The Bane of Light

Magic Fever

"I wish I was only as cruel as the first time I noticed I was cruel, waving my tiny shadow over a pond to scare copper minnows" - Kaveh Akbar, Forfeiting My Mystique

∞

We stumbled into Cera's room in a crash, my breath hitched with effort as I carried the six-foot-something, male over with my magic. As it was before, the action was a strain on my strength, making my head slightly throb. Only this time, the feat was noticeably easier than the first few times I did it. I was less winded, and pleased to find I could carry him longer without my shadows screaming from extortion.

Paris face was pale and waxen, looking as though he'd be sick any moment, as he rose from his knees. His flighty eyes flitted around the room, inspecting it with a mixture of suspicious and curiosity. Nothing looked very different to me: the same four poster bed, same red and gold hues, same "lab" covering the entirety of the furthest wall of her room, including a tank filled with poisonous snails. Each had painted shells, designed partially so she could keep track of which subject was which, and partially because she enjoyed painting.

Cera obviously was not sleeping, hunched over her microscope with a lab coat on. Upon our impending approach, she snapped up and spun around. Her eyes caught on us, but didn't seem concerned past the initial shock. She must have been surprised by the random appearance of consciousnesses in her room, but recognized them as ours almost instantaneously.

"Must you do that?" She asked, snapping off her latex gloves from her hands and rolling her wheeled-chair out. I gave her a smile, tugging Paris towards me into the room. He was noticeably colder than when we stepped in, his demeanor shaky and unstable. He was always like this when we passed through, and I was just thankful he didn't pass out like the previous times.

"I must, dear Cesarie. Paris couldn't come along if I didn't use my personal passages" I announced, gesturing to Paris as I plopped him down into a red bean bag.

Cera's golden eyes caught on him and narrowed, "What's wrong with him?"

I glanced back. Paris was considerably ashen, his skin pale.

"He's fine. He just doesn't do well with shadow travel" I waved her off, handing her the paper bag filled with my ingredients. She plucked it from my hands, her nimble picking through the potions artfully, emitting a hum of appreciation from time to time. When she was done, she unceremoniously dumped them all onto her desk.

I refrained from cringing at the loud crash. The bottles were shatter proof, of course, so they were fine. But they were worth a lot. She knew it. I knew it. Yet she was treating them as if they were knock-off misk roller-perfumes from the dollar store.

"What's wrong with you?" She asked me, glancing up from the mess on her desk and eyeing my demeanor. My smile became tight, and I refrained from reaching up and touching my eyes. I knew they were swollen, but pretended to have no idea what she was on about.

"I'm fine" I said cooly, refraining from snapping at her. She raised an eye brow and looked back to Paris, but made no other comment about my appearance.

"Well watch out for Magic Fever. He looks a little bit too shaky for comfort, especially after your shadow wandering. If he throws up, you're cleaning it up" She noted, going back to her work. She shoved a vial of something, that looked suspiciously radioactive, off of her table, bunching it up with the rest of the untitled bottles.

"He doesn't have Magic Fever" I grit out, massaging my temple. He couldn't get Magic Fever; he was hardly around me long enough to be exposed to mana corruption. For some, it could happen after spending large periods of time exposed to foreign magic. Your body couldn't take it,  rejecting the foreign substance from your body to prevent poisoning. Some grew a tolerance to it though, and others grew very ill. It varied, and usually happened to first years, upon being integrated into our school. With such close proximity to various Magic forms, it was easy for them to fall ill for a few days. But Paris was hardly a first year, and it wasn't his first time being in contact with a Dark Practitioner either, so Cera needed to shut her mouth with her unwanted opinions.