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The hallway is buzzing with magic: staffs rippling, potions flying, abominations charging. Scout or student, it seemed as though neither side was holding back. What had started as a conniving ruse is now a proper war on the Hexside campus.
Matt doesn’t care if he gets cut up and bruised again. He’s getting to Augustus this time.
He neutralizes a pair of scouts with well-placed walls erupting from the ground and attempts to imitate a move from one of the human movies he had watched once. With that taken care of, he turns toward the gym, his pathway now clear.
He takes off at a run, leaping over a fallen enemy, but the only shouts he hears are from the battle behind him. He flings the doors wide and rushes in, stopping short at the scene before him.
Graye—the cause of all this—is on the floor, rocking back and forth and clutching his head in distress. His blue eyes are consumed by it now, glowing bright with magic. He’s crying out to no one, begging, “Make it stop!”
Matt almost doesn’t see Augustus at first. His friend is so much smaller than the Coven Head, wrapped up tight and holding his knees, hidden in a crackling vortex of illusion magic.
Matt gapes, not sure what to do next, when Willow and Amity come charging in behind him.
“What’s going on?” Willow’s voice is raised to be heard over the din in the hallway.
“I— I don’t know,” Matt answers, feeling useless and unsettled. He had expected another fight, not…whatever this is.
A loud crash interrupts their exchange, debris raining down around them as an Abomaton bursts through the gymnasium wall. The Coven Guard is close behind, controller in hand. He laughs wickedly as the robot raises whirling metal claws over the witches. Willow and Amity whip around at the commotion, preparing their spell circles.
“We’ll take care of this,” Amity growls.
“Go help Gus!” Willow tells Matt. He’s standing there, frozen.
“But…”
The girls are already engaging with the enemy, leaving him alone in the chaos.
He turns back to the swirling sphere of magic; it seems to bristle with static and fury. Graye is down on his side now, overwhelmed by whatever he’s seeing. Matt gulps. What would he see? Was he strong enough to face it, if a Coven Head wasn’t?
But Augustus is still there in the center of it: distraught, alone. Matt knows, with a certainty that comes from some quiet corner of his heart, that he would do anything to help him.
So he steps closer, bringing an arm up to shield his eyes from the bright hue. He reaches out a hand—
He walks away after giving Matt a final smile and a wave.
Matt is six years old. His brother is his world. His best friend. His idol. He’s going to be just like him one day: strong and cool and working for the Emperor. Matt is grinning, his hand held high over his head as he waves goodbye, not knowing that Steve stopped smiling the second he turned away.
The reality sinks in like an avalanche, heavy and hard and painful. He waits for the crow call that doesn’t come. The weekend visits that don't materialize. The odd letter comes in the mail, his name written on the envelope in Steve’s messy print. He hides them away, reading them over and over, but it doesn’t ease the loneliness.
His sunny disposition has dimmed by the time he goes back to Glandus for the school year. He thought he knew who he was, but the ground has shifted underfoot. He’s unsteady, awkward, bitter. Kids welcome him into their circles, and he doesn’t even mind when they laugh at him, or cheat him, or rough him up. It’s something to fill in the hurt. It’s better than holes.
He eventually falls in with a bad crowd, but he doesn’t think of himself that way until he overhears an argument, early one morning, when he should be asleep. It’s about him. His own mother says, “I don’t know what to do with him, sometimes I just—” and Matt knows in that moment that the wrong son is gone.
Matt’s nails dig into his temple, his teeth grinding as he growls in frustration. When he looks up, catching his breath, the sphere is closer. He just needs to break through, past the hurt and the memories. They choke him with their immediacy, but they’re nothing new. He doesn’t need an illusion to know why he hates himself.
Matt presses forward.
For a second, the world goes white. There’s an awful feeling of vertigo as the illusions and the real world overlap, fighting for dominance. Incoherent flashes of memory tilt around him, but when it all settles, he finds himself standing in what appears to be Augustus’ bedroom.
It’s incredibly lifelike, down to the overflowing laundry basket, the strange human device against the wall, his cushion piled with ‘treasures.’ Matt stands there, dumbstruck by his friend’s prowess.
Until he looks down, and finds Augustus at his feet: still hugging his knees and hiding his face, his back to an illusioned dresser.
