Shift

FIVE.1

Blaze was not particularly happy that he was being forced to go to Sir Mallard's school. Volunteering shouldn't be forced, he thought grumpily as he walked down the New York City streets. The air was heavy with humidity and the sky was thick with dark clouds. Blaze's shirt clung to his skin, sticky and irritating, and the feeling did not improve his sour mood. Other New Yorkers seemed on edge as well; they walked briskly, clenching closed umbrellas and briefcases as they sped down into the subways.

When Blaze reached the Starbucks, there was already a long queue of men and women waiting for their morning coffee. But there were also a surprisingly large number of boys milling around a crossing light outside. One of them—a blond about fourteen—spotted Blaze approaching, and his eyes widened. "Blaze?" the boy cried in confusion. "What are you doing back here?"

"Hey Bobby." Blaze knew the boy; he was the younger brother of his friend, Jake Miller. Blaze hadn't seen Jake in a few months. He had gotten a job in a London spell bookshop immediately after graduation, and neither of them was too good at keeping in touch. "I'm helping out around Sir Mallard's today."

"Community service?"

"Kind of. Not voluntary though."

"What did you do?" asked a small boy with dark curly hair. He couldn't have been older than ten.

Blaze did his best not to wince. "I accidentally blew up that building where the Congregation was staying."

"No way," another little boy gasped, gazing up at him with a look of wonder. "That was you?"

"Of course it was him!" Bobby said with a grin. "He and my brother, when they went here... they knew how to mess things up."

Blaze tried to laugh, but he wasn't sure if Bobby had been giving him a compliment.

"Hey, it's ten of," one of the boys said with a glance at his watch. "We're going to be late." He grabbed the door to the Starbucks, pulled it open with a tug, and they all piled inside.

The café greeted them with a blast of air conditioning. Blaze joined the queue of adults, reaching into his pocket for some spare change as the younger boys headed for the bathroom. One at a time, they disappeared behind the swinging door.

Blaze kept an eye on the bathroom as he waited. Sure enough, just a few seconds later, the door swung open and the boys strode out, beelining out of the café—but their postures were a little too perfect, their smiles a little too wide, and their steps a little too fast.

Maybe they'll let me tweak the return illusions, Blaze thought as he watched the "boys" leave the coffee shop. Sir Mallard's School had set a spell over the restroom door that created a temporary illusion of any wizard who entered its doorway. This precaution was meant to dispel any suspicion about the several young boys with backpacks that would enter the bathroom in the morning and not come out until mid afternoon. Blaze had always admired the craftsmanship of the spell, even if it had gotten a bit glitchy over time. It was rumored that the famous illusion-crafter Joseph Beckett had placed the initial spell on the door himself.

After depositing some coins into the tip jar—a sort of thank you for letting us use your business as a school entrance—Blaze headed into the bathroom himself. He pushed against the swinging door, but as soon as his foot hit tile, he felt his skin ripple with a jolt of magic. The floor disappeared, his stomach flew up into his chest, and a whirl of color whooshed in front of his eyes. A second later, the floor reappeared under his feet, harder than he had anticipated. Losing his balance, he tumbled to the ground.

"Damn it," he muttered, his body pressed to the linoleum.

The snickers of students made him look up. The portal had dropped him off in the east wing where the walls were made entirely of glass. Past the large windows, he could see marbled grey skies and New Yorkers rushing by, oblivious to the school that lingered between dimensions.