Read Funny Tragic Crazy Magic (Tragic Magic Book 1) Online
Authors: Sheena Boekweg
Funny Tragic Crazy Magic (Tragic Magic Book 1) (25 page)
I finally woke up for real-- sane, my
magic and madness under control. I kept waiting for the madness to come back as
the MPB grilled me about who the mage was that healed me. They told me that she
got away because of my “outburst” before they could get any information on her
or why she was in the mage restricted section of our town.
I didn’t say anything about how she
was my mom. I didn’t say much of anything. I didn’t trust myself enough to move
my lips.
Eventually, after the needles and the
straps were replaced by glass windows and padded walls, and long after I proved
I wasn’t a threat to myself or others, a representative from Chebeague Academy
showed up at the hospital. He was short and bald, and he reminded me of a
smiling mouse. Those high ranked in the MPB gave him a berth though, as if they
feared or respected him, or maybe it was just the respect they had for the
school.
Chebeague is this school for rich
kids whose parents want their children trained in magic for like… economic
reasons. It was kind of like rehab, and a boarding school rolled into one. They
used to help kids with drug addictions and attitude problems, but in the last
ten years, the school switched to treating mostly kids infected with the MTD. I
knew Chebeague meant “separate place” in Abnaki, but I had been pronouncing it
wrong.
Sha-beeg
, I told myself, trying to train myself to pronounce it
correctly.
Like any good mage watcher, I too
knew all about every school or training program the government forced the newly
infected to attend. Chebeague was the best, and also the most expensive, I just
never thought I’d have to go there.
My step-dad signed the necessary
forms, gave me a tear drenched hug, and then let me go.
I still can’t believe he just let me
go.
They loaded me into a chartered plane
like I was a prisoner. A guard sat on either side of me, and they wouldn’t talk
to me. The only person who tried to talk to me was Dr. Child, the
representative from Chebeague. In his suit he looked so much like a mouse with
his slightly red nose, and what hair he had left was a white blond. He kept
asking me questions, offering me food, telling me stories. I just clamped my
fingers around the armrest, and fought to keep control of my sanity.
After we landed, we lost the guards,
and it was just me and that strange man in a sleek Siviata. They are nice cars,
with all the techmage bells and whistles. Dr. Child barely had to touch the
steering wheel, so he was free to try to break the ice that had crusted over my
heart.
Better ice, than fire.
It was a long drive in this strange
man’s car, and I didn’t have much to say to him. I just looked out the windows
and watched the cities and the trees race pass. I wondered, every time I saw
someone, if they could tell I was a freak. If they could sense I was different,
or if they could still see Crazy Sam hiding behind the black in my eyes.
After traveling several miles without
seeing another car, or any form of civilization, we reached a large iron gate
with the word Chebeague twisted in the metal. A guard with a gun loaded with
tranquilizers looked up at me as we drove in, and then he returned to his
magazine.
I took a deep breath, but it didn’t
help. Jitters shook my hands, and my anxiety gave me goose bumps that laced up
the back of my neck. What if everyone hated me the way I hated myself?
“Don’t worry,” the man driving said.
He put his hand on my forearm and smiled. I could feel calmness ooze out of his
fingertips and nestle into my heart.
The magic helped. It was kind of
amazing, this magic that didn’t hurt anyone. I forgot that magic didn’t always
hurt people.
“Thank you, Dr. Child,” I said to the
mage locked inside the car with me. My voice shook me. I sounded so normal, so
much like me, like I always sounded. My whole life had changed, but it was
still my life.
Dr. Child parked the car, and an
armed woman escorted Dr. Child and I through the woods to this small windowless
cinderblock building that had been painted to look like a gazebo from the
outside.
“Dr. Felix will be your therapist, so
this is where I get off the ride. Welcome to Chebeague, Mr. Ryan,” Dr. Child
said with a mouse-like smile.
Dr. Felix. I recognized that name,
and it filled me with dread. Everyone on the internet called Dr. Felix the
master mage tamer. She was this therapist with a reputation for excellence, and
viciousness. She wasn’t one to hesitate to kill a rogue mage, or drug one into
oblivion.
The anxiety was back, because Crazy
Sam was as rogue as it got, but Dr. Child walked away from the Gazebo without
another healing look my way. The armed guard motioned with her gun for me to
enter the only door into the Gazebo, so I dutifully followed her instructions.
I glanced around, and far to the left, I saw another identical Gazebo. I
swallowed.
Inside, a woman in a gray suit sat in
the only chair with her back to me. The great therapist, Dr. Felix. Super. I
had had enough therapists and doctors poking my psyche and my body with
needles. She held up this notebook I’m writing in now, and then the master mage
tamer turned and smiled.
Dr. Felix… yeah, so she’s my mom.
Who knew, right?
Check it out on
Goodreads
and
make sure you buy your copy on October 11
th
!
Sheena
Boekweg is a staff member at Flash Fiction Online. She has received an
Honorable Mention in the Writers of the Future Contest, and The New Era
Magazine accepted her work for publication. Look for her next novel, Alchemy,
on October 11, 2013.
Sheena is a mom of
three living in Utah.
To read more about
Sheena and her writing, check out:
Facebook.com/SheenaBoekwegYaAuthor
goodreads.com/author/show/7031661.Sheena_Boekweg
Please review my
book on Amazon
or Goodreads
First off all, I need to thank
my Proser buddies, especially MaryAnn, my first Beta reader, and Susan, my
last. You helped me in more ways than I can possibly express.
I owe a ton to my friend and
editor Kendra Lusty. Since fifth grade when we created Horseamaniacs you’ve
been a blessing in my life. Thank you a million more times.
To siblings, Children’s
Television, my friends who listened, and my husband who believed in me and made
dinners and did laundry so I could write, and to everyone who read all the way
to these words, THANK YOU!