Part 2

The door to the car was opened for Andrew Darnell and the daylight streamed into the cab normally darkened by tinted, bulletproof windows.

“Sir,” the man outside said simply.

“I know, I know,” Andrew sighed, crawling out of the car that doubled as a battle tank. “Thank you,” he added hastily, pinning an organizer under his arm.

“We’ll be waiting out here,” the man said, closing the door as Andrew took a handful of steps forward.

Andrew’s job for the government brought him a lot of places, but this was his least favorite. The Bureau was housed in a nondescript office building, just one, in goddamn Pittsburgh of all places. The parking lot was comically small, though in use only for guests, since the actual employees were either housed here or parked deep underground.

“I hate this place, John,” Andrew said to the guard who was climbing back into the passenger seat.

“Yeah, I’ll think about that while I’m having even more fun out here with me and,” he paused, glancing around the nearby buildings, “eight of my best friends.”

John did this as a kindness, knowing the peculiar brand of anxiety Andrew suffered as a man who knows too much but has no deadly skill to back it up. John would be waiting, like always, to escort him back to civilization when this was over. Andrew wished he could accompany him inside but the nature of these threats necessitated he go in alone. Today, in this building, Andrew was not merely an assistant of the President of the United States, nor an agent of the American government. Andrew was only brought here for briefings of the most insidious of threats: information. When knowledge was the weapon, or the enemy was data, or memetic hazard, no one on earth is trusted more than Andrew.

He liked to think dramatically, to help him remember the weight of these meetings and the decisions he will make with no oversight of any kind.

The doors to the building opened and Andrew stepped inside.

—

“Welcome back, Mr. Darnell.”

“Gordon, thanks for having me,” Andrew greeted and the men shook hands.

Andrew liked Gordon. He wasn’t the usual government director. They were intellectuals and lacked the ambition that tended to burn things to the ground. They got along, but Andrew suspected they could be friends if their jobs didn’t get in the way.

“It’s a big one, this time.”

“Bigger than that Australian guy trying to create mental links with animals?” Andrew replied with a grin.

“I’ll say more in the Room.”

Andrew’s smile faded. If Gordon wasn’t going to speak on the issue in front of his own employees then it certainly wasn’t an information hazard to take lightly.

The Room was a conference room, but blocked off from the rest of the building by not one, but two airlocks. The first was controlled by staff nearby but the second was entirely manual, a reminder that there was no recording, no one listening, in fear of magic that burrowed into the mind.

The men sat a few seats apart around the giant table, and Gordon gravely began.

“We’ve become aware of a spell.”

Gordon always started like this, working from the most obvious to the most dangerous. Andrew had learned to wait and let the Director choose his own words.

“Initially, it was a curiosity, something silly to mention at the water cooler. Bring it up to let the troops know you’re paying attention. Nothing major, just a huge spike in the strands of magic.

“Well, suddenly the instruments started lighting up with the same signature. Little dots flaring for a few minutes but ultimately fading.”

Gordon leaned forward on his elbows, but his eyes were down on the table. He was being more careful than usual.

“So, it’s all in this city on the coast. Flare ups come and go, lasting in intensity. Well, suddenly, one of them just doesn’t go away. It sits, taunting us. As you know bigger spells sometimes radiate so much it’s hard to pinpoint them, but this was so small we could watch it in real time.

“So, we find out it’s a person. As we’re starting to think about local surveillance we find a second.”

“Second signature?” Andrew cut in.

“Yes, yes, so of course we don’t know how this happened bla bla. Well, then there’s a third. And then a fourth and a fifth. Then we see little blips all around the world. The first four were in close proximity, but these were thousands of miles away.”

“Then what?”

“Well, hold on, so one of my gals discovers that the magic is information. Something in their brain, or experience, is the bug. So, of course, I freak out a little. I get people working on it. We are able to isolate the initial five signatures. We consider this to be the core group, if you will.”

Gordon opened a drawer in the heavy wooden table. He pulls out four folders, stamped in huge red letters:

“DOES NOT LEAVE THIS ROOM”

“Lucy Sawyer,” he let the first folder glide.

