A Kind of Magic

A Kind of Magic

It's a kind of magic. One dream, one soul, one prize, one goal, One golden glance of what should be...

It's a kind of magic

Amanda knew magic happened - though it was difficult to predict where or how or when. But at the age of twelve she intuitively recognised that before any enchantment began there were certain identifying signals - the air grew still, time froze while the Universe held its breath - and in that glorious instant between one inhalation and the next - things changed forever.

Travelling in the back of her father's plush imported Bentley antigrav fastback on the way to a piano lesson at the private and very prestigious Pacific Heights Music Academy, she had looked up in surprise when Thomas, her father's driver, and Amanda's closest friend, suddenly exclaimed, "Well look at that…."

As Thomas slowed the vehicle and the window whirred down, Amanda obligingly leaned forward chin resting on the back of white, lace-gloved fingers as she clasped the seat in front, following his gaze to the commotion ahead.

Beneath the round brim of a blue school hat perched impudently on the back of her head, wisps of curly auburn hair glowed where it escaped the silk rope of her braid. The azure ribbon tied up in a bow exactly matched her eyes. Small for her age, but sturdy, the tailored uniform jacket sat awkwardly large across her wiry shoulders.

A substantial earthquake in 2025 had destroyed much of San Francisco for the second time. Despite the damage, extensive reconstruction in recent years had restored much of the charm of an earlier age. The renowned Golden Gate Bridge again spanned the bay, trams and streetcars ran up and down California and Hyde Street - a magnet for tourists from half a dozen worlds. Even Ghiradelli's Chocolate Company had re-established premises in Ghiradelli Square.

"What is it, Thomas? What's happening?"

A cluster of people, mostly Terrans but with at least two Centaurans and an Andorian quad, were gathered outside the open gates of an ornate Victorian mansion. One of San Francisco's 'painted ladies', a gaudy gingerbread confection of russet walls and white stucco, the stately beauty surveyed all before her with dignified indifference.

"The Vulcans are moving in by the looks of it."

He pulled up opposite the Consulate and let the fastback settle. On the other side of the street, a plain but official looking carrier hunched with its rear doors flung wide. Workers in drab brown one-piece coveralls were hurrying to and fro unloading curiously shaped objects and pieces of strange furnishings.

Amanda leaned further out the window, gaping through the Consulate's gates with the innocent wide-eyed curiosity of a child. Through the grand entrance to the mansion she had a magnificent view of the bay far below, the blue water glinting in the fickle morning sunshine.

Despite the changeable weather, there clearly came the sound of parrots calling to one another from the trees lining the road and, in the next street, the sweet, muted clang-clang of a cable car.

A gaggle of small children, chaperoned by two adult females, decanted from another parked transport and walked demurely up the drive. Vulcan children and Vulcan women - possibly on their way to school as she was. They were all bundled up in what seemed layers and layers of thick clothing, wide trousers and long skirts - all beneath somber hooded robes, the material swirling about booted ankles in the breeze off the bay.

Dressed in equally concealing attire, another Vulcan, taller than the women by an inch or so, and broader at the shoulder, came out of the residence apparently to greet them. He descended the steps that led into the garden, posture elegantly erect his stride purposeful.

The breeze wanted to play. It teased the garden foliage, dragged at the high gate and the doors of the carrier, caught mischievously at the newcomer's generous sleeves and ample hood, flipping the concealing material back onto his shoulders to reveal his profile...

And that's when it happened.

The noise of the city faded for Amanda as the world stilled.

Even in a crowd his presence was compelling. There was an air of isolation about his tall figure. A wan shaft of sunshine struck his dark hair and it gleamed in the light, emphasizing the short unruly locks that curled forward onto his brow.

Her focus narrowed on his alien features, on the ears that tapered gracefully at the tip. They were the ears of a faerie prince, a warrior elf from perilous realms, exotic and mysterious. His skin was sallow, his generous lips taut beneath an aquiline nose. Not at all a kind face, it demanded all her attention and she could not look away.

And evidently responsive to her surveillance, his head turned in her direction.

For one, long searching moment, his glance met hers, his look intense but enigmatic. Strong black brows like upswept raven's wings knitted together in a sudden frown. Amanda saw his lips constrict, not in anger she realised but in a shock that mirrored her own.