Chapter 10: Whoa! Hi There.

I felt Ursus's resignation and Arthur's surprise. Now what?

Depending on how much this locus mirrors the properties of the physical dimensions, Ursus thought, we might have a shortcut compared to exhaustive mapping. That gazebo is a pretty spot; I bet it gets visited often.

Moving our subjective viewpoint right down to turf level, we directed our gaze in turn to each of the four gaps in the hedge. When we were finished, I mentally indicated the gap across from us. I think the lawn near that one has seen the most wear.

Our sense of presence shifted to that gap. Careful, boys, Ursus warned. We moved our senses slightly into the maze. I examined to the left. To the right. To the front. Up. Down. Listen. Smell. Reach out with magic senses. Move in a little more, and repeat. We thus painstakingly made our way to the first intersection and again examined the turf for differential wear.

Left, I think, I said.

Lemur for left, Ursus thought, creating a mnemonic. We carefully moved our viewpoint left. The next turn was also a left. The lemur is eating licorice. Then a right. The licorice is wrapped around a rutabaga.

In the process of going through the labyrinth, we only made one bad turn that required us to double back. The incorrect path had let to a sculpture that appeared to be carved from marble. It was of a voluptuous, nude woman on a low pedestal. I suspect someone really likes that sculpture, Ursus thought, enough to wear a trail, anyway.

We worked our way through the maze. One last turn, and we could see into a garden. I saw beds of flowers and other plants and some dwarf fruit trees. The size of the pears suggested that it was early summer at this locus. Studying the scene, we kept our subjective point of presence in place for a while. It seems safe, Arthur concluded.

Something's missing, I thought.

I felt Ursus realize what it was. This place has more scrying defenses than just the trap with the garden maze, he thought. To our front, something is shielded from scrying. Given that before us is a garden, the blank area might be a house.

With a mental shrug, we edged our subjective presence into the garden. As we had hoped, our ability to manipulate manna came back, and Ursus immediately seized control of it. He was ready to release it, thus ending our ability to scry, at any hint of danger.

Off to one side, where our ability to see her had been blocked by the hedge of the labyrinth, stood a woman. I felt startled for a second, and Ursus almost let our manna go, but she made no threatening moves. She was wearing a carelessly tied diaphanous robe over an even less substantial nightgown, and we were treated to a generous view of spectacular cleavage. She started speaking in a language none of us could understand. There was a scolding tone in her voice, but she didn't look all that angry.

Aphrodite? Arthur thought.

She's gorgeous enough to be her, I thought, but Aphrodite most likely was a brunette, being Greek and all. The woman before us had white-blonde hair in a loose braid that fell to her waist, and fair skin.

Right, Arthur agreed. Freyja?

I don't believe she's a goddess, Ursus thought. Their presence tends to be more intense. That's not to say she isn't playing hob with my ability to concentrate. I felt him purposefully focus deeper on our manna and his search for potential threats.

The woman removed a crystal on a chain from around her neck and held it up to her eyes. I felt Ursus mentally "tense." She's scrying us right back, I thought.

The woman quit talking for several moments while she gazed into the crystal. Our concentration split even more as Arthur remained focused on her while I tried to look around us. Our trance almost broke right then, but I managed to salvage it. Look around a little, damn it! I ordered.

Arthur felt embarrassed as he complied. The woman was standing nearby, to our subjective right. To the far right stood a hedgerow. Behind us, to the right and left, was the labyrinth. A garden spread in front of us. The raised beds were whimsical free-form shapes rather than laid out formally. In front of us beyond the garden, and to the medium left, were blank areas that we presumed were warded from scrying.

The woman let out what sounded like an excited squeal, and she regained my full attention. Smiling, she had beauty that was almost painful. Are you sure she isn't a goddess? Arthur asked.

The woman said in English, "Can you understand me?" She had an Irish lilt.

I nodded my head. I felt vaguely aware that my physical body had given an actual nod. She continued looking at her crystal rather than at the spot that was my subjective center of concentration. "Yes," Ursus said. I felt movement in my physical vocal cords and could hear myself speak. "Can you understand me?"

The stunning woman became visibly even more excited. He face and upper chest were flushed. "Yes! Yes! Yes!" She bounced in place a little.

I felt Ursus's vigilance relax somewhat. In the face of her obvious joy, it was hard to feel threatened. "Arthur Ursus Enlil Teagan Bear Powyr at your service, Miss," he said.

She took a deep breath, which was hard not to stare at, and visibly gathered herself. "Excuse my manners, young sir. It has been more than fifty years since I've had the opportunity to converse with a mortal, and I find myself thrilled at the prospect. I am called Alanna ni Ailfrid. If you come with good will, welcome."

"My intentions are harmless," I said, "but I confess a tendency toward unseemly curiosity."

She smiled some more. "You are a magus?"

"I hesitate to apply such a lofty title to one with my present abilities."

"If I'm right in my understanding of how mortals reckon such things, you do look to be quite young. However, you've scried this place when contact with your folk has become difficult and infrequent, you've worked your way out of my snare, and you're canny enough to ward your place of power so that I can't discern its location. Your abilities, then, are more than trivial. Are you a skilled apprentice, then?

"In a way, but my story is complicated. For now, it would perhaps be best to simply call me a magician."

"Aye, then, a magician you shall be called, and I am well aware of your breed's tendency to explore."

"That is a kind way of putting it," I said.

Alanna smiled again. "I suppose curiosity is why you were trapped for a time in my scrying snare."

"I was practicing and decided to see what in the Abstruse World was near my closet door in the Physical World. The door linked to a spot underneath one of your rose arbors."

