After spellcasting came the men's wrestling tournament - three weight divisions with sixteen competitors, two to three from each school per division. As soon as spellcasting was done, they rolled out the rest of the wrestling mats and were ready to go. Magnus was in the 195+ lbs 'heavyweight' division - at 220 well-muscled pounds, he was about average size in that group. He wore a blue gi with a purple belt (which is, I am told, moderately advanced - and extremely impressive, given that he's been at it for a bit under two years), thumbs hooked under his belt and joking with his teammates. Never in a million years would I have guessed he'd used to be a girl… though I'm sure the same thing could be said about me in reverse, pretty little Natalie Bryce with her elaborate bun and violet dress, small hands clasped on her lap as she watched.

I'd never been particularly keen on fighting sports as a man, and I am even less so now. I know some women get off on watching two men going at one another with all that raw physicality, but I found it all pointlessly savage and barbaric. I'm under no illusion that sometimes violence is needed to solve conflict - for self-defense or to protect the defenseless - but watching it as a sport was a hard nope from me. Wrestling's a bit different - there's at least something interesting about all the strategy and positioning involved, and it's not a display of violence inasmuch as strategic aggression. I can tolerate watching wrestling… unless Magnus is involved, in which case I can more than tolerate it. Watching my Boy excel at his sport is a massive turn-on for some reason. For his first match, Magnus took the back of an even larger boy, scrambling around like a monkey and wrapping a brawny arm around his neck. The boy rolled over, arched his back, and desperately clawed at Magnus's arm.

"Choke the bastard!" I heard myself shout, and even Cassie shot me a look of disbelief. "Sorry," I said, looking to the people around us. "I'm sure he's a very nice boy."

One fight down, three (hopefully) to go. The contestants were given at least fifteen minutes to recover between matches, but sometimes not much longer than that. And that was hardly enough if you'd been gassed in your previous match, but that's all you got. In Magnus's second match, he went against a brown belt who was one of the favorites to win the whole division - but where Magnus had just finished an easy forty-second choke-fest, this boy had engaged in a ten-minute war with a very tactical wrestler and was still recovering from the match. As skillful as he was, Magnus was just good enough to get on top of the boy and keep on smothering him and stuffing submission attempts until the boy completely gassed three or four minutes into the match and Magnus was able to secure an armbar.

"He's actually much better than last year," Liam remarked. "He practices ten hours a week, several of them with a conditioning chain, which really helps things along. He and I managed to make one all on our own."

"Oh?" Cassie's eyebrows arched upward. "That explains the stamina. And do you ever practice wrestling back in your room?"

"Magnus is a much better wrestler than I am," Liam winked. "And yes. Getting pinned up in a Magnus trap is a delectable experience."

"Oh, wow… that guy is huge. How can Magnus possibly beat him?" I pointed.

I was pointing to a muscle-bound dude who must've been six-foot-eight, even bigger than Liam's big goon. I hadn't been paying much attention when he'd absolutely plowed through his earlier matches, but here in the semifinals, there was only one other match to pay attention to and, since it wasn't Magnus's, my marginal attention turned toward his. He went against a slim kid with a black belt - it was pretty doubtful that he was within twenty pounds of the 195 pound minimum of the bottom of the division, but apparently going up a weight class was allowed. The other guy probably had a hundred pounds on him, but wasn't half as fast. It ended up being a very short match, with the smaller guy dodging a few takedown attempts and then wrapping around the big guy's arm like an octopus. When the big guy lifted his arm to slam the little guy into the ground (an illegal move, and quite dangerous), little guy up and broke big guy's elbow. It reminded me a bit of what Magnus had done to Lucian last year, except Lucian had only dislocated his elbow and not broken it (sad face). Oh well - magical medicine could literally work wonders.

"Damn… I think it would have been better to fight the big guy," I said. "Magnus isn't that fast, is he?"

"He's pretty fast," Liam said.

And was he ever! Not as fast a little guy, obviously, but pretty fast. In the final match, Magnus went up against Cesare Castro (little guy), my Boy still a bit gassed from his semifinal match… more than a bit gassed from the look of it. I squeezed Cassie's hand. I squeezed Liam's hand. If I'd been as strong as Magnus, I would have crushed bones. The two fighters slapped fingers, and then Cesare continued where he'd left off against big guy, spinning past a lumbering takedown attempt and taking Magnus's arm. I screamed - I thought he was about to get his arm broken - but Magnus managed to get out enough to avoid that, going to the ground on top of Cesare and sprawling. After some back and forth - Magnus's strength about evenly-matched against Cesare's speed - the smaller boy finally opened his guard and, with a bit of twisting, squirmed out from under Magnus, taking his back just like Magnus had taken the bigger boy in his first match. I screamed again… way to reinforce gender stereotypes, Natalie!

