Chapter 15: Tracking Magic and a Journey Nostalgic

  The concept of tracking a person is easy, but the reality is much more complicated. See, ideally a tracking spell to find my dad would be a simple as creating an invisible ball of mana that (much like a ball of yarn in a labyrinth) leads me to the person I want to find, which is to say dad. Problem is, what I have in my head is not actually my dad. I have an idea of who my dad is, and memories of our interactions, but nothing in my imagination is tangible enough for a spell to actually track down, or at least I am unable to convince myself of it enough to make the magic work. Rather than tracking a person, I would be tracking a memory, which isn’t helpful. Instead, I need something tangible for the magic to follow. A fingerprint, DNA, a strand of hair, a vial of blood, etc. With a decade of absence and the man having disappeared off the face of the earth, finding such a thing might be a touch tricky. But I’m getting ahead of myself. First up, I need to know that I’m not wasting my time, which means I need a proof of concept. Luckily, I have the perfect conditions for a trial run. Closing my eyes, I focus on my T-shirt. The T-Shirt that Lucy hand delivered to my bedroom this morning. I coat the shirt in my mana, and focus on isolating the remnants of her touch. Some oil from her skin, a trace of sweat, anything that can link back to the woman herself. I can feel as the mana takes hold, grasping onto those remnants and pulsing out of me in every direction like a massive mana sonar. I wait there, on the pavement outside of the academy, for only a couple seconds, before my mana rushes back, and a thread points me west. Excited, I am about to rocket off into the air when I think better of it. I wouldn’t be doing a very good job of laying low if I was to do that. Actually, now that I think about it, there are probably some very confused and possibly frightened people out there with mana sense that just saw a massive wave of benign mana wash past them for no reason. Eh. Whatever. They’ll probably see that it came from the academy and just assume it was some experimental nonsense. Though, I suppose those in the academy might be… Oh, Genevieve texted me. Go figure.

  Genevieve: WTF! Was that you???

  Calvin: yeah lol

  Genevieve: Do I need to be worried?

  Calvin: always :)

  Genevieve: …

  Calvin: its fine just a tracking spell ignore it

  Genevieve: whatever

  Gevevieve: lmk beforehand if u do it again

  Calvin: will do

  After that, I carefully sitdown on a nearby bench and use astral projection to move along the thread of the tracking spell. Soon enough, I am looking through an office window at Lucy, sitting at a desk, writing an email. Next to her computer is a cup of coffee that she occasionally sips from as she works. Well that’s just irresponsible, keeping coffee so close to a computer. Who knows what could happen? Using the little mana I brought with me, I pick the coffee cup up with telekinesis, and promptly dump it onto Lucy’s head. I cut the feed to the projection and pull out my phone to text her.

  Calvin: Figured out tracking magic. Get pranked lol

  Lucy: Fuck you, you’re buying me a new shirt

  Calvin: Sure no problem, just venmo me. Actually, wait, does my bank account even still work? Have I been pronounced dead?

  Lucy: uhhhh one sec, please hold

  There is a pause while I wait patiently. After a couple minutes, my phone dings with a message.

  Lucy: You haven’t been pronounced dead but your bank account has been frozen for a while. I’ll see what I can do to fix that.

  Calvin: Thanks, and sorry about the coffee.

  Lucy: Oh you will be…

  And with that ominous message, I close the chat. Ok, what now? I guess the next thing is to find some object with my dad’s DNA on it for me to track him with. Oh! Idea! The shrine! You see, dad was very briefly a pro boxer. A damn good one too, before an injury ended his career. In our home town gym he became something of a legend. When he retired, they made something of a shrine in his honor, with his training gloves and wraps and such, left untouched in what was once his locker. They even put a little plaque up. As long as the gym is still there, that little shrine should be too, and any of the items in it would work perfectly to track him down. A quick google search confirms that the gym is still there, but I don’t think the tracking spell will work through an astral projection. Too many degrees of separation I think. Besides, it would be nice to take a trip down memory lane in person. Still, I can’t fly there… hm… I open up the text chat with Genevieve.