Ursus had a thought. "Ah, I was wondering what my clothes closet had in common, metaphorically, with your garden. Your trap explains why my sight came out within your labyrinth, rather than at a cellar door or the like."

"Aye, the labyrinth is a grievous folly for a garden the size of mine, but if I'm going to have it, it makes a handy element for a spell to catch the gaze of voyeurs. The Wee Folk have the habit of spying on me."

"That wasn't what I was trying to do," I said hastily.

I can't say I blame those who try, though, Arthur thought.

"I believe you, lad," Alanna said. "I apologize for trapping you that way."

"You have nothing to apologize for. I'm guilty of being a snoop, even if I wasn't trying to be a voyeur. I apologize for trespassing."

"Think nothing of it. You're welcome here, now, as long as you respect my privacy more than the little miscreants who keep trying to see me in my bath do, and I'm not so old that I don't remember what it was like learning to scry myself.

"Move your gaze to my crystal," she said.

I hesitated, and Ursus and Arthur fully agreed with my caution.

Alanna looked exasperated for a moment. "I grant you full guest privileges to my home and land, so long as you offer me, my family, my visitors, and my other guests no harm. While you--or your senses--are here, I will not seek to harm or hinder you in any way, and I will defend you to the best of my ability from anyone else who might try to do so. I, Alanna ni Ailfrid, swear it by my life and my power." She raised her eyebrows questioningly over violet eyes.

After hearing an oath like that, I realized that I would be offering a gigantic insult if I didn't focus on her crystal. Oaths have real power among magical folk, Ursus thought. He relaxed even more. I looked at the crystal.

Alanna was silent for a few moments, and then she spoke a few words in a language I didn't know. My diminished sense for magic felt a slight stirring. "There," Alanna said, "you'll no longer get snared in my labyrinth if you wish to pay me another visit, as I hope you will."

I noticed, too, that I could now see a house where there was once a blank spot in my vision. By the standards of Novi Orbis, it was a small place, but it was too big to be described as a cottage. It had fieldstone walls and a shake roof. "Pretty house," I said.

"Thank you. Let's move this conversation inside, if you will." Alanna led and I let my senses follow her. I saw to my left, in what had been another blank spot, a pond. Beyond the pond were some boxes I guessed were beehives and another hedgerow. Alanna went into a glassed-in porch full of gardening tools and assorted stuff.

No threshold effect, I thought to Ursus.

There shouldn't be one after we received an invitation, Ursus thought.

I noticed that the tools were mostly made of a yellow metal. It's probably bronze, Ursus thought.

Alanna let us through a door into a kitchen, and then through another door into a parlor. The walls of the room were covered by floor to ceiling shelves filled with books. Alanna waved her hand at a candle, and it lit. She took a seat in an armchair, put her small crystal back around her neck, and then picked up a crystal ball and put it in her lap. She gazed into the ball for several moments. "That's much better," she said. "Is there enough light for you, Mr. Powyr?"

"Yes, that's fine," I replied. "I've been using dream light. Please, call me Arthur, or Art, or even Artie, Miss ni Ailfrid."

"You may call me Alanna, Arthur. I'm extremely pleased to meet a mortal again. Your people and mine come into contact so seldom these days."

"Do you mind me asking, who are your people?"

She gave me a puzzled look for a moment. "I must remember that you weren't trying to find me and landed your gaze here rather by accident. In English, your people sometimes called mine the 'Good People' or the 'Fair Folk.'"

A bell rang for Arthur. "You mean, like fairies?"

She frowned slightly. "Yes, but that term has gathered unflattering overtones in your world, has it not?"

"No offense intended," I said.

"None taken, but you should take care around others. If you need a short name for us, 'the Folk' will do."

"Thanks for the warning," I said.

"Ach, I didn't mean to turn so solemn. 'Tis a wonderful occurrence, meeting mortal kind again. The last time I had the chance, I was but a lass."

"I'm happy to meet you, too." Arthur was digging around in our brain trying to remember the more serious bits of lore he had picked up about fairies. Ursus, who had taken over most of the burden of maintaining our trance and controlling our manna, helped to the extent he could by thinking through bits and pieces he recalled about equivalent beings. "By the way my people estimate such things," I said, "you look quite young, still."

"The Folk don't age in the way that mortals do, but it's true I'm considered barely fledged by the way my people reckon it."

"But you said you were a girl fifty years ago," Arthur said.

"Aye, I was born one hundred and three years ago. Among the Folk, one's hundred-and-first birthday is much like your twenty-first, if I have your customs right."

"I think you probably do. Twenty-one is a traditional age for gaining a lot of adult rights and responsibilities in the Empire, although some rights have been moving down to younger ages. Eighteen-year-olds just gained the right to vote this year."

"Your empire and its voting, that's one of the things that fascinate me about your folk. My people have never put such faith in democracy."

For that matter, Ursus thought, I never have, either.

"I've studied government a little in school," Arthur said. "I don't know a lot about it, but I get the idea that most people in the Empire, or at least in Novi Orbis, think democracy is the best form of government."

"You're going to school, then?"

"Yes, I'm in grade six. That means I've had six years of schooling, so far, if you don't count kindergarten. I'm considered not fledged at all by the way my people reckon it."

"But you've achieved some mastery of the occult arts," Alanna said.

"Yeah, I guess, but I haven't been learning them at school. The situation is complicated, and there are secrets involved that I don't think I should go into." I changed the subject slightly. "You appear to be something of a magician yourself."

"Aye, I've been told that I show promise, and I have ambitions toward being a lore mistress." She bowed her head a little when she said it.

