Chapter 6 continues...

“Hi, mind if I moan a bit?” Raz asked.

Maroque did not reply. 

He stood frozen on a pedestal behind a hardwood office desk. Before him was a meticulously arranged collection of newspaper clippings of main events from the last five years, several notes on M. Magogram rumors and news, a stack of sealed letters, and a schedule suggestion. On the small table next to him was a fresh salad, an assortment of refreshing waters, and a steaming cup of dark purple tea. 

“You probably wouldn’t.”

Raz sat by his feet and leaned against the transparent veils frozen mid-flutter. She let out a sound of frustration and rested the back of her head against his leg.

“Failed again. Not a big surprise, I guess, but was kinda hoping that sciencing it out would do the trick. You know, repeating the same thing, but with tweaks. Taking notes. Being smart about it. Logical.”

Raz combed a hand through her short black hair. 

“It sucks. Trying and failing. Doing it over and over again. Frigging sucks. You ever have that?”

“Why yes, little friend. Me not very good at magic at first, but persevere! Never give up hope! Eventually succeed if bang head at wall enough,” said Raz in her Maroque himbo-sage-advice voice.

“Nobody laughed at my disappointment wizard joke yet.”

“Ho-ho-ho-ho,” replied Raz-Maroque.

Raz snorted at her own absurdity. “Thanks.”

She started picking at the precious carpet. Her smile fell. “I just dunno if I can keep trying.”

Raz-Maroque listened quietly.

Raz plucked off a tuft from the carpet and threw it with all her strength. It flew like half a meter.

“Feel like I’m running. Going nowhere at full sprint, for years.”

She tugged at an unraveling thread in the carpet, frowning.

“Years I burned for nothing. Could’ve been studying. Could’ve been working. Could’ve been anything else.”

She reeled the thread around her fingers. 

“Spent them on anything else.”

It looped around and around.

“Wasted so much value. You know what they could’ve gotten for all those tens? For the thousands I…” Raz shook her head. “Could’ve bought Faham an arcbox. Could’ve upgraded their housing. Could’ve lived with them.”

The thread pulled taut. Lips pursed, she looked up at the frozen wizard.

“Yeah. Not fair to blame you. I don’t.”

Somehow, he looked understanding.

Raz offered him a weak smile. “Hey, how mad would you be if I signed up for this sorcery…”

Knocking made her trail off.

Joram peeked in. “Pardon the intrusion, master Maroque, Razandra.” He bowed towards Maroque and her in turn. Years had softened his voice and smile and made his gaze flighty. He waited by the door, polite but insistent, ever the ‘perfect servsman’. 

Raz forced on a smile to match his. “Hi.”

“I see you are having a discussion with master Maroque.”

“Yes?”

Joram smiled, nodding. “Very good of you. I am certain he appreciates the gesture.”

“Yeah.” Just get to the point… Raz had to strain to keep the smile up.

Joram glanced at her, then studied the floor while shifting his weight from leg to leg. “Alas, decades of navigating the courts and cabals of Magogram did not equip me with insights into teenage psychology, so I hope you do not take offense in this. I took the liberty of preparing a small gift, as either congratulation or a little pick-you-up.”

“Oh.” Raz blinked.

Joram dipped his head, beaming that apologetic smile of his. “There is also a fresh serving of touscan salad in the kitchen, if you feel peckish, or should I wait?”

“Nah, I’ll eat now.” Raz climbed up, waving Maroque a sorry little bye-bye. 

Joram led her to the kitchen and offered a seat.

“Don’t need to,” Raz sighed.

“Oh, but I insist.”

She didn’t resist.

He set the table with all the pomp and ritual of a Magogram servant, placing down the finemetal engraved crystals, living cutlery, and temperature spelled plates. A colorful salad of ribbon-shredded veggies and hardened touscan cheese strips appeared before her, seasoned, herbed, and beautifully garnished. He also put down a selection of three different sauces in tiny pitchers and a bowl of extra touscan cheese strips.

Joram presented the final set with a flourish and bowed. “Please enjoy.”

“Thanks.”

He looked up and they exchanged forced smiles, before Joram averted his gaze. Raz waited to see if he intended to stand there, and when she realized he did, she did her best to ignore him and eat.

She tapped each piece of cutlery once to awaken them and ordered them with practiced finger-motions, following the etiquette to appease Joram. Though delicious, the meal felt a bit stiff to swallow with a silent Joram and her earlier gray mood hovering over shoulder. That ambiguous weight only grew as she finished and he went through the motions of properly cleaning the table. 

