xp_logs | Doc Samson's office: Friday morning

Following the events of the previous day, it's only natural Amanda's session with Samson turns to talk of things magical.

"Do you believe in magic, doc?"

"Well, I suppose I must. Over the past week I’ve seen the after-effects of a love potion, and yesterday I’m told the mansion was attacked by some kind of demon lord from another dimension, resulting in several injuries and the sudden aging of a young girl to teenager in a matter of moments."

Samson’s voice held a note of amusement, and Amanda couldn’t help a faint smile. She was sitting in what was becoming her usual seat by the window, curled in the armchair, cigarette in hand, although she was letting it burn rather than actually smoking it. The weak late-winter sun caught the smoke that didn’t escape through the window, opened a crack. She was wearing a pair of blue jeans and a black t-shirt, both obviously belonging to someone else - the jeans were rolled up at the bottom, revealing a pair of dark green woolly socks, and one bony shoulder poked through the too-big neck of the shirt. Samson was sitting behind his desk – Amanda needed the structure of a semi-formal environment, and the security the distance provided. Up close and personal was too confronting.

"Humour aside, I suppose I must say that I find it… difficult to believe in something like magic. We have certain expectations, set rules of science and math, that define what we can expect from the world around us. Magic… turns those rules upside down. It’s pure chaos, too unpredictable." Samson tapped his pen against his chin thoughtfully. "But you see it differently, yes?"

"There's a whole different world that you people have no idea about," she replied, but with a hint of amazement in her voice rather than scorn. "It's there, right under your noses, hidden in plain sight. But you don't see it."

"People find it difficult to see something that contradicts everything they know about the world," the doctor pointed out quietly.

"I remember when I did me first spell," Amanda said distantly, eyes on the bare trees outside the window. "Can’t have been more ‘n five. Rack taught me t’ call Light. A little green ball of light, ‘bout the size of a table tennis ball." A wistful look crossed her face. "I used t’ call it George: I thought at first it was so I wouldn’t be scared of the dark any more, but later I found out it was the usual spell you teach beginners. Shows what a stupid kid I was, thinkin’ he might have cared." She tapped ash into the plastic ashtray with quick, angry movements. "Yer wrong, ‘bout magic not havin’ no rules. There’s plenty, an' I don't know half of 'em, but the important one is that every spell has a price."

"How so?" Samson asked, leaning forward, resting his elbows on the desk and propping his chin on his clasped hands.

"Magic’s another way to shift energy. The components of a spell, they make a framework, give you something t’ direct it. The words ‘emselves are what kicks it off and shows it where t’ go. But the energy… it’s gotta come from somewhere. Most of the time, it’s from the caster – you use yer own energy to fuel the spell. So every spell you do, makes you that much weaker, right? Others use the energy in certain objects, or in special places. The earth itself – you’ve heard of ley lines?" When Samson nodded, Amanda continued. "A powerful magic user can harness that energy, use it instead of ‘emselves. Usually it takes study an' trainin', but me mutation means I do it without tryin'. Without meanin' to. But the body’s not meant t’ be used that way, so there’s damage involved. Sometimes it’s not much more ‘n a nosebleed, or a headache, or spots in front of yer eyes. Sometimes it’s worse; I still get nightmares after doin’ a major spell. An’ it’s not always physical. The spells you do, the type of magic yer involved in… it changes you."

"White and Black Magic?" suggested Samson. He had to admit, he was fascinated by what Amanda was telling him.

She grimaced, but didn’t correct him. "That’s one way of puttin’ it, yeah. Rack never used those terms. Said it was too limitin’. But yeah, most of what he did was Dark magic. An’ the dark stuff, that’s what changes you, makes you… dark inside, I guess. Takes somethin’ away from you." She put her cigarette to her lips, inhaled deeply. "That’s what he taught me."

"And you think that learning this… Dark magic, it’s made you less of a person? That you’re ‘dark inside’?" Samson’s words were quiet, but insistent.

She shrugged. "Stands t’ reason. Makes a lot of sense of what I done, why I do what I do t’ people. Lee said I weren't any better 'n the demons in that place."

