Balance - Book 2 by Marc Dickason
*****
The rest of the night passed in a haze of confusion, horror, and a head that wouldn’t stop aching.
Benny, who I later learned had suffered internal bruising, and the other men capable of standing, helped to console the Enforcer guilty of screaming. It turned out the poor man’s legs were broken so badly that spikes of bone protruded through his trousers. At first he was inconsolable, thrashing about and moaning. But after a few minutes, agony gave way to sleepy, semi-consciousness.
There was little that could be done, except wait for backup. This would be sent automatically, Benny told me, when no reports were made via the radio in the stolen van.
It seemed like hours before help finally arrived, but was probably less than ten minutes. Then two more vehicles rolled in and a dozen Enforcers and paramedics were swarming onto the scene.
I watched. My brain refused to register any of it. Clusters of medical personnel flitted about and settled around black heaps. Some of the heaps were assaulted with syringes and bags of medical paraphernalia. Others were sombrely covered with white sheets.
“The D.O.M underestimated Selena,” Benny said, as a woman inspected his bruised ribs. “They’ll be coming at her twice as hard now.”
The same woman inspected my head and said it wasn’t serious.
Soon after I attended my first debriefing at a nearby D.O.M. Two of the other Enforcers were at my side, but Benny had been carted off to the medical wing, despite his protests.
The D.O.M’s Chief Commander was a Mister Gill, a tall, slim, permanently annoyed mid-forties man. It seemed the abundance of hair lost on his head was somehow in direct contrast to the impressive collection of medals on his breast; one traded for the other.
He first gave his condolences and expressed regret for the men who had died on the scene. These included the black haired Squad Commander, whose back had been broken, and another, who had been so badly lacerated the medics had transported him away on separate stretchers.
The second part of the debriefing was dominated by Gill declaring his outrage at the situation, and swearing that more Enforcers would be assigned to deal with Selena. He then casually added that if any of us spoke to the media we would be slapped with citations.
“We don’t need the public up in arms about this,” he declared, “especially not now. The public mood is tense enough as it is.”
I wasn’t sure to what he was referring but did a synchronised nod with the other men.
By the time I exited the D.O.M it was going on 5AM Friday morning.
This meant two alarming things. First, that I now had one weekend in which to study, with my Basics being on the following Tuesday. And second, that a full day of training now stood ahead of me starting at 8AM, and I was about as ready for education as a snail was for a salt bath.
I briefly considered skipping the day and was just warming up to the idea. But one of the Enforcers offered to drop me at the Academy and I agreed.
Hours early I headed to the canteen and attempted to drown my innards in coffee. The place was eerily quiet, and with little to occupy my mind the events of the night took centre stage.
The entire occurrence had been, for lack of a better term, a slap in the chops for my expectations of being an Enforcer, and more so, for my hopes of Selena recovering.
Yes, I had known the job was dangerous, but I would not have believed that Enforcers could be so badly outclassed. Regardless of Selena being ex-Enforcer. I had been convinced that the D.O.M was prepared for any situation, that an entity whose sole responsibility it was to deal with people like Selena could not possibly be caught off guard. After all, if the people whose job it was to keep order in our streets were so incapable of standing against a single woman, what exactly was keeping the chaos at bay?
And yes, I was not forgetting the familiar fashion in which the demon had touched me. I was certain it had been mimicking the moment between me and Selena. What it meant I was not sure, but the eager flutter in my stomach looked up with dewy eyes and hope; its face so reminiscent of a lovelorn high school boy I had to resist an urge to slap myself in the face.
I let out a shuddering sigh and buried my face in my hands. Guilt, like thick, black oil, dribbled over me and clung to my body; heavy, noxious and inescapable. For the longest time I had grounded myself in the hope Selena would simply disappear and make a life for herself elsewhere, ‘Of course,’ I had reasoned, ‘she is more then capable of starting over, and perhaps the change will even do her good.’ And those thoughts had consoled me; convinced me what we had done was not so bad.
Now, that hope had been torn from me. The reality had been made all too clear. And the images would stay with me.