"Your library is impressive," I said.

"Thank you. It sadly wants information on one of my primary interests, though."

"What's that?"

"When those members of a magician's lodge from the mortal realms contacted me when I was a lass, they stirred a curiosity in me about your kind. Do you see why I'm so excited you found me?"

"I think so. What happened to the magicians you once knew?"

"I know not. One day they quit contacting me. I knew, though, that they found touching this realm to be exhausting work needing much preparation. I tried scrying for them from this way, but I never found them."

"You find scrying the material realm difficult, then?"

"Aye, I get snatches here and there, which I take notes upon and then spend grueling amounts of time piecing together. Your recent increase in the mechanical arts, for instance, is fascinating to us. If I may be immodest, my paper on the subject has been well received."

"We call it the Industrial Revolution," I said. "I guess it got started about three hundred years ago."

"Aye, a veritable blink of the eye, and now you have flying machines and horseless carriages everywhere. And steel." She shuddered at the word. "What keeps your automobiles from smashing into each other at such speeds, may I ask?"

"Just the care of the drivers."

Her face went blank for a second, and then she grinned. "You're having a bit of a go at your new acquaintance, I see. I know how your kind loves to tell tales."

"I suppose we do, but I was serious about the cars."

Her jaw dropped open. "You people are mad!"

See, she understands, thought Ursus. I felt his fondness for her go up a notch.

"Don't blame me," I said. "The driving system was in place before I was born. Part of me agrees with your conclusion."

She shook her head. "The magicians told me about your taming of lightning. I believe that has spread everywhere, too."

"Electricity, yes."

"Do you mind if I take notes?"

"Go ahead. I wish I had a way to take them myself."

She fetched a lap desk. In the interest of science, we studied her intently as she did so. Once she was again seated and had me in her crystal ball, she used a dip pen to take notes in shorthand without looking away from the crystal. We spent some time talking about Arthur's contemporary world.

When I decided that I had spent enough time talking, I said, "Tell me something about this place."

Alanna took a deep breath. "Where to begin? Do you know how the Otherworld and the Physical World are linked together in intricate loops of cause and effect?"

"I have the idea that our beliefs and actions influence you and your beliefs and actions influence us."

"Aye, that's a concise way of putting it. There's speculation that my very existence was the result of a resurgence of faith in the daoine sídhe among your people. We are a rather infertile race, and I was born at a time when your people began studying the old ways lest they be forgot, or so the magicians I once knew told me."

"Wow. What would happen if they were forgotten?"

Alanna looked grim. "It would be a catastrophe. I'm too young to remember it, but I'm told that the spread of Christianity in the mortal realms was like a continuous cataclysm mixed with a plague here. My kind doesn't grow old the way yours does, but we can fade away."

That gave me pause for a few moments. I changed the subject. "I understand that there is more to the Otherworld than the lands of the Fair Folk."

"Indeed. It's divided into many realms with shifting borders. Our geography--though misnomer that word is--is more complex than the Physical World's. On the larger scale, it's described better by linked concepts than by measurements of distance."

"I've been calling it 'metaphorical dimensions.'"

"That's a good term for it."

"Is there any way to predict where parts of the Otherworld intersect the Physical World?"

"Not precisely, no," Alanna said. "There will probably be a metaphorical connection between the loci, but other than that, the only way to find out is to look. Too, a locus in either realm can connect to multiple loci in either realm, and the connections can move around."

That has been my experience, Ursus thought.

"Do you have any guess about how much danger I will be in if I take an imaginary journey to the Otherworld?" I asked.

"By 'imaginary journey' do you mean astral projection?"

"I believe that's another name for it," I replied.

"Two of the magicians I once knew were able to send part of themselves into the Otherworld," Alanna said. "They claimed to be leaving their bodies behind, but to my senses they looked to be right in front of me. I could reach out and touch them. That is what they called 'astral projection.' When the Folk visit your realms, we do something rather the opposite. We gather physical substance around ourselves, at least if we want to do more than float around like spirits. I'm told that in the past it was an easier thing to do."

"How do you think I would be treated if I came here astrally?"

"Right around this locus, you would be safe as my guest. Among the people I know, you would be well treated, and most of them would receive you with great interest. As for generally, it will vary depending on whom you are with and your location, just as it would in your own realm."

I was about to ask her some questions about the magician's lodge. Just then, I felt a psychically jarring sensation, and Ursus lost much of our manna. Then someone started to shake me. "Artie," Mary's voice said, "I'm sorry, but you have to come up for lunch."

My trance was shredding, "Sorry," I said to Alanna, "I'll try to come back another day."

The look I gave Mary must have been nasty, because she took a step back. "Sorry, but Mom sent me down to get you. She called you, but you didn't answer. If Mom came down here herself and found you talking to yourself while staring into a pan of water, she would pass a brick."

"Right," I said. "OK." My throat was sore, and I felt extremely spacey. Spacey and good, but tired. I forced myself to stand. "Lead on."

Chapter 09: Rights

Magician's Integration

by Xenophon Hendrix

Chapter 09

Around 6:00 am, I woke up to vaguely remembered bad dreams and went upstairs. No one else was stirring yet, so after using the bathroom, I got myself a bowl of cereal and took it back downstairs with me. I still didn't feel much like eating, so I again forced myself to do so under the influence of manna.

How long can this nausea go on? I asked after I had the cereal down.

You've been traumatized, Ursus said. It will take a while. Don't be surprised if it takes a year or two to feel normal again.

A year? Arthur repeated. Or two? I felt guilt starting to mix with despair.