  Calvin: btw, can I borrow ur car? dont wanna fly around in broad daylight

  Genevieve: fuck no you cannot buy a taxi or smth

  Calvin: with what $$. My accounts are frozen rn

  Genevieve: …

  Genevieve: Genevieve sent you $50

  Calvin: bet thanks

  Calvin: definitely driving that thing one day tho

  Genevieve: Over my dead body

  Calvin: …that can be arranged

  Genevieve: ??

  Calvin: <3

  With a chuckle, I download a rideshare app and order a ride to the gym. I don’t have to wait long. A blue toyota prius (it looks like a model newer than any I remember) pulls up on the curb. The front window lowers and a friendly voice rings out from inside. Their voice is slightly slurred, as it sounds like they are speaking while chewing gum.

  “You Cshalvin?”

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  “That’s me.”

  “Bitcshin. Hop in shotgun.”

  I open the front door and sit down. The driver looks to be in their late 20s, with short hair, dyed white, a nose ring, and eyebrow ring, two lower lip rings, and big dangly earrings. The earrings are themselves plastic ears with green jade droplets hanging from the ear-earrings. They turn to look at me, still chewing what seems to be at least 4 sticks of bright pink bubblegum that shows through their incessantly shuttering jaws.

  “The namesh Gido. They/them pronouns pleashe. Now buckle up quick or I’m shpunchin your dick”

  Immediately I buckle up, then breath an audible sigh of relief.

  “Thank goodness, my dick is safe.”

  Gido lets out a snort, then peels off into the street. As they do, they spit their gum out of the open driver side window. Without slowing down or looking at me, they casually begin to speak.

  “So, you signed up for the academy now?”

  “Sure am, just got my card.”

  “Ah, I remember when I got mine. I came out of the easy tutorial so nobody really payed attention to me.”

  “You’re an initiate? If you don’t mind me asking, why are you… driving for a rideshare app instead of… y’know… killing monsters and such.”

  Gido grins at me.

  “I didn’t choose to get stuck in that damn tutorial, so why the fuck should I let the system choose what I do with what it gave me there? I was a driver before I was chosen, and I liked it, so I’m a driver still. If I wanted to actually be a ranker, I’d have picked a harder tutorial. Only reason I didn’t pick very easy is cause I wanted my speeding card.”

  “Your what now?”

  Gido looks at me weirdly.

  “Y’know, the card that higher level awakeners get that lets them break the speed limit. It was a huge deal in the news 5 years ago when it was approved. How the hell have you not heard about it?”

  “Uhhh, I don’t really watch the news. Or… talk to people. Or… live near wifi. Y’know what, don’t worry about my lack of culture ok, that’s my business and mine only.”

  “Hah! Fair enough, though you should really work on your poker face. You’re just lucky that I couldn’t care less. Anyway yeah, it was a whole thing since the IO was pushing for it for like a decade. The gov was like ‘nobody should be above the law’ and the IO was all like ‘but there is literally no way high level awakeners have slow enough reaction times to cause car crashes’ and eventually the gov gave in.”

  “That’s… kinda awesome actually. But people who beat Very Easy can’t get one?”

  Gido looks at me with pity.

  “Ah, you went Very Easy. Don’t worry, I don’t judge, specially cause I heavily considered it myself. You’re gonna have to deal with a lot of haters though. To answer your question, no anyone, even awakeners, can get the card, the requirement is being level 50 though, and people who come out of Very Easy are nowhere close to 50. Since I didn’t want to fight monsters and level up after I graduated, I decided to go easy so that I would end above 50.”

  “Huh, y’know that makes a lot of sense actually. So… how fast have you gone?”

  “My record in this old hunk a junk is only 117, but one of these days I’ll save up enough for a rig with a few more horses in the hood and break 200.”