“Enjoyable?” he asked.

An urge to head out or into her room grew, but Raz kept her butt in the seat and smiled. “Yes. Tasty as always.”

“Thank you.” A hint of relief beamed through the layers of smiles he wore.

It disarmed her. For all the griefs and debts, both said and unsaid, she felt sorry for the man. Guilt followed, accompanied by years of small grudges.

Raz squeezed her arm, hoping he would hurry up. She had homework to do and Faham’s birthday.

Joram appeared beside her and placed a ceremonial domed offering platter before her, then took a step back. He gestured for her to open it.

Raz returned an awkward thanks-nod and removed the dome. A pair of black fabric slippers she’d once looked at sat before her. They had a cute slender design, with the upper part branching into three wide ribbons. The model dummy had worn one slipper braided up to the mid-thigh and the other with a big bow-tie behind the calf. Raz remembered them costing thirty-one visits to the wonderchamber. More than her monthly refugee stiped.

“I do hope the offering pleases the young mistress.”

More than he should be spending on her clothes. Jaws tense from smiling, Raz ran fingers over the velvety fabric. 

“I like them,” she managed to say.

“I am glad to hear it, though I cannot help but sense a but.”

That gray heaviness intensified. Raz put the shoes down. “Yeah.”

He approached, raised a hand, but returned it behind his back. After a moment of hesitation, Joram decided to awkwardly kneel beside her. “I must admit hesitance in broaching this subject. This would typically fall within master Maroque’s purview.”

“That’s what this was, huh?” Raz pushed her chair back and lost the fake smile.

Joram’s expression hardened. “Wizardhood is a rare privilege. And although those who bear its duties are often great men and women, that does not necessarily make those of us who cannot pursue it any less.”

Raz felt nauseous, gut-punched. She shook her head. “Let’s not.”

“Please listen, young mistress.”

“I need to go.”

“No. I think you need to stay and listen.” Gently but firmly, Joram caught her arm. “Many do not awaken until much later in life. Many never do. I do admit, I may have played a part in your envy–”

“I am not,” Raz hissed, feeling the heat rise.

Joram made a placating gesture, but continued, “–by my carefree utilization of everyday cantrips, but you must understand that magic is not everything in this world.”

A lie. A big fat lie.

“Oor is changing rapidly, and rife with new opportunities and paths that my generation would never even have dreamt of, many of them very respectable.”

Raz tisked, tugging at her arm.

Joram reached behind his back and placed a list before her. “I understand it can be difficult to spot the clouds in the mist, so I prepared some intriguing options that might catch your fancy. Based on the few court rumors that still reach me, I do believe unreal architecture, wish design, and arcnet engineering in particular have potential in the coming decades. You might find them quite agreeable.”

“Riiight. I should go into tech ‘cos I’m from Earth.”

He made a startled face. “Not at all my implication, young mistress. Not…”

“Nah, I know.” Raz tore at her hair, her foot tapping under the table. “Sorry.”

“No offense was made and none was taken.”

Raz hated that submissive smile. She wished he’d for once snap and quit that passive doormat attitude and let her be angry without feeling like she was butchering kittens. She couldn’t take this. Not now.

“Look.” Raz stood. “I love the shoes. Thank you. Really, thank you. But I’ve got a presentation coming up and Faham’s bday to prep for.”

“Absolutely. I understand you are busy, but I am simply worried you may be tempted by promises of quick solutions that you will regret later.”

She spun on him. “Wow.” Raz shook her head, flabbergast. “Rich coming from you.”

Joram steeled his expression with whatever scraps remained of his spine. “Say what you will, young mistress, but there are predatory agents out there willing to trade in dreams and you are a youth in a vulnerable stage of self discovery.”

Raz covered her face in disbelief. “O my god.”

“And despite what you may think, I will not betray the trust master Magogram placed in me. The professions I have outlined for you all may still lead you to resonance one day. And even should they not, they are all respectable careers he would be proud of.”

“Would. If he was alive.”

Joram’s mouth opened, then fell into a hurt frown. “Highly improper. That is not how you should be speaking of your benefactor.”

Raz hardened herself. She reminded herself that he wasn’t a kitten. He was a grown ass man. “I’ve seen people warped past the no return,” she said. “Enough to recognize one.”