Keep a grip, Arthur, Ursus said. That's how long it might take until one day we realize that we feel OK. But it steadily will get better, day-by-day, so slowly that we won't notice it.

Can you ever get used to hurting people? I asked.

Ursus's memories remained riddled with holes, but he thought back to some of the times he had participated in wars or otherwise had to cause harm. I've never been able to get used to it. Even after I've done everything that I can to depersonalize the enemy in my mind, I still remember that they are human beings, or other sapient creatures. Nevertheless, you can learn to experience a feeling of grim necessity rather than guilt.

It's my fault that we feel guilty, isn't it? Arthur asked.

We have three minds in one brain, Ursus thought. That is my fault. We have a difference in judgment about an important issue. Applying the word "fault" to such a circumstance isn't useful.

But my guilt is making us feel sick, Arthur said.

Yes, primarily, Ursus said, but for now, you honestly feel as though you've done something wrong.

You two aren't going to let me confess, so what can I do to make it stop? Arthur asked.

I assure you that your mind will change about the wrongness of our actions. In the meantime, it best not to dwell on such things, Ursus said.

Let's test our memory amulet, I said.

All the facets of my mind could agree on that. We had some reading and outlining homework for social studies to do over Christmas break, so that was as good an experimental item as any. I dug out the textbook and read a page with the amulet on, then one with it off, then on, and then off.

I then tried writing an outline of the four pages from memory. Once finished, I checked it over using the book. The outline for the two pages I had read with the amulet on was nigh perfect. The outline for the other two pages included the high points but missed some of the details. The difference in results could have been caused by my expectations, but I didn't believe it. As far as I was concerned, the amulet worked. I redid the outline and then did the rest of the reading and outlining due after break.

By that time, people were moving around upstairs. I removed the memory amulet so that I wouldn't remember a bunch of trivialities. I took my cereal bowl and went upstairs. Mom and Dad were up, but none of my siblings were. Dad was reading the newspaper, drinking coffee, and eating toast. Mom was drinking coffee. As I rinsed the bowl in the sink, Mom asked, "What are you doing out of bed?"

"I went to bed early, and I had bad dreams."

"You looked worried sick last night. Guilty conscience?"

"I suppose that's part of it."

"The little son of a bitch had it coming to him." Mom, of course, didn't know about Guzman, only Carol.

"I don't feel good about it."

"Some people only learn things the hard way," Mom said. "It's not your fault."

Dad could become entranced by the paper, but he must have been listening to us that morning, because he said, "Your mother's right, Art. You made an invaluable contribution to the young imbecile's education."

Mom sometimes had an almost silent laugh. "Better you now, Artie, than some cop's billy club five years from now."

"That's an optimistic way of putting it," I said. I went back downstairs and did fifteen minutes of picking exercises on my acoustic guitar.

We should practice scrying, Ursus said. There will be more things to see during the morning.

We cast and purified a circle and set up our scrying pan. It didn't take us that long to achieve trance. Arthur and I immediately directed our gaze toward the Prestor's house. You little voyeurs are trying to see the girls next door, Ursus accused.

There wasn't any point in denying it. Yes! I shouted internally.

Do you even remember puberty? Arthur thought.

Puberty isn't something one can forget, no matter how much one might want to, Ursus thought, but we must observe some limits.

Did you, when you were first learning how to scry? Arthur asked.

Ursus didn't respond directly to the question, but we could feel the answer.

A ha! Arthur said.

C'mon, I said. Let's just check out the showers. Who'll be hurt?

A struggle ensued with Arthur and me on one side and Ursus on the other. Alas, experience prevailed over youthful enthusiasm, and the internal fight broke our scrying trance. We sat at the old kitchen table mentally glowering at each other.

Spoilsport! said Arthur. Shriveled up old spoilsport!

I assure you that I've never been shriveled up, Ursus said. How would you like it if you found out that someone was, say, spying on you while you were jerking off?

I considered for a second. Is she hot?

Not a hot female. Some old homosexual pedophile lusting after your young body.

Ew. You win this round, I thought.

We settled back down and again achieved trance. We saw Dad heading out to his car. This will be a good exercise, Ursus said. See if we can stay with the car. Dad opened the garage door and pulled out. By concentrating on the car, we managed to follow him all the way to his business four miles away.

Dad was a mechanical engineer and partner in a consulting firm that did a lot of automotive work. I noticed that the desk for the receptionist was still empty as Dad passed by it on the way to his office. Your father puts in long hours, Ursus observed.

We heard Dad say good morning to one of his partners. I know he works hard, thought Arthur. I sometimes feel guilty about it.

Your father became a family man voluntarily, and it's hardly your decision how he chooses to spend his time, Ursus thought.

We spent a few minutes looking around Dad's office, and then we went back outside and picked a random car heading north to follow. How do you control the espionage in a culture where scrying is common? I asked Ursus.

Magicians make a lot of money protecting buildings, people, files, and the like. This node appears to be almost unprotected.

Wizards cause the problem, and other wizards fix it, I said.

That sums it up. We share that characteristic with lawyers.

We could make a ton of money spying, thought Arthur.

And if your government ever finds out what we can do, we will doubtless be apprehended as a simultaneous threat and asset to national security.

I'm never going to brag about our ability to government officials, I thought, but why don't more people on this node have it?

I don't know, Ursus replied. From what we've found in the library and recognize from Arthur's study of myths, we know that this node once had a tradition of magic. Now it appears, at least to our present knowledge, to be almost defunct. I'm speculating freely, but perhaps the supply of available manna went down at some time in the past and has only recently returned to relatively usable levels.

Can that happen? I asked.

