Solving the Vampire Murders

seven

Torren didn't need magic complicating his life. If one more thing was added to his plate, the delicate balance he'd struck between school and his family and maybe Mazia would be off. And if it was off, the whole facade he'd built his future around would come crashing down.

Acting like he was polished and well-adjusted was hard enough. Because the truth was—he wasn't.

Everything was designed to push him towards his goal of becoming a lawyer and getting into law school. Not because anyone expected him to, but because he couldn't look at himself in the mirror if he didn't.

Even still, U of M was a prestigious university. One of the top three law schools in the country. The chances were slim that a penniless kid from Flint would earn one of the very limited spots. Drive and ambition could only get him so far, especially when the competition was stiff.

If magic was going to interfere with his dream then he wasn't interested.

Torren drummed his fingers on the table.

"I'm going to ask you one more time. What did you mean when you said magic would make my life difficult?"

Jay tipped his head back and blew out a cloud of smoke. "Easy, there, Mr. Jacobs. I'm not trying to spook you. I'm just trying to be real. Life as the High Seer is—different."

"Of course life as a magician is different, but that's not what you said. You said it would be difficult."

"Spare me the drama and keep your voice down. Look around, these Practitioners are trying to have a good time, not listen to a newbie bellyaching. And we don't call ourselves magicians. We don't pull rabbits out of hats. These powers have implications. And yes, your life will become more difficult. Boohoo. That's what comes with extraordinary power."

Extraordinary power. Torren turned the words over in his head. He didn't want extraordinary power, he didn't even know what to do with extraordinary power. In the same way he didn't know to play the stock market or hit a golf ball. All he wanted was to have enough money in his bank account so that the numbers on his statement weren't red, and enough respect to be an effective trial attorney.

Jay leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Those with the sight, like yourself, are exceptionally rare. Not every chapter in the Practitioner's Guild has a Seer. You are a medium, a conduit, a point of contact for those on the other side. And once they know you have the Gift, they'll start flocking to you."

"You mean, like ghosts?"

"Ghosts, spirits, daemons, things that go bump in the night."

"Daemons?" Torren croaked. He adjusted his collar, trying to keep the color in his cheeks from draining down his neck.

Jay took a long pull on his cigarette. "They're not as bad as you might think."

Torren tried to imagine arguing a case while ghosts floated around the courtroom. Or worse, a spirit drift through his body.

No. This wouldn't work.

He could barely keep the panic in his chest at bay. If ghosts started floating around, he would need to put Jones on permanent standby. Or start taking the anxiety medication he didn't want to admit he needed.

What if Mr. Laytham appeared?

"Why would they want to talk to me? Ghosts and daemons. I don't understand. How is that a Gift?"

Jay lifted his cigarette in the air, beckoning a waiter over. "You're old enough to drink, right?"

Torren nodded.