Wear It Marvelously
by Ana Wesley
I’ve got the hots for the announcer.
It’s a consequence of having a sideline seat, while her levitating platform hovers overhead. It zips back and forth, swishing her miniskirt to flash glittery panties. Her sling top parts to reveal a pierced navel. I lick my lip ring and wonder if there’s anything else of hers pierced under her clothing. She’s enchanted her hair to flash neon colors. It’s turquoise now, stiff with gel even as she bounces between legs and squeals, “There it is! Burke tumbles out of the arena under an illusion spell, cinching the win for Kaneda and Harding!”
They say dueling was once a stiff sport, tied up in etiquette: declarations of intent and rebuke, waist-low bowing, witnesses circling morosely with hands held over hearts. There’s been quite a journey from historical precedent, I think, as I watch the perky CM flash a cheering arena.
I’m not complaining.
“Uh-oh!” Her resounding voice bubbles, carbonated with glee. “There’s trouble afoot!”
My eyes dart down in time to see a purple jet of light streak across the midline. It strikes one of our school’s duelists in the back, while she’s turned to pose for the crowd. I flinch as sympathy pain shoots up my spine. She skids face-first into the dirt. The arena’s cheering hitches into a collective gasp. My eyes trace the spell’s path: one of the knocked-out duelists from the Nevada Institute of Sorcery has clawed his way out of the moat. Staff outstretched, he stands paralyzed, presumably dumbfounded by his own audacity.
The crowd stirs up a furious roar.
I cup my hands over my mouth to bellow, “You sore loser! You slimy sack of sphinx shit!”
“That’s Burke letting his temper get the better of him!” the announcer howls. “Tossing out a spell after the round’s end? And while her back was turned, too. He’s gotta be feeling the eyes of the university scouts on him now.”
Another levitating platform shoots off its perch above the stands and descends on the field. Two mages leap off. One is the referee, caught between reprimanding the offender and blocking hexes shot by a riled audience. The other is a healer who kneels beside the downed duelist as her skin turns green and starts bubbling. I wrinkle my nose. That doesn’t promise a quick recovery. She’s hauled onto the levitating platform and rides it straight into the emergency tent.
“Sorry to see Harding go this early!” The announcer sounds less than sorry. Positively elated, in fact. Her hair flashes toxic sludge green as she whirls to poise a dramatic finger in the air. “But we’re not done yet folks! Kaneda has one more fight in this bracket. She’s scanning the crowd now, looking for a substitute. Who will she pick?”
If Naoko Kaneda was at all shaken by watching her partner eat dirt, she’s already over it. Staff holstered on her back, she rotates to survey the arena with crossed arms. In a sea of sweatpants and jeans, she’s one of the few wearing a traditional dueler’s outfit—stiff grey trousers, gloves, a gold-embroidered vest, and probably a stick up the ass. She’s the perfect picture of the loaded, silver spoon-sucking, elitist—
Naoko points at me.
“Superb choice!” cutie pie announcer crows. “She’s singled out Maxine Quinn, ranked top three from the California Academy of Spellwork, four consecutive years in a row! One-time national champion, two-time semifinalist! Her elemental spellwork is as fiery as that red hair of hers. Normally a singles duelist, is she up for a partner project today?”
My heart pounds out an imprint of my ribs as the crowd chants:
“Max-ine!”
“Max-ine!”
“Max-ine!”
Naoko rotates her wrist and curls her finger to beckon me. Her black hair is pinned back, framing a severe face that grows tighter for every second I sit still.
A smirk plays at my lips and adrenaline rides the tide of my blood. I contemplate the satisfaction of flicking my hand in dismissal. It’s an opportunity gifted on a platter, to reject the snobbiest bitch in my school. Besides, I don’t play doubles—sharing the glory has never been my agenda. But the college scouts are watching. It’ll be good for my image to jump in.
I let Naoko sweat a few more seconds, reveling in the cheers of my name. Sucking in a breath, I grab my staff out from under my seat and stand. Applause thunders through the arena. I leap down the steps and vault the barrier. A swing of my staff ices the moat surrounding the field so I can cross.
