MILLENIAL MAGIC

  A KANSAS CITY URBAN FANTASY STORY

  M N JOLLEY

  Copyright © 2023 by M. N. Jolley Writing

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for usage protected by fair use. To request permission, contact the publisher at mnjolleywriting@gmail.com.

  Content Warnings:

  The following work contains depictions of mild violence, harassment, and arrest. Reader discretion is advised.

  FOREWORD

  This story is set in the Urban Fantasy universe that contains both The Kansas City Warlock Weekly and Maggie Cartwright. I have yet to come up with a good name for this multiverse, as naming it after the series that came first, (The Kansas City Warlock Weekly,) makes it sound as though that story takes precedent.

  In my head, neither story is superior. The Kansas City Warlock Weekly is more mystery focused, while Maggie Cartwright is more action focused, but they’re peers, and—as is the case in this story—they cross over regularly.

  Chronologically, this is written to bridge the gap between Maggie Cartwright, Book One - Star Steel and Book Two, Fool’s Gold, meaning it also takes place after books one and two of The KC Warlock Weekly. Spoilers are minimal, but if you’d rather read the preceding books in order, you can find my books on my website, Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Kobo.

  CHAPTER ONE

  The life of a journalist requires long hours and late nights. Story research just works out that way—you have to be prepared to chase down a hunch until you’ve uncovered every detail, every clue, every piece of the story that could possibly become relevant.

  I’m a professional, and I’ve immunized myself against fatigue. That’s why I was up at three in the morning, even when my eyes burned red and my body screamed at me that I should just put my phone down and get some sleep.

  “Oh no, oh no, oh no no no no no⁠—”

  Swipe.

  “What I have here is gallium, and its properties are super weird⁠—”

  Swipe.

  “If you haven’t learned this simple trick that the government doesn’t want you to know⁠—”

  Swipe.

  Like I said. It was my journalistic integrity that kept me up. I certainly wasn’t just scrolling videos due to a lack of self control and failing attention span.

  It was a Sunday, besides—that was my excuse. I didn’t have anything pressing to do once the sun rose, the latest issue of The Kansas City Warlock Weekly had been sent to the printers and would be delivered without needing my direct input. Tomorrow I’d have to chase down an interview about the new fae labor treaty being worked out, and I desperately needed to finish the lifestyle piece I’d been putting off about our local potion shop, The Reading Room, but that was next week’s problem. Today I could sleep in a little.

  More to the point, if it hadn’t been for my ‘Journalistic Integrity’, I’d never have even known there was danger brewing in my city.

  So yeah. I’m a pro.

  In the middle of scrolling, a ‘Recommended for You’ video came across my feed. The footage was a bit shaky, just a woman in her early twenties holding out her phone in selfie mode to record herself in a dirty home kitchen, grinning at the camera.

  “So, I don’t know how this works, but check this out.” She snapped her fingers, and a little glowing orb of light appeared over her hand, wobbling in the air. With a second snap, it vanished. “So cool, right? And⁠—”

  Swipe.

  I didn’t have any interest in amateur special effects videos. While the next clip started, though—a dance compilation—I frowned.

  That special effect had looked awfully good, considering the quality of the rest of the video.

  I swiped up again.

  “So, I don’t know how this works, but check this out.” I watched closely, looking for telltale signs of CGI. Missing reflections, shadows not cast in the right way, anything, but when the light appeared over her fingers, it looked good. The kitchen she recorded in had lots of reflective surfaces, and all of them matched what I’d have expected. I paused the video, holding my phone up close to my eyes, scanning the image, but nothing about the picture suggested fakery.

  I resumed, watching carefully. “So cool, right? And this is just the start. Check this out.” Turning the phone around, she pointed it at the mostly-cleared kitchen table, focusing on the only object of note, a toothpick. She held her hand out over the tiny piece of wood, and after a second, it began to float up off the table.

  Again I stopped the video, squinting at the screen through bloodshot, tired eyes. It looked real.

  It looked like magic.

  I swallowed, sitting up in bed. She didn’t know it yet, but the woman in the video had planted a bomb in her pocket, and as soon as someone from the Council of Wizards found her, it’d go off. Unsanctioned magic use could land someone in serious trouble—even so far as sending her to prison if she’d done enough damage. The world at large was not supposed to know about magic, and a public demonstration of spellcasting was the sort of thing that could land a person in serious heat.

  I’d just talked about magic and still ended up locked up for a month with a year of probation. Her video, showing off a few simple but genuine spells, would likely carry even greater consequences.

  Maybe this hadn’t been a waste of time after all. I had Real Professional Journalism to do.

  The first step would be fairly obvious: Find the woman in the clip. Her magic trick video didn’t give much information to go by, but I knew places I could look to find leads. Clicking on her profile, I brought up a swath of clues, narrowing it down in just a few moments.

  Her username, ‘Lightchaser2000’, didn’t tell me much, but her bio, ‘Xena, She/Her, Still Figuring Out What I’m Doing Here’ gave me a first name. Possibly a pseudonym, but still—a place to start. I tapped on the message icon, but she didn’t accept messages from non-mutuals, so I couldn’t simply send her a warning through the app.

