The New Magic - The Revelation of Jonah McAllister - Landon Wark (bill gates best books TXT) 📗

out wall and turning away in anguish, only to find another, larger hole behind him.

Down the hall he had stood vigil over he could hear the sound of a door opening. A large man and woman waddle out of the room where he knew Sandy Jenkins was lying. Her mother and father, he reasoned, noting the resemblance. Behind their faces, stained red with tears of worry, Ezra Mansfield followed. The mother and father paid him no mind, but Ezra glared at him with some combination of respect, worry and wrath.

Uncertain of how he was supposed to react, Jonah merely froze, trying to recede into the wall or vending machine as they passed.

Once the hallway was clear, he slipped past his waiting spot and into the room where what might be his only friend in the world lay, a thin tube running out of her nose.

Clayton James looked over to where his passenger sat, her elbow against the sliver of glass window poking up through the car door, her palm against her temple. He couldn't tell whether Carmen was bored, worried, or angry. And if she was angry he couldn't tell if she was angry specifically at him. He was hoping to get a few words in during their trip back into the city, but so far she hadn't been very receptive to his attempts to get some sort of conversation started.

"Hey, so... Do you think Sandy's going to be okay?"

"I can't think about it right now."

Almost immediately he gave up and turned the grimy dial controls of the radio. He grimaced as the sound of a steel guitar filled the interior. As quickly as he was able Clay started prodding at the controls.

"Not a fan of country?" Carmen mused.

Not ideal, but I'll take it.

"Country is the music of the bootlickers," he grumbled. "Creates the illusion of dignity in being part of the exploited class."

"Well, I don't think you're going to find any Rage Against the Machine on the radio around here."

"Pffft. Tell me about it."

Static buzzed for a moment and then geriatic rock surge in, mid-song. For a moment Clay tried singing along, botching the words.

"So, Billy Joel is not your strong suit," Carmen said.

"I couldn't hack being a complete cliche," Clay replied. "Dorky guy, Billy Joel."

She was quiet for a moment. "Let me ask you a question: You ever mishear the lyrics of one song and just sort of make up your own song based on that?"

"Okay, I'm about to tell you something that nobody else knows: Up until maybe two years ago I thought the words to 'Pour some sugar on me' were 'Welcome to the pony'."

Carmen blinked. "Okay, put a pin in that, 'cause we're going to circle back to it. But, what about what we're doing? Do you think it's possible to botch a... spell? Are we calling it spells? Botch a spell and end up doing something completely unexpected?"

Clay paused. "I mean... the internet joke is that the reason Rome fell was that people couldn't have conversations in Latin without summoning demons. I mean... who the hell knows?"

"'Cause, I think I did it."

"What do you mean?"

"When the cops came to the house, I tried to burn my spare... stuff. I ended up nearly obliterating the bathroom sink."

Biting his lip Clay turned the car wheel to head down into the core of the tiny city where the warehouses sheltered the people she was looking for.

"I bet the kid knows," he said. "Just one more thing they're not going to tell us."

"He said he was trying to be safe."

"With fine tuning, not that the spell to cause a nuclear explosion might be a syllable—"

"Phoneme."

"Phoneme different from one to... change the colour of your fingernails."

"Can you not make a federal case about this?"

"No. This is the essence of science. Transparent and peer review. The kid doesn't have any peers, so he doesn't think he has to be transparent."

"Yeah, I get it, but—"

"That shit that Paul and Ezra are talking about is the road to making sure that some Fascist elite, some... magical Nazi party are the permanent overlords of the world."

"Christ, man."

"You're a journalist—"

"Essayist."

"Whatever. You know the sayings: Sunlight is the best disinfectant. Corruption breeds in darkness."

"And you're a scientist. You know Marie Curie died of radiation poisoning."

Clay exhaled and turned down the radio as they arrived at the overpass Carmen had directed him to.

"I'm worried that if we don't move ahead, those assholes are going to stumble on this and then there's going to be trouble."

"Who says they haven't already?" Carmen asked whistfully.

Clay exhaled again, more sharply. "Do me a favour? Tell the kid about what happened. Transparency and all."

"Yeah. Do me a favour, stay here while I go meet with these turds."

"Why?"

"Because they're going to think you're a cop. Frankly, I don't blame them."

"Even with the Rage Against the Machine? What if they try—"

"Don't come charging in to save me, big guy."

"Okay, just... be safe."

"It could have been a stroke," Jonah said quietly.

"Yeah." A short breath propelled the groan out of Sandy's mouth.

Her black rimmed eyes trembled as she tried to focus on his lanky form standing in the long window. "Could've been."

"Did they say what caused it?"

"My circulation is shitty." Sandy grasped for the control that inclined the bed, managing to get a finger on it before Jonah pushed it into her hand. "And..." She weakly wriggled up on the mattress. "Apparently stress is not good for it."

"Are you stressed?"

Sandy blinked weakly. "Sorry, I think they packed my ears with gauze. I must have misheard."

"You're unhappy?"

"I'm not unhappy or stressed, but looking after an entire house of people, trying to keep things under wraps... Running a... business I guess.