Preparations for Magisterial Life

I think the best way to describe this place is hell. A fascinating hell. A hell key to understanding the inner workings of the mystic forces we tap into innately, but a hell, nonetheless. There are just so many people. All the people. All the time. Quite frankly, it gets overwhelming. Take yesterday. I had to sit in a classroom barely large enough to be called a lecture hall, filled with all sixty soon-to-be Magisters Apprentice Prospectives, learning the history of the organization. Or, theoretically learning it. In actuality, most of the people were ignoring the talk and chatting with their neighbors. One guy was even sleeping. I paid more attention than probably anyone else in the place, and even I got a tad bit bored of the repetitiveness. I took notes the entire time, but my only note for the last talk was an addendum about the Lord Magister’s role in thigs. I’d thought he was some kind of boss based on the hierarchy laid out prior, but it turns out he’s basically the head of the mystic UN, and only has the power of stern looks and threatening sanctions on the Grands. Unlike those foolish people who weren’t paying attention, I knew the value that my notes held within. See, I’m probably not going to be the greatest of mystics, so I need to find my own avenues of advancement and learning how exactly that advancement works seems the best way to do so.

After the lectures, we were all forced out into the small grassy area in the middle of the Villa. The building that held the classrooms towers over one side, the dorms opposite, the administration building on the third side, and a river flowing to close the rectangle off. It was perfectly green and beautiful, but it felt weird. I’d lived in cities all my life. The closest I’d ever been to nature prior was walking through a park, and even then, it was generally something forced onto me. There were too many points of access to keep track of, too many people to watch. Everyone else either was talking with people or, like a pack of idiots, sitting on the ground. It was as though they didn’t realize how vulnerable being seated like that left them. Eating my very extravagant and quite delicious salad, I stood off to the side slightly, head on a swivel and ready to bolt.

Then, we got moved into our dorm rooms. Singles, thank god. I really wasn’t looking forwards to having a roommate. It’s bad enough that I’ll have to share a bathroom with someone. I put up my whiteboard and put the sketches I’d done of the Maestros onto to the board, writing their names beneath. If I was to surpass them, I needed to know everything. What they like, what they don’t, what makes them get up in the morning, what helps them sleep at night, who they’ve loved, who they’ve lost, everything. One of the many things my dad taught me was everyone is eminently predictable if you understand how they think. This next month would be dedicated to filling out that whiteboard. The rest of the evening was ours until the hall meetings. I headed out into town to fetch the necessities of life, namely coffee and booze. My ID said I was 23 now, so booze was no problem, and while they didn’t have the greatest selection of coffee at the local supermarket, they had some. Everything in my big felt bag, I walked back into my room and put it away. The coffee beans went beside the grinder, the whiskey went under the socks. I turned on my music and worked out until the hall meeting.

The meeting was what my dad had always told me college dorm meetings were like. The RA, a Magister named Frankie, insisted she was going to be our best bud, and that we shouldn’t drink or do drugs in the dorm, but she was “good as long as I don’t see it, y’know?” Then, there were weird icebreakers that the hall awkwardly did. Theoretically, we knew each other’s names, but I doubt most of them remember anything.

Which leads to today. Tonight’s going to be the ritual to make us official Apprentices, which means that today we’re supposed to be ‘mentally and physically preparing’ to ‘make certain this is our desire’. It’s clearly a holdover from ye olden days when people were less in control of their lives. I grind up some beans for the next couple days, which in turn wakes my suitemate up. Unfortunate, as she takes this as an invitation to knock on my open bathroom door. “Um, Theresa?” she stammers, trying as she might to remember my name.

“Therese,” I say back, then realize the creepy looking board is perfectly visible if she looks away from me at the other wall. I need to keep her focusing on my face, “What’s up, Abeni, right?”

Abeni looks up like she’s about to correct me, then realizes I pronounced it right. “Yeah. Sorry Therese, most people mess up the pronunciation.”

I smile and shrug as I put the grounds into the coffee maker and start it. “My dad used to teach me, ‘Always get people’s names right, Ter. It’s the easiest way to let them know you pay attention to them.’”

“That’s good advice, Therese,” she says, then shaking her head as though she is getting off track, the adds, “Anyways, I knocked to ask if I could have a cup?”

I shrug at that. “Depends,” I say, “Are you a narc?”

“What?” she blurts out.

I pull out the whiskey from the drawer. Abeni looks even more confused. “How the what? I have so many questions. Aren’t you a bit young for that?”

I sigh. “Yeah. So? It isn’t like I’m some dumb kid. I’m sixteen and emancipated with a GED. I think I’m perfectly qualified.” Then as I pour a tad into one of the mugs, I look up at her. “You want some, too?”

She shakes her head. “Not in the morning,” she replies, “Maybe if I ever stumble in here with a hangover…” she trails off. I pray to god she doesn’t do that.

The pot dings and I pour two mugs from it, handing the non-Irish one to her. “Enjoy, best beans I could find within walking distance.”