Liam pumped his fist. "Yes!"

I looked at him like he was mad, but he just gestured back to the match. Cesare had Magnus's back and a choke that was almost sunk in. But, apparently, this was a trick that Magnus liked to play. Because of how he was positioned, one of the smaller boy's legs wasn't properly placed around Magnus's abdomen, and Magnus, lightning-fast, slipped his hand from trying to pull the choking arm loose to grabbing the leg, and he spun his whole body around, turning right out of the worst bit of the chokehold and into side mount. From there, he grabbed the boy's lapel and did a fancy somersault that turned them both over and had the smaller boy slapping his hand against the mat in submission.

"That's called a gi choke… choked the poor boy with his own…"

"Magnus! Magnus!" I screamed. The group behind us shushed me, which earned them a very stern glare. Then I dashed past the security personnel, who didn't bother to try to stop me this time, and toward Magnus.

"Is she going to do this whenever one of us wins something?" Liam asked, sprinting to catch up.

"Probably," Cassie sighed.

+++++

Of course I was going to. Was I not allowed to be excited for my friends and (in the case of the other St. Circe's girls) my school? So far, I was a very proud witch. Pleased at how things were going, I relaxed a bit and managed to work in a quick lunch with the crew - including with Michelle and Simone (and, therefore, Wyatt, since they'd been joined at the hip all day). Cassie and the boys all showered - quick, chaste showers and not the long, steamy, Natalie-preferred sort - and we met out on the boardwalk to chat and snack. Michelle still had her gymnastics routine (doing the vault and the uneven bars) and Simone had her transformation magic bit to do before the big choral finale for the evening.

"Are you nervous? You look nervous," I asked.

"Nope," Michelle said, stuffing down her second helping of chicken curry pie - I think she eats more than any skinny person I know and at least twice what I do. Eventually, she'll have to watch what she eats, but for now, she was stuck in a twelve year-old's body that thought Michelle was a growing girl, even if she was magically age-locked to looking like a twelve year-old (and, in fact, having a twelve year-old's body) until two years after graduation.

"I meant Simone - she hasn't touched her food."

"No food," Simone said. "I think I'm gonna throw up."

"It's the whole spectator thing," Wyatt said. "All those people watching her all at once…"

Simone dry-heaved. "You're not making it better," she said.

"Sorry."

Simone was the most competent student witch I knew. I was a bit better at transformation - and, to be fair, I'd had a bit of a head start - but I wasn't a student anymore, either. Between Simone and myself, she was probably a bit more gifted with symbols (though, not to toot my own horn, I was still damn good). But I was a better improviser (there's a fair bit of improv in magic) and that translated well into transformation magic. Still, she was significantly better than I'd been last year when I'd secured a first-place finish. She didn't have much to worry about, but I worried that like pointing that out amounted to minimizing her distress over the matter. Really, it wasn't even a question of her skill - Simone just hated the idea of putting herself on display in front of a sizable audience. She had fashion model looks, a genius brain, and an absolute fear of public spectacle. Hey, nobody's perfect.

"Have you decided which of your transformations you're going to do, at least? You can do it for me in private to practice?" I said.

"Yes. No. I don't know," she said. "Can't Cassie do it?"

"I'm okay at transformation magic, but you're a lot better," Cassie said. That was true - Cassie was plenty talented, but the difference between her and Simone was the difference between being the best witch at your school (provided Simone didn't also go there) and being the most talented witch in a generation. "But if you're really too scared…"

"That's not fair," Simone snapped. "You know I'm going to do it. I just don't want to do it. Not everybody loves to bask in the spotlight, Cassie."

I raised my hands. "Okay, too much tension. This is a festival - we're supposed to be having fun, right? Simone, I'm sorry you're stressed - you don't have to show me your transformation if you don't want to. We'll just get through it, and then we'll do the choral number, and we'll all have a nice dinner afterward, okay?"

