The Things We Fear

Marcus had a strained relationship with magic. He grew up in an era where the media was filled with magic schools at letters at age eleven, of visiting the shire and rings of gold tempting all who come close. He’d grown up with people who wanted magic. The myth. The fantasy. Marcus had been among them. Until he’d seen the reality of it.

Magic used to sound wonderful. Like it could do anything, fix anything. In some ways, it was still this mysterious force with the ability to make changes that science and logic could barely begin to comprehend. Things which should not be possible. Magic could be - magical.

A part of Marcus loved it. Was still mesmerised every time a small spell he tried managed to succeed. But every time he tried to open up to it, he flashed back to that night. The creatures just beyond their realm, and Cassius’ words. It tainted every happy moment. Left him guilty for enjoying the little successes. He was constantly aware of what a slippery slope it could be from learning one protection spell to being like the man before him.

Cassius wielded magic like a politician did money, effortless and with great impact on all those around him. And like most politicians, he was merciless in obtaining his own agendas. Seeing what his father was capable of had coloured every perception Marcus had of magic. So desperate not to become what he feared, he’d avoided his gift as much as possible.

Instead of embracing it, like he might have that night never happened, he had rejected his abilities over and over. Using only the bare minimum to help his family. Every time he opened that part of himself his mind made the comparison that it was just taking a small number of drugs, one hit would never be enough.

Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, the more he rejected his magic, the more it rejected him. Again the aloof cat that wanted nothing more than to play. If you bored it, it went away. The little protection spells had become increasingly more difficult over the years, and it seemed his magic only really acted on instinct these days.

It was partly why Cassius had let him be, thinking his son had very weak magic that was slowly draining away with age. It wasn’t unheard of. Children believed in magic and anything was possible, but as they grew they often lost that spark that made them special. Lost their connection to impossibilities. Marcus had never seen fit to correct his father on his assumption.

If it hadn’t been for Daniel and his stupid stunt in front of everyone, Cassius would likely have still been oblivious. Although he did state magic was around everyone and everything, so maybe Marcus had simply been humouring himself, or his father had been going along with his subterfuge? Not that he’d exactly been lying. He’d never said he did or didn’t have magic. Marcus would actively avoid any conversations concerning their shared gift, and by age ten his father had stopped trying.

But if his father had known his magic was strong, why hadn’t he done something earlier? Was it because other people had seen this time and he couldn’t pretend to be oblivious any longer? Again, like a politician, it was all about optics. It probably made more sense than the other options, but it still didn’t sit right with him.

The point was, Marcus had a strained relationship with magic. He loved the idea of it, but he feared it. He wanted to use it to help people, but knew how dark the path could go. Most of all, he just did not want to become like the man standing beside him as they watched the memory continue to play out.

The fire was magical in origin, burning brightly. He could almost feel it in the present time. Marcus watched mesmerised as the orange flames were surrounded by golds, pinks, and reds, of his magic. And it was, his magic. He could sense it. The fire came from within him, deep in his core, but this outer layer, this was the magic that refused to leave despite how stubborn he had been. The cat still willing to play with him no matter how much he pushed it away. Maybe he should call this magic his puppy magic. Eager to play and please regardless of anything Marcus had done.

He felt a tripping of guilt, seeing how eagerly it went to protect him. How it attacked the shadow creature and held it in place. Aiding the shadows as they had worked to his will as well. It was strange to see the two forces work in tandem as they restrained the thing.

His father walked to where the monster was restrained. Inspecting the memory for any new details they might have missed thus far. As memory Marcus fled from the door. He refused to let the next memory come along. Not with what had happened in the hallway. As the image started to flicker, he quickly threw the stone on the desk. He might not think of Cassius as any real sort of father figure, but there were some things that did not need to be shared.

As the bathroom’s image began to fade around them, bringing the office into focus once more, he took his previous seat. Waiting for Cassius to sit across from him once again. The two sat quietly. Both recounting what they had just seen. Processing the information. Marcus hadn’t spotted much different - other than the presence of magic, but the shadow creature, his death, fleeing the scene after the fire attacked for him, it had been as he remembered.

“What did you notice?” The man finally asked.

The question threw him for a moment. He noticed a lot of things. Marcus wasn’t sure what the other wanted to hear. Though this open-ended interrogation style was at least familiar to him. His dad had used the technique his entire childhood. Letting the person trap themselves in whatever they thought was important. He wasn’t sure this was exactly what Cassius was doing, but it did make him think more about how he would choose to answer. He decided to go with what he’d been thinking before Lara’s body was found.