Enforcers crumpling to the ground in shrieks of terror. The demon crushing a man to the ground, bending his body over backwards, almost double, until his spine snapped. The blue fabric of trousers raised-up in tents by spikes of protruding bone.
I gave my head a shake and downed the remains of the current cup of coffee.
“Another?” the barman asked.
“Yes please.”
“Feeling okay? You look rough.”
“Fine.”
He delivered the coffee and I took a sip. “Thank you.”
The Academy was still a ghost town and I turned my attention to the wall mounted television. But, much to my dismay, currently showing was a live debate. The participants were two men who spoke too fast and attempted to look knowledgeable by wearing glasses, and the discussion one that never failed to be controversial; whether the harsh penalties levelled on lawbreaking magic users was fair. Lots of words like ‘unconstitutional’ and ‘violations of human rights’ were thrown around, and the argument seemed to be swinging in favour of a man named Jeremy Dempsey. He was calling for ‘magic users to be declared equal citizens’. The live studio audience agreed by means of overly enthusiastic cheers. This was what Commander Gill had been referring to by the ‘public mood is already tense’, I guessed. Either way I was bored in minutes.
At about 7AM I heard echoing footsteps and looked round. Entering was Anderson, her uniform so neat it looked to have been made from scratch minutes prior. Under one arm she carried textbooks. She saw me, halted, and her lips tightened. I returned the gaze, suddenly aware I was unshaven and wearing two day old clothing. It seemed she was working up the courage to speak, but instead turned and sat at a corner table.
I was ready to let the moment slide and returned my gaze to the TV. But, lack of sleep and a desperate need for distraction having a great deal to do with it, I downed my coffee and headed over to her table.
As I approached her frozen expression of horror said that dealing with such audacity was not common in her life.
“Hi,” I said, slipping into the chair across from her, “Jet.”
She managed to reign in the shock. “If you don’t mind, I’m busy.”
“I can see that. Been through those particular books myself. Have to say they’re not what I would call page turners.”
The indignant pout returned. “I said I’m busy. Please leave me alone.”
Her eyes focused on a textbook, leaving us in silence. Artificial TV voices were still locked in debate behind me.
“I’m sorry about before,” I said, “In Raw Spirit Management. That was pretty stupid of me. I guess I wasn’t thinking.”
She glanced up. “I don’t know what you mean. Why are you still here?”
We drifted back into silence.
“Tell you something interesting, when people hear I’m Class 5 they kind of go through three distinct phases of acknowledgment; disbelief, amazement, then horror. After which they generally move off in the opposite direction. Pretty much nowhere I can go where I don’t get those three phases. Even after I got this,” I tapped the Active medal on my breast. “I can’t say it hasn’t started making me a bit raw.”
Her eyes locked back on my face. “Why are you telling me this?”
I shrugged. “I jus
I waited, but her eyes went back to the text book.
“So?” I prompted.
“So what?”
“Why are you here? And why the hell do you keep looking at me like you’re imagining setting my face on fire? Have I done something to you I’ve forgotten about? If I have, I’m sorry.”
“I’ve never imagined setting your face on fire.”
“No one puts that much effort into glaring without a reason.”
She sighed. “If I answer will you leave me alone? I’m trying to study. Something you might be doing.”
“Okay. Sure.”
“I glare at you because you’re filthy, your uniform is wrinkled, and you look like you haven’t slept in a week.”
I blinked. “Sorry?”
Her eyes returned to the book. Behind us the televised debate raged on, tinny voices floating lazily around the canteen. I was about to stand when her head snapped up again.
“You want me to talk? Fine! I’ll talk. How are you, looking like this,” she indicated my stubble and uniform, “the most promising cadet for half the schools of magic in this entire Academy? Answer?”
My eyebrows rose. “I am? How would you even know that?”
“It’s on the notice board.”
“There’s a notice board?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Because you have the highest Spirit Level in this Academy, and for no other reason. That annoys me somewhat, since I happen to have the highest theory grade in every one of those same schools of magic. If I had your Spirit Level I’d be top of the class, and probably top of the Academy. Alright? Do we understand each other? Now get lost.”
“A high Spirit Level is not much of a blessing, Anderson. You want a demon worse then the one you already have?”
