The Sphere

                                            By Jeff Baker

            “I saw a blue light under Magnus’ door last night,” she said.

            “Blue light?” he said. “You’re sure?”

            “I’m sure,” she said. “Blue light.”

            “How old is he now?  Thirteen? Fourteen?” he asked.

            “Oh, you know! Fourteen. He was thirteen last year!” she said.

            “I know. I know,” he said. “Did you scan into the room?” he asked.

            “Of course not!” she said. “It’s just, well, you know.”

            “Scrying. By himself.” He sat back in his chair and smiled. “Any idea what he’s looking at?”

            “I said I didn’t peek,” she said. “What did you look at when you were his age?”

            “Oh, you know. Fourteen-year-old things,” he said. “Magnus will find he can’t get past privacy shields on most houses.”

            “I’m sure,” she said with a smile.

            “Where did he get the sphere? The one he’s scrying with?”

            “I don’t think it’s one of the school ones,” she said. “I don’t think they let those out.”

            “Making one or improvising one isn’t all that impossible,” he said.

            “When I was his age, maybe a little older, I think I used a punchbowl we had,” she said. “I filled it with water and spilled it all over the floor when I actually got a picture.”

            “What did you look for?” he asked.

            “Believe it or not, I don’t remember,” she said with a smile. “Except that what I got wasn’t what I tried to home in on!”

            “I actually tried for the Moon, if you can believe that,” he said. “My Dad was one of those who didn’t believe in teenagers utilizing what he called ‘an adult skill.’”

            “Adult skill,” she sighed. “I remember when Magnus was learning now to crawl, then walk. Now he’s scrying. It all goes too fast!”

            “I know,” he said with a smile. “But there’s no one better to be a parent than you.”

            “Or you,” she said. They leaned across the coffee table and were about to kiss, when they heard the voice.

            “Uh, Mom? Dad?” Magnus was standing there, barefoot, in pajama bottoms looking very worried. “I was kinda, well, trying to scry with one of my old marbles. We’ve been doing stuff like that in school and I…well…”

            “What?”

            There was a creak from upstairs.

            “You might want to come see. Fast.” Magnus said, pointing towards the stairway.

            The three of them rushed into the next room and stood and stared up. At the top of the stairs at the back of the landing was the doorway to Magnus’ room. Filling the doorway and growing larger, pushing against the doorframe was a huge, glowing crystal sphere.

            “I had a little trouble,” Magnus said apologetically.

            “They grow up fast,” his father said.

            “But not too fast,” his mother said.

            The two of them tried not to laugh.

                                               —end—