Chapter 2

I spent three hours in the garden, alternately relaxing and spellcasting. I managed to cast another new spell, a first order transmutation that turned a pebble into rock dust. We had a large backyard, in addition to the 25 meter roofed pool. The garden was mother's pride and joy, and she frequently worked on it herself. We went to a plant nursery every month or so, picking up some new flowers, shrubs or baby trees. When they returned from a trip abroad, they usually brought back a statue or a wind chime or something. There were bright reds and blues blooms, flowering yellows and quite a few thorns. I couldn't name a single one of the flowers to save my life.

A single path around the pool and the house was about all there was to the garden, but that was quite a lot. The wall was barely visible, covered by a thorny creeper of some sort. The temptation to slowly and gradually turn one or two of the more hideous statues to dust, a Ganesha they'd brought from India or a couple of silly horse heads, was almost overwhelming. Nonetheless, I sternly resisted. Mom wouldn't be happy. There was also the danger that too much magic could kill me.

I found myself almost constantly eating. It was chew and cast, swallow and chant. This time, I was mostly confining myself to sweets and munchies, from candied figs and honeyed dates to chocolate chip cookies and Doritos. I walked in to make a sandwich or five, and noticed the time. On Monday and Thursday 18:30 sharp, martial arts class. It was Thursday, and I had forty minutes, which was time enough to prepare and wrap half a dozen cold-cut and pickle sandwiches.

It might be a waste of food, but I wasn't going to take any chances on fainting while driving. I'd also practiced using the flamefinger cantrip to actually hit moving things — mostly leaves I'd released and let fall. It was surprisingly effective, burning them to very fine ash that disappeared before they hit the ground. When I managed to hit anything, that is. At first, I constantly fumbled the spell, lowering the index finger and nulling it. Later, I tried to mumble the incantation, to disguise the words of the spell. That didn't work too well, but I learned that whispering very quietly did work.

The book informed me that there was little spellflames could not harm, little other than the denizens of the courts of elemental fire. It also added that more effective covert casting techniques would be introduced later.

I showered, shaved, sprayed (deodorant) and dressed in a frenzy. I froze for a moment, trying to think and see if I'd forgotten anything, and couldn't come up with anything. Picking up the bag with the sandwiches, towel, spare clothes and a half frozen bottle of water I'd taken out of the freezer and filled with mineral water, I ran to the garage.

Then I ran back to my room, and picked up the keys, license and insurance for the bike, and ran right back. I was packing a pistol, a dinky little .22, for the first time ever. It felt... strange. I certainly didn't feel any more secure. Actually, the pistol wasn't important. I felt like a rabbit painted with bright orange neon, with a flagpole up its ass. In hawk city. Exposed. Vulnerable.

The list of 'potentially dangerous' crossed my mind again, and I cycled through vampire-demons, cloud rays, mantimeres, crystal scorpions and what little else I managed to recall from the demon and elemental list. I had a feeling a wizard would at least try to talk, on first sight, rather than just blasting away. It's what I would have done when faced with an obvious novice. I didn't really understand how I showed up on their radar, which left me even more insecure.

I thought about calling in sick, but I just couldn't spend the next couple of months cocooned at home. Well, actually I probably could have. But I won't. Courage, remember? Stupid, possibly, but there it was. I wouldn't let all of 'them' defeat me before they actually faced me.

Of course, if I did find one of 'them', running away seemed like the only intelligent option. Seeing as bullets had a somewhat limited impact on hostile critters. I hadn't forgotten that some demons don't mind lead pellets traveling only slightly below the speed of sound. Probably their version of peanuts.

It was only the fact that traffic was rather heavy, and that I was driving again, that allowed me to concentrate on something other than what might disembowel me on the next turn. Imagination is not always good for you.

I did vow to minimize the excursions from home. Showing magic or not, I felt safe there. Stupid, once again. Considering further, I determined that I needed to find an isolated spot to practice spellcasting. Smarter. Stettin park had any number of crannies, nooks and little known and visited corners, and barring wood and earth elementals — I'll have to ask the book — it would do better than home for a battleground. Have to remember not to practice in a single place, to map escape routes, prepare traps (consult book, again), to avoid a predictable pattern.

