The Indigo Spell

I created a fireball - a small one. I kept it in the palm of my hand and rested it right next to the panel. Despite its size, I summoned as much heat as I could. Not quite blue, but getting there. It took effect quickly, and within seconds, the cords and panel began to melt. The scent of burnt plastic rolled over me, and smoke drifted upward. It was enough. I let the fireball fade, and then I sprinted away from the computer just in time. Everyone had now noticed the burning computer. An alarm went off. There were cries of surprise, and someone yelled for a fire extinguisher. They all rose from their chairs to hurry over and look - including the woman who'd been at the computer I needed.

There was no time to waste. I sat immediately in her chair and plugged in the thumb drive. With gloved hands, I grabbed hold of the mouse and began clicking through directories. Wade hadn't been able to help much at this point. We'd just hoped finding the files would be intuitive. All the while, I was conscious of the time - and that someone might notice a mouse moving by itself. Even after they put out the fire, the Alchemists hovered around the smoking computer, trying to figure out what had happened. Overheating wasn't uncommon, but a fire happening that quickly definitely was. And these were computers that contained highly sensitive information.

I felt like there were a million directories. I checked a few likely candidates, only to hit a dead end. Each time I hit a dead end, I would silently swear at the wasted time. The other Alchemists weren't going to stay away forever! Finally, after more stressful searching, I found a directory of old surveillance footage. It contained folders linked to every camera in the building - including one marked MAIN CHECKPOINT. I clicked it open and found files named by date. Wade had told me that eventually these files were cleared and moved to archives, but the day I needed was still here. The cameras recorded one frame every second. Multiplied by twenty-four hours, that made for a huge file - but not nearly the size continuous filming would create. The file would fit on my thumb drive, and I began copying it over.

The connection was fast, but it was still a big transfer. The screen told me it had ten seconds to go. Ten seconds. The computer's owner could be back by then. I allowed myself another peek at the Alchemists. They were all still puzzling out the mystery. The thing about scientists like us was that a technological failure like this was fascinating. Also, it never occurred to any of them to look for a supernatural explanation. They tossed around theories with each other and started to take the melted computer apart. My file finished copying, and I sprang out of the chair, just as the woman began walking back toward it. I'd been fully prepared to risk another "ghost door" while they were distracted, but the fire alarm had summoned others in the hallway. People moved in and out with such frequency that I had no trouble holding the door open just long enough for me to sneak through.

I practically ran back to the archives level and had to calm myself when I reentered the restroom. I uncast the invisibility spell and waited for my breathing to slow. The thumb drive was back in my bra, the gloves back in my purse. Studying myself in the mirror, I decided that I looked innocent enough to return to the archives.

One of the scribes let me in. It was the engrossed girl, and she gave me a look that said opening the door was a waste of her time. Ian still appeared to be engulfed with work in the back, which was a relief. I'd been gone far longer than a bathroom trip would require and had worried he'd wonder where I was at. Things could've gone badly if he'd sent the girl to find me, both because I wasn't in the restroom and because she'd be really annoyed at the interruption. Over in the history section, I sat on the floor with a book picked at random, which I only pretended to read. I was too anxious and keyed up to parse the words, no matter how many times I tried to reassure myself. There was no reason for the Alchemists to suspect me of causing the fire. There was no reason for them to think I'd stolen data. There was no reason for them to think I was connected to any of this.

Ian found me when the hour was up, and I feigned disappointment at having to leave. In reality, I couldn't get out of this building fast enough. He drove me to the airport and chattered nonstop about the next time we'd get to see each other. I smiled and nodded appropriately but reminded him our work had to come first and that my post was particularly consuming. He was obviously disappointed but couldn't deny the logic. The Alchemist greater good came first. Even better, he didn't try one of those awful kisses again - though he did suggest we set up some times for video chatting. I told him to email me, secretly vowing I'd never open up any message from him.

I didn't relax until the plane took off, when the potential for an Alchemist raid seemed pretty low. The most paranoid part of me worried there could be a party waiting for me at the Palm Springs airport, but for now I had a few hours of peace.

I'd just assumed I'd deliver the drive to Marcus and leave it at that. But now, with it in my possession, my curiosity got the better of me. I had to get to the bottom of this mystery. Was the Z. J. who'd visited the Alchemists really Master Jameson?

With fresh coffee in hand, I opened the file on my laptop and began to watch.

Even with one frame per second, the footage went on forever. Most of it was nothing but a quiet checkpoint, with the most exciting parts being when the guards changed position or took breaks. Plenty of Alchemists passed in and out, but relative to the overall time span, they were few and far between. Ian actually showed up once, off to start his shift.

I wasn't even halfway through when the plane began its descent. Disheartened, I resigned myself to an evening of more of the same when I got back to the dorm. At least I'd be able to make some decent coffee to get me through. I was almost tempted just to push the file off on Marcus tomorrow and let him deal with reviewing it . . . but that nagging voice urging me to find out for myself won. It wasn't just because of my curiosity either. I didn't really think Marcus would fabricate anything, but if I could see for sure that -

There he was on the screen.

He wasn't in those over-the-top robes, but there was no mistaking Master Jameson's old-fashioned beard. He wore business casual clothing and seemed to be smiling at something a man beside him was saying. The man had a lily on his cheek but was no one I knew.

Master Jameson. With the Alchemists.

Marcus and his Merry Men's conspiracy had panned out. A suspicious part of me wanted to believe this was a setup, that maybe they'd altered and planted this. But, no. I'd taken it myself, off an Alchemist server. It was possible Marcus had more insiders running errands for him, but this hadn't been easy for me, even with magical assistance. Besides, why would Marcus go to so much trouble to make me believe this? If it was some twisted way to get me to join him, there were a million other ways he could have attempted it, with evidence much easier to fake.