Going Your Own Way, but with Magic

Chapter 11

I am conscious of being carried, and of nervous voices, and of being set down in a quiet room. I keep trying to say things but my voice isn't working. I have to tell my eyes to open a few times before they do. I am in a dirty side room but sitting on a clean bed. The music is faint through the walls. There's a boy about my age sitting next to me. His skin is so dark it's almost black, apart from a few white patches. His face is serious but calm (and very pretty, if I was the kind of person to notice things like that). His eyes are wide and his eyelashes are long. One eye is dark brown, the other green as a cat's. He's dressed oddly formal in a full-on black suit, although with the jacket taken off. He looks like a very attractive undertaker. Maybe he is. Maybe I'm dead. The thought makes a hysterical giggle bubble in my throat.

"Oh, you're awake." He smiles. It's pretty. His voice has a slight lilt to it. When I imagined meeting boys at parties I imagined less passing out.
"Yeah." My voice is shaky.
"Parties do get overwhelming." The look on his face is understanding, not pity, but I glare anyway.
"Whatever. Who even are you?" Moving from pitiful to aggressive. Great start.
"I'm Jamie." Of course they aren't last name people. Now say something clever and funny. That's never going to happen. Say something non-stupid.
"Sorry for dragging you away from the party. And um...thanks." Not terrible, I guess. He shakes his head.
"Social anxiety. I went as a favour to a friend, you completely saved me by fainting." I don't faint. I didn't faint. I am not a blonde woman in a period drama who spends all her time at the top of staircases/running barefoot through fields (not that I've ever watched any of those). I keep my mouth shut, though. Neither of us is exactly eager to chat. I sit staring at the wall and he bites his fingernails. They're jagged and raw around the edges, the only part of his appearance that's unpolished. He stays until the shaky feeling has passed and I'm ready to leave. It is very kind. I am dreading saying thank you - I'm not the best at 'heartfelt'.
"I think I've got to go now. Hope you feel better." Get his number, ask if he's going to the meeting, say literally anything.
"Bye." He smiles and waves, shutting the door behind him. That went great.

It's the same warehouse, plus a lot of folding chairs minus the bar. It's quieter, but the chairs scraping on the floor makes me seriously consider stabbing someone. Jamie is sitting at the back, but surrounded by people. Fuck. This is high on the list of 'things scarier than jumping through a glass window running from an evil witch'. It's every canteen I've ever been in all over again. I thought an upside to setting your school on fire would be never doing this again, but apparently not. There's a quiet corner at the back and it's near the door. I look like a freak sitting on my own, but everyone looks like a freak here. Some people are a bit more glamourous about it.

The seven not-leaders walk in. They are wearing judge's robes and wigs. Robes. And wigs. Weird, blonde, curly wigs. Honest to god proper judge getup. No one so much as raises an eyebrow. The worst thing is how they all look amazing. Miranda walks like she's on a catwalk, the goths (still in full makeup) make it look ironic and Nikki would probably be beautiful in a potato sack. They have one of those courtroom hammer things. Of course they do.

Nikki bangs the hammer and shouts. I think the hammer is enchanted, because it makes a windchime sound when it hits the desk. They have an enchanted courtroom hammer. The start of the meeting is boring. Magic, but boring. The times of various meetings, a warning about using magic in public, needing a new bartender. It's very small village council. Nice, to watch books being balanced and decisions being made, none of them particularly important. The meeting equivalent of tea and biscuits. Comfortingly, refreshingly boring. Someone's magic is a little out of control, someone is selling charms that don't work, someone cast a spell on their ex. I space out for a while.