I've never seen it myself, but I've heard half-substantiated rumors that it has occurred, always on nodes far away from the one I happen to be on at the time. I do know that manna isn't a conventional natural resource that disappears with use. I also have no idea where it comes from. That's why I translated its name to "manna" when I woke up in Arthur's head. It's something that just happens to be there, free for the taking.

And we are one of the few people around here who know how to take it, Arthur said.

Indeed, Ursus said. It's a big responsibility. As our strength grows, imagine the damage we could do if we aren't careful.

That was a sobering thought. We dropped the car we were following as it turned and instead rode along with a young woman drinking coffee and eating an egg sandwich from a fast-food place.

How is she steering? Arthur asked.

I don't think she is, I said.

Your automobile culture is insane, Ursus thought.

I'm beginning to agree with you, I said. She's pretty hot, though.

Crazy and stupid lowers my subjective rating of attractiveness, Ursus said.

Does it happen often? Arthur asked, retrieving the subject. Someone able to do magic going from one node to another node where people don't have much skill in it?

I don't know it I'd use the term "often," but it happens. The result can look similar to what happened on this node when a culture with a higher technology met one with a lower--conquest, exploitation, sometimes merely the accumulation of great wealth. We shared in some of Ursus's memories.

We stopped tracking the car as it passed the vacant lot we called "The Field" and turned our gaze back home. As our gaze passed the Prestor's house, Arthur and I made another attempt to see Mike and Terry's sisters naked, but Ursus firmly steered us home. We broke trance.

Excellent, thought Ursus, this body's skills are increasing at a fine rate. Now, the last time we tried scrying the nearby metaphorical dimensions, I was under the influence of adolescent hormones. (That, at least, is going to be the official story.) I want to start exploring them again, but this time in a more controlled and cautious way. Do you feel up to it?

Now he was talking. I knew that scrying the metaphorical dimensions was inherently more dangerous than the physical dimensions, but they were also far more interesting. Let's do it.

We replenished our supply of magical energy by playing our guitar and then eased our way back into trance. Remember, no fighting for control when we're scrying the Abstruse World, Ursus said. I don't care if we find Aphrodite herself bathing in a forest pool with nymphs. If I try to do something, I want you two young deviants to help me do it.

Understood, I said.

Might we find Aphrodite? Arthur asked.

Bog knows, Ursus thought. We'll use our closet door. Doorways, arches, and the like are all in-between places. Metaphorically, they are closer to the other realms.

I studied my closet door with my scrying pan rather than look over at it directly. We zoomed in until we saw it from the point of view of someone standing just before the door. Ursus willed us to see the closest metaphorical dimension that was on the other side. What the twist of mind actually felt like is impossible to describe in any language that I know.

After what seemed like a few minutes, the interior of the closet disappeared. We were looking at a nighttime scene that was hard to discern. Another minute of concentration allowed us to invoke dream light. Immediately outside my closet door was an arbor covered with climbing roses. Slowly, straining to hear and see, Ursus urged our perspective to move so that it was under the arch. We could smell the roses, and Ursus felt pleased over the vividness of our perception.

Through the archway, we could see across a short expanse of lawn to a gazebo made from living trees. Eight of them grew in a circle, and their interwoven branches formed the roof. Were benches growing right out of the trunks? I wanted a closer look, and my perspective shifted so that it seemed as if I was standing in the center of the garden pavilion.

Damn it! Ursus said. We need to be careful.

Oops. Sorry, I didn't mean to take control like that.

Slow. Care. Watch. Listen. Think.

We looked around the inside of the gazebo. The benches were growing out of the tree trunks. Cool. A rose arbor stood every ninety degrees around the gazebo. On the other side of the roses was a tall hedge that surrounded the circular expanse of lawn. Gaps in the hedge lined up with the arbors. What we were probably seeing dawned on me.

I bet we are in the center of a garden labyrinth, I said. I had read about them in a fantasy novel.

I believe you are right, Ursus said.

With what felt like agonizing slowness to Arthur and me, Ursus moved our subjective presence over to one of the gaps in the hedge. We looked down the gap and saw paths going to the left and right. It looks like it could be a maze, Ursus thought. I'm disinclined to explore it today. We moved away, closer to the center of the lawn and looked up. In the sky back home, I could recognize the Plough, also known as the Big Dipper, and use it to find the North Star, but with Ursus slowly rotating our gaze, I couldn't see anything in the night sky that looked familiar.

Could we use one of these rose arbors for scrying, just like we're using the closet door? Arthur asked.

Neither our strength nor our equipment are all that powerful yet, Ursus replied, but we might be able to do it. I suspect, though, that we would have better luck if we took an imaginary journey to this place rather than merely scried it.

Are we going to try that? I asked.

Someday, I hope to do so. The danger is greater, but so are the potential rewards, including interaction with whoever lives here. Someday, I even hope to enter the metaphorical dimensions with our physical body.

Why?

Travel between the nodes, for one, Ursus replied. Now, I'm not sure which arbor we used to send our vision through. Did either of you notice when Bear so suddenly shifted our point of view to the gazebo?

No, we both replied.

If we had been taking an imaginary journey rather than scrying, we would now be a little lost, Ursus said. As it is, as a last resort, we merely have to come out of our trance. That, however, is inelegant. Let's see if we can find our entry point.

We moved our perception point to one of the rose arbors and went underneath. We concentrated on bringing up a vision or our bedroom. Nothing happened. After what felt like a few minutes, we tried each of the other three arbors in turn. This is annoying, I thought.

All right, we'll break our trance, Ursus thought. We tried. Nothing happened.

