Damn, my junior year is not going well. A month into classes and I’m already struggling to keep up with all the work and grasp all the topics. That’s what I get for trying to expand my education out from what I should be studying. But after how interesting some of the parts of Magisterial Court history class had been last semester, I just had to go and dip my toes in another history course. American History was the one I decided on. Not that I think it was the problem. It’s just history in general. History of the Magisterial Court had been equally history, sociology, and politics. And, most importantly, an interesting subject. Thus far, American is just boring. Either it’s stuff I already know from Sac One and Vodun, or stuff I don’t know nor care about. Like, what’s the importance of remembering some date of when such and such battle happened? When’s that gonna come up in my life?
Anyways, honestly that class wouldn’t be so much trouble, if not for the other, planned difficulties from this semester. My advisor recommended that, with my goals of being an external agent of the Magisterium, I should try for double majoring into High Mystical Theory. Basically the more complicated discussions on how magic can and can’t be used and why. He said that would look good on my resume to the Court. And from everything I learned in Magisterial Court history class, I am inclined to believe him. They always seem overly worried about sending people who “don’t get it” out into the world. So, to get a good way into my second major, I also am taking Advanced Mystical theory, which is hard. Or, I shouldn’t say hard so much as time consuming. So much reading and rereading of dense tomes in translation, which means also reading weird notes about how they translated specific phrases, because theories can be nonsensical when translated literally, but non-literal translations often change the meaning slightly. The very chaste medieval translations of Latin poetry have shown me that.
Also going towards my frustrations is Psychometry. One of the hardest requirements for that other major is the even wider education requirement. At least one class in six disciplines, at least two active and at least two passive. Passive which, unfortunately for my current state of mind and my schedule, just isn’t what I do. I’m good at understanding the workings behind and doing active things with magic. Make the frog change into a rat, make the person need to vomit. This passive mystical nonsense is harder to figure out the cost-relation surrounding the effect. Eventually I’m sure my other class, basically all about the theories backing cost-relations, will teach it better than this clearly practical teacher. But for now, this whole thing is just a bit of a struggle.
Sitting at my desk in my room, staring at the unfinished homework, I realize this isn’t going to be enough. As of last semester, I’m not the top of the class anymore. If I want to actually pass these courses and stay at least in the top five, I’m going to need a little help. I shake my head. If I get help, the sharks’ll smell blood in the water. The only respect most of these people give me is because I’m great at everything, I can’t show weakness. Leaning forwards to try to push through, I come to the same conclusion. I could probably struggle through this work, not understanding it fully, and manage to get a mediocre grade without a good night’s sleep this whole semester. But, that’s just as much blood in the water as getting help. With a deep sigh, I lean back to figure out how to get that without anyone knowing. Secret tutoring sessions. That logically brings my thoughts to the only real option. It just also happens to be the worst option. I need to have a talk with Therese.
Tonight is a class night, so she’s either working, scheming, or drinking. Quite possibly all three. That means I’ll need to text her ahead of time. I find her in my contacts, and with a sigh, I send the message. ‘Therese, I’ve got a question and a favor. You busy?’
Turning my screen off, I head to my closet to get dressed. There is about a four or five percent chance she’s on campus right now, and I want to be properly attired for a trip out. If she’s scheming, she’s likely following Miss Leyten, so she’s either across the bridge and will ask to meet at the bar or she’s at that terrible hipster place they both inextricably like. If she’s drinking without scheming, she’s at the hipster place or alone with her personal stash. Or she could be working. I honestly don’t know. That means I need to dress for the ambiguity. I decide to lean on the more cautious side, sticking to my usual black T with the white logo emblazoned across it, though I do wear the leather jacket instead of my hoodie. If I end up being forced into the hipster bar, it should play better. Checking my phone, I see Therese responded while I was getting dressed. ‘Yeah, but I can fit you in. See you at Pem-Mem in twenty. Do not be late.’
It isn’t an offer or option. It’s a statement. If I want to talk to her in the next week or so without her being grumpy, this is it. I’ve got seventeen minutes to rush to Pembarton Memorial Library. Easy enough, the town isn’t particularly big enough that, moving at a good paced jog, you can’t reach pretty much anywhere in a half hour. And, Pembarton being close to the middle of town, I don’t even really need to make a good pace to get there in time. I speed walk through town, nodding to people when they pass and jogging across the streets when I come to them, and I make it to the Library in time.
As I’m entering, I see Therese. She’s talking to some red-headed townie. I think he works here, though I’m not sure. When I’m in town, I’m not coming to Pembarton. I’ve got enough Pembartons on-campus for my life. I could probably ask Katie, she takes her students on field trips here sometimes. She knows who works at this library. But that’s neither here nor there. Therese sees me pretty much as soon as I come in. Holding up a finger to the townie and saying something I can’t hear, she walks over to me. “Gregory,” she says with a pleasant smile. “You’re early.”