"Meet our newest not-member, Max!" Nikki introduces me with a theatrical flourish, forgetting she's holding the hammer. I stare at my shoes as people turn in their chairs. Wow, my laces are really frayed. "Max would like to raise a concern." No, she wouldn't. Max would like to run away right now and never come back. I clear my throat, plastering a smile on my face.
"I got this...um...invitation...to tea, from this witch." My socks don't match. I should get a new pair. "She was called Cecelia...or Raven...and I went because I'm stupid and curiosity gets the better of me, so I went and she was really creepy. Like, not good creepy. Murder-y creepy and then she tried to make me do some magically binding promise and when I tried to leave she tried to kill me." I gesture at all the cuts on my arms. The floor here is so uneven. "And she...possesses people. They get this weird, kind of drained look to them and then they're under her control. She got a receptionist to jump at me with a knife. And I think I need you guys' help in...stopping her, I guess. At least talking to her or something." My shoelaces are coming undone. Should've tied them tighter. There's a stain on the floor. People are talking quietly. The man next to me is wearing stilettos. It's the second goth on the left who talks, with a customer-service smile. "That sounds terrible, Max, but we can't help you. I'm sorry." My leggings have a hole in them. Wait. No. That's not what was supposed to happen. Say something.
"You can't- She tried to kill me!" My thoughts are very organised, but none of them are translating into words.
"We are not the Elders and we are not the law." I gesture at the costumes, and try my best to raise one eyebrow. "We don't do that. We don't control how people use magic. We're not the arbiters. We're sorry. Really." She's telling the truth. She is sorry. They all are. They're so very sorry, and they're not going to help me. No one is. I'm on my own, which is normal. For a while I thought I might not be, which is not. I want to burst into tears. I want to run out and slam the door off its hinges. I want to scream. But I don't want to act like a five year old, so instead I sit on my hands and make my face as neutral as it goes.

Afterwards, everyone is nice to me. Genuinely nice. One guy teaches me how to give anything a quick jolt of electricity and laughs it off when I nearly fry his phone. People compliment my hair and my clothes. People ask if I'm coming to the next party. It isn't pity, at least. They all know pity sucks. It's nice. Being the centre of attention, having so many people acting like my friend. So I supress the need to scream for a while. I am as charming as I can physically manage (not very), and my smile isn't even forced.

It's when I'm standing outside that it hits me. I'm not getting any help. And I was so excited. I was fitting in. What was I expecting? A merry band of adventurers, fighting for what's good and right? Yes. That's what I deluded myself into believing. I'd get a group of friends and a place in the world and we'd run around fighting monsters together. Survival is a less pressing concern so I want something else to fight. How pathetic.

But Cecelia has to be stopped. You can't go around nearly killing people without consequences. Actually, she can. I'm not going to the police. If god swooped in every time an injustice happened, the world would look pretty different. And I can't stop her. I realise that with an almost physical jolt. I am sixteen. All I have is a power I can barely control, much less understand. Wrongs will go unrighted, and the woman who tried to kill me will carry on living in her penthouse. Merry adventurers will not fight the forces of darkness. I am so deep in self-pity that when someone taps me on the shoulder I yelp.

Quietly, thank god. It's Jamie. I am so glad I didn't punch him. "Save your pity." I comes out way harsher than I meant it. It feels good. It feels less good when hurt spreads across his face. "Sorry. Not your fault." He waves it away. He's painted his fingernails since I met him. Still ruined, but a pretty shade of blue now. Or maybe green. Blue-green. Turquoise. Not that I care.
"It's okay. And no, I'm not offering pity. I want to join you."
"What?" Great response, Max, show the boy how smart and articulate you can be. I open my mouth. I close it again. I look like a fish. It takes quite a while for the words to process. "You what?" One added word. Progress!
"I want to help you fight Cecelia. I know we're not meant to intervene. But what she's doing is wrong. And we have to stop her." He says it so simply. Like it's completely unarguable. Justice must be done. There's an edge to his (pretty) voice that wasn't there before. A determination. There is utter conviction on his face, enough to erase even my doubts. Damn, I got it bad. The steel melts away when he laughs.
"Not that I'll be of much use. Most of my magic is healing. Healing and plants." He laughs nervously.
"Oh god, I wish I could do stuff like that. I can barely summon water, fire's like my only thing. Maybe it's a metaphor. It's a dumb metaphor." I am talking complete nonsense. He is listening like I'm the most interesting person in the world.
"Should we go back to your place?" He asks so casually, like it doesn't mean anything. Because it doesn't, you idiot. This is not a date. I've barely met him, and we're keeping our relationship purely business/evil-fighting. Stop being ridiculous. I nod, trying not to seem overenthusiastic. I should probably tell him at some point that I don't have a 'place', but that doesn't have to be now. I tell myself the butterflies are at having an ally in this fight. I know, it's pretty flimsy.