committing this larcenous witchcraft I’m being blackmailed into doing. Visiting the gift shop is a plus, with their large selection of art history books. Despite being forced into attending school I really do love the topic
The remaining time was spent in a coffee shop by the Watergate. Drinking coffee might not be the best way to cure the shakes I was beginning to get over this but the beans at this place are downright delicious, and sitting down with one of the books I picked up seems a good way to take my mind off what I’m about to do. I even order a drink to go as I head to my borrowed van to prepare for the ritual.
The campfire I had used previously wouldn’t work. Of course it wouldn’t. I’m in the back of a van, in a parking garage under a hotel. So I have to make do. With this camping stove carbon monoxide poisoning seems like a bit of a risk, but I can crack the drivers seat window and hope for the best. With my watch showing the archive’s closing time ticking closer, I began to prepare the fake document to be swapped.
While my boss had added on “blackmailed witch” and “Special Agent” to my job description, I am still at heart an archivist. I can’t even begin to imagine mistreating such an important document. So, while I don’t have as fancy of a case as they do in the main National Archives, I can make do. I ended up strapping an artists portfolio to a wooden frame, to ensure the document inside would not bend. Inside the portfolio, sandwiched between layers of acid-free tissue paper intended for museum storage, I placed the fake document that’s set to replace the original, still in the Archives.
Over all this I placed a black cloth. Might as well add some theatrics to this all, and hiding my weird jury-rigged archival case is all I can do to add a bit of solemnity to what has to be the most thrown-together bit of magic ritual of the century. As the hour changed, I read the spell, and dumped the sacrifice on the camp stove. What was the sacrifice? Once again, a large frappe drink I had picked up to-go from the coffee shop I had stopped at. Hey, it worked last time.
As I uttered the incantation and poured the drink on top of the flame, I once again felt the sensation of warmth exiting my body into the drink. The fire flared, then went out. I had put down a tarp to catch the spill from the drink, but oddly enough it had disappeared into the flames. It seemed like it had worked, but I had one more thing to check.
I opened the portfolio. On the fake, so small you wouldn’t even notice it unless you knew where to look, I had placed a small pencil dot on the back corner. I peaked into the portfolio, looking for this dot. It wasn’t there.
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I waited a bit longer before actually driving back. Again, rush hour is a bitch, and I didn’t want to deal with it, all the more so considering what I had in the back of the van. I didn’t actually get to the secret archive. My boss was waiting for me.
“Good work,” she said, after confirming the authenticity of the document. “You’d make Mr. Cage proud.”
“Please, just… no.”
“I mean it, this was important and you two really did us a favor. All sorts of unusual phenomena was starting to happen because of the properties this document was starting to pick up. I can’t officially give you a commendation for this, but what you did really was for the best.”
“What sort of properties was it picking up, anyways?”
“It was spreading curses.”
“Really?”
“Yes, all sorts of politicians were getting nasty curses when they did stuff counter to the principles espoused here. The uproar from both sides of the aisle was enough that we really had to act.”
“…”
“What?”
“Is it too late to return it?”
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I didn’t get home until near midnight. After the theft of the document I was stuck with some last-minute paperwork to deal with and on top of that I had to return the borrow van. As I pulled in to the driveway, wishing I was in bed already, I noticed something was off. Lights were on in my house.
On top of all the rest of the bullshit I dealt with today, a fucking burglar. This wasn’t good. There was a lot of potentially dangerous things for someone to steal in there. I drew my carry piece, a Commander-sized 1911, and grabbed my flashlight out of my purse. Trying the door knob slightly, I found it was still locked. I unlocked it.
Stepping quietly, I slowly moved towards the sound of someone banging about. For a burglar they sure weren’t being cautious. Leaving the lights on, making no effort to hide their presence, they were acting like they owned the place. I was just grateful they weren’t in the room with my collection. I keep it locked separately from my house key, with a steel-core door that’d be impossible to break into without power tools. Oddly enough, the intruder seemed to be in the bathroom, probably hitting up the medicine cabinet looking for drugs.
Preparing for a fight, I threw open the door. What I saw there was not what I expected.
Rather than a meth-ed out junkie, there was a girl. One I knew. The same girl who had confronted me about the Evil Eye was in my bathroom drying her hair, naked as the day she was born. We stood there a moment, both in shock, before she spoke.
“You’re back earlier than I thought you’d be.”