OK, we will release our collected manna. We tried. Nothing happened.

I started to feel scared. We aren't in that much danger, Ursus said. Your family will sooner or later check on us, if nothing else breaks the trance. Or our manna will eventually run out, even if we can't let it go voluntarily. Still, this is an interesting problem. We spent some time thinking about it, and then I felt the thrill of realization.

Our perception is in the center of a maze, Ursus said. Metaphorically, a maze is a fine place to trap things. Methinks someone has used the garden labyrinth to anchor an anti-scrying spell.

Hmmm, what should we do? we all thought simultaneously.

The wise thing to do would be to wait it out, Ursus said, assuming that this pretty little trap is the extent of our problems. We "reached out" with our sense for magic. We weren't there, however, in either a physical or metaphorical manner, just our perceptions were, as directed by the scrying ritual. Our sense for magic was weakened by our lack of presence, and we didn't feel much of anything with it.

Maybe we could get into a good argument with each other and break our concentration indirectly, I said.

The maze is the anchor of the trap, Arthur said. If we solve the maze, won't we also work our way out of the trap?

Frigging around in the labyrinth could be dangerous, Ursus said. Catching our perceptions here isn't exactly a friendly act.

It doesn't feel all that hostile, though, I said. After all, we're the ones who are snooping around. Maybe it's just someone guarding their privacy.

Maybe this is meant to be a warning, Ursus said, and if we go messing around further we'll just get people angry.

If they really are hostile, Arthur said, just waiting could be bad, too.

I guess we'll try the argument option, Ursus said. Arthur, hanging around with Danny Lukowski is eventually going to get us in trouble. Kirsten Kennedy makes me feel like a pedophile. And you need a haircut.

The two of you are just as curious as I am, Arthur said. I can feel it.

I'm trying to be a responsible adult, Ursus said.

If you weren't in my head, worried about me being a kid, what would you do?

I don't know.

I want to try going through the labyrinth, Arthur said.

I don't believe that is our best choice, Ursus said.

Do I have any say in how my brain gets used, Arthur asked, or am I just your vessel?

Bog! That hurt. That's damn rough, Art, Ursus said.

Sorry, Arthur said. Now he felt guilty. Our body's emotions were getting whipsawed.

It's OK, Ursus said. You've made your point. You have rights, too, and while this is against my better judgment, it's not so much against it that I'm going to try to force you to do it my way. We'll try yours.

Chapter 10

Chapter 06: Some Magic

Mary practiced until suppertime. Mom and Dad left right after eating. Mary and I were still doing the dishes when Mike and Terry arrived. I told them to go ahead and set up. Now that they had two guitars, a bass, and three practice amplifiers, it took them two trips to bring all their stuff. When I went downstairs, I noted that the guitar stands had brought order to quite a bit of the chaos.

Mike and Terry were going through the exercises their tutors had given them. I demonstrated the exercises that Hank had given me, and we all compared notes. Danny showed up in a little while, and then Mary came downstairs herding Rich, Charlie, and Susan with Mrs. Kennedy and Kirsten. If anyone thought it odd that Mrs. Kennedy was over in the sitting area while we practiced, he never said anything to me about it. Susan stuck close to Mrs. Kennedy. I couldn't hear much of what she was saying, but Mrs. Kennedy would nod and ask questions.

We mostly worked on "Hop a Train (and Ride for Free)." When I showed Mike and Terry the plectrum work that was going to be involved, Mike said, "You are evil." Kirsten, experienced musician that she was, didn't have any trouble transposing the tune to her sax, and Danny could already play it by ear on the harmonica. He spent most of practice with his growing drum kit.

We ended the session just before 8:00. Mary put Susan to bed. Because of the impending home-improvement project, band practice was cancelled for Saturday. Mrs. Kennedy and Kirsten left. Mike, Terry, and Danny hung around longer and were rewarded by being available hands when Mom and Dad returned with a van full of stuff. We all pitched in carrying it downstairs. When we were finished, Terry surveyed the pile. "We have a big job ahead of us tomorrow."

"Don't whine," Danny said. "We're getting a better practice space than someone's garage."

"Not complainin', just sayin'."

"The assholes around here would call the cops if we did try to use someone's garage," Mike said.

"Mrs. Pullik," Danny, Terry, Mary, and I all said simultaneously. That cracked everyone up. We didn't like Gertrude Pullik, the woman who lived across the street. For some unfathomable reason, Mom did like her.

About 9:00 pm, I finally got some time to be alone with the voices in my head. I was physically weary after a long day, but I hadn't used up the strength that I tapped while performing spells.

It's probably not necessary, Ursus said, but given our reinvigorated policy of not being idiots with magic, it would be an appropriate gesture to work within a double protective circle until we have our amulet recharged.

Yes, yes it would. I played my acoustic guitar, which was inscribed with manna attracting and controlling sigils, until we had collected all the manna we could hold. Arthur concentrated on keeping our "grip" on it. Ursus worked at putting us into a light trance. I, Bear, went upstairs slowly and quietly, so as not to attract attention, and slipped into my winter gear. I eased out the back door, which went into the garage, and then out the side door.

The house more-or-less faced north. I walked to the foot of the driveway and stood for a little while as Ursus deepened our trance. I dug my athame, a consecrated lock-blade with a mostly black handle, from my trouser pocket and opened it up. When everything felt ready, I inscribed the pentagram for air while intoning, "May the elemental power of air bless and protect this circle and those within and shield them from prying eyes."