“I don’t have a demon,” she said flatly. “My Spirit Level was high naturally. High for those without a demon.”
“Oh. You’re lucky.”
“My Spirit Level is the second lowest in the Academy. I fail to see where I got lucky.”
My mouth moved but I couldn’t find the words. When at last they did come it was in a burst of emotion. Gathering anxiety released in a torrent. “You want this Spirit Level so badly? Great! Take it! Take the Spirit and take the shit that came with it. I would give anything, anything to be rid of this Godforsaken Spirit and have my old life back. How much would you trade to get a high Spirit Level, Anderson? How much would you be willing to endure, exactly? A lot? Is that what you think? Don’t assume you can handle what I’ve been through, don’t pretend you know what it’s like, because you don’t. You don’t get to choose, you don’t get to decide what you can and can’t handle. Because the trick is it has to be bad enough. And if you want that trauma and pain so badly, then by all means I hope you get it!”
I finished and leaned back. My hands had started trembling. I felt certain she would apologise, granting my outburst the dignity it deserved. But instead she blinked, face deadpan, and her gaze returned to the textbook. The conversation once again trailed off into silence.
Anger drained away and was replaced by embarrassment, though I didn’t understand how it could possibly have been the outcome of the conversation. Confused, I had decided to scurry back to the bar when footsteps entered the canteen. I looked round. Delaney and Lotz entered side by side. They spotted us and demonstrated both ends of the recognition spectrum; Delaney scowled and Lotz smiled.
“Good morning, Clara, Jet,” Lotz said as they approached.
“Miss Lotz, Mister Delaney,” Anderson replied.
“Oh please. Elaine and Leonard in the canteen,” she replied amiably. Delaney gave us a polite nod. “It’s neutral ground in here, after all.”
“Yes of course. Elaine.” Anderson said awkwardly.
“Getting in some last minute studying?’ Lotz asked, glancing at the pile of textbooks, “Not long now. Best time for it.”
“Trying, for the most part,” Anderson said, glancing at me.
“Good.” Lotz turned her gaze to me and her brow furrowed. “Are you alright, Jet? You look a little under the weather for so early in the morning.”
“Bit tired,” I muttered, “Went for some hands-on credit last night; a building raid. Afraid I didn’t sleep much.”
“I see.” Her eyes lit up. “Real, practical experience. I’m impressed. Not many Cadets are so ambitious. All went well?”
Beside her Delaney seethed.
“It went less well than I expected, if I’m honest,” I replied, “Got a little out of hand, I think.”
“Oh? Yes I’m afraid they can from time to time.” She looked me up and down. “All limbs present?”
“And accounted for, yes. Thanks.”
“Good. Well, do be careful. They don’t play nice outside the Academy. Especially not with Cadets.”
“I’ll keep that in mind, Elaine.”
There was a pause bubbling with various flavours of tension. At last Delaney spoke into Lotz’s ear. “Let’s find a table, Elaine. I’m hungry.”
“Of course,” She gave me a final smile. “Take care of yourself. I’ll see you in class. And you, Clara.”
“Yes, ma’am. Elaine.”
They headed off to a table.
“She likes you,” Anderson said, drawing back my attention.
I found her looking at me calmly, face having transformed into something softer and more attentive. The change was so extreme I was temporarily dumbstruck.
“Yes, I know,” I replied.
“Delaney has been attempting to court her for some time now.”
“I wish him all the best.”
She hesitated, biting at a cherry lip. The gesture made her five years younger. “You said you went on a real Enforcer assignment. Is that true?”
“Yes.”
“How did it go?” There was now an undercurrent of genuine interest. And a tremor of fear. Her attempts to hide both failed.
“Badly. If I’m honest.”
“Badly? How so?”
“Men died.”
Her eyes widened. “How?”
I sighed. “A demon. It was chaos. I’d rather not talk about it.”
“Oh.” She gawked at me. The facade of control crumbled.
“Don’t worry,” I added, “I’m not sure it was a normal encounter.”
“I’m not worried.” Her face again hardened. “Now, as I said; I’m trying to study. I’ll thank you to leave me alone.”