“It was toying with me. Or maybe trying to make me freak out as much as possible. It could have got me as soon as it opened the door, heck I didn’t even see it at first. It had ample opportunity to attack. It wanted me aware of what was happening and as scared as possible.”

Cassius hummed, swivelling his chair to the side, “Anything else?”

He suspected the man wanted him to comment on the magic, but he wasn’t in an agreeable mood.

“Well, I definitely died, so there’s that,” he echoed the flat tone his father had used earlier.

The man shot him a reproachful look, but he simply shrugged in return, acting as though he didn’t understand what the man wanted. He’d play the traumatised card if necessary, seeing your own dead body should at least get him a few sympathy points and a bit of leeway. Well, with anyone other than Cassius it probably would.

“We had assumed it had something to do with fear prior to this, and I feel safe in that assumption. Your observation about it toying with you is correct.”

It was almost a compliment. Marcus did not trust Cassius’ compliments. They were usually the set-up to a slap.

“It drew the entire thing out unnecessarily,” he said, more to himself Marcus suspected. “It may have been aware of your magic and wondering why you had yet to actually use it,” the words were heavy with distaste.

Yes, blame the victim, he wanted to say, but had learned long ago how fruitless it was to argue with the blank wall Cassius liked to impersonate.

“It did not seem to have a true form. Or perhaps not a form it felt comfortable with. I had hypothesised it may be a shape changer, not quite the same as a shifter, but able to take the form of what a person most fears. Curious for you it should be shadows.”

Marcus chose to look at the very interesting wallpaper. He would not rise to the bait. He had no intentions of confessing any weaknesses to this man.

“Your magic is uncontrolled.”

Marcus looked back at the man, seeing he was watching him. Marcus shrugged again, Cassius wasn’t wrong, but he did not want to concede any ground to the other.

“It is powerful.”

The man sounded as surprised by this as Marcus was to hear him admit it.

“After hearing about the flood, I suspected you might have had more of a gift than some, but given what we just witnessed, it is safe to say you are much more powerful than you had led me to believe,” the accusation heavy in his voice.

Marcus scowled at the man.

“Technically, I never told you anything about my magic. I’ve actively avoided discussing all such things with you.”

“Yes, and look where that has gotten you. Dead at sixteen, a friend turned against his will and no control over your gifts. If you weren’t my own son I would bind you and banish you from the area for the level of disregard towards other’s safety you have shown.”

“Excuse me!”

“No, you will not be excused. You are a powerful warlock walking around with uncontrolled magic. That is the equivalent of a human walking around with C4 in his pocket. Any slight flame could cause it to combust. Exactly as what happened. You nearly died, and your magic defended you, I’m not complaining about this, but what if it had been something you only perceived to be a threat, your magic lashed out in three separate ways.”

Three? He’d only counted the fire and the vortex around it? But now was not the time to ask.

“The pipe situation could have been a lot more dangerous as well. I take responsibility for that, as I thought giving you the stone would be enough to corral and emotional outbursts, but you don’t even realise that when you voiced your desire to drown that boy and your magic reacted, you genuinely could have hurt him, do you?” The man was speaking at a level amount, but for some reason, it still felt like the words were being shouted at him.

“But–but. I didn’t–”

“You didn’t know? You didn’t mean to? You didn’t think it would happen? No, and that is exactly my point, you are a walking bomb that could be set off at any time, and I refuse to have an untrained witch in my territory. Your mother won’t leave, so binding and sending you away isn’t an option,” the last part was muttered.

Marcus wasn’t sure why it gut him to hear the words, as though Cassius had already tried to get rid of him. It shouldn’t be a surprise, not with their shared animosity, but for some reason it was. It floored him to think his father would genuinely want him gone. Not dead, but just removed. Like an irritating fly. He didn’t want to squat him, but he wanted to push him out the window. Away, where he could no longer be an irritant. It shouldn’t hurt. It shouldn’t. But the burning in his gut and eyes were betraying all of Marcus’ logical thoughts.

“If you want me gone so badly, why not just get rid of me already?” he hadn’t meant to scream it, but his chest hurt and he wanted that pain to go somewhere else.

“And where exactly am I supposed to send you? Your mother will not leave. Your aunts would not take you and your grandparents are long since dead. For all you infuriate me, you are still a child and still my responsibility.”

“Not send me away, why haven’t you sacrificed me on that creepy altar? Why keep me alive when I’m such a problem for you?”