I visualized a line of swirling leaves and ribbons flowing from the tip of the knife--the leaves and ribbons representing air, which was hard to visualize by itself. How does the wind feel on my skin? How does it smell? Hear the sound of someone blowing over the opening of a pop bottle. What does wind sound like as it rustles through leaves? As I drew the line of air, I fed it a trickle of manna while attempting to pace the release so that I didn't run out before the ritual was finished.

I tromped through the snow while circling east, moving with the direction of the sun. As I moved closer to the east, I visualized the line of air slowly turning into a line of earth. I remembered the sting of wind-driven sand on my face. How does sun-warmed soil feel when I pick it up? What does it smell like? What does it sound like when a garden trowel cuts into the earth?

The gate to the backyard hadn't been dug out, and it was well stuck. I had to climb over. I took a moment to repair my concentration and then resumed scribing the circle. When I was approximately to the east of the house I intoned as I drew the pentagram for earth, "May the elemental power of earth bless and protect this circle and those within and shield them from prying eyes."

Paying out manna steadily, I circled south. As I did so, the line of earth flowing from the athame's tip slowly transformed into fire. Remember the smell of hot earth as a campfire heats it. Feel the fire as it warms my hands. See the dancing flames. The warm glow of a candle in a dark room. Hear a log crackle in the fireplace. I faced the brick wall that stretched across the back of the yard. I intoned as I inscribed the pentagram for fire, "May the elemental power of fire bless and protect this circle and those within and shield them from prying eyes."

I circled west. The line making the circle slowly became water. See the steam as the fire boils the water. Hear the bubbles. Feel warm summer rain. Hear it on the steel roof of the back porch. The shock as I plunge into the Prestor's swimming pool on a hot day. Taste the water coming out of the garden hosepipe. Hear a creek trickle over its stony bed. I was to the west of the house. I intoned as I inscribed the pentagram for water, "May the elemental power of water bless and protect this circle and those within and shield them from prying eyes."

I circled back north. I had to climb the fence on that side, too. The circle slowly changed back to air. White caps leaping from the ocean as I stood upon the wharf from which my grandfather once fished. Feel the spray. Smell the salt air. How does the air smell after a rain? Snow. See it sparkle. Feel it on my face. See the flakes blown about. Wind-driven ice. How it stabs and burns! The calm after the storm has passed. The tug of a kite string. A swirl of leaves. Wind chimes tinkling in a light breeze. I fed in the last of the manna as the circle closed.

Well, that's a rush, I said to my brain mates. We went back inside and started taking off our winter clothes.

Mom came into the laundry room. "What in hell were you doing out there?"

"You don't want to know," I replied.

"Yes, I do."

"A magic ritual."

"God damn it!"

"I won't swear to it, but I don't believe God minds."

"Am I going to have to lock you up in the rubber room?"

"I'm just as sane as I've ever been," I said on my way toward the little bathroom.

"That's just as comforting as hell," Mom said as I was shutting the door. "Get your ass back out here."

"I have to pee and brush my teeth," I said.

I took my time. When I was finished, no one was outside the door, so I went down to the basement and put on my pajamas and a robe. As I waited to see if Mom was going to come downstairs to continue the argument, I set up my ritual area. I pivoted the old kitchen table I used as a desk and work area away from the wall so that it was close to the center of my bedroom, and I put kitchen chairs to the north, south, east, and west. I neatened up my schoolbooks that were sitting on the table.

On the north chair I put an old sleigh bell, on the east a dish of table salt, the south a candle, and the west a carved bowl full of melted snow, which I kept handy in a bucket. I had carved the bowl from a willow burl myself. I intended, eventually, to make all of my own ritual tools as time and opportunity permitted, because the more of himself a magician puts into a spell, the more efficient it is. Ursus assured Arthur and me that the most dedicated mages went right back to nature itself to provide the raw materials used to make the tools that they in turn used to make their ritual tools in an iterative progression. Learning all of the necessary skills was a multi-decade undertaking.

I slid another chair, this one for me to sit on, under the southern edge of the table and put my acoustic guitar, a box of wooden matches, and my open athame on top of the table where they would be handy. I took the protective amulet from around my neck and put it on the table, too. My battle with the demon had completely discharged it. Tonight's project was to get it working again.

It didn't look as if Mom was going to come down. I shut my bedroom door and resumed ritual work. I again summoned manna with my guitar and used the magical energy to cast around my work area a circle like the one outside. The difference was that I used the same amount of manna to construct a smaller circle, so it was stronger per unit length if someone or something unfriendly wanted to get in magically.

I again gathered manna and took some time to deepen my concentration. The next step was the ritual purification. I took the bell from the north chair and began to shake it as I walked around the circle widdershins, for I was banishing, not creating. "May the elemental power of air purify this circle." As I slowly walked the entire circuit, I visualized great winds blowing away old magic and evil influences, leaving my work area clean and pure. Demons; old, broken circles; blotches of black goo; magnified germs; giant eyeballs with unwelcome gazes--all were lifted up and carried away.

I replaced the bell and continued on to the bowl of water. "May the elemental power of water purify this circle." This time it was floods washing the undesirable away as I sprinkled a few drops around the perimeter. I lit the candle. Now it was fire burning them up in crackling flames. Finally, it was salt burying, smothering, desiccating. I put down the bowl of salt and continued walking the circle back to north before I returned to the table.

I picked up my guitar and again replenished my supply of manna. I sat down and locked my gaze upon the amulet. My dried blood still stained the lines I had carved. The disk of wood was still strongly bound to me by ritual, so for that spell, at least, I didn't have to bleed. The carving, on both sides, represented a ritual circle with symbols for air at the top, earth to the right as it faced me, fire to the south, and water to the left. In the center of the circle was a glyph that represented my collective self.