  Scrolling, I looked at her videos. Her most recent video, the one I’d just watched, had a few thousand views, and looked to be the most popular upload in her library by far, which raised a question.

  “Why’d I see this?”

  I wondered aloud as I tapped on the next video, a halfhearted comedy bit where she played both herself and a comically oblivious nurse, cutting back and forth as Xena tried to explain why adoptive parents wouldn't be relevant to her medical history. Frowning, I swiped to the next, another rambling mini-vlog, and then the next⁠—

  “Oh. Bingo.”

  The short clip contained little of substance, just more semi-autobiographical talk. However, this clip was filmed outside, strolling through an outdoor shopping center, and unlike the cluttered kitchen and apartment of her other clips, I recognized the background. She’d filmed the video in Westport, a section of town just a couple miles from my apartment.

  Xena, She/Her, Still Figuring Out What I’m Doing Here—if that was her real name—lived in Kansas City.

  Sitting up straight, I scrolled back to the first video. I couldn’t send a private message explaining the situation and warning her of the danger, but I could leave an innocuous comment and get her attention.

  I typed up my message, trying to be honest, while still using influencer-friendly language. ‘I’m a media reporter based in Kansas City, always looking to showcase new lifestyle content—is this real? I’d love to do a piece showcasing your skills. Add me and we can figure out details!’

  I’d have to hope that would entice her. In a literal sense, my comment was true, and if she didn’t add me, well…I wasn’t about to cyberstalk someone ‘for their own protection’, not while I had other avenues.

  In the meantime, though, I needed to get some sleep. There was no sense waiting up for a reply at three in the morning, and I had work to do in the morning after all.

  “I’ve got a hypothetical question for you.” I projected cheer and a friendly smile into the request, hoping it wouldn’t come off as insincere.

  Kennedy just sighed. “Is this an actual hypothetical question, Levi? Or is this a, ‘My friend’s cousin got a hot dog stuck in the vacuum, what should he do?’ hypothetical question?”

  I paused. “Do you want me to answer that?”

  “I suppose it’ll be easier to just…not. Just get it over with, there’s no point in peeling this bandaid slowly.”

  “So, for the sake of argument,” I insisted. “If someone didn’t know about the Commonwealth, or magic in general, and started casting spells, what would happen to them?”

  A sharp groan rattled over the line, followed by a few seconds of static. Kennedy eventually put the receiver back to their mouth and asked, “How’d they start casting spells?”

  “Hypothetically, of course,” I clarified.

  “Eat my ass.”

  “She figured it out on her own,” I explained. “At least, I think.”

  “If that’s true, then your hypothetical spellcaster’s looking at some sanctions and a whole lot of probation,” Kennedy explained. “But trust me—it’s not true, and whoever told you that is lying.”

  I tilted my head, pressing my phone into my shoulder so I could get out a pen and my notepad. “How are you so sure?”

  “Because magic is compl

icated, and you don’t just figure out how to cast it out of thin air. What, she just happened to carve a wand or polish a crystal just right to attune to the right wavelength, then tapped into the right leyline, all by coincidence?” They exhaled sharply, and I somehow managed to hear their eye-roll. “No. Someone told this person, or she found a source, and either way, that means she should know better.”

  “Surely people figure it out occasionally,” I suggested. “Someone had to develop the first spell.”

  I could hear Kennedy’s exasperation loud and clear. “Maybe one person in a millennia.”

  “I mean, I think she’s a millennial,” I considered. “Maybe? She could be a zoomer.”

  Kennedy groaned. “Levi… Even if she was some kind of savant, the Council quashes it anytime someone publishes real magic, so mundane folks spend their whole lives bombarded exclusively with misinformation and outright fiction. Your millennial mage wouldn’t just have to figure out magic in a vacuum, they’d have to divine the truth out of a whole haystack of crap. So tell me what’s more likely—that you stumbled across a genius of once-in-a-generation proportions, or someone’s lying to you?”

  I pursed my lips. “She didn’t lie, I’m just making assumptions here.”

  “Levi, if you found someone who’s in breach of our secrecy laws, you need to report it.” Kennedy’s tone lacked their typical annoyance, colored by shades of firm insistence and frustration. “Don’t mess around with this. If she’s really innocent and it’s a bad coincidence, it’ll come out in the investigation.”

  “Maybe, in a month,” I snapped. “If she’s lucky, if she doesn’t get on the wrong side of a Counsellor, if she’s got bulletproof documentation to clear her name. Kennedy, you’ve never been on the wrong side of the Council. I’m not putting someone through that.”

  They fell quiet again.

  “Are you going to report this conversation?” I asked bluntly. “Tell the council to come search my phone and figure out who your rogue spellcaster is?”

  It took another two seconds for them to reply, and when they did, they’d lost all the fight in their tone. “Of course not. Why would I report on a hypothetical question?”

  I sighed. “Thanks. I should go.”

  “I’ll plan on working late tonight.”

  I hung up, leaning back into my couch. All I’d done was confirm my fears, but at least I knew it for certain: If Xena got caught, she’d be up a creek without a paddle.