“Abigail Bowers,” came the second.

“Emily Carmichael, Melanie Park, and finally, Anna Leperman.” Three more folders glided into Andrew’s hand.

“What’s the connection?” Andrew asked without opening any of them.

“High school students, but Carmichael is a part-time nurse.”

"Friend group?"

"The students, yes, but they've had little to no contact with the nurse."

"Whats the connection? Or, better question, what's the spell?"

"We aren't sure, yet," Gordon answered, "prevailing theory is the information in their heads is not the spell, but rather knowledge of the spell itself."

"And nobody here is compromised?" Andrew asked.

Gordon shook his head, "No, seems the spell only shows up if the person, or host, knows something specific. So, potentially, if we were to learn what the spell actually does..." he trailed off."

"Then you'd see yourselves on your instruments."

Gordon nodded.

"So," he continued, "the little blips start to appear everywhere and now it's a little scatter painting across the world, and there's some pretty concentrated pockets of it related to the school. They're all talking about it, or otherwise communicating the information to others."

"Are we assuming it's being done on purpose?" Andrew asked.

"Impossible to say. My pet theory is that it is not on purpose. I think the actual spell is concealed, somehow, and these individuals have become exposed to it and that information is what is being spread."

"Oh, so the big giant spell didn't necessarily create this phenomenon?"

"In my experience, no. Either you want to spread the information quickly so that anyone who detects it is too late to stop you or, in this case, keep the actual effect a secret and the information spreading is either an accident or just the cost of doing business."

Andrew started flipping through the folders, giving them a quarter of his attention while Gordon continued.

“The other flare ups, we believe, are the result of the internet.”

That caught Andrew’s attention and his eyes snapped up from the table.

“Excuse me?”

Gordon sighed. “I thought that would get you excited. Yes, knowledge of this particular spell can travel through the internet in a way we find quite concerning.”

“Okay, okay…” Andrew’s voice trailed off, a dozen scenarios running through his head. None of them were good.

“And that’s not the end of it.”

“So, as we’re getting resources to the school, another flare hits us at this very exclusive island resort. Which, honestly, is a huge win because it’ll be fairly easy, I think, to isolate the problem.”

“How is that good news?” Andrew asked, not as aggressive as his question would imply.

“We found the asshole who cast the damn thing.”

“No shit?”

“It’s a known hot spot for a certain kind of ultra-wealthy dickheads and, interestingly, magic users,” Gordon explained.

“Have we contacted the wizard, a ‘Xyxxor,’” he made air quotes around the name and rolled his eyes, “that we’ve been monitoring anyway.”

“That can’t be his name.”

“It isn’t,” Gordon said, “but he’s been offering his services to billionaires for some time and that’s his stage name. His legal name is Bill. He’s… something.”

That was Gordon’s way of being professional but also calling him a whack job.

“How’d you find him?”

Gordon smiled, “He dabbled in the spell again and apparently ruined his own attempts to conceal his knowledge. Foolish on his part, but great for us.”

“So when will you bring him in?”

“Oh, we’ve got some people with him as we speak,” Gordon grinned.

—

Xyxxor’s ears rang with a pulsing, high pitched tone after another fist to the side of his head. At this point he couldn’t say anything, regardless of his willingness. One eye was swollen shut, he couldn’t tell which, and his vision was a blur as his head lolled around aimlessly.

The two men, now identified to his as Smith and Smith, remained utterly emotionless, doing their work as casually as if this were the most banal job on the planet.

“We know it was you,” the Smith with bloody knuckles said simply, “who, or what, was the target of your spell? How does it work?”

Xyxxor mumbled something.

“Come again?” The second Smith asked mockingly.

The encouragement did nothing to help Xyxxor talk.

A chair was pulled in front of the suffering wizard and one of the Smiths parked himself in it, leaning over to meet Xyxxor’s eye level.

“We need a name, at least. Surely, you can give us a name?”

Blood and spit spluttered from the man’s cracked lips.

“Matt.”

“Matt?” The Smith confirmed.

Xyxxor nodded meekly.

