Your Magic or Mine? by Ann Macela

came out on the first of April, we’ve received piles of mail. We have pros and cons and every shade in between. The Horners are bellowing, the mathematicians are calculating, and everybody, and I do mean
everybody
, is clamoring for more. You two have really struck a nerve among members of the community.” He leaned back and gazed at her and Forscher as though he’d found the spell to make the journal double in circulation.
    And … perhaps he had.
    His enthusiasm didn’t mean, however, that she had to go along with his scheme.
    Ed pushed a stack of printed-out e-mails and regular correspondence across the table. “Look at these. I’ve had invites and requests from High Council members, teaching masters, people grouped together by talents, high-levels, low-levels, you name it. They all want to take part in the debate over spell-casting methods and magic education. We can hold meetings all over the country. Under the journal’s auspices, we’ll offer practitioners an opportunity to hear the latest research and talk about their own ideas. Those who can’t attend the meetings will be able to read the transcripts. We’re even thinking of Webcasting the sessions on the main practitioner Web site.”
    “Ed …” Forscher said.
    “Ed …” she said at the same time. She noticed out of the corner of her eye the mathematician hadn’t even glanced at the letters, and she, too, ignored the papers.
    “I know, I know,” Ed interrupted. “Both of you are busy, the school year is still in full swing, and you have obligations and commitments. But I’ve figured out a way we can satisfy our audience and still allow you your academic pursuits. You both told me earlier you weren’t traveling during the summer, right?”
    He didn’t give either a chance to answer because he forged ahead. “So, what if we arrange meetings every other Saturday in a different city? Or maybe every Saturday for six or eight weeks and get it over with? You could travel there in the morning and come back the next day. Or even that night if there’s a flight. It’s not like you have to prepare a new talk for every place. Simply state the sides of the debate, answer questions, and I’ll keep order.”
    At Ed’s last statement, she heard Forscher make a sound very much like a snort. She managed to hold her reaction to a sigh.
    “Okay, okay,” Ed continued with a touch of chagrin in his tone, and he held up his hands in mock surrender. “I’ll admit I lost it at the last one. However! At these meetings, not only will we be ready and will I maintain a civil decorum, we’re also going to have sergeants-at-arms. I’ve covered all the bases. You have to say yes.”
    For the first time since she arrived, Gloriana looked straight at Forscher—right into his icy-blue gaze. When their eyes met, his expression grew even grimmer, sharper, more disdainful. She fought the ridiculous urge to smile; the situation certainly didn’t call for an attempt on her part to soothe his feelings, or make the discussion more “pleasant,” or give any indication of female “weakness.” Instead, she simply shook her head.
    He followed suit with a slow negative movement of his.
    “If it’s money you’re worried about, travel expenses, an honorarium, the journal is picking up the tab,” Ed said. “You’ll be amply rewarded.”
    “No,” Forscher said in a low voice, but he didn’t take his eyes from hers.
    “No,” she agreed as she watched his pupils expand until only a faint rim of blue remained.
    “I think you’d better take a look at these.” Ed pushed a couple of papers into their line of sight.
    Gloriana was the first to break eye contact with Forscher to see what Ed had. She picked up the page nearest her while her opponent took the other. She gave it a brief glance before returning her gaze to Forscher. She’d let him go first.
    Forscher frowned at his letter. “The banner at the top says “The Future of Magic,’ and across the bottom are the