A car horn blasting by me came very close to killing me. My heart tried to leap out of the bone cage, my breathing halted, and only the fact that I was paralyzed kept me from running off the road.

"Hey, kid, what's wrong?" detective Karla Rolve was looking at me from the driver's seat of a beat up Suzuki. She was not in uniform, and she was one big black woman. More than a head taller than I am, her tits were humongous, her arms broader than my thighs. She'd actually babysat me a couple of times, and she had one raunchy sense of humor. Underneath the tough girl façade, she was just as tough as she looked. No shrinking violet anywhere around. She was also as rock solid as she seemed, or at least that was the vibe I'd picked up.

Very fortunately, she did not practice Jiujitsu. The thought of unarmed combat against her was very unwelcome, the thought of practice not much more so. She could probably pick me up with one hand. Without any effort.

"God Karla, don't do that!" I only just stopped myself from screaming at her. "You almost killed me here. I know you're a sneaky badass, but not on the road, woman!"

The roach was grinning. "What's the matter, sweet? Driving to a funeral? Your girlfriend dump you?" she mock-commiserated.

"Practice," I replied, "don't have a girlfriend. Don't have time for one. Didn't I give you the 'make money, don't work' lecture? When I was, like, twelve?" I grinned right back.

She laughed loudly, and snorted. "Right, boyo. So that's why you're working so hard you don't have time to bonk anyone? Oh, thanks for the books. You know, there's a meteor shower next month, August 23^rd. There's an open day at the observatory."

Karla was, of all things, an astronomy nut. I'd sent her a few hard science books a couple of months back, and she had the most interesting ideas concerning worm and hyper space. Totally bonkers, but still interesting. Or maybe not so crazy. If magic existed, what else might be true?

"Well, darling, conquering the world is hard work. Money alone don't cut it. The mastermind I have, it's the evil I'm working on. Any progress on the physics degree?" I asked, remembering that I'd given her a reference to a couple of online colleges she wouldn't have too much trouble starting on.

"Yeah, thanks. I've started... oops, that's my turn. Bye!" she began her turn, and I raised my voice, "I don't think I'll be able to make it to the shower, but we'll see!"

The reaction from the fellow who was standing on the sidewalk just ahead was utterly hilarious. He looked at her, at me, and actually took a step back as his face curdled up. Middle aged and wrinkled, hair mostly gone, with that expression on him... it had me in stitches. Shower, ha!

That bit of fun was enough to keep a smile on my face for the rest of the short drive to the community center, where the gym we used for a dojo resided. Ballet class was scheduled just before us, and a small flood of pink, fluffy, flat-chested girls was departing into a line of cars. If there were any boys amidst the crowd, I just couldn't tell them apart. With long hair in fashion (probably — I didn't know how to follow trends, even if I wanted to, so I might not be up to date) they could be hiding there.

Not that I had anything against ballet. I just thanked god... ahem I'd have to rethink that expression. I was just thankful that my parents hadn't gotten around to sending me to ballet class. According to what I'd read, professional ballet was a nightmare of pain. Of course, that probably had nothing to do with the junior class, but I wasn't taking any bets.

This was the advanced martial art class, and there were fifteen of us in all, plus the instructor. Dan was thirtyish, a former unarmed combat instructor for the infantry who retained that buzz cut. Tanned, tall, obvious muscles, a couple of tattoos, with dark hair, penetrating eyes and a sharp voice and attitude.

None of us were studying for competition, it was purely for self defense. So we frequently dealt with weapons, but until now they'd always been cold. Clubs and knives, exclusively. Nobody outside of theater club would go after you with a sword.

Instead of leaving the .22 in my locker, I unloaded it and dumped the magazine there. I carried it in obvious-like, holding it by the barrel. I'd been so concerned with arriving on time, I'd made it several minutes before almost everyone else.

We had four women and eleven guys including moi, but with summer vacation seven were AWOL. Jenny and Sara were sisters, 26 and 28 respectively, and I'm pretty sure Jenny had been raped, and her sister had dragged her into martial arts practice. Jenny was a nurse, caring for old and disabled people, while Sara was a lawyer. I think she worked in the City Hall, probably the legal department. A real cold fish, while her sister was awfully quiet. Both were gorgeous, athletic looking blondes.