Untitled Jonelias Magic AU continues!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

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There were perks to being Bouchard’s apprentice. These included nearly unlimited access to the Research Department’s library, laboratory, and archives, as well as a modest stipend, private training arena whenever he wanted, and more. But there were also disadvantages. Bouchard was easily the most intelligent, knowledgeable person Jon had ever met; he was also the most irritating.

Well, no. He wasn’t being fair to his master. But getting a straight answer out of him bordered on impossible, and Jon was reaching the limits of his own patience.

“What am I doing wrong?” he asked, once the light he had tried to conjure pulsated, changed colours at a dizzying speed, flickered, and finally disappeared.

“You tell me,” Bouchard said.

He was sitting on a bench, the ankle of one leg resting on the other knee, hands folded loosely together. His briefcase laid next to him, untouched; he should have been grading student papers, but was apparently willing to put that on hold and devote his full attention to Jon’s miserable attempts at magic. Yet he offered no words of advice, or encouragement, or even criticism. At this point Jon would welcome any feedback whatsoever, but none was forthcoming.

You tell me. Ass.

“How should I know?” Jon muttered darkly.

He snapped his fingers; a spark ignited in the air. It fizzled out almost immediately, despite Jon’s efforts to keep it in place.

At first he had felt self-conscious about wasting his master’s time. But, well, it was Bouchard’s choice to show up and maintain this silent vigil. Perhaps he wanted to make sure Jon wouldn’t injure himself any more than he already had; it was honestly pointless to speculate about his goals.

Jon sighed and lowered his hand. His head was already pounding; he had hoped it would ease over time, but instead the headaches would just get worse the longer he practiced. He took to carrying a box of painkillers on his person at all times, but something told him Bouchard would not approve, so he didn’t want to reach for it right now.

He needed a break. He didn’t want to ask for one.

No, he needed to try another approach. But he had followed the textbooks so closely, and the instructions were so straightforward, that he struggled to see what it was he could have been doing differently.

“Master,” he began, and took a few hesitant steps towards the man. Asking questions seldom worked, but asking for a demonstration might. “Can you show me how you do it?”

Bouchard smiled. His eyes flashed, nearly imperceptible; Jon only noticed because he had been prepared for it, and watching closely. And then there was light all around them, bathing the arena in a warm, golden glow.

It was—pleasant. Whenever Jon managed to conjure light it was always too harsh, too bright, constantly flickering, good for nothing except exacerbating his headache. Bouchard had the entire space evenly illuminated, in a way that wouldn’t strain anyone’s eyesight.

“Thank you,” he said, with only a touch of sarcasm bleeding into his voice.

Yes. It was beautiful, but not exactly helpful. Gestures and spoken words weren’t usually necessary for casting spells, they just made it easier, particularly for such demonstrations; but of course Bouchard wouldn’t want to make anything easy.

Jon returned to his position in the middle of the arena and raised his hand once more, to give it another try. Something made him pause though. He hadn’t noticed it before and even now he couldn’t quite describe the feeling, but the light felt… strange, whenever it touched his skin. Warm, yes, but slightly more tangible than light ought to be, like the faintest brush of someone’s finger, or an exhaled breath…

“What did you do, Master?” he asked, fascinated. Now that he looked closely he thought he could see individual particles of the light, swirling above the palm of his hand; or waves of it, perhaps, pulsing rhythmically in the air.

“Nothing out of the ordinary,” Bouchard said.

Jon turned around. The visible light had no apparent source, but he saw something connecting it to the man in front of him, some change in the way it bent and refracted… and Bouchard was a few yards away but it simultaneously felt like he was standing right in front of Jon, surrounding and enveloping him…

Jon staggered backwards; the light disappeared. Bouchard did not move but there was something very pointed in the way he cleared his throat and dropped his gaze, away from Jon’s face.

“You are certainly… sensitive,” Bouchard said after a while. “I will give you that.”

“What?”

Bouchard looked up at the sky. “You know that all magic leaves traces,” he said.

“Of course I do,” Jon said.

“And it can often be traced back to its source,” Bouchard continued. “Although it usually takes skill and experience.” Of which Jon had neither, he did not add.

“I know,” Jon said. “But isn’t the main difficulty in isolating one particular spell from the background noise? And since the barrier separates us from the outside world, well—that leaves only one potential source of it. It is not that difficult to trace.”

“Two sources, technically speaking,” Bouchard said. “But you are correct otherwise.” He chuckled beneath his breath. “We will have to revisit this conversation at a later date, Mr Sims. I think you could use a break.”

“I don’t need a—”

“That wasn’t a suggestion,” Bouchard said mildly.

Jon sighed. “Yes, Master.”