The agents traded a glance. The man by the door spoke into his wrist and, not far away, a black unmarked van roared to life.

“That a good start,” the first Smith said to Xyxxor. “Now, we’re going to take you in—“

Xyxxor cut him off with a moan of complaint.

“Yes, I know, it seems so unfair, but, see, it’s very important you understand the dynamic here. Yeah, we probably didn’t need to beat you half to death, and yeah, we could have brought you in and had a pleasant chat. The thing, though, is you fucked up.”

“Fucked up,” the other Smith echoed.

“Yes. You fucked up and kicked off some real shit. The risk is too great, and, honestly, I fucking hate you fucking magic fucks.”

A grunt from the other Smith seconded the sentiment.

“So, you better play ball, or I’ll open your skull myself and find out myself.”

The van pulled up outside, attracting a gaggle of onlookers to the blacked out van that had almost flew along the lanes and sidewalks of the resort to get there. With the speed and proficiency of constant practice the wizard, chair and all, was whisked inside the vehicle and already on the way out of the gated property.

—

“Okay,” Andrew said, massaging the bridge of his nose, “risks?”

“Well, obviously the usual things about information hazards that you are well versed in, but normally it’s not like this.”

Andrew was briefed and schooled in a number of information problems. Hazardous knowledge was his specialty and he had used it to serve half a dozen presidents. This was the first time he’d heard of “blips” and “flare ups” in this room.

Gordon continued. “So, normally we have to use magic to find the information. It sucks, of course, because magic sucks, but it’s the cost of business. This time, though, it’s just there. We can simply look and see, the instruments can find it like a bonfire at night. That means that, well, so can just about anyone else.”

“And that’s bad because…?” Andrew fished.

“Because a sufficiently powerful asshole can tap into this information network and twist it to their own ends.”

The implications settled heavily between the two men.

“I don’t want the President to know that,” Gordon finished.

“Why not? It’s a huge problem.”

“You think he wouldn’t try and use that to get re-elected?”

Andrew conceded the point with a nod. “Okay, you’re right, but he won’t ask details, just for action.”

“Nice gig you’ve got, huh?”

“Sure,” Andrew said sarcastically. “The responsibility gets tiresome. So, what do we do?”

“We… we need money.”

“I assumed. I mean direct action.”

Gordon pulled another folder from the table drawer. “I’ve outlined a plan, not on our end of course, which I cannot share, but for you to enact, if you would.”

“Gordon, some of these things are concerning.”

“Yes, I know it isn’t savory, but if you can’t see the necessity then you don’t understand the risks.”

“Maybe I don’t,” Andrew said, giving the director a chance to explain.

“The initial radiance was so big, so widespread, that it’s entwined itself with the strands of reality. It’s spread to other planes-“

“Planes?” Andrew cut him off.

“Of reality.”

Andrew’s eyes narrowed. “How many planes do you guys operate on?”

“That’s classified, even to you,” Gordon said.

Another pause. The two men locked eyes.

“You’ve never mentioned this before.”

Gordon just shrugged, silently referring back to his previous statement.

“So, what, then?” Andrew said after a long minute.

“Andrew, listen, if I mention threats associated with other planes you should be terrified.”

“You’re asking a lot in this document, sir.”

“If this isn’t taken care of, and taken care of soon, the echo will reach truly unsavory characters far beyond our ability to resist.”

Andrew had a question he could ask, the only way to truly get to the heart of the matter. An informal agreement between the two men.

“How have you been sleeping, Gordon?”

“I haven’t.”

Andrew scooped up the recommendation, the only document allowed to leave, without another moment’s pause. “I will speak to the President.”

—

Valerie had dressed and sat on the edge of her bed. Her phone rumbled endlessly as word spread throughout the community of magic users. She had seen the van pull up to a bungalow and leave, not even pausing long enough for the tires to stop spinning. Who had they taken? Valerie assumed it was Xyxxor, she didn’t know any other wizards or otherwise that were staying here, but there was no way to be sure. She knew how the Bureau operated, and using magic to flee would be seen, assumed as suspicious, and invite a violent reaction. She could only wait and see if they came knocking.