“And you think I have not? Do you think our fringe colony tour on the M. Magogram’s flying fortress was a summer picnic?”

“How should I know?” She asked, laughing, then quoted Joram in a mocking tone, “It is not my place to speak of master Maroque’s past.”

“Master Maroque is not among them,” Joram insisted. “He is different. He has been getting livelier every year.”

“Okay. Cool. Fantastic. So I guess it’s okay for me to let Allie and Faham wait forever, because he’s coming back any day now?”

Joram withdrew, lips pursed.

“How much longer?” Ras asked.

He looked away.

“How. Much. Longer?”

“That is not something I can promise with perfect accuracy.”

“But you did. You promised.”

“I never explicitly implied…”

That sight of him squirming pitifully arguing the same damn excuse in circles snapped her. Raz let out an incoherent sound of anger, spun, and marched off, fists clenched.

“Young mistress!” Joram moved to follow.

She hastened her steps.

“Our conversation is unfinished.”

“We’re done.” She picked up her wet jacket, kicked her old shoes from the wardrobe and stepped into them.

“Razandra M. Magogram,” he called from the main hall, authoritative. 

“I’m not a fucking Magoshit anything!” she screamed, “Never call me that!”

She was out and slammed the door as hard as she could. Raz let out a muffled scream into the quiet and cold post-rain afternoon, but the raging pressure in her chest didn’t let up.

Raz took off, speed walking into a random direction away from Joram that quickly turned into a run. Her shoes sloshed. Cool wind howled above, rattling the webbing between the roof overhangs. She flew down the street, past the corner, and half-way up a random flight of stairs between buildings, before the burn in her lungs and legs stopped her.

Wheezing, Raz tried to push on but couldn’t. She remembered all the times she’d promised herself to exercise, only to be too busy studying resonance. Her huffs came out as laughter.

Maybe now was the time? One hand on the railing, she forced herself to crawl onwards. Their surface was a canvas of cracks, moss, and odd stains. Rainwater rushed in the gutters. Warm yellow of spell-lights and candles glowed from the windows overlooking the stairs. A child giggled. A beautiful young mother with golden eyes was at the window, looking back inside. She wasn’t much older than Allie.

Raz felt a pain in her chest and had to pause for breath again. She remembered the homework and bday prep and the pain intensified.

She had to at least make his sixteenth birthday special. She owed him that a thousand times over. She couldn’t afford this shit right now. She needed to be planning and budgeting. Raz remembered she’d need to ask Joram for money and groaned.

She took out her phone, speed scrolled through her recommendations and subscriptions, and started checking her messages. No replies. 

Raz trudged onwards, phone in hand. Her thumb hovered over the call button in Capi’s chat, but she didn’t wanna ruin her trip. GG was still offline. Sibs were a no go.

She checked her recommendations and subscriptions again on arctube, then her empty message folder on the HBW forum. Raz browsed the news threads, eyes glazed over. She checked some of the top comments, but didn’t really read them. Then, after a few minutes, she checked her recommendations, subscriptions, and new messages again.

A shiver ran through her. The damp jacket wasn’t warding off the sea-chill. Raz pulled it tighter around her.

She couldn’t stop shivering. The pressure didn’t let up. Every breath cinched her chest. The pain was growing worse.

A weird sobby sound tore from Raz as she fought to keep it under control. She hurried back onto arctube and put on NeWiz’s resonance tutorial.

“Breathe in,” instructed the boy.

Raz let out a rattling exhale. She closed her eyes and tried to wrestle her breathing under control. She’d wasted so many nights practicing this stupid focus exercise.

It didn’t help.

Raz let out a frustrated moan and opened her eyes. A moment’s vertigo hit her as she sat on the wet step, unable to recognize the houses or the sloped street before her, or the skeleton of a flying castle above. 

She fell on her back, corners of her mouth twitching as she watched the foreign sky. She didn’t even care anymore. Damn resonance and wizards and Oor. She’d give everything to get Earth and everyone in it back. Or just to get Allie and Faham here. At least with them she wouldn’t have had to be a lonely disappointment wizard.

Raz’s back was starting to get cold. She covered her face in a sleeve and prepared to soak it in a couple years worth of frustrated tears, then make a call to sign up and become a sorcerer. 

Her phone buzzed.

She jolted with alarm. For a beat, Raz feared it was Joram. The phone continued to vibrate.

“Allie?”