"I'm sorry, Simone," Cassie said. "It's just… if I was as awesome as you, I don't think I'd ever be self-conscious about anything…"

Simone nodded - apology accepted. "Are you self-conscious about anything now?"

For some reason, Cassie glanced at me and then back to Simone. "Some things, sure. But being me in public isn't one of them."

Really, hers was a good way to frame it: being me in public. Even when she was performing at crew or at anything else, Cassie just thought of it as part of being herself. And, if she wasn't embarrassed for who she was (which she definitely wasn't) then why be embarrassed about being that person with other people watching? The only people who Cassie ever worried about disappointing were people whose opinions of her she valued even greater than her own, not random strangers.

"Great lunch, guys," I sighed. "I have to get to the potions competition. Michelle, you're on in seventy minutes - and no more food."

Michelle rolled her eyes and dropped her fork onto her plate, its contents now completely empty except for a few errant flakes of crust. "Yes, mom," she sighed.

+++++

Michelle did great. She and Lorelei Waters make up half of our competition gymnastics team. While St. Circe's wasn't known for its gymnastics program, we could hang with the best of them. All of the schools of magic had various exploits to help the students learn and condition themselves more quickly, and so the competition was a lot closer in skill to one between major universities than small prep schools. Even with that caveat, Lorelei was well above average, and Michelle had substantially surpassed even her in the past year. Good thing, too, because Rajani and Zenia, no offense to them, were merely average for this level of competition. Michelle's Olympics-worthy performance on the floor exercises, doing lightning-fast handsprings into a crazy twisting flip, drew gasps and cheers from even the most unbiased spectators. And Lorelei perfectly stuck the landing that had earned her a broken ankle last year (thanks to the cheating theatrics of Schwarzwaldakademie).

For the record, I did not rush past security to congratulate Michelle on her performance. Since I was assistant coach, I was already past security and also supposed to be more reserved about things. Instead, I nodded in approval, waited for her to pace off the floor, smiling and waving to the crowd, and then wrapped her in a hug, both of us jumping up and down excitedly.

"That was awesome!" I said.

"I took a teeny step on the landing," she said.

"You might only get bronze in the Olympics with a showing like that," Ms. Azucar added, prying me off to give Michelle a hug of her own. "Great job, Michelle - stick the landing on your vault if you want to make it up to me."

It was said in jest, but not entirely - I wouldn't be at all surprised if Michelle made the Olympic team (and did well on it) some day. Our above-average gymnastics showing was a good thing, too, after our fourth-place showing in potions (a few too many dead fish). By the time we got to the transformation magic performance, St. Circe's was sitting in second place, a bit above St. Lovelock's and a bit below Occultus.

"I'm going to be sick," Simone said.

I straightened her outfit - a plain black leotard fitted snug against her lithe frame. "You're not going to be sick. You're going to be awesome. Have you decided which trick you're going to do?"

"Yeah, I…"

"Don't tell me - go out there and show them that you're the most badass little who ever learned magic."

"Second most," she said.

"Michelle's not that great," I deadpanned. That earned a giggle from Simone - good. She needed a little levity in her or she might transform into a black hole and implode the whole arena. "Remember - you're doing this for you. Nobody else in the world matters."

When the officiant called out: Simone Clayton from St. Circe's, I hopped to give her a peck on the cheek and then nudged her out from the staging area - from back here, we couldn't see any of the other competitors (Simone was going fourth out of eight) and could only gauge how well they'd done based on audience reaction. I sidled out after Simone, not wanting to make her more nervous by knowing I was judging her, too - after all, transformation was very much my wheelhouse and Simone was constantly aware of her little foibles and faults whenever I pointed them out (tactfully!) during training.

Simone stood before the crowd, spotlights upon her, and raised her hands. I could see them trembling, her elbows and fingers all wiggling and wavering - for a moment, I thought she was having a panic attack. Then her arms started blurring and I almost whooped with excitement - she was making a go at her hardest and most ambitious transformation!

Glittering gold wended its way around her black leotard, ornate, swirling, and stark in its contrast to the dark of her outfit. As she did, her hair sank down into a perfusion of braids, hundreds of glittering and glowing baubles among the dark mass, and her arms split apart… four arms, and then six arms, each of them waving around. For a moment, she lifted right off the floor and her transformation completed - the six-armed glittering form of Parvati, the Hindu goddess. Perhaps it was sacrilegious (though I don't think there were any practicing Hindus in attendance), but it was also absolutely amazing. Simone had spoken of trying such a thing, but I'd never seen her attempt it. She touched back upon the ground, mortal once more, her half-dozen arms still flailing and gyrating. Then, with an effort of concentration, her arms merged back - four and then two - and she bowed to the crowd. For an awkward second, nobody clapped. They were too stunned to make a sound.