  It was ten in the morning, and I hadn’t yet heard back from the would-be mage. I’d tried to convince myself it was just a visual effect, that she hadn’t learned real magic, but every time I started to believe my own lie, I went back and rewatched the video, confirming the effect was just too good. Unless Xena secretly had a connection with Industrial Light and Magic, she wasn’t pulling off CGI at the level she’d need.

  Unless…it couldn’t just be sleight of hand, could it?

  Having gone through this loop a couple times already, I skipped the mental argument and opened the video app, tabbing over to my recently-watched and reviewing the clip yet again.

  No, it wasn’t an illusion either. I knew a fair bit about sleight of hand—or, at least, I’d watched my fair share of Penn & Teller—and none of the telltale signs were there.

  Besides—

  Ding.

  A new message.

  I hurried to the right section of the app and read the correspondence.

  Lightchaser: Are you serious, or is this some kind of a scam?

  Pulse rising, I typed out my response.

  Levi129562: I’m serious. Is it real magic, or an illusion? Either way, I want to show it off.

  Waiting, I stared at the screen, hoping for a response. My question about ‘real magic’ might have put her off, but I needed to get an answer right away. If she just ghosted me, though, I wouldn’t have a good way to revive the conversation.

  After a full minute, she replied.

  Lightchaser: Promise this isn’t a ‘gotcha’ where you expose fake magicians?

  Levi129562: I promise.

  Levi129562: My name is Levi, by the way.

  Lightchaser: It’s real. I don’t know how it works, but it’s real.

  I hesitated. I didn’t like lying to her, but all the same, I wanted to be able to explain things face to face. If I started talking about a Wizard’s Council over anonymous text, she’d be liable to block me and move on.

  Levi129562: I don’t have an office, but I can reserve a room at the library. Does that work?

  Lightchaser: Sure :D This is so cool!

  Levi129562: Can you do noon?

  Lightchaser: Call it one? I’ll need to get a ride.

  Levi129562: See you at one. I’ll let you know which room I’m in.

  Lightchaser: See you there!

  Tabbing away from the conversation, I pulled up the library website to get a room. All I had to do was come up with the perfect way to explain things, without sounding like I belonged on a crappy knockoff of Ancient Aliens.

  No problem.

  I arrived twenty minutes early, setting up shop in the meeting space. The rooms were set up with glass walls and doors, so that you could look out into the library but keep a degree of separation, and more importantly, soundproofing. It all had a very modern feel, stainless steel handles and a gleaming glass table that I felt bad about even using, since I left handprints just by moving my stuff around.

  So, with my computer on my lap, I began to develop what I’d say, using a document to track all the bullet points I’d want to get across and in which order. By habit, I structured it the same way I’d plan out an article. I needed Xena convinced, and this was how I knew to be convincing. If she doubted me, if she left the video up and got found out, she’d be caught by the Council sooner or later.

  Or…sooner.

  As I reclined in my chair, resisting the urge to put my feet up on the library’s table, my phone rang.

  Kennedy’s personal number.

  Oh.

  Shit.

  Hoping my instincts weren’t accurate, I answered. “Hello?”

  “We found your hypothetical girl,” Kennedy explained. “Lightchaser Two Thousand. Please tell me you’re not with her right now.”

  “We?” I asked. “Your people, or the council?”

  “Someone on one of our security teams, but it’s the same thing. They pass that information along to the council automatically—Even if I wanted to, I can’t sandbag that shit. Tell me you’re not with her right now.”

  I could've said what they wanted to hear, and it nearly would’ve been true—except, before the words could leave my mouth, I saw her walking up to the meeting room, opposite the glass walls. Xena looked pretty much exactly like she did in the video, right down to the hoodie. “How long would you say it’ll take for them to show up?” I asked, trying to appear calm.

  “They’ll need to track her down, but they’ve got all sorts of resources—half an hour? Maybe an hour? Don’t go on the lam, that’ll just make things worse, but⁠—”

  “I need to go.”

  “Levi, for fu⁠—”

  I hung up, inhaled deeply, and smiled, just as she got to the door. Pushing on the glass, she walked in.

  I sat up. “Xena, right?”

  She wore a skeptical expression, having read my face throughout the phone call—it was hard for me to be discreet with glass walls. “That’s right.” She gave me a little wave. “Hi. Levi, right?”

  Xena carried with her a slightly-overpowering lavender perfume, and she had a burn on her hand in the shape of a skillet handle. She’d pronounced my name wrong, too. Little questions, and little distractions, things I wanted to address, but couldn’t, because I had no time. I’d had this whole plan in my head, a prewritten speech that would break it to her slowly and acclimate her to the truth, along with chit chat, conversation, pleasantries. There wouldn’t be an opportunity for that, so I stood and threw my proverbial cards on the table. “Magic is real.”

  “I know, you saw my video,” she said, nodding along, shuffling a half step away, so that her back pressed into the glass door.

  “Bullet point time,” I said. “Magic is real, and there are people who work really hard to keep it under wraps. There’s a whole shadow government out there, and they hate it when outsiders start announcing their secrets to the world. That includes blasting it on the internet.”

 

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