Matt snaps out of it.
“Gus!” he cries, dropping to his knees to get closer. His eyes scan him over for any injuries. The last time he saw him, Augustus was being dragged roughly by Adrian. “Gus, are you okay?”
“It’s all my fault.” His voice is despondent. Monotone. It contrasts so sharply against his usual cheer that Matt flinches.
“What?”
“I can't do anything right.”
“Augustus, that’s not—”
“I can’t tell the real Willow from a fake,” he interrupts, voice pained and muffled. “I can’t tell when people are lying to me. I can’t control my magic.” Matt sees his arms clench tighter. “People think I’m the smart one, but I’m so stupid. I’m a screw-up.”
“You’re not,” Matt tells him, knee-jerk and emphatic. He sounds almost angry. Maybe he is. “Augustus—” He braces himself on one palm, leaning in and reaching out with his other hand, cupping the back of Augustus’ head—needing to feel him, to ground him. “Look at me.”
His friend peeks over his knees, revealing glowing blue eyes and white irises that can’t hide his melancholy. Matt frowns in concern as Augustus gives him a small, questioning look. He makes sure to lock eyes when he says, “None of this is your fault.”
“But, I…” Augustus closes his eyes tight. “I showed him the graveyard.”
“What?” Matt feels a jolt of confusion, his hand slipping from the boy's nape.
“It wasn’t on purpose!” he insists, as though Matt might not believe him. “But suddenly I was projecting it, and now… Now he knows.” His fingers curl into the fabric of his leggings, tense and agitated. “He's gonna come for the galdorstones, we have to—”
“Hey,” Matt interjects, nipping that in the bud. He softens his voice, resting a hand on his friend’s arm. “Hey, it's okay. We knew someone would come looking sooner or later, right?” Matt knows it’s true, yet the thought of the graveyard no longer being their own private retreat stings worse than what Graye did to his eye.
Would Augustus even be his friend anymore if they didn’t have a ‘reason’ to hang out?
Still, he forces himself to sound confident, adding, “That's why we built up its defenses. It won't be easy to find, even for the likes of him.”
Augustus’ eyes widen. Matt has to blink at the disconcerting glow. “How can you say it's not my fault?” he demands. He gestures at the illusion surrounding them, forcing Matt to draw back. “Look at this!”
Matt takes a sharp breath, rattled by his panic. He exhales, steadying himself, then says, simply and calmly, “I am.”
He moves to sit beside Augustus, crossing his legs and leaving a bit of space between them. Putting his hands in his lap, he takes in the room, looking for a tell and hardly being able to find one. The world outside the window is hazy, and some textures are too simplified, but at a glance, he wouldn’t even question it.
“It’s incredible,” Matt decides. He turns to him, a smile touching his lips. “But I already knew that about you.”
Augustus uncurls the slightest bit, a question in his gaze.
Matt shifts to better face him. “Look,” he says. “One day, you'll be able to hone this. I know you will.” He spreads his hands for emphasis. “You're the most talented illusionist I've ever seen.”
Augustus looks away, his expression falling. “Yeah, well. That's probably not saying much.”
Matt clenches his teeth. “Stop it,” he hisses before he can stop himself, the worry finally tumbling into anger. Augustus startles, his attention snapping back to Matt. “Stop talking like that about my best friend.”
Augustus stares at him. He blinks, eyes going huge. “Your…?”
Matt’s mouth snaps shut. His hands close into fists and press into his thighs. The embarrassment burns through him, but it would be even more embarrassing if he made a big deal about it. He stares at the floor, forcing himself to keep going.
“It's okay if you don't feel the same,” he says, too quickly. “But…who else would give a jerk like me a chance?” His eyes lift to meet Augustus’, and for the first time he notices a photograph that’s tacked to the wall past his shoulder. It’s from Matt’s birthday party a month ago, and it’s on display right alongside pictures of him with Willow and the human.
His friends.
Matt maybe stares a moment too long before his eyes flick back to Augustus.
“You did," he continues. "Because that’s the kind of witch you are. And if people try to take advantage... That's on them, Augustus. That's not on you.”
Augustus seems at a loss for words, his mouth moving with nothing coming out.
“People like me,” Matt adds.
