Disrupted magic shamrock.., p.4
Disrupted Magic (Shamrock Disposal Book 1), page 4
She led me through a series of corridors, pointing out different departments—Analysis, Research, Containment, Archives. Most doors remained closed, but through the occasional window, I caught glimpses of laboratories, training rooms, and what looked like a small medical facility.
“And this,” Mercer said, stopping at a door marked Training Room 3, “is where your evaluation will begin.”
She swiped her card and ushered me inside. The room was large and mostly empty, with padded floors and walls lined with what appeared to be ordinary mirrors but which I suspected served other purposes. The mirrors caught me from every angle—ten versions of myself pretending to be someone else. In the center stood a man and a woman, both in dark suits similar to Mercer’s.
“Mr. Drexler, meet Senior Agent John Smith and Field Agent Alison O’Connor.”
Smith was tall, broad-shouldered, with the rigid posture of someone who had spent time in the military. His expression made it clear he’d already decided I was trouble.
But it was Alison who caught my attention. About my age, with dark hair pulled back in a practical ponytail, athletic build, and alert brown eyes that missed nothing. She gave me a professional nod, but I caught a flash of curiosity in her gaze. A thin silver bracelet on her left wrist bore a faint sigil that flickered briefly when our eyes met.
“Agent O’Connor will be evaluating your abilities,” Mercer explained. “Agent Smith is here to observe the process.”
Smith’s frown deepened. “I still think this is a mistake. We have protocols for a reason.”
“Your objection is noted,” Mercer replied. “But the decision has been made.”
I got the distinct impression I was a point of contention between them.
“Mr. Drexler has an unconventional approach to breaking that may prove useful in our current investigations,” Mercer continued. “Agent O’Connor will determine exactly how his skills can best be utilized.”
Smith grunted, clearly unhappy but unwilling to argue further with his superior.
“I’ll leave you to it,” Mercer said. “Agent O’Connor, please submit your evaluation by end of day.”
With that, she left, closing the door behind her and leaving me with two strangers who held my future in their hands, one of whom clearly wanted me gone.
“So,” I said into the awkward silence, “how does this evaluation work? Do I get a badge and a gun, or is this more of a prove you’re not completely useless situation?”
Smith’s scowl deepened, but I caught the slight upward quirk of Alison’s mouth before she suppressed it.
“It’s a practical assessment,” she said, her tone holding just enough warmth to seem polite—but no more than necessary. “We need to understand your disruption techniques, range, and limitations.”
“Makes sense,” I said. “What are we breaking?”
Alison walked to a cabinet on the far wall and removed a small wooden box. When she returned, she placed it on the floor between us and opened the lid. Inside was a simple silver bracelet that radiated a gentle magical hum.
“This is a standard training item,” she explained. “It’s been enchanted with a basic protection ward. Nothing dangerous, but strong enough to provide a reasonable challenge.”
I nodded, studying the bracelet without touching it. The enchantment was indeed basic—a shield spell designed to prevent physical damage to the wearer. Child’s play for a morph to absorb, which meant I’d need to be careful not to make it look too easy.
“Normally, I’d ask for a demonstration of your standard disruption procedure,” Alison continued, “but Agent Mercer mentioned your methods are unorthodox.”
“That’s one way to put it,” Smith muttered.
I ignored him, focusing on Alison. “I find standard techniques too limiting. Breaking is as much art as science.”
“Show me,” she said.
This was the tricky part. I needed to demonstrate enough skill to justify Mercer’s interest but not enough to reveal my true abilities. A balancing act I’d performed countless times, but never with trained professionals watching my every move.
I knelt beside the box and made a show of examining the bracelet from different angles, murmuring nonsense under my breath as if evaluating the spell’s structure. Then I began the performance—subtle hand gestures, controlled breathing, furrowed brow to suggest concentration.
What I was actually doing was reaching out with my awareness to touch the edge of the enchantment, drawing a tiny trickle of its energy into myself. Just enough to weaken the spell structure without absorbing so much that the change would be obvious.
“There’s a connection point here,” I said, pointing to a spot on the bracelet where the magic seemed strongest. “Most breakers would attack the ward directly, but that’s inefficient. Better to find where the energy flows and redirect it.”
I made a sharp gesture with one hand while the other hovered over the bracelet. As I did, I pulled slightly harder on the energy flow, causing the enchantment to sputter visibly.
“Interesting approach,” Alison said, watching closely. “That’s not how disruption usually works.”
“Like I said, unorthodox.”
I continued the process, gradually weakening the spell while putting on a show of greater effort than was actually required. After about a minute, the protection ward collapsed entirely, leaving the bracelet just an ordinary piece of jewelry.
“Done,” I said, sitting back on my heels.
Smith snorted. “That took far longer than necessary.”
“But used less energy,” Alison countered, her expression thoughtful. “The spell structure dissolved rather than being forcibly broken.” She looked at me with new interest. “Where did you learn this technique?”