She takes it up and sips. “Not bad, I guess,” she says.

Having stirred mine a bit, I sip as well. She’s right, it isn’t bad. It isn’t great, but that’s to be expected. I smile to her. “So, what’re you planning on doing between now and lunch?” I ask.

“I met this guy, Batu, during those talks yesterday, I was going to go into town with him and a few others we hung out with yesterday,” she says, then after a pause, she hastily adds, “You’re welcome to join, if you want.”

I smile and shake my head. “No thanks,” I say, “I’ve got business to attend to.” That’s not true, but I’m pretty sure she knows I’m lying, which means it isn’t a real lie.

Abeni nods one last time, and heads back to her room to get dressed for the day. With a sigh, I put my sweats on, my earbuds in, turn on my music, and head out to the library. I’m not sure whether we, as Prospectives, are actually allowed in the library, but as my dad taught me, if you act like you belong, people generally don’t question whether or not you do. It’s how I get away with my babyface buying liquor. Act like I belong, act complemented when they ask for my ID, and no one thinks it’s fake.

I walk past the librarian, listening to my tunes, without drawing a second glance. The library is rather big, two stories. On one half of the bottom story, I see a bunch of study groups doing weird study stuff. Fortunately, I’m not planning on heading into that mystical magic-filled section of the library. I’m heading straight for the real gold in the library: The old yearbooks. I use the previous year’s book to find the Maestros’ full names and where they’re from, then look at those to find more details about their lives as Magisters and Magister Apprentices. Anything to aid me in my quest to figure out their way of thinking. Soon enough, lunchtime is drawing near. I stand up and, putting the books back where they belong, I walk out of the library with a courtesy nod towards the librarian. I walk back to my room to shower and get dressed in people clothes.

Waiting for me in the shared bathroom is the empty cup, rinsed out. Smiling as I placed it onto my dresser, I lock the doors and take a quick shower. Just a rinse and washing my hair. Drying myself off, I pull on jeans and a T-shirt, and walk over to the cafeteria in the Student Union under administration. Drinking water and eating my salad all by my lonesome, I review my notes on the Maestros. They were all the same. Middle of their respective classes. Came to the new world because there weren’t many people to compete with. They want to be important, but they know they can’t be. Dad would call them easy marks. I’ll probably end up calling them the perfect stepping-stones. After lunch, as a group all the prospectives head over to the education building, back to the classroom from the other day. It is time for our instructions about the ritual. I sit in the corner that I sat in yesterday, where I’m unexpectedly joined by a trio of individuals. One of the women looks over at me. “Why are you sitting up here?” she asks.

I shoot her a look of confusion. “Because this is where she sat yesterday,” the guy in the trio replies for me.

I nod. “Now, the real question is why are you three back here?”

The guy jerks his thumb towards the woman sitting next to me. “The enigmatic they doth decree she sit in the back. We’re just here to keep her company.”

I look over at her. “Why?” I ask. I wear my distrust on my sleeve for these people. I can see in the eyes of the guy that they already suspect it.

The woman beside me smiles. “Because I don’t want to be noticed. I suspect you’re back here for similar reasons?”

“Something like that,” I say with a smile of my own, “And you are?”

She chuckles, as though we’re already friends. “Alina, my friends call me Ali.”

I cock my head slightly. She isn’t my friend. Certainly not yet. That takes time, effort, on both parties behalves. “Nice to meet you, Alina. My friends call me Ter. You can call me Therese.”

She nods her head, understanding. “I see. Nice to meet you, Therese. I hope one day you feel comfortable enough to call me a friend.”

I smirk. “I have three friends in this world. One’s in prison with my dad. The other two are on the west coast, trying to become politicians.” Then, leaning in, I add, “So I wouldn’t hold my breath.”

She holds back a chuckle. She knows better than to laugh when trying to be inconspicuous. That means she is actually trying hard. I’d heard people talking yesterday about a VIP among the regular Prospectives. She was probably that VIP. Some child of someone important in the Magisterium. That meant she knew magic already. At least, some. Which meant she didn’t want people to realize how much she knew. She was smart. And probably skilled. She’d end up being the best of us in terms of pure mystic power. If I were to succeed in the Magisterium here, I’d need to be better in my own way. As the Maestro entered the room, everyone grew quiet. Maestro Wilhelm von Brant, 34. Sixteenth in his class out of a Berlin Villa. Mechanic hobbyist focused on automobiles. Intense desire to fix what is broken. I held back a smile, keeping my face as dark and somber as I could muster while I pulled out my small notepad. Magic or no magic, people were people and getting into people’s brains doesn’t require special skills or superpowers. It just requires understanding. This may not be college, at least not the kind I think my dad was hoping for me, but it seems to me that it’ll be just as easy to get through. He writes on the board ‘The Joining’, and I in turn write it in my notepad. Then, he turns around and begins to speak.

#fantasy #firstperson #InTheKNight #modernity #story #urbanfantasy