"Yes!" I screamed over the silence, unable to contain myself. Then the crowd erupted into clapping and cheering. They'd just witnessed the awesome power of a true witch and not some reasonably-talented, barely-trained student (sorry, other contestants).

A point of note: the six arms and floating off the floor bit was pure theatrics and, given Simone's dislike of spectacle, I was very proud of her for pulling it off. Either was very easy to do - in fact, it was far harder to go from six arms to two without help than the opposite. Any decent witch can give herself extra limbs, but they're very difficult to control. So don't expect to become the queen of all jugglers with your four or six arms unless you plan on keeping your extra limbs around for a few months to get used to them. Focusing your concentration on just one of your six hands enough to do symbology and merge your arms back together was the hardest bit of what Simone had done… I knew that, but I doubt the judges were thinking of that when they gave Simone her winning score. Second place went to the girl who turned her hair into medusa snakes - technically-challenging and well-executed, but a goddess beats a gorgon any day of the week.

Me being me, I shouted and rushed out to congratulate Simone. For the record, this was probably the sixth time I'd run out to congratulate one of my lovers, friends, or students, so it was fast becoming a familiar sight. I couldn't help myself - I'd worked so hard on getting everything together for the festival, and it was all turning out very well.

"You made your stretch transformation! I thought you said you couldn't do that one!" I said.

"That's the first time I put it all together," a very goddess-y Simone said, her smile beautiful and beatific in divine fashion.

"Cheaters! Did you really think you'd get away with such brazen dishonesty, girl?" Byron Bryce bellowed. With no awareness of the spectacle he was creating (or perhaps he knew and just didn't care), he stormed toward the performance stage, his Gangling Man toadies gliding behind him, their faces bespeaking nervous uncertainty.

In an instant, Simone's illusion dissipated around her and she scrambled behind the imposing 4'10" (almost) Natalie Bryce for protection. I took half a step forward, little fists balled. "I'm not a cheater and Simone definitely isn't a cheater! I don't care who you are - you can threaten me all you like, but fuck you for calling Simone a cheater!"

He gestured angrily toward her "Do you expect me to believe a novice witch, and a little to boot…"

"I'm not a little," Simone said in a small voice.

"Your betters are talking, girl," Byron said, icy eyes flitting to her, as if her presence was a mere afterthought.

"I'm not a fucking little," she said, stepping behind me and putting a slim hand on my shoulder. "We're witches, and we're very good at what we do. I'm sorry if my performance didn't meet your expectations, sir, but if you think I'm a cheater then, pardon my French, you are out of your goddamn mind."

"Check them for cheating devices." He turned to a group of approaching officiants, their expressions deeply worried and uncertain. "Do you hear me? Check them for cheating devices - do you expect me to believe that each and every one of Natalie Bryce's little friends happen to be the top performers in their field? And are we going to forget that causing a disturbance is cause for disqualification?"

It would have been pointless to point out that Liam had 'only' gotten second place or that he and Magnus didn't even go to my school. I reached for Simone's hand and squeezed it - I was so proud of her for standing up to Byron Bryce. As much as she hated confrontation, enough was enough. "With all due respect," I said - I hoped my intonation made it clear that not much was due, "having talented friends is not a cause for disqualification… and you are the one who stormed onto the performance stage in front of everybody and caused a big bloody commotion. Don't sully this festival with your petty personal grievances, grandfather."

"You are not my…"

"Byron, please," Headmaster Hurt said - he was one of the gathering group of VIPs to observe our kerfuffle. "Surely you see how bad this looks for you - let the matter drop for now and file a formal grievance. I assure you that any cheating or foul play will be rooted out. But not now, in the heat of the moment, in front of two thousand people."

"T-two thousand?" Simone said. I'd told her the crowd was maybe a few hundred. Oops.

"Congratulations, Miss Clayton," the headmaster said, and he escorted Byron Bryce away.