My staff is one of a kind: cherry wood twining up to a silver wyvern head with a ruby gem clamped in its jaws. I could never have afforded my own, so I took night classes on weapon crafting. The gem was trickiest to get ahold of. I bartered it from a troll. (He still writes from Norway; the wyvern egg I gave him hatched well.)
Call me biased, but I think my staff’s crooked shaft and rough edges give it character. It’s certainly not as ass-ugly as Naoko’s—straight and platinum with comfort grips, purchased from a luxury crafter. I’d bet my right hand that it’s crowned with a blood diamond.
I imagine we’re quite a sight, side by side. The dichotomy of class inequity. But I’m not sweating the tattered hems of my jeans, or my years-old tank top singed from countless duels. Because everyone knows I’m better than Naoko. I’m the best. It’s why she picked me.
Doesn’t stop her from ordering me around the second I’m in earshot: “Take the frontline. I’ll play defense on the backline. Don’t screw it up.”
I wink. “Just stay out of my way. I’ll make you look real good.” I strut past within inches of her. She doesn’t so much as twitch, even as the curly locks of my hair brush her cheek.
I position myself ahead of Naoko, twirling my staff idly to find my rhythm. I stare unblinking down the midline as our opponents cross the moat.
The announcer must have ramped up her soundwave amplification spell, because I can feel her words vibrating under my feet: “Taking the field now is Oregon Institute of Magical Study! On the frontline is—”
Don’t care. If they were anybody, I’d have heard of them by now. I tune out the commentary, eying the nobodies as they take their stances. Stumbly McShaky nearly trips over his bootlaces in a rush to the frontline. On the backline, Belty Buckles is all about dramatic flair: a twirl of her staff, a whirl of her leather coat. They’re both pathetic in their own special ways.
I draw a deep breath, lungs fighting for space against my pounding heart. You’d think after hundreds of spars and duels, the adrenaline might fade to an easy confidence. But it never has. Maybe it never will, when there’s so much on the line. College tuition is just the start; a lifetime of endorsements and winnings will gift my parents the life they deserve. The life they could have had, if they’d done anything but follow their dreams.
The count off begins and those thoughts dissolve. All I’m left with is the thirst for the win.
“Three! Two! One! Begin!”
My staff spins, dips, and gushes water across the midline. Stumbly flinches, but Belty deflects the torrent with a conjured shield. The water parts with the elegance of a fondue fountain, combined with the force of a fireman’s hose. It tears ditches into the ground around them.
Stumbly rolls out from around the shield. He sends a jet of electricity up the current, forcing me to cut the spray. One of Naoko’s steadfast shields manifests, so close it singes my nostrils. Precision deflection is her specialty; anyone can throw up a shield, but it takes meticulous casting to angle for redirection. The electric bolt shoots toward the ground at our opponents’ feet. Stumbly breaks into a panicked dance as puddles crackle under his soles. It buys me the seven seconds I need to twirl my staff in a complex rotation.
“Here it comes!” the announcer shrieks over the roar of the crowd. “Quinn’s signature whirlpool, bringing rainfall in August! And here comes a quick spell wisp from Kaneda, intensifying the— Holy ravioli!”
Naoko’s blue wisp dances around my staff, imbuing the spell with our combined power. The waters swell to fifty feet tall, spiraling in a sunlit ring around our opponents. It crisscrosses the field with a rainbow.
“That’s what we call a hell of a spell, friends!” The CM peers into the vortex from her levitating platform. “Looks like the Oregon team is trying to fry their way out, but the power is just not up to snuff!” Tufts of steam plume in the air, turning the other half of the field into a steaming sauna. The counterattacks stop; I imagine they’re waiting it out behind a shield. Gritting my teeth, I slam my staff into the ground. The water surges inward. Indeed, it strikes a barrier and sprays the field. The water turns to ice before it settles into the damp ground—Naoko’s doing.
Stumbly skitters on the ice and falls flat on his back. My laughter joins the crowd’s. With a flick, I send a bolt of force magic in hopes of pushing him out of the arena. But Belty reflects it back at me. I jump aside, but needn’t have bothered; it strikes Naoko’s shield and whizzes back at double the speed.
“A splendid reflect by Kaneda! Oh, and that’s one down folks!”
It hits Belty, who slides into the moat with a shriek and a splash. Stumbly scrambles to his feet, flinging out a weak fireball. I dodge and shoot another bolt.
