Your Magic or Mine? (4 page)

Gloriana looked down at the page. It displayed the equation,

She drew little stems, leaves, and petals to make the last S into a flower.

“A cast spell contains six elements,” Forscher said. “The last two may not be required, but the first four always are. You begin with the spell, small or lowercase
s
, you are going to cast. The exact spell depends on the particular, specific talent, sub
T
, of the practitioner. Capital
L
sub small
s
is the level of the spell being cast. Capital
L
sub small
p
is the level of the practitioner. In casting, these three ‘ingredients’ are multiplied by the amount of magical power or energy, capital
E
, the practitioner, sub small
p
, puts into the spell.”

Gloriana felt her eyes almost crossing at the recital. Too many capitals, subs, and letters.

“For example,” Forscher continued, “when casting the light spell
lux
, a small amount of energy input would create a dim light and more would create a brighter one.
R
refers to any ritual, gestures and the like, the spell requires, and
I
to any item used or required. The ritual and/or item provide energy themselves and act as multipliers on the casting to increase the potency or longevity or some other aspect of the spell. I used the asterisk instead of the normal mathematics symbol to show multiplication because there seems to be something else going on besides a straight multiplying effect. I haven’t identified the ‘something’ yet. The result is the cast spell, capital
S
. Does everyone follow me thus far?”

Gloriana kept her expression neutral when she looked out over the audience as he paused. Several people nodded, a few shook their heads, and others frowned. She couldn’t tell if they didn’t understand or if they were disgusted at the idea. No one, however, said a word.

“As I said, the equation is a foundation,” Forscher went on. “We need to do more work with the spell elements, defining and calibrating them. I maintain that eventually, by applying the formula, arranging the elements precisely in his mind and with his actions, a practitioner will be able to cast more efficiently, make better use of his energy, and generate more powerful spells. We will all understand the process completely. Spell-casting will become more coherent, more regularized, less haphazard, less risky.”

He paused again, and when Ed leaned back, Gloriana managed to see her opponent’s face in profile. He had a small smile on those perfect lips—a smile that sent a shiver of anticipation down her back. Would he repeat the words that had set off a firestorm?

“It’s time,” Forscher stated, “to move forward, to put the cauldron-stirring, potion-making stereotypes and unorganized, disorganized, nonproductive, energy-wasting methods of the past behind us. We must not look back, only forward, as we seek to understand our practice and wield it objectively, without emotion, scientifically, without messiness. Tradition—simply because we’ve always done something a particular way since the tenth century—has no place in the twenty-first. We can remove ourselves from the limits our history and our laziness have imposed upon us. We will enhance our powers and live up to our full potential.”

Yep, there they were, the incendiary statements that galvanized so much response. A ripple of sound and movement flowed through the room. A few people clapped—mostly younger men and women, from what Gloriana could see. Had she heard a few growls among the paper rustling and chair shifting? She glanced around but saw only poker faces. Nobody was giving away their opinions—yet.

When Gloriana faced Forscher again, he was looking back at her, the small smile still in place. Or was it a smirk? When her gaze met his and his expression changed to fierce, however, she could almost feel the glove smacking her face. The duel was definitely on—and she had a surprise for him. She was going to take the debate to a new level.

“Your turn,” Forscher said, his voice low and husky.

Ed leaned forward again and blocked her view, breaking the contact. “Next we’ll hear from Dr. Morgan,” he announced.

Marcus Forscher made himself sit back in the chair and forced his eyes to the papers on the table. What in hell was the matter with him? One glance at Gloriana Morgan and he didn’t want to look anywhere
except at her
. Euphoria had engulfed him—like he’d discovered a new proof for one of mathematics’ oldest problems. He, who’d learned never to show emotion or other weakness, wanted to shout with joy.

He’d regained control of himself to speak, and when he’d finished, he’d given her an encouraging smile to indicate his goodwill toward hearing from her side. When she’d looked back, however? The impact of her dark green eyes had tightened his muscles almost to fight-or-flight level—and caused a definitely inappropriate reaction in his lower body. He’d barely managed to say two words.

Had she or someone else cast a spell on him? To make it difficult for him to debate? No, not possible. He was very sensitive to spells; he’d recognize it immediately. He pressed his fingers over his magic center at the end of his breastbone. No, his center itched some. Otherwise it felt fine.

Why hadn’t he looked Morgan up on the university or the practitioner Web sites? Surely seeing her picture would have prepared him for the reality of that dark curly hair and those big green eyes. When, however, had he had the time, what with returning from California and being thrown into his teaching duties and his book deadline? No matter. Here he was—and so was she.

He scooted his chair around to be able to see her without Ed in the way. She was pretty, with her hair falling to her shoulders, heart-shaped face, and clear complexion. Slim but curvy, probably five feet five or so. Dressed in a scholarly fashion, the greens and browns suggestive of her botanical bent.

Morgan flashed a suspicious glance at him while stacking her papers. He almost grinned. She was going to be a worthy opponent. Her arguments and observations about magic theory had been well thought out, intelligent, and penetrating. Expecting no less at the moment, he was looking forward to the discussion, but he couldn’t see how she could refute his hypothesis. It all fit together with mathematic precision.

“Here I am,” Morgan began with a big smile, “a certified potion-making, cauldron-stirring practitioner, who delights in the craft and the feel and the subtleties of practicing magic, who revels in the traditions of our art, and who believes in the innate ability of us all to live up to our magic potential.”

