Kate Daniels 03 - Magic Strikes

bleeding.
    The line clicked and a soothing female voice greeted me. “Ms. Daniels?”
    “Hello.”
    “My name is Citlalli. I’m Julie’s counselor.”
    “I remember. We’ve met.” Memory thrust an image before me, a small dark woman with Madonna eyes. A very strong empath. Like surfers, the empaths rode the waves of people’s emotions, feeling the grief or joy of others as if it were their own. They made excellent psychiatrists and sometimes their patients drove them insane.
    I frowned. Something was up. I didn’t ask to speak to the counselor.
    “Ms. Daniels . . .”
    “Kate.”
    “Are you precognizant, Kate?”
    “Not that I know of. Why do you ask?”
    “I’m drafting a letter to you regarding Julie, and I wondered if my concentration may have triggered your phone call.”
    Oh no. “What did she do?”
    “Julie has developed some issues.”
    Julie was an issue riding on an issue and using a third issue for a whip. But she was mine, and despite the kind quality of Citlalli’s voice, all my needles stood up defensively . I tried to keep the hostility out of my answer. “Go on.”
    “Due to the gap in her education, she has to take remedial classes.”
    “We discussed that prior to her admittance.”
    “Academically she’s progressing ahead of schedule. I have no doubt that she will catch up with her peers by the end of the year,” Citlalli assured me. “But she’s experiencing problems adjusting socially.”
    She had practically lived on the streets for the last two years, hiding from gangs and being brainwashed by her scumbag boyfriend. What did they expect from her?
    On the other end of the line, Citlalli cleared her throat softly. My irritation must’ve been intense enough for her to pick up. I took a deep breath and cleared the baggage. Emotions receded, still present but held deep below the surface. It was a meditation technique I had learned in childhood. I rarely used it because I liked to ride the edge of my emotions. Fear, anger, outrage, love, courage, I utilized them for a boost in the fight. But I knew how to suppress them, and the older I got, the easier suppression came to me.
    “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause you discomfort. You were describing Julie’s problems?”
    “Thank you. Children can be cruel at Julie’s age. They struggle for personal identity. Establishing pecking order becomes very important. Julie finds herself at a disadvantage. Academically she’s behind, so she can’t use her accomplishments in that area to gain popularity. She’s not very good at sports, partially due to malnourishment and partially because she doesn’t have remarkable talents in that arena. We have some outstanding athletes and she realizes she will never be a star. She doesn’t excel at combat, and while those with knowledge find her magical sensitivity impressive, children appreciate flashier magics more.”
    “In other words, she isn’t a jock, she isn’t a warrior, she’s taking remedial lessons, and her magic is lackluster because she can’t breathe fire or melt metals with a blink.”
    “Essentially. Some of the children in the same position reach for their family history to establish their cred with other kids.”
    “Julie doesn’t have any remarkable family members.” No heroes. No great mages.
    “She has you.”
    “Oh.”
    “She’s been telling stories. Beautiful, terrifying stories of demons and goddesses and witches. I know they are true recollections because I feel her sincerity. But the kids . . .”
    “They’re picking on her because they think she’s lying.”
    “Yes. We’re monitoring the situation very closely. She has not suffered any abuse. However, Julie’s an emotional child . . .”
    “She’s a chunk of plastic explosive with a fuse armed.”
    “Aptly put. She has a knife.”
    I closed my eyes and counted to three. I had taken away all her knives and searched her twice before I dropped her off.
    “She refuses to part with it. We can take the knife away physically. But it would greatly reinforce the damage already done to her ego. It would be much better if she gave it up voluntarily and I’m afraid you’re the only person who could compel her to do so at this stage.”
    I glanced at the clock. Eleven. Felt like 6:00 p.m. “What’s Julie’s schedule for the rest of the day?”
    There was a pause. “Remedial algebra until one, second shift lunch until one thirty, instruction in the remedial arcane until three, social studies