At Least He's Not On Fire: A Tour of the Things That Escape My Head by Chris Philbrook Page B
Authors: Chris Philbrook
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watch. The watch was made of gold and, like the table, had its own set of carvings and inset words and runes. Abe watched both the timepiece as well as Mr. Doyle intently, utterly and completely unsure of what was happening. He cleared his throat quietly.
"Shhhh," Mr. Doyle said softly, holding a finger to his lips.
He even shushes in a British accent.
" This watch, this marvel of magical engineering, hasn't worked in nearly ten years, Abraham. Ten years. It has remained in my pocket every day nevertheless. Yesterday, I heard it tick once at precisely noon. If you look at your wristwatch you will notice that we are just a few moments from noon. Your silence will be appreciated, young man."
"Of course. Sorry," Abe replied.
Why do I put up with his attitude? Seriously? I could totally apprentice under a different warlock or sorcerer now. Someone younger, someone with a more modern take on magic. Maybe someone in a west coast coven? Yeah, it might take me a year or two to find someone new, but it might be worth it.
The pocket watch ticked. Abe's eyes had been pointed directly at the second hand, and when it ticked off a single second, there was a brief flare of energy, almost like the watch had vibrated the very reality surrounding it, phasing into and out of our world. Abe felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up.
"Fantastic," Mr. Doyle sat up, pleased like a Cheshire cat. He adjusted his wire-rimmed, circular glasses.
"Does this mean…?" Abe let the question hang in the air. In truth, he had no idea what it meant.
"It means that some of the magic that has faded from this world is coming back, Abraham. Some of my most trusted associates back in the old world have confirmed that some of the spells and enchanted items that haven't worked in a decade are starting to function again. Powerful magic, Abraham."
Abe looked at the watch, then at his teacher. "What do you think is causing this? Alignments of the stars? A convocation of spellcasters? Some prophecy coming to fruition? Do we have any idea?"
Mr. Doyle sat back in his mahogany chair and wrung his fingers in thought. It was a habit of his. "I cannot say. Most of the prophecies of old are just the ramblings of mad men. Idiots and lunatics that thought they saw the future in tea leaves and the innards of a pig. Whatever has happened, or is happening, is unknown to me as of yet."
"What do we do?" Abe sat back in his own chair and looked through the doorway into a study that was lined wall to wall with ornate glass cases filled with all manner of strange objects. Velvet cases held jeweled rings and bracelets, while hooked mounts displayed swords, daggers, and more than one firearm. That room and all its arcane contents was Mr. Doyle's lifelong passion. All things magical were his obsession.
Mr. Doyle sat forward, eagerness in his voice, "We wait, and we watch. Something will happen soon. A sign. A magical portent of the supernatural will arise somewhere, and if we are vigilant, we will see it, and we will move to it and investigate it as the scholars we are, Abraham. I am certain of this. Nothing this powerful happens without leaving a mark, or making itself seen sooner or later."
"Are there divinatory spells we can cast? Can we get out your crystal ball, or fill the scrying pool you've got in the other room?" Abraham's heart jumped. Oh boy, this will be fun. Real, honest, clairvoyant magic.
Mr. Doyle shook his head. "I'll see to that, Abraham. That is my forte. For now, I need you to do what you do best. I need you to search the internet. YouTube, Twitter, Facebook, and all those other foolish places you frequent so often. Use your modern savvy alongside my magical experience and we will find our clue soon, I suspect."
Are you shitting me? Abe frowned, and spoke before his brain could stop him from doing so, "Are you shitting me?"
Mr. Doyle frowned in a sad fashion. "No, my dear Abraham, I am not 'shitting you.' Swallow your disappointment and get
"Shhhh," Mr. Doyle said softly, holding a finger to his lips.
He even shushes in a British accent.
" This watch, this marvel of magical engineering, hasn't worked in nearly ten years, Abraham. Ten years. It has remained in my pocket every day nevertheless. Yesterday, I heard it tick once at precisely noon. If you look at your wristwatch you will notice that we are just a few moments from noon. Your silence will be appreciated, young man."
"Of course. Sorry," Abe replied.
Why do I put up with his attitude? Seriously? I could totally apprentice under a different warlock or sorcerer now. Someone younger, someone with a more modern take on magic. Maybe someone in a west coast coven? Yeah, it might take me a year or two to find someone new, but it might be worth it.
The pocket watch ticked. Abe's eyes had been pointed directly at the second hand, and when it ticked off a single second, there was a brief flare of energy, almost like the watch had vibrated the very reality surrounding it, phasing into and out of our world. Abe felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up.
"Fantastic," Mr. Doyle sat up, pleased like a Cheshire cat. He adjusted his wire-rimmed, circular glasses.
"Does this mean…?" Abe let the question hang in the air. In truth, he had no idea what it meant.
"It means that some of the magic that has faded from this world is coming back, Abraham. Some of my most trusted associates back in the old world have confirmed that some of the spells and enchanted items that haven't worked in a decade are starting to function again. Powerful magic, Abraham."
Abe looked at the watch, then at his teacher. "What do you think is causing this? Alignments of the stars? A convocation of spellcasters? Some prophecy coming to fruition? Do we have any idea?"
Mr. Doyle sat back in his mahogany chair and wrung his fingers in thought. It was a habit of his. "I cannot say. Most of the prophecies of old are just the ramblings of mad men. Idiots and lunatics that thought they saw the future in tea leaves and the innards of a pig. Whatever has happened, or is happening, is unknown to me as of yet."
"What do we do?" Abe sat back in his own chair and looked through the doorway into a study that was lined wall to wall with ornate glass cases filled with all manner of strange objects. Velvet cases held jeweled rings and bracelets, while hooked mounts displayed swords, daggers, and more than one firearm. That room and all its arcane contents was Mr. Doyle's lifelong passion. All things magical were his obsession.
Mr. Doyle sat forward, eagerness in his voice, "We wait, and we watch. Something will happen soon. A sign. A magical portent of the supernatural will arise somewhere, and if we are vigilant, we will see it, and we will move to it and investigate it as the scholars we are, Abraham. I am certain of this. Nothing this powerful happens without leaving a mark, or making itself seen sooner or later."
"Are there divinatory spells we can cast? Can we get out your crystal ball, or fill the scrying pool you've got in the other room?" Abraham's heart jumped. Oh boy, this will be fun. Real, honest, clairvoyant magic.
Mr. Doyle shook his head. "I'll see to that, Abraham. That is my forte. For now, I need you to do what you do best. I need you to search the internet. YouTube, Twitter, Facebook, and all those other foolish places you frequent so often. Use your modern savvy alongside my magical experience and we will find our clue soon, I suspect."
Are you shitting me? Abe frowned, and spoke before his brain could stop him from doing so, "Are you shitting me?"
Mr. Doyle frowned in a sad fashion. "No, my dear Abraham, I am not 'shitting you.' Swallow your disappointment and get
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