Only for it to bend right back into my face.
My staff sprawls out of my hand. I fly back and slam into the ground, breath fleeing my lungs. I land so close to the moat, my hair spills over into it. I stare dazedly at the MC’s glittery panties as she hovers overhead and screams, “Oh! Quinn hits her partner’s shield and eats her own spell for breakfast! That’s gotta be embarrassing.”
Laughter ripples through the arena. My crush on the announcer starts circling the drain. I fist a hand in my shirt, willing the breath back into my lungs. The humiliation thrums with the pain of an extra gut punch. My pasty, freckled face is the perfect canvas for the blood rushing there.
I suck in a breath between my teeth and lift my head. Naoko has sprinted up to take the frontline position. She slams her staff, shaking the ground under Stumbly, who can’t seem to stay on his feet for the life of him. He starts to cast, and my eyes fix on Naoko—I can see her intentions in the tiny movements of her wrist. Her staff twirls, slow and deliberate. Stumbly shoots a spell that’s wildly off mark. But it doesn’t matter; in a split-second, Naoko has calculated where it will fly. As if stalled and then played at double speed, her staff spins in a blurred frenzy.
The bolt reflects at an angle, straight back into Stumbly. Yelping, he flies backward into the moat.
That bitch is nothing if not precise. My lips curl in a painful sneer as I wipe away a trickle of blood.
“Two down! The win goes to California Academy of Spellwork! A spectacular and hilarious show from their latest and greatest duo. That settles the northwestern bracket, as we move on to…”
The blaring voice drifts in one ear and out the other. I force my head high as I exit the arena. I’m too embarrassed to linger. Even more embarrassed at the thought of people reading said embarrassment in my face. I climb past my seat and make for the interior door. It swings shut behind me, muffling the arena’s chaos. I turn my back to the window wall in hopes of a moment’s peace, but I’m not even allowed that. I choke on my sweltering rage as a speaker rings out with the announcer’s voice. I grip my staff, half a second away from blasting the thing to hell.
The door swings open so hard, it shudders the windows. “Maxine!” Naoko strides toward me straightlaced, not a hair out of place. Her prim perfection reawakens the ache in my nose, making the dried blood itch.
My fury ignites to new heights. I turn on her, hand cinching my staff as I snarl, “Fuck off.”
Naoko’s eyes tighten, but her voice is cool and matter-of-fact. “We’re due back on the field in an hour.”
“Like I’m heading out there with you again. Go fetch your partner.”
“The healer flagged her as unfit. Teams are only allowed one substitute per tournament. You’ll have to stay.”
“Don’t quote rules to me like I don’t know them,” I hiss, jabbing my staff in her direction. “And don’t expect me to help you again. Not after that.”
She stares me down like a stage play she’s grown bored of. “As if you subbed in for my sake.”
She’s not wrong. I despise her for it.
“You think you’re entitled to everything, to everyone. Well, suck it up. You humiliated me in front of the scouts. Send me a postcard from hell.”
“You sidestepped.”
Silence falls between us as the clipped words fail to connect any neurons in my brain. “What?”
“You sidestepped.” Her eyes flicker to the wall, betraying discomfort. “I cast the shield to deflect at an angle, but you stepped right in front of it. My partner always dug her heels in. You can’t think I’d harm our chances on purpose.”
“And why not?” I sneer. “When dueling means nothing to you and everything to me.”
Naoko’s icy stare simmers away. Anger flashes in her eyes, curls her lip. “So that’s how you think of me, is it?”
“You’re not jealous then?” I close the distance, taking pleasure in the few inches I have on her. “Isn’t that why you’re playing doubles this year? You couldn’t play second fiddle to a girl who carved her own staff and grew up on a rotting wyvern ranch.”
Disgust resonates in the back of her throat. “You play up your humility in one breath and insinuate my world revolves around you in the next. I’ve no interest in stripping you of your celebrity status. You’ll go on to wear it marvelously.”
The words slice like a knife between the ribs, fileting my ego. My heart. For a split second, I wonder if my pride has turned me into the person I accuse her of being. I turn away, but her hand catches my wrist and she adds, “That’s not to say you’re unworthy of it.”
