The Unskillful Thaumaturge

LV

"We're giving you something."

Lillian's eyes widened in anticipation. "You're giving me something?"

"No, not me." Daria laughed lightly. "Us." She waved her hand indistinctly. Lillian assumed she was indicating Leslie as well as herself.

"What is it?" Lillian wondered aloud.

Leslie dug in her backpack for a minute. "Sorry I didn't wrap it," she muttered apologetically. "No time, and it would be a waste of paper." Lillian took a bite of her bagel while she waited for her roommate to find the gift.

Finally, Leslie pulled a notebook out of her backpack and flicked it across the table, toward Lillian. Daria set a package of erasable pens on top. "Their newest model," she explained. "Erases completely."

Lillian raised her eyebrows. The beginnings of a smile appeared on her lips. "Thank you both." She lifted the pens off the top of the notebook and began examining them. She slid the package open and pulled out one of the pens, lifting it to the light. She pressed the end of the pen, but the tip didn't appear. "How do you click it?"

Daria wordlessly took the pen from her and showed her how to press on the handle. Lillian took it gratefully and eased it back into the case.

"What for?" she asked, working a stray poppy seed out from between her teeth. The seed bounced around on her tongue for a few moments before she swallowed.

Leslie shrugged. "Figuring out thaumaturgy."

"But I haven't yet," she replied quizzically.

"Kern is really good. You will," Leslie responded with complete conviction.

Lillian turned her attention to the notebook. The cover was a smooth, solid black that made a hollow sound when she rapped on it. The outside corners were neatly rounded, and a thin elastic band held the cover shut. She carefully slid the elastic off the cover and creaked it open, expecting the notebook to crack. The pages inside were neatly lined in brown ink, and there was a space inside the front cover for her name. Lillian closed the notebook, snapping the elastic band over the cover, and dropped it into her backpack along with the erasable pens. "Thanks," she said again. "Where did you find those?"

Daria shrugged. "The bookstore."

Lillian nodded gratefully, then proceeded to take the final bite of her bagel. She savored it for a moment before swallowing. "It's one forty five. I'd better go."

Her roommates nodded in understanding as she rose, pushing her chair in, and began walking away. The last she saw was Leslie's green-eyed gaze following her out the door of the Crave.

When she finally reached the thaumaturgy building, she stopped and groaned in disgust. An "out of order" sign had been taped to the elevator doors. She wondered whether it was broken or simply needed regular maintenance. She glared pointedly at those in line waiting to use the levitator and headed toward the stairs.

She began climbing, one step at a time so as not to further injure her ankle. Before long, the ascent proved exhausting, and Lillian realized she should be taking the stairs more often.

She let her mind wander, and soon found herself thinking about the illusion. At least to her, it felt wrong to automatically assume that Beanie's appearance was artificial.

Her mind went through all the scenarios when her and Galena's eyes had twitched. First, without provocation (they weren't sure what Beanie was doing); second, when Beanie had escaped and knocked Galena out; third, when Galena had come to; and fourth, when Lillian had almost caught him on the fourth floor of the thaumaturgy building. He had also used traceable thaumaturgy in two situations: when he was trying to annoy the DIAO after being captured and when he used the cuttlefish illusion to get into the elevator. Two separate categories that together covered all the thaumaturgy they had seen him do.

To Lillian, it seemed fairly clear. The illusion was in neither category- it was untraceable and it didn't make her or Galena's eyes twitch- so maybe it wasn't real at all.

She intuitively knew that this was impossible, and yet so many other parts of the investigation seemed impossible as well. As she reached the top of the steps, she resigned herself to the fact that she might never find out the truth about the Thaumatogenesis.

She began striding down the hall, passing offices and classrooms inscribed with slowly increasing numbers. The room at the end of the hall was only 419. She cocked her head in confusion, looking around to see if she'd missed an office block.

She noticed a small sign on the ceiling, listing several room numbers and an arrow to the left, toward the back stairs. She realized suddenly that Kern's office must be in the block by the stairs. Rounding the corner, she proceeded down the short hallway. A warm light glowed from within the office block, and the door had been propped open with a rubber doorstop. She entered the block, looking from office to office until her eyes alighted on the right nameplate. Room 423. Professor Dakota Kern.

The door was propped wide open, revealing a cozy yet untidy office. Lillian stepped confidently inside. It was nearly two, and Professor Kern would likely be back soon.

A checkered carpet lined the floor, drawing Lillian's eyes from the bookshelf on one end of the room to the sunken couch on the other. A desk was located between the end of the bookshelf and the edge of the doorway; a desktop squatted atop the wood surface, along with a desk lamp and several piles of papers. A UOD poster had been tacked to the side facing the door.

She stood directly in front of a cold, gray file cabinet which seemed oddly out of place in the homey office. The cabinet had four drawers and a locked cupboard. The first and second drawers from the bottom were slightly open, as if a few too many papers had been crammed inside. A laminated poster of the obelisk was affixed to one side of it, and several spiky succulents perched on top.

Next to the file cabinet was a full-length mirror which gave Lillian a clear view of the bookshelves in the office. She stepped over to examine the mirror, realizing that many of the books on the shelf were thaumaturgy textbooks and accounts of the Thaumatogenesis. On the fourth shelf from the ground, a box of granola bars had been wedged in between the books. Lillian could read the brand name displayed across the box.

She figured Kern wouldn't arrive for several more minutes, and decided to occupy herself in the meantime. She reached into her backpack and dug out the notebook and pens, eager to examine them more. Setting down her backpack, she leaned it against the side of the desk and began to snap the elastic on the front of the notebook. She opened the package of pens and used the red one to scribble on the first page. When she erased it, the ink disappeared, evaporating into thin air. Impressed, she slid the pen back into the package and closed the lid, slipping the notebook and pens into one of her wide jacket pockets.

Just then, her phone began to buzz inside her backpack. She couldn't take the call, she reminded herself; she had an important appointment starting in two minutes, according to her watch. Even if it was the DIAO, she would have to wait.

But then she remembered: what if it was the DIAO? Janelle was supposed to be finished with the DNA test today. She was torn for a few seconds before deciding to answer the phone.

She turned to reach for her backpack, but stopped abruptly upon realizing what was behind her. She choked back a scream. For there stood a moderately short man who looked to be in his twenties. His dark hair stuck out in tufts from underneath a UOD beanie, and his amethyst eyes glinted with a triumphant smile.

And before Lillian could speak, before she could even think, he reached out and shoved her viciously in the center of the back.

She stumbled toward the mirror, certain that she was about to fall. Behind her eyelids, she envisioned the mirror shattering into a million pieces, her body lying on the floor in a growing pool of blood amid keen, splintery shards of glass. Her eyes widened as the mirror approached her face, everything seeming to move in slow motion-

The mirror glinted in the light, displaying a still, empty office.