Shift

THREE.1

Blaze was still cursing himself for his blunder when he woke up the next morning. "Stupid, stupid, stupid..." he mumbled into his pillow. Swinging his legs out of his bed, he wandered into the kitchen, feeling far too much like a zombie.

His father was already sitting at the kitchen island with a cup of coffee and The New York Times. "Good morning, Blaze," he greeted without looking up from the business section.

"Morning," Blaze mumbled, heading towards the pantry.

Silas Merg turned the page, his eyes locked on the small black print. "I got a hold of Apollo last night. He told me the Congregation's new location." He said it conversationally, but Blaze froze, wincing at the hidden edge in his father's voice.

"How far away did they move?" he asked, grabbing a hold of a box of cereal.

"Back to where they're stationed. Los Angeles."

Blaze almost dropped the box. "Already? But they were supposed to be in New York for two weeks! It was just an accident!"

"The Congregation doesn't care if it was an accident or not." His father's voice wasn't as controlled now; bits of steel were leaking out with every word. "And now that I've had time to think about it, I've decided on your punishment."

Blaze winced as he slipped open the refrigerator, reaching for the gallon of milk. "I thought being stuck inside and fixing Mrs. Johnson was my punishment?"

Silas' eyes narrowed from over his paper. "Well apparently that punishment wasn't carried out—"

Blaze froze, his hand stiffening around the jug.

"—seeing as Mrs. Johnson is now speaking French."

Blaze's heart stopped clenching and a sigh of relief escaped from his lips. He shut the fridge with his elbow, and then went to the cabinets for a bowl. "Sorry, Father. I'll get right on it."

"Good. I expect her to be completely fixed by tonight; that way tomorrow morning you can head over to Sir Mallard's School to help out—"

"Wait—what?" Blaze wheeled around to face his father. "I thought you just said Mrs. Johnson was my punishment?"

"I decided that it was too light."

"But I just graduated in April! They all know me there."

"You'll be helping out one of the lower grades," his father continued uninhibited. "I figured this would be a more corollary punishment—those kids can't control their powers, and neither can you, so it seems."

Blaze felt a twinge of pain in his chest. "All of this because of the building?" he said quietly. "It was an accident. This is completely unfair."

"Well I think it's perfectly reasonable," his father persisted, and now his voice was rising in volume with each word, "considering that you also went into my study and took my spell book without my permission!"

Blaze felt the blood drain away from his face; it felt like someone had wrung out his skin, leaving pale bloodless flesh in its wake. I forgot to put it back last night, he thought, feeling ill.

"I'm sorry, Father," he started, lowering his eyes and grasping at an excuse. "I was going to fix Mrs. Johnson when—"

"Enough," his father commanded. "I don't want to hear it, Blaze. Just put my book back." He set down the newspaper, drained the last of his coffee, and grabbed his black briefcase. "I need to get to work. I'll see you later, Blaze."

"Bye," Blaze mumbled, watching as his father marched down the hallway and disappeared out the front door.

Blaze sat down on a stool as he ate breakfast, chewing slowly. He was tempted to turn on the TV, but he knew that the footage from the exploding building incident was still playing on loop, and he didn't want to see it even for the split second it would take to change channels.

His stomach roiled, and it had nothing to do with hunger.

The girl still has her memory, he thought miserably, tossing the empty bowl into the sink. And now that Father knows that I'm using his book, I only have until he comes home tonight.

Blaze sighed, leaning his forehead against the black granite countertop. It was going to be a long day.

He stalked his way over to his bedroom, rubbing his face wearily as he prepared to set out yet again. He found his messenger bag in a large pile of clothes at the base of his bed; it had sunk deep into the pile overnight, swallowed by the mass of dirty fabric.

Blaze's raw palms had sealed up a bit, but they were still sore as he pulled items out of his bag and plopped them onto his bed. The jars of herbs. A box of chalk. Pens, his notebook... and that was it.

He frowned, his eyebrows wrinkling. Where was his father's book?

Tossing the empty bag in the corner, he started looking through his clothes again, wondering if The Booke of Advanced Magick had somehow fallen out and gotten lost in the pile. But the more clothes he shoved aside, the more apparent it became that it wasn't there.

Blaze's heart started pounding. He stood up, his eyes scanning the entire floor of the room for the dark navy cover. He turned over mounds of clothes and checked under his bed, but it was clear that the book wasn't in his room.

Blaze closed his eyes, straining to remember the previous night. I used the book to get there, he thought, and I had it in my hands as I was reading the chant. And then she sprang out of bed and I...

His eyelids flared open, his dark pupils wide with horror. He cursed loudly, and the sound reverberated throughout the room. "I'm such an idiot!"

When she had popped out of bed, he had dropped the book on the floor.

And he had left it there.

Blaze threw on the first shirt and pair of jeans he could find, slipped everything back into his bag, and grabbed his personal spell book off the floor. He was out the front door in a matter of minutes, ignoring Rita's chipper greeting of "Good morning, Master Blaze!"

He raced down the street, drawing curious glances from men and women dressed in suits, but he didn't care. His thoughts were of only three things: He needed to get his father's book back, he needed to erase the girl's mind, and he needed to do it now.