That drew a chuckle, and Marcus felt his lips twitch at her turn of his phrase. To gauge the effect of her words, he alternated his gaze between her and the audience.

“To me,” she continued, “one of the pleasures of practicing magic is learning how to manipulate the forces all those letters in Dr. Forscher’s equation stand for. To work magic in reality, not theory. To work magic until a spell becomes an integral part of me and I don’t need to think of every single step. Making a spell my own, with my individual refinements. Practicing, practicing, practicing.”

Marcus noted many nods, especially among the older spectators. She had some supporters, and he had expected that.

“No matter how great or small our potential power or level, or how simple or complicated the spell, or how difficult or easy the demands of our specific talent, casting a spell is a matter of art as much as precision, individual experimentation as much as following a precise recipe, and warm emotion as much as cold science. And, let’s face it, as we have all experienced from teaching children, making magic is often downright messy.”

The entire audience laughed. A few applauded. Marcus stopped himself from frowning, but
damn
. With only a few words, she had captured them. Practically the entire lot were hanging on her words. He’d never been able to accomplish that response unless he was with a group of mathematicians on his level.

“I’ll admit,” she said, “some of the spells and techniques I use have origins back beyond the tenth century and even farther, to ancient China and Egypt. Does that make them less potent, efficacious? Does the age of a spell in the hands of an experienced practitioner make it less efficient to cast?”

Several people—both young and old—shook their heads.

“Those ancient spells have been tested and refined by the greatest practitioners, and that knowledge has been passed down to us. Regarding emotion, who among us does not feel a thrill, a warm satisfaction, when casting precisely the right spell, exactly to the requirements of the job? Who is not driven to create new spells for the sheer joy of manipulating magic to make our professions easier, more useful, and, yes, more efficient? The practice of magic is not, has never been, static.”

A few practitioners clapped for her statement. Their approval meant nothing. Marcus remained sure of his argument. It might feel good, but emotion had no place in the actual casting.

“I agree wholeheartedly with our ongoing spell research and development,” Morgan stated. “As we enter professions that didn’t exist even fifty years ago, we must have new enchantments for them. As our older professions change to meet the demands of the modern world, we need new wizardry. If Dr. Forscher’s formula helps only one practitioner create only one spell to solve only one problem for only one profession, that’s great! If it helps more, that’s even better.”

At last, Marcus thought, she’s going to address what I’m really talking about—theory, not practice.

“Tonight I’d like to address a point about the issue that has bothered me from the beginning, but which has not really been touched on in the debate. I’d like to look at the larger, more general, more practical picture before it gets lost in the intricacies of the formula. Theory is all well and good. Working magic, however, is not easy or simple, as all of us can attest. Let us beware of thinking Dr. Forscher’s formula, or others like it, will solve all our casting problems.

“Educational fads come and go. One method of teaching a subject, magic or not, can rise to the forefront and supersede all others—but not always to the benefit of the students. Such could be the case here. Urging, especially going so far as
forcing
, the use of the equation in all spell training and ignoring our tried-and-true systems could have unintended results,” she said, a grim look on her face.

“Let us consider two situations, the first involving our young practitioners in whom magic has recently manifested itself. These people are working hard to master the concepts and manipulate the powers within themselves. We all remember the difficulty in our first spell attempts.”

Marcus felt himself begin to frown at his opponent.
Forcing
use of his equation? Did she think he was advocating exclusivity? Where was she going with her idea?

“Trying to use the formula may help some and hurt others,” she said. “For example, in the lowest level universal spells—where we all begin and where differing casting methods abound for each spell—a young practitioner learns to manipulate the energy within her and move that energy outward to cause something to happen. Five different people could, and probably do, have five different processes to accomplish the same result. Indeed, during training we stress the need to develop our own individual method.

“Will we let our ‘messy’ learning procedure continue, or will we try to impose a ‘regularized’ method? What if a young person cannot think in formula terms? Cannot at first separate the parts of a spell into discrete sections? Can’t deal with manipulating all the parts at one time? How will we handle the frustration and feelings of failure sure to follow?”

Marcus frowned harder. She wasn’t speaking to the point at all. She was a scientist herself, but she was appealing to emotions rather than the scientific worth of his equation. She hadn’t done it in her articles. There she’d dissected spell-casting into its constituent parts with examples of different processes. And no mention of frustration or feelings. What was she up to?

His opponent took a sip of water and gazed out over the audience. Marcus tried to find the focus of her gaze—ah, there. An older woman with dark curly hair and a heart-shaped face. That had to be her mother. In fact, the younger woman next to her must be a sister. The older man and one of the younger men had the same coloring, the same nose. Her entire family must be here. A pang of …
something
—longing? loneliness?—struck him in the chest. He ignored it. This moment was not the time for him to succumb to emotion.

Morgan was speaking to her second point, and he concentrated again on her words.

“The second situation,” she said, “involves casting at higher levels. I can speak with some experience here. My mother, a level ten, and I have the same basic talents with plants. Although we use them differently in most cases, many of our spells are the same. Enchanting is such a highly individualized art that even my mother and I, with similar talents and closely attuned to each other’s powers, do not cast our high-level spells exactly the same, even those requiring precise ritual. We achieve the same overall ends—only their details may differ.