+++++

After that bit of drama, it was time for the choral finale. It was seven o'clock and the sun was just beginning to set - it was the summer solstice in northern Australia, so the day was long. The choral bleachers were set upon a clifftop overlooking the waters, the sun sinking below the horizon in the west. The organizers had a few magical sound dampeners set up to minimize ocean noises and improve the acoustics for the outdoors performance.

The order of performances was the opposite to each team's current ranking, meaning Schwarzwaldakademie went first (since they had zero points), and now St. Circe's was going last since, after Simone's display of goddess badassery, we were in first place! St. Lovelock's went right before us, using all eight minutes of their time to sing an all-choral rendition of Orff's O Fortuna, which was pretty damn impressive.

We didn't have anything quite so dramatic to present, but we did have Harmony Yeung and Helena Sanchez. Yes, that Helena… since she'd gotten serious about singing almost a year ago, and she'd made amazing progress in choir. She didn't have the coveted dark soprano that Harmony had, but she was a mezzo with good range, great pipes, and pitch to rival Harmony's. Anybody who'd ever heard Helena calling out to Emi from across the green knew that a year and a half of being a little hadn't diminished her volume at all.

"Do you want to direct?" Dr. Clay asked.

"Me?" As far as I knew, Dr. Clay didn't let anybody else approach her chorus with a twenty foot staff (that's a music joke, folks).

"Just the first number. You've done great so far, and you've been there for every after-class practice…"

"Yes!" I plucked the baton from her hands and, grinning, dashed up to the podium, my dark St. Circe's frock (worn over my dress), fluttering behind me.

Truth be told, the first piece didn't require much conducting at all (which was why Dr. Clay let me do it, I suppose). It was an old Renaissance devotional tune, hauntingly beautiful, and anybody who knew a thing about polyphony could conduct it without much guesswork. Plus, it had two soaring solos, one each for Harmony and Helena (Dr. Clay called them her Treble and Bass, even though both had pretty good range through the middle register). I just had to remember when to point at the soloist… and if I somehow forgot (which I didn't), they already knew the arrangement by heart, so no big deal. At the end of the piece, I took a curtsy to light applause and Dr. Clay shook my hand before taking her accustomed spot.

The next piece was Carol of the Bells - a Chrismas classic - followed by a much more ambitious classic, especially given a 33-member all-girls chorus: Hallelujah from Handel's Messiah. It required as much volume as we could muster and took the whole alto section singing their chests out to hit the bottom range, even with our adjusted arrangement. True, it was an oddly religious piece to finish out the night of an all-witches and -warlocks school festival, but if you were going for dramatic oomph, nothing else in our repertoire came close to O Fortuna. I found myself singing along with them - not at full volume because, if not technically against the rules, that would certainly be frowned upon. They were doing great! And I got more and more excited as we approached the final crescendo of the song.

And lo and behold, it was a Christmas miracle - we got through the whole thing without a misstep and without a hint of cheating. And if Byron Bryce thought he could prove cheating on our part, he was welcome to try. All he'd find was a bunch of talented girls and hours upon hours of hard work.

Given how subjective the scoring on the choral piece was - piece selection, arrangement, and technical performance were all assessed - it took a few minutes for the judges to deliberate. After they submitted the scores, runners jogged over to the point board (it wasn't digital, obviously) to clack the new numbers into place.

"St. Circe's places first, St. Lovelock's second, Occidental Imperial third!"

"We won!" I ran up to Dr. Clay and, with uncharacteristic zeal, she pulled me into a hug before I could hug her.

"You did it, Natalie - first time in over a decade! I'm so happy!"

"Me, too!"

I felt a tap on my shoulder and, as soon as I turned around, I was pulled back into a passionate kiss. It took about half a second for me to register that it was Magnus and not Cassie or Liam. I locked lips with him, my eyes occasionally fluttering open to see his hazel eyes gazing into mine, and only let go when I felt another admirer tugging at my frock.

"Wh-" I said, and was immediately smothered in a Cassie kiss. And, after that, it was Liam's turn.

As I caught my breath, Magnus addressed Dr. Clay and myself. "You ladies are cordially invited to the St. Lovelock's celebration with your first place St. Circe's girls as guests of honor. Headmaster Hurt's invitation. We've got something special to show you there." Then he leaned in and whispered just to me: "And after that, we'll celebrate in private."

"This is the happiest night of my life," I sighed.

At the time, I thought it, too. Little did I know how very, very wrong that would prove to be.

OvidLemma

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