I let my trance deepen until all that was left in my awareness was the disk and my internal vision. I imagined spells bouncing off the protective circle. What might a spell feel like? Sound like? Smell like? Taste like? I pictured, heard, felt, smelt, tasted them as arrows, fireballs, bolts of lightning, rain, gas, handfuls of mud, pellets, glitter, sand, snowballs, buckshot--in short, anything my imagination could come up with. Feel my circle push them away. While I was doing that, I constantly fed the spell a stream of manna.

Next, I knew from bitter experience my sensory reactions to getting close to a demon. In truth, what I remembered was less brutal than what I had sensed, but it was bad enough. I imagined the protective circle on my amulet stopping demons and channeling them away from me.

Then I imagined it resisting scrying. Imagine a wizard staring into a dish of water. The water was empty. Imagine a sorcerer gazing in a crystal. The crystal was opaque. I was invisible to sight, inaudible to hearing.

After an unknown while, the first side of the amulet felt done.

I let my trance lighten, but I didn't come completely out of it. Ursus maintained a light trance while Arthur gathered manna and I played the guitar. I felt noticeably tired, and I knew that I could easily collapse into bed and be asleep in seconds, but I forced myself to do more. I flipped the disk over and repeated the spell on the other side.

When it was finished, I was utterly exhausted. I hung the amulet around my neck, painfully stood up, removed my robe, and picked up my athame. Leaning on the table, I worked my way around and drew a slash through the imagined glyph for air while I mumbled, "I thank and dismiss the elemental power of air." I did the same for water, fire (blowing out the candle on the way), and earth. My last coherent thought was, I should open the door for Harvey. I was out as soon as I hit the sheets.

The next morning, I was awakened by people moving around in the basement. I stuck my head out the door. I saw Dad, Mike, Terry, and Danny. "Hey," Danny said. Terry pointed and mimicked laughing at me.

"What time is it?" I asked.

"About a quarter after eight," Mike said.

"What time did you get to bed last night?" Dad asked.

"I'm not sure, but it couldn't have been that late. I'll be right with you guys." I grabbed some clothes and took them with me as I headed upstairs to use the bathroom. I heard Mom, Mary, and my younger brothers talking, but I didn't pay attention to what they said. When I was finished, I just washed my hands and splashed some water on my face before getting dressed.

When I came out of the bathroom, Mary was in the family room with the rest of my siblings. "I've got kid wrangling duty so Mom can go downstairs and help," she said.

My stomach was in an uproar, which I assumed was from bad dreams and the after effects of traumatic stress. I ate a piece of dry toast and went downstairs. They were already taking down the ceiling panels. I began to help.

We worked all morning. Mom fed everyone lunch. Kirsten and her dad showed up. Mr. Kennedy stayed to help. We worked all afternoon. The kid wrangler was changed at intervals. The storage room was emptied so that we could insulate the ceiling in there, and Mom seized the opportunity to throw out some junk. We tested the soundproofing with my guitar and amplifier, and Terry fetched the Prestor's bass, which was the worst offender. The transmission through the floor was noticeably reduced, but the ductwork might as well have been a PA system.

Everyone else went home, but Dad, Mary, and I did some work after supper. I turned in by 9:00.

We worked all Sunday, with Mike and Terry taking time out for mandatory church attendance. In the end, we insulated the basement ceiling, wrapped all the ductwork and pipes, and took down and put back up a suspended ceiling. All the lenses for the fluorescent lighting were cushioned with putty to dampen their vibrations. Because there were ducts in the storage room, we replaced that hollow door with a solid one. We also insulated the interior storage room walls. They never had been finished, so they were easy to get at. We insulated the interior wall of Dad's workroom and replaced its door, because that was where the furnace lived, the evil heart of all the ducts. More insulation needed to be bought. The extra doors required an extra trip to the store.

The half door at the top of the stairs was replaced with a solid Dutch/stable door, because Mom didn't want to block the cats from being able to go downstairs. Their litter boxes were kept in Dad's workroom. On the other hand, she wanted the stairs at least partially closed off at all times to prevent people from falling down them. I suspected that she liked to be able to hear what was going on downstairs, too.

Terry plucked the bass a few times. The Dutch door made hideous vibrations. "Shit," Dad muttered. Weather stripping was applied all around the door. That mostly tamed it, so stripping was applied to all of the doors in the basement, too.

Our various measures had reduced the PA effect of the furnace ducts but had not cured it. "Maybe we could fix it if we replaced the ceiling panels with acoustic tiles," Dad mused.

"Those things are expensive as hell," Mom said. It was declared that music simply had to end when the younger kids started going to bed. At least we were no longer interfering with conversations or television watching.

It was about suppertime on Sunday when the noise situation was declared adequately solved for the time being. Mom ordered pizza. Mrs. Prestor wanted Mike and Terry home for supper, so they left. Danny didn't have any better options, so he ate with us. All three Kennedy's were there.

My entire mental collective was feeling guilty by then for the expense my parents had gone through. It's not just for Arthur, Ursus said, but for Mary, too, and possibly the younger kids if they get interested. Still, I feel obligated to pay them back somehow. I might be permanently attached to one of their kids, but I'm not one of them.

Any ideas? Arthur asked.

Nothing in particular. It will have to be something that they won't feel awkward accepting from their children. We have time, and we'll keep our ears and eyes open.

Mike and Terry came back with the rest of their equipment, and the band went through everything we knew and numerous things we didn't until Susan began nodding. That was the signal for everyone to go home. Near the door, Kirsten gave Arthur a long hug and a brief kiss. "What a