  “Hell yeah! That sounds like a mark worth chasing! If I happen to ride with you again, you’ll have to give me an update.”

  By this point we are pulling into the street where the gym is, and with a smile and a friendly wave, Gido lets me out and I walk over to the doors of the gym. Grasping the handles firmly, I swing open the doors and walk in.

  Thwack, the meaty thud of a gloved fist slamming into Dad’s sternum rings about my ears as he huddles in the corner of the ring, his opponent pounding away with his fists, showing neither mercy nor restraint. Mom and I are in the front row as always, with Mr. Galloway, Dad’s coach, sitting only a few feet in front of us, yelling instructions in a booming Boston accent.

  “Tommy! Keep cahm! Wait for the right moment!”

  Up in the ring, Dad’s opponent shows no sign of stopping or letting up, and the ref is edging closer for a better look, carefully gauging my dad’s limits. Just as it seems like the fight is about to be called, Dad makes his move. A fist that, like all the ones before it, was about to thud into his chest instead hits open air as Dad’s hips rotate, his right hand swinging up in an uppercut, landing perfectly on the right side of his opponents jaw. He stumbles back, and sways on his feet. Dad doesn’t hesitate. Left hook. Thud. Right straight. Whump. Left hook. Whoomph. His opponent goes down, hitting the canvas, and the crowd explodes in euphoria. A tense ten count later, and me and mom rush the stage shouting jubilantly. Before we can slam into him with our outstretched arms, open and in prime hugging position, he quickly holds out his hands to stop us and stumbles over to the corner, saying something to Mr. Galloway that we can’t hear over the roar of the crowd. But we see the look of concern on Mr. Galloway’s face. We see him wave over the ringside doc. Mom and I look at each other. We rush over to them. As soon as we get there, mom takes Mr. Galloway aside.

  “How’s he look Frank?”

  “Not great Maggie. Says his ribs are hurtin’ something awful. Probably broke a couple. We just gotta hope it’ll heal clean.”

  Spoiler alert: it didn’t.

  That was the last time dad had stepped in the ring. The last time I had smelt the sweat and felt the humid air of the boxing gym that I had been to so many times over my childhood. The last time until now, that is.

  I stroll in to find the gym mostly empty. Only a couple people are around, warming up on mats or punching bags, and nobody that I recognize. I begin to walk in the direction of the lockers when a side door opens and an older man, maybe late 70’s, walks out and looks my way. Instantly, I recognize Mr. Galloway and I wave at him and walk over.

  “What in the fuck! Calvin Xenos?! I thought you were fuckin dead!”

  “No sir Mr. Galloway. I can’t be dying yet, I got shit to do!”

  “Well wherever you’ve been, you don’t look a day over 25, so clearly you haven’t been doing too badly for yourself.”

  “Yeah, I’ve been, uh… meditating! That’s the secret to youth I tell you, lots of meditation.”

  “Well if you count a cigarette and a beer every night as meditative, I’ll get right on that. Anyway, what brings you to the gym? Looking to pick up the gloves and follow in your dad’s footsteps?”

  “Nah, just visiting the shrine. You seen much of dad recently?”

  “Not for years. Haven’t heard nothin either.”

  As we talk I walk over to the locker room and find the shrine. It’s just how I remember it. Gloves hanging from the bar at the top of a faded blue locker. Wraps, stained with old blood, hanging beside them. I reach out with my magic, quickly sending a text to Genevieve warning her, and send out the pulse of a tracking spell.

  “Well Mr. Galloway, I know dad thought the world of you, so if I find him, I’ll bring him back. I promise.”

  Mr. Galloway gives a sad smile.

  “You do that kid. Good hunting.”

  With that, we stand there for a bit, just looking at the shrine, reminiscing of times long past. Then I nod to Mr. Galloway, he nods back, and I leave the way I came. Out from the sweat and grime and humidity, and back onto the bustling city streets. Dad is out there. I can feel him now. God have mercy on however or whatever stands in my way, because I shall offer them none.