or whatever had happened to Harrow and her friends would never have happened. The thought was entertaining, but if someone happened to be turned into a snail, what happened to the rest of their body mass? Even the smallest human was a giant compared to a snail, far heavier than the crawling creature. Did mana interface with reality itself and change things, or were some magical tales nothing more than legends?
Harrow had told him to practice, so he started by summoning fire and – this time – trying to deduce what actually happened when he used his magic. The air seemed to grow very hot, very rapidly, before the flame actually came into existence. No wonder Moe had burned so fast, he realised, as he cancelled the spell. The mana had generated so much heat that the real question was why the school itself hadn't burned to the ground. Or, for that matter, why Calvin hadn't been scorched by being so close to the fire. Clearly, there were laws at work that he didn't even begin to understand.
Twenty minutes later, he had run through every spell Harrow had taught him that could be used without a human target and felt tired, almost dizzy. Magic clearly exacted a price, he realised as he walked back downstairs and retrieved a bar of chocolate from the fridge. His mother would be unhappy to learn that he had eaten a whole bar, but there was no choice. He needed a sugar rush and he needed it now. Mana ebbed and flowed around him as he ate the chocolate and drank a glass of milk, before walking back upstairs and turning on his laptop. Logically, he couldn't be the only magician whose magic had started coming to life – and if there were others, they might be trying to reach out on the internet. He knew better than to make contact after what had happened to Moe, but he could certainly browse the bulletin boards and see what they said.
The internet had never been as restrained as the mainstream media. Where the newspapers had reported werewolves, vampires and outright magic in a tone of mild disbelief, the internet gleefully picked up and magnified each and every rumour. He looked up the incident at his school first and recoiled in shock when he discovered that a number of internet forums had made the correct deduction; Moe had been a bully who had finally been killed by one of his victims. Any rational discussion was effectively obliterated by two sets of trolls; one in favour of killing bullies on sight, the other shocked by the deaths and the seemingly tacit approval offered by many posters. But there was nothing, thankfully, that linked Calvin specifically to Moe.
Breathing out, he concentrated on reading as many stories as he could, even though it was impossible to determine which ones might be true and which were nothing more than the product of mass hysteria. Police departments had reported a higher percentage of people winding up trapped outside naked, as if they’d been drunk – or werewolves. The federal government was still flapping about just what was going on, but various police departments had asked people who thought they might have been werewolves to report to them for medical attention. One rather sarcastic poster pointed out that they’d been swarmed with people claiming to be werewolves, including several who hadn't transformed at the light of the full moon. The real werewolves were either unaware of their true nature or were keeping their heads down. They might be charged with murder because of what they’d done while under the influence.
Those weren’t even the weirdest tales. A doctor reported a girl who seemed to have drowned, in the middle of the Nevada desert. The police suspected that it was murder, but they didn't have any clues that might lead them to the perpetrator. Calvin couldn't imagine what sort of spell would do that to someone, if it hadn't been a case of the poor girl discovering her hidden heritage at precisely
Harrow had told him to practice, so he started by summoning fire and – this time – trying to deduce what actually happened when he used his magic. The air seemed to grow very hot, very rapidly, before the flame actually came into existence. No wonder Moe had burned so fast, he realised, as he cancelled the spell. The mana had generated so much heat that the real question was why the school itself hadn't burned to the ground. Or, for that matter, why Calvin hadn't been scorched by being so close to the fire. Clearly, there were laws at work that he didn't even begin to understand.
Twenty minutes later, he had run through every spell Harrow had taught him that could be used without a human target and felt tired, almost dizzy. Magic clearly exacted a price, he realised as he walked back downstairs and retrieved a bar of chocolate from the fridge. His mother would be unhappy to learn that he had eaten a whole bar, but there was no choice. He needed a sugar rush and he needed it now. Mana ebbed and flowed around him as he ate the chocolate and drank a glass of milk, before walking back upstairs and turning on his laptop. Logically, he couldn't be the only magician whose magic had started coming to life – and if there were others, they might be trying to reach out on the internet. He knew better than to make contact after what had happened to Moe, but he could certainly browse the bulletin boards and see what they said.
The internet had never been as restrained as the mainstream media. Where the newspapers had reported werewolves, vampires and outright magic in a tone of mild disbelief, the internet gleefully picked up and magnified each and every rumour. He looked up the incident at his school first and recoiled in shock when he discovered that a number of internet forums had made the correct deduction; Moe had been a bully who had finally been killed by one of his victims. Any rational discussion was effectively obliterated by two sets of trolls; one in favour of killing bullies on sight, the other shocked by the deaths and the seemingly tacit approval offered by many posters. But there was nothing, thankfully, that linked Calvin specifically to Moe.
Breathing out, he concentrated on reading as many stories as he could, even though it was impossible to determine which ones might be true and which were nothing more than the product of mass hysteria. Police departments had reported a higher percentage of people winding up trapped outside naked, as if they’d been drunk – or werewolves. The federal government was still flapping about just what was going on, but various police departments had asked people who thought they might have been werewolves to report to them for medical attention. One rather sarcastic poster pointed out that they’d been swarmed with people claiming to be werewolves, including several who hadn't transformed at the light of the full moon. The real werewolves were either unaware of their true nature or were keeping their heads down. They might be charged with murder because of what they’d done while under the influence.
Those weren’t even the weirdest tales. A doctor reported a girl who seemed to have drowned, in the middle of the Nevada desert. The police suspected that it was murder, but they didn't have any clues that might lead them to the perpetrator. Calvin couldn't imagine what sort of spell would do that to someone, if it hadn't been a case of the poor girl discovering her hidden heritage at precisely
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