“Sorry about that,” I reply, “I wanted to make sure I wasn’t late.”
Shaking her head at me, she points at the stairs. “Wait for me in the work area. I’ll be up when I’m finished with this.”
I smile and nod as she heads back over towards her previous, unfinished conversation. I head upstairs to wait. Therese has a good sense of timing, and won’t take long. And irritating her will only serve to make her grumpy, which I don’t want, considering I’m about to ask her for help. I head up to the glass divided area. It’s getting really late, so on the one hand, the library is empty, but that’s only because it is about to close. I sit down at one of the computers to wait the minute, pulling out my phone to check out what’s going on everywhere else.
It takes Therese around fifty seconds to come up the stairs. “Gregory, what is it?” she asks as she approaches the computers.
“I think I’ll need some help, you know?” I begin.
She looks at me, and I get the feeling in the pit of my stomach that she knew, or at least had a pretty good idea that I was struggling. I suppose some sharks have better senses than others. Though I’m not sure it is a fair comparison. Therese wouldn’t lash out at the blood, that is why I’m trusting her. Rather, she’s the type to seal the wound and make sure you know you owe her afterwards. “I want to get some help, tutoring or something like that, so I can understand it all. Okay? But you know how sharks are, right? I can’t let them see weakness.”
“Natalya is quite a good teacher, and in classes with you.” She’s right, of course, about Nat being in Psychometry with me.
I shake my head, though. “No, there’s no way she doesn’t tell Isaac and Alina, and Alina tells Jason everything, and then everyone knows it, because that man can’t keep a secret to save his life.”
“Something can be arranged,” she says, “But you will owe me one.” As I figured. She deals in favors, after all.
“Fine, whatever,” I agree.
She nods, and pulls out her phone. After a moment, she looks up at me again. “Taken care of. Head to the West End, though there is no rush.”
Taking a deep breath, I check in with Abdul about his classwork, just to make sure he isn’t in the same boat as me right now. He texts me to say he’s working with Irene. While that is probably worrying in its own right, it’s good that he’s doing okay. I head down the stairs at a more normal walking pace, and start making my way towards the door. Halfway down the stairs, I realize Therese has disappeared entirely. Again, worrying in its own right, but not my problem. Leaving Pembarton, I make sure to text Katie, to tell her that: one, I’ll be headed for the West End, and two, I’m just going to be studying with a tutor all night. I tell her she can stop by if she wants to say hi. She might, though she knows that if I admit to needing a tutor, I’m definitely struggling, so even if she does stop by it will just be to make sure I’m okay.
I head back to campus, first, to grab my textbooks and whatnot, then it’s across the river to the West End Lounge. Walking across Betty Hill Run for what must be the five hundredth time at least, I remember back on how easy things were the first times I walked across. It feels like a whole lifetime ago, when I found what quickly became my weekly hangout. Back when I didn’t know what I wanted to do, but was simply living in the moment. Back when the classes I took were just what I felt like taking, rather than what I need to take to achieve my goals. Then again, the more I think about it, the more I question whether it was actually easy. After all, I had no idea where I was going. That must have been terrifying. I just don’t remember, because it was so long ago. After all, I did spend a considerable amount of time at a dive bar drinking cheap beer and listening to crappy country music.
I enter my wonderful little dive and see Natalya sitting in one of the booths, nursing a light beer. I think mostly just not to stand out. With a sigh, I head over and sit down. “I specifically told Therese not you,” I admit, then add, “No offence.”
She shrugs. “None taken,” she replies, “No idea what you did for her or why, but we had a talk.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
She smiles and shakes her head. “Listen, beyond the topic. I’ll tutor you and I’m sworn to secrecy. That’s all you need to know.”
“And I should believe you?” I ask.
“I don’t care,” she answers, “Whether you believe or not doesn’t change anything. Anyways, I’m hungry.” She calls over someone and orders a burger for herself. I order one as well, and a real beer.
“Fine,” I say, “So you think you can actually help me? I guess I need all the help I can get.”
“No idea. Let’s start out with a simple question: you’ve been taking and doing fine in some pretty advanced classes up until now. What’s holding you up? What’re you struggling to grasp?”
I sigh and think. A moment. “Memorizing useless history and dates, but that’s minor. Really, I need to understand how psych works. It’s cost relation doesn’t...work. Every time I try to piece it together, it just, it, I don’t know, doesn’t turn out right.”
Natalya smiles. “I see. Yeah, I can see that. You’re used to sacrificial magic, right?” I nod and she continues, “Yeah, to people who specialize early either way, active and passive disciplines can look like they work on whole different systems. Really, it just starts with the mindset you have going in...”
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