My heels dig in. Disbelief numbs my fury. She can’t possibly mean that.
“Consider you’re not the only one with something on the line today,” she says. Her nails bite with desperation into my skin, before her hand releases mine.
I smooth my face over, trying to smother the agitation raking up my insides. Our whole history is made up of this—jabs and jibes, scrambling over each other to prove ourselves. This opportunity to leave her hanging out to dry should be a coveted one. We’ll part ways after graduation; there won’t be a better time to get the last laugh.
But I have to wonder about that worried line parting Naoko’s temple.
My silence invites her to explain. She paces the room, glossy gaze fixed far away. “My fiancé advanced in the southern bracket. We’ll face him in the semifinals. I need to take him down.”
“Fiancé?” I spit out the word like it’s a swear. Naoko is surely no older than eighteen.
“Arranged. If I beat him in a duel, I’ll prove that he can’t keep me under thumb. My parents will call the whole thing off.”
I know nothing of arranged marriages, outside of historical romances popping up in my streaming queue when I’m trying to sleep. For all I know, there’s perfectly pragmatic reasons for having one—religious, cultural, financial. But it’s the words “under thumb” that blend my stomach to bits.
“Not sure I want to know why combat competency is at all relevant to a marriage.” I stare intently, because I actually want to know very much.
“I inherited a bloodline ability.”
The Arcane Arts Over Time class covered this. Some of our magical ancestors engaged in less than savory spells: inhumane, gruesome rituals that would earn you a one-way trip tossed down the Endless Well these days. Families who committed these medieval monstrosities were blessed with powers that resurface in their descendants, with increasing rarity for every generation that declined intermarriage. The trend of eugenics didn’t go all that well; rival families hunted each other to extinction, sons and daughters plotted to kill their parents or fled to communes for protection when their bloodline powers surfaced.
Turns out treating your children like breeding stock isn’t the surefire way to strengthen your family tree after all.
I size up Naoko with a new eye, wondering what she can do. Maybe puppeteer my body or squeeze me until I pop like a juice bag. “If you’re so powerful, why does it matter what your parents want?”
Naoko flexes a white-knuckled hand, revealing red crescents bitten into her palms. “I was born with the power, not born knowing how to use it. My parents claimed they’d release our ancestral grimoire to me. So long as I go through with the marriage.”
I fold my arms in some effort to suppress flames of agitation. “What’s the catch?”
“I broke into my father’s office and read the marriage contract. It specifies paying my family handsomely for the marriage—and future installments for every child that comes of it. I went digging for information about my fiancé’s bloodline—he’s capable of negating a person’s magic. Surely you see my dilemma?”
A shudder trickles down my spine. “So, when you said ‘under thumb,’ you meant…”
“My parents will use this marriage as a way to collar and leash me for a profit. They don’t care about bloodline purity. Just a payout.” She purses her lips tightly, eyes averted. “There’s debt, you see.”
“That’s…” I choke on the fury blazing in my chest, smoking in my throat. “That’s not an ‘arranged marriage.’ It’s slavery. They must be stupid to think you’d go along with something like that.”
That crooks Naoko’s lips into a faint smirk. “If I prove in the arena that I can outwit him, my parents wouldn’t dare go through it. They would never shackle me to anyone with a less-than-perfect hold, who might let me slip through the cracks and come back for revenge against them. Beating him today buys me time.”
“Time to build a bonfire to burn your parents on?”
The fierceness in her eyes is far more palatable when we’re standing on the same side of an issue. “I intend on finding my tomes before I break ties with my family. I won’t surrender my right to that power.”
“Of course.” I drag a hand through my sweat-greased hair. Shame bubbles up in my gut. I really had made a mistake, assuming Naoko’s intention was to humiliate me in the arena. How was I to know the stakes were this high?
Higher even than mine.
I heave a sigh and level my gaze with hers. “Look, I know your whole thing is precision deflection, but I’m not used to having someone play defense. I play singles, I’m mobile. And I can’t beat that reflex out of me between now and the next match. If I’m in a passive stance, let me dodge. If I’m spellcasting, angle them to your heart’s content. What we really need to figure out is…”
Expecting her to cut me off, I’m spitting the words out like I’m seconds away from wetting myself.