“Self-taught, mostly,” I said, which wasn’t entirely a lie. “I had some unusual training as a kid.”
“From who?” Smith demanded.
“My father. He was unconventional.”
“Was?” Alison asked.
“We’re not in touch anymore.” I stood up, eager to change the subject. “What’s next?”
Alison studied me for a moment, then nodded. “Let’s try something more complex.”
The next hour followed the same pattern—Alison presenting increasingly difficult magical challenges, me carefully balancing competence with concealment. I developed a rhythm, making each breaking look effortful but successful, occasionally adding flourishes that a standard breaker wouldn’t use but a morph would avoid.
Smith remained skeptical throughout, occasionally questioning my methods or suggesting I was taking too long. Alison, however, grew increasingly intrigued, especially when I demonstrated a technique for breaking a binding spell that involved tracing its energy pattern back to its source rather than directly attacking the binding itself.
“That’s fascinating,” she said, kneeling beside me to examine the now inert binding cord. “You’re treating the magic almost like a circuit that can be rerouted rather than simply disrupted.”
She reached out to touch the cord at the same moment I did, and our hands brushed. The contact was brief but the effect was immediate—a surge of energy, like static electricity but deeper, resonating through my body. I pulled back instinctively, startled by the sensation.
Inside me, the lingering Bloom Stone energy from the gallery suddenly pulsed in response, as if recognizing something familiar in Alison’s touch. For a split second, I saw a flash of golden light, like sunlight through leaves, before it faded.
Alison jerked her hand away too, her eyes widening slightly. The sigil on her bracelet flared bright for an instant.
“Sorry,” I muttered. “Static.”
But we both knew it wasn’t static. I’d felt something in that touch—a hint of power, carefully contained but unmistakably present. Alison had magical abilities of her own, abilities she was hiding.
Which made her evaluation of me suddenly much more complicated.
“Are you alright?” she asked, her voice carefully neutral.
“Fine. Just surprised me.” I forced a grin. “Hazard of the job, right? All that magical energy has to go somewhere.”
Smith, who had been checking his phone, looked up sharply. “What happened?”
“Nothing,” Alison said. “Just a small discharge of residual energy from the binding.”
She was covering for me. Or for herself. Or both.
“Let’s continue,” she said, standing and moving to retrieve another test item.
The rest of the session passed without incident, but I could feel Alison watching me more carefully now, analyzing my every move with heightened scrutiny. I maintained my performance, but the earlier ease was gone, replaced by a hyperawareness of her presence and the secret knowledge we now shared.
Finally, after I’d broken a particularly tricky illusion spell, Alison nodded. “I think that’s enough for today. I need to compile my evaluation.”
Smith, who had grown increasingly bored as the session progressed, straightened. “My assessment is that his methods are inefficient and potentially dangerous. He lacks the discipline of proper training.”
“I’ll take that into consideration,” Alison replied, her tone making it clear she’d form her own opinion.
Smith gave me a final disapproving look before heading for the door. “I’ll inform Mercer you’ve completed the practical assessment.”
Once he was gone, Alison began gathering the various magical items we’d used. I moved to help her, careful to maintain a professional distance.
“Your techniques are unusual,” she said after a moment. “Effective, but not by the book.”
“I’ve never been great with books,” I replied. “I learn better by doing.”
“And who taught you to do like that? Your father?”
I hesitated. “In a way. He believed in sink-or-swim education.”
“That sounds intense.”
“That’s one word for it.”
She placed the last item in its container and turned to face me directly. “Look, I don’t know what arrangement you made with Mercer, but if we’re going to work together, I need honesty. Those weren’t standard disruption techniques. They weren’t even advanced disruption techniques. They were something else entirely.”
I gave her my most charming smile. “Like I said, unorthodox training. My dad had some unique ideas about magical theory. Believed breaking was more about redirection than disruption.”
“And that’s it? Just unusual training?”
“What else would it be?”
She studied me for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then she nodded, more to herself than to me. “I’ll complete my evaluation. You should report back to Mercer’s office.”
“So, did I pass?”
“That’s not for me to say.”
But her eyes told a different story. She wasn’t buying my explanation. Not completely. And given what I’d felt when our hands touched, I had questions of my own.
“Well, it was nice meeting you, Agent O’Connor,” I said, moving toward the door. “Looking forward to working together. If that’s what Mercer decides.”
“One more thing, Drexler.”
I paused, hand on the doorknob.
“Unorthodox can be dangerous.”
I nodded briefly. “See you around, Agent O’Connor.”
As I closed the door behind me, I couldn’t decide whether to be worried or intrigued. Alison O’Connor was smart, observant, and hiding secrets of her own. Working with her would be complicated, dangerous even.
But as I made my way back toward Mercer’s office, I realized I was looking forward to it.
CHAPTER 5
“The most dangerous practitioners are those who believe they have nothing left to lose.”—The Handler’s Manual, Section 8.3
“Good news, Drexler. Your evaluation was sufficient for field work.”