"But from what I’m told, you acquitted yourself rather well yesterday. It was your intervention that gathered a rescue team to save Illyana, and it was you that kept the portal back here open, at considerable cost to yourself."

"I ain’t no bloody hero, if that’s what yer getting’ at. I… panicked, t’ tell the truth. Felt that fucker had an innocent, an’ couldn’t let it go. But I knew I couldn’t take him on me tod, so I called in whoever was handy. Thank Christ none of them were the little kids, or McTaggart or Bartlett. Place would’ve killed ‘em." Amanda shuddered at the thought. "An' the spell could have gone wrong, scattered us through time an' space, or chopped us up int' bits. Was luck more 'n anything that it turned out the way it did."

"You're very hard on yourself," Samson observed, making a note on his pad. When she didn't respond, he tried another tack. "Why was it so important to you that Illyana be saved? You don't get on particularly with her brother, and you had no real relationship with the girl herself."

"Was the only decent thing t' do, weren't it?" Amanda began.

"But you aren't 'decent', are you? Or that's what you keep trying to convince me of." Samson quirked his eyebrow at her ironically, but this time she failed to rise to the bait.

"She was… innocent. No-one should have t' go through what that bastard would do. 'Specially not a kid." Amanda's voice tightened. "She was just a little girl, taken away from her family, an' I couldn't let it happen, not again."

"'Again'?" Samson prompted gently, hoping to draw her out. Illyana's kidnapping was obviously hitting a far more personal nerve.

"I was two." Her voice was flat, unemotional. "My mother… she sold me t' Rack. Because of me power. Two hundred pounds, I cost him - he used t' make a point of tellin' me that." A faint trace of bitterness entered her voice. "Every night, like a fucking bed time story." She winced. "I was his, bought an' paid for, t' use as he wanted."

"Amanda." Samson's voice was firm, but compassionate. "No person can own another, no matter how much money changes hands."

"So you say. Didn't stop him from brandin' me, makin' his mark." The girl turned her head from the window, fixing Samson with empty eyes. "You seen the reports, the pictures. You know what he did. An' it's more 'n just scars, it's him, him putting me on the path, making me like him. An' that's exactly what's happenin'. The way I've fucked the people here over… even yesterday, it wasn't about 'Yana, it was about me. I felt the power of that place, wanted more. Needed more. If they hadn't made me leave when they did, I wouldn't have left. An' likely I wouldn't have let the rest of them go, if I'd had t' choose."

"'Needed'?"

Amanda started, shot him a suspicious look. "Just a turn of phrase," she muttered.

Samson kept his expression bland, but knew he'd pushed a little too far this time. There was a limit to how much she could confront in a session. Then a small trickle of red appeared under her nose, and he got up and moved over to her seat, grabbing a box of tissues as he did. She grabbed a handful gratefully, holding them to her nose.

"Are you all right?" Samson asked, sitting gingerly on the edge of the small coffee table near her chair. It creaked, but held his weight. "Do you want me to call Hank or Moira?"

"Not a lot they can do - it'll settle down in a few days. Magic has a price, remember? The power I was channellin', an' using… the body's not meant t' deal with that much energy. McCoy says I came close t' givin' meself a stroke or somethin'," she replied, her voice slightly muffled through the tissues. "Give me a few days an' I'll be good as new."

"More than a few days, I would say, but it's Hank's job to nag you about that." Samson gave her a penetrating look. "I think we'll call it a day, yes? I don’t want Hank accusing me of breaking his patients."

"Yeah, he might give you one of his lectures, an' those ain't any kind of fun." Amanda stubbed out her cigarette, and took away the tissues to see if her nose had stopped bleeding yet. It had, and she looked around for a place to put the bloody wad. Samson got up, retrieved a trashcan from beside his desk, and brought it over to her.

"All joking aside, you will talk to someone? If the physical symptoms are too much?" He could have been talking about the nosebleeds, but they both knew he wasn't. She hadn't told him about the addiction yet, but he had seen some of Moira's notes on her power, and she'd dropped enough hints to indicate there was some kind of problem there. But there was little he could do until she admitted the problem to him, and to herself.

She shrugged. "If you say so, Doc. Next time, then?"

He nodded. "Next time."