But she listens, with those fearsome eyes fixed unwavering on mine.
“Welcome to our semifinals! Up first, going toe-to-toe are everybody’s favorite rivals: California Academy of Spellwork vs. Florida Casting College Preparatory!”
I tune out the duelists’ names. Couldn’t care less. Announcer girl doesn’t have a sliver of my attention this time around. She’s a little too bombastic for me anyway.
Scumbag struts over to the midline with a smarmy smile, beckoning us. Well, I imagine he’s beckoning Naoko, but I sidle up alongside her anyway. He wears a uniform like Naoko’s, with a family crest embroidered over his heart; now that I’m looking for it, it seems Naoko’s own crest has been ripped out and mended over.
Scumbag juts out his hand with a smile worthy of shit-eating. His eyes are glued to Naoko. “Miss Kaneda. You look stunning in your dueling regalia.”
“Nobody asked you, dickweed,” I snarl. Honestly. After watching her fight, the best he can do is compliment her clothes? I hate him, I hate him, I hate him.
Naoko doesn’t so much as blink at my rudeness. Scumbag’s mouth tightens. Still, he doesn’t deign to look at me. “Sorry about your substitute.” He says the word like it’s a boil to be lanced. “What brought you to the doubles circuit this year?”
“Thought I’d make an easy go of it, against people without the talent to play singles. Like you.” Naoko turns her back, leaving his proffered hand empty and outstretched over the midline. I roar with laughter at the way his jaw drops. Adrenaline flutters through my limbs as I jog to my frontline position. I spin around and soak in the battlefield: a disconcerted Scumbag has taken the backline, behind a guy who could butter a pan with the grease slicking his hair.
“Three! Two! One! Begin!”
According to Naoko, I have exactly one chance to cast before Scumbag smothers my magic. He can maintain it passively, through a concentrated thread of will while continuing to cast other spells. He can suppress one of us at a time, and it only makes sense to start with the frontline aggressor. I whirl my staff, pulse pounding fiercely in my fingertips. My spell flies, a glowing green wisp that hurdles over my shoulder toward Naoko. Greasy’s arcane lightning zips straight for me. I stand tall, trusting Naoko to deflect it. It careens against her shield in a blinding flash of light and reverses course.
I sprint in zigzags toward the midline, screaming at the top of my lungs about how I had my head buried between their mothers’ legs last night.
“Interesting play by Quinn! An enhancement to fortify her partner’s spell strength, topped off with her best startled donkey impression.”
My arms are pumping too hard to flip that bitch of an announcer the bird. Another one of Greasy’s spells glances past my shoulder, singeing my hair. I dig my heels in, whirl my staff… and then stick my tongue out at Scumbag. His eyes bulge; he’d been waiting and baiting. He wanted to witness my failure to cast, my realization, before sweeping me out of the arena.
Not that I blame him. That’s the kind of shit I would pull.
He cracks his staff into the dirt. The earth below lurches and sends me flying backward. My body slams into Naoko’s. Lean as she is, I expect to topple her. But she’s grounded like a concrete wall; she’s dug her staff in, bracing it with one arm while the other hauls me up by my middle. Her hand settles on my stomach and her breath skims my ear: “Alright?”
“Yeah,” I blurt out, before I’ve actually taken inventory of my body. I stand and toss my staff between hands, shaking out my bloodless fingers. The ground below us shimmers silver with the glyph Naoko has drawn, spanning only a few meters in all directions.
“It looks like Quinn’s bizarre behavior has served as a distraction, buying time for Kaneda to draw a glyph. Some unusual tactics we’re seeing out on the field today. But what can we expect from two singles duelists thrown into the wild world of doubles, eh?”
I refocus my gaze, determined to tune out the CM’s babbling. We’re protected from Scumbag’s bloodline power… so long as we’re fighting from inside this little circle.
They have a half a field to work with, and we have a tiny sliver. It becomes apparent that this is going to be a problem when a jointly cast earth tremor ricochets toward us. I levitate our little chunk of dirt, admittedly inspired by the announcer veering overhead. Naoko clings an arm around my waist like a motorcyclist’s girlfriend, flipping my stomach over. She uses me as leverage to free her staff arm, summoning another shield to deflect a curse.