Mercer’s office felt smaller than it had yesterday, the walls closer, the ceiling lower. Maybe it was the lack of sleep—I’d spent most of the night thinking about Alison’s parting words and what they might mean for my precarious new position.
“Just sufficient?” I asked, trying to sound casual.
“Agent O’Connor noted your unconventional methods but acknowledged their effectiveness.” Mercer slid a folder across her desk. “You’re being assigned to your first case. Minor, as befits a new consultant, but it should provide valuable field experience.”
I opened the folder. Inside was a single-page report with a grainy security camera photo of a nondescript pool hall.
“Corner Pocket on 12th Street,” Mercer explained. “We’ve detected minor Unseelie magical signatures there for the past three nights. Nothing dangerous, but worth investigating.”
I tensed at the mention of Unseelie magic. After the Bloom Stone incident at the gallery, I wasn’t eager to interact with fae magic again so soon. Especially not the Winter Court variety.
“What kind of signatures?”
“Low-level enhancement spells, most likely. Someone using magic to hustle pool players.”
I raised an eyebrow. “The Shamrock Disposal Agency gets involved in magical gambling scams now?”
“We monitor all supernatural activity in the city,” Mercer replied coolly. “Even minor infractions can escalate or indicate larger patterns. Besides, it’s an appropriate starting point for a new consultant.”
Translation: a test mission to see if I could be trusted in the field.
“When do I start?”
“Immediately. Agent O’Connor will accompany you as your field supervisor.”
Of course she would. The person most suspicious of my abilities would be watching my every move.
“She’s waiting in the garage, vehicle bay three.” Mercer slid a small plastic card across the desk. “Your temporary ID badge. Don’t lose it.”
I pocketed the badge, feeling like I’d just been handed both an opportunity and a trap. “Any specific instructions?”
“Identify the source of the magic, assess the threat level, and contain if necessary. Standard protocol.” Mercer’s expression remained neutral, but something flickered in her eyes. “And Drexler? Agent O’Connor isn’t just evaluating the case. She’s evaluating you.”
“Understood.”
I left her office with the case file tucked under my arm, making my way through the now familiar corridors to the elevator. As I rode up to the garage level, I tried to prepare myself for what was coming—my first official assignment with the very organization I’d spent years avoiding, partnered with someone who already suspected I wasn’t what I claimed to be.
Just another day in the life of Cal Drexler, professional liar.
Alison was leaning against a black sedan in vehicle bay three, checking something on a tablet. She wore the same dark suit as yesterday, but had added a leather shoulder holster with what looked like a modified handgun. Not standard issue—something designed specifically for magical threats.
She looked up as I approached, her expression giving nothing away. “Drexler. Ready for your first field assignment?”
“Born ready,” I replied with more confidence than I felt. “Though I’m a little unclear on the chain of command here. Am I your partner or your subordinate?”
“Neither. You’re a consultant with specialized knowledge. I’m a field agent with authority to make operational decisions.” She opened the driver’s side door. “But we’re expected to work collaboratively.”
“So… partners, but you’re the senior partner.”
A hint of a smile crossed her face. “If that helps you understand the dynamic, sure.”
I got into the passenger seat, placing the case file on my lap. Alison started the car and pulled out of the garage bay, navigating through the sanitation trucks parked in the main area.
“So,” I said once we were on the street, “pool hall hustlers with magic. Not exactly world-threatening.”
“Most magical incidents aren’t.” Alison kept her eyes on the road. “But they all require management. That’s what the Agency does—maintains the balance between the magical and mundane worlds.”
“And my role in this particular balancing act?”
“You tell me. You’re the disruption specialist.” She glanced at me briefly.
There it was—the first probe. Testing to see if I’d elaborate on my unusual methods.
“I get results,” I said with a shrug. “Isn’t that what matters?”
“Results matter. Methods matter too.” She made a smooth lane change. “Especially when they don’t align with established magical theory.”
I turned to look out the window, buying time to formulate a response that wasn’t a complete lie but didn’t reveal too much. “My father believed that breaking was too often taught as a blunt force technique. He focused on energy redistribution instead of simple disruption.”
“And your father was…?”
“A difficult man with unconventional ideas.” I kept my tone light, though the subject was anything but. “We’re not exactly on speaking terms these days.”
“Family can be complicated,” Alison said, surprising me with what sounded like genuine understanding.
“Speaking from experience?”
She didn’t answer immediately. When she did, her voice was measured. “My cousin was killed by an unregistered practitioner when I was sixteen. That’s why I joined the Agency.”
The admission caught me off guard. It was personal, unexpected—and possibly strategic. Sharing something genuine to encourage me to do the same.
“I’m sorry about your cousin,” I said, meaning it.
“It was a long time ago.” She signaled for a turn. “But it taught me that magical power without oversight is dangerous.”
The irony of her statement wasn’t lost on me. Here I was, hiding my true abilities from the very oversight she believed in.