Augustus immediately shakes his head. “I’m not holding a grudge or anything,” he says, voice more sure than it was a minute ago. “I know that's not the real Mattholomule.”
“Maybe,” Matt allows. His eyes slide away. “But it used to be.” He thinks of Augustus’ insecurities, and how he callously reinforced them. Maybe, while Matt was seeing his old childhood bullies in the projected memories, Augustus was seeing him.
“I'm sorry if I… If I made things worse.”
At this, the younger witch softens, his lips tilting into a smirk. “Don't give yourself too much credit,” he teases.
Matt barks a laugh, more from relief than anything. “Oh, come on!” he shoots back playfully. “You should’a seen the look on your face when I—” Okay, maybe this wasn’t the best time to relive their old quarrel. He shakes his head, waving the thought away. “Uh. Never mind.”
Matt turns towards him, trying again. “My point is, you need to be nicer to yourself, Augustus. Like you treat everyone else.”
The irony hits him then. Matt laughs under his breath and tilts his head back with a wry smile, joking but not, “We probably both need a lot of therapy.”
He tries to lean back against the dresser, remembering too late that he can’t. He flails his arms, rebalancing.
Augustus chuckles. When he opens his eyes, the glow is gone.
Matt’s never been so glad to see those clear gray eyes.
“Yeah,” Augustus agrees, not without humor. Then, his smile widening, “Thanks, Matty.”
The bedroom fades, bringing them back to the reality of the gymnasium with disorienting suddenness. The Abomaton is smoldering along one wall, its machinery destroyed by vines and ooze. Graye is gone, but his earring must have come loose in his thrashing; it lays discarded on the floor nearby. Augustus picks it up, tucking it away as Matt stands and brushes himself off.
“Yeah, well. I think I filled my sincerity quota for the year,” he says, slipping back into his usual affected tone. “Don’t get used to it.”
“Gus!” Willow calls, running up to them. Matt’s secretly disappointed when Augustus’ attention is stolen by the girl sweeping him up in a big, twirling hug. He stands there awkwardly until Augustus eyes him with a knowing smile, extending an arm.
“Get in here.”
Matt folds his arms, skeptical. “Yeah, I’m good, thanks.” But Augustus won’t take no for an answer. He grabs him by the elbow and pulls him into their embrace, his arm digging into his ribcage as he squeezes. Matt groans.
“Titan, you’re deceptively strong.”
Augustus snickers and lets go. Willow looks like she’s about to say something, when Viney comes running up, wanting help with the remaining scouts.
“We’ll talk later,” she tells him, giving his arm a reassuring squeeze.
Matt figures he should join them, but before he makes it five feet, Augustus says, “Don’t think I didn’t notice your new look.”
“Huh?” Matt looks down at his uniform, confused until he spots his illusion track sleeves, all of two hours old, torn and hanging on his arms. His cheeks warm in embarrassment again, but he crosses his arms and flashes a smug grin. “Afraid of a little competition, Augustus?”
The younger witch grins back mischievously. “I’ll let you know when I find some.”
Matt laughs. “Damn, Porter. And here I was calling you a nice kid.”
“It’s my big, soulful eyes. Gets ‘em every time.” Augustus’ smile warms to something more genuine. “But just so you know... I meant what I said.” Matt gives him a questioning look, and the boy continues, “In there.” He gestures behind him, where they had been stuck in the illusion. “I saw Bria and the others. I saw kids that were mean to me when I moved up two grades.”
His hand falls. He cocks his head at Matt. “But I didn’t see you.”
Matt wishes he could school his expression, but he knows whatever emotion just gut punched him is plain on his face.
“I just…wanted you to know that.”
Matt goes to take a breath, but it’s like it gets stuck. He feels the traitorous stinging of his eyes and blinks it away.
Augustus seems to know to not push it. He starts walking towards the damaged entrance to the gymnasium, waving to Matt as he goes. “Come on. I bet they could use us outside.”
Matt pauses and takes in the aftermath of the fight. He’s pretty sure Steve wasn’t a part of this—not directly—but he’s going to have to talk to his brother now. If the Emperor’s Coven was desperate enough to try and trick students into getting sigils, even kidnap them… something was very wrong.
Matt steels himself and follows after his friend.