It drags on like this: Naoko deflects arcane and elemental magic, while I counterbalance their attempts to dislodge us. But there’s just no room, and any spell aimed at one of us is aimed at both of us. We’re trapped. It doesn’t look good for us, as the announcer so gleefully points out.
Greasy sweeps his staff in the familiar gesture indicating a fireball. I stay Naoko with a hand on her arm. I twirl my staff in time to send a water torrent gushing to meet it. Steam floods the field as the two elements collide. Granted a moment’s reprise, I tilt my head to meet Naoko’s intense stare. Between her pinned hair and smooth face, the glint of sweat on her temple is the only sign of strain.
“I’ll neutralize Greasy. You take down Scumbag.”
She doesn’t even have to ask. Her arm releases my waist and I find myself missing it.
I leap and send myself shooting into the air on another earthen platform, outside the glyph’s protection. I veer so close to announcer lady that she shrieks mid-sentence and nearly topples. As the steam dispels, two silhouettes take shape across the midline. Black tendrils surge out of my staff and wrap around the frontliner. Greasy belts out a choking noise and Scumbag’s head snaps toward me. In the split second after I flick my wrist, my magic cuts out. But the split second is enough.
The tendrils dissipate, but not before throwing Greasy through the air like a ragdoll. I let my staff slip from my hands just before force magic strikes me in the gut.
It’s been about a year since I got dunked in the water: semifinals last year, in fact. I forget to keep my mouth closed, trying to suck down enough oxygen to unravel my intestines. I plunge ass-first into the canal. Sun-warmed metallic water floods my mouth. I kick furiously until I surface, gurgling and hacking. My hands swipe droplets from my eyes. When I’ve sucked in enough breath, I belt out a scream, “KICK HIS ASS, NAOKO!”
I scramble to gain purchase on the outer rim of the canal. My ears perk for the commentary: “—still constricted by the glyph, Kaneda has caught Quinn’s staff and… Holy hell, she’s going for a dual cast!”
The crowd howls. I climb onto solid ground outside of the arena and turn to see just what’s so incredible. My heart soars to see Naoko spinning her own staff in a shielding spell while whirling mine in a different cast. The coordination, the concentration… She’s phenomenal.
Naoko deflects Scumbag’s paralyzing hex and sends a surge of purple liquid toward the opposite side of the field. Scumbag manages to deflect it from his person, letting it soak the ground. Naoko’s staffs move in tandem, mirroring each other. They release jets of flame that catch on the puddles and flare wildly. Blue bedeviled fire envelops the ground. Scumbag flails trying to put it out, and that just gives Naoko the opening she needs to douse him directly. His fancy little dueling outfit erupts into flames and he sprints shrieking into the canal.
I wheeze with hysterics and I can still barely hear myself over the bellowing crowd. Naoko holsters her staff, cradling mine in her hands. My breath hitches as she spins around, eyes searching until they lock with mine. She’s smiling in the most genuine way I’ve ever been allowed to see. She doesn’t break eye contact as she strides toward me.
Naoko stretches my staff out with reverent hands. “This is a better staff than mine.”
I take my weapon with fresh appreciation of the cherry wood under my fingers. “Glad it behaved for you.” My voice drops to a whisper. As if anyone could possibly hear us in the manic frenzy of the crowd. “If you need help reclaiming those tomes from your parents… You’ll let me know?”
A sly smile pulls at Naoko’s lips. “What makes you think I need help?”
“Maybe you don’t.” My face flushes. “Maybe I just want to help.”
She studies me. “Is breaking into my family’s warded vaults your idea of a date, Maxine Quinn?” Her eyes glint with the sort of thrill that sends adrenaline coursing through my blood. Better than a duel, even.
“Vengeance first, ice cream after? And no ‘gelato’ either. You’ll have to get accustomed to working-class food.”
“My delicate sensibilities will manage.”
We walk together to the stands as the next semifinal match kicks off. We have one more match to play, but I feel like the day’s already been won.
_______________
As an aspiring author, Ana Wesley hopes to help fill the fantasy and science fiction genres with lesbian heroines embarking on epic adventures. Her joint BA is in English Literature and Creative Writing from the University of Winchester, England.
