Michael Scott - The Magician

“A little. Have you ever taught anyone else?” Sophie asked hesitantly.

Saint-Germain grinned, showing his uneven teeth. “No one. You will be my first student…and probably my last.”

She felt her stomach flip-flop, and suddenly this didn’t seem like such a good idea anymore. “Why would you say that?”

“Well, the chances of coming across another person whose magical abilities have been Awakened are very slight, and those of finding someone with as pure an aura as yours, next to impossible. A silver aura is incredibly rare. Joan was the last humani to have one, and she was born in 1412. You are very special indeed, Sophie Newman.”

Sophie swallowed hard; she wasn’t feeling very special.

Saint-Germain sat down on a simple wooden bench set back against the chimney breast. “Sit here beside me, and I’ll tell you what I know.”

Sophie sat beside the Comte de Saint-Germain and looked across the roof, out over the city. Memories that were not hers flickered at the edge of her consciousness, hinting at a city with a different skyline, a city of low buildings clustered around a massive fortress, thousands of smoke trails rising into the night. She deliberately shied away from the thoughts, realizing she was seeing Paris as the Witch of Endor remembered it, sometime in the past.

Saint-Germain shifted to look at the girl. “Give me your hand,” he said softly. Sophie put her right hand in his, and immediately a feeling of warmth coursed through her body, wiping out the chill. “Let me tell you what my own teacher taught me about fire.” As he was speaking, the count moved his glowing index finger across the girl’s palm, following the lines and ridges in the flesh, tracing a pattern on her skin. “My teacher said that there are those who will say that the Magic of Air or Water or even Earth is the most powerful magic of all. They are wrong. The Magic of Fire surpasses all others.”

As he was speaking, the air directly in front of them began to glow, then shimmer. As if through a heat haze, Sophie watched the smoke twist and dance with the count’s words, creating images, symbols, pictures. She wanted to reach out and touch them, but she remained still. Then the rooftop faded and Paris vanished; the only sound she could hear was Saint-Germain’s softly insistent voice, and all she could see were the burning cinders. But as he spoke, images started to form in the fire.

“Fire consumes air. It can heat water to mist and can crack open the earth.”

She watched as a volcano spewed molten rock high into the air. Red-black lava and white-hot cinders rained down on a town of mud and stone…

“Fire destroys, but it also creates. A forest needs fire to thrive. Certain seeds depend on it to germinate.”

Flames twisted like leaves and Sophie saw a forest blackened and battered, the trees scarred with the evidence of a terrible fire. But at the base of the trees, brilliant green shoots poked through the cinders…

“In ages past, fire warmed the humani, allowed them to survive in harsh climates.”

The fire revealed a desolate landscape, rocky and snow-covered, but she could see that the cave-dotted cliff face was lit up with warm yellow-red flames…

There was a sudden crack and a pencil-thin finger of flame shot up into the night sky. She craned her neck, following it up, up, up, until it disappeared amongst the stars.

“This is the Magic of Fire.”

Sophie nodded. Her skin tingled and she looked down to see tiny yellow-green flames curl off Saint-Germain’s fingers. They flickered across her skin, coiling around her wrist, feather-soft and cool, leaving faint black traces on her flesh. “I know how important fire is. My mother is an archaeologist,” she said dreamily. “She told me once that man didn’t begin on the road to civilization until he started cooking his meat.”

Saint-Germain flashed a smile. “You have Prometheus and the Witch to thank for that. They brought fire to the first primitive humani. Cooking made it easier for mankind to digest the meat they hunted, allowed them to absorb the nutrients more easily. It kept them warm and safe in their caves, and Prometheus showed them how to use the same fire to harden their tools and weapons.” The count gripped Sophie’s wrist with his hand, holding it as if he were taking her pulse. “Fire has driven every great civilization, from the ancient world right up to the present day. Without the heat of the sun, this planet would be nothing more than rock and ice.”

As he was speaking, images crackled into existence before Sophie’s face again, formed from smoke drifting off his hands. They hung undulating in the still air.

…A gray-brown planet turning in space, a single moon spinning around it. There were no white clouds, no blue water, no green continents or golden deserts. Only gray. And the faintest outlines of land masses cut into the solid rock. Sophie abruptly realized that she was looking at the earth, perhaps far, far in the future. She gasped in shock and her breath blew the smoke away, taking the image with it.

“The Magic of Fire is strongest in sunlight.” Saint-Germain moved his right hand and traced a symbol with his index finger. It hung glowing in the air, a circle with spikes radiating from it like a sunburst. The count blew on it and it dissolved into sparkles. “Without fire, we are nothing.”

Saint-Germain’s left hand was now completely wrapped in flame, but he still clutched Sophie’s wrist. Red-white ribbons of fire curled around the girl’s fingers and puddled in the palm of her hand. Each finger burned like a miniature candle-red, yellow, green, blue and white-yet she felt no pain and no fear.

“Fire can heal; it can seal a wound, can cut out disease,” Saint-Germain continued earnestly. Golden cinders of fire burned in his pale blue eyes. “It is unlike any other magic, because it is the only one directly linked to the purity and strength of your aura. Almost anyone can learn the basics of Earth, Air or Water magic. Spells and incantations can be memorized and written down in books, but the power to ignite fire comes from within. The purer the aura, the stronger the fire, and that means, Sophie, that you must be very careful, because your aura is so pure. When you unleash the Magic of Fire, it will be incredibly potent. Has Flamel warned you not to overuse your powers, lest you burst into flame?”

“Scatty told me what might happen,” Sophie said.

Saint-Germain nodded. “Never create fire when you are tired or weakened. If you lose control of this element, it will snap back on you and burn you to a crisp in a heartbeat.”

A solid ball of flame now burned steadily in Sophie’s right hand. She became aware that her left hand was tingling and quickly lifted it off the bench. It left the smoking, blackened impression of a hand burned into the wood. With a dull pop, a puddle of blue flame appeared in her left hand and each finger sparked alight.

“Why can’t I feel it?” Sophie wondered aloud.

“You are protected by your aura,” Saint-Germain explained. “You can shape the fire, in the same way that Joan showed you how to shape your aura into silver objects. You can create globes and spears of fire.” He snapped his fingers and a scattering of thick round sparks bounced across the roof. He then pointed his index finger and a little jagged spearlike flame darted toward the nearest spark, striking it with deadly accuracy. “When you are in full control of your powers, you will be able to draw upon the Magic of Fire at will, but until then you will need a trigger.”

“A trigger?”

“Normally it would take hours of meditation to focus your aura to the point at which you could bring it alight. But sometime in the very distant past, someone discovered how to create a trigger. A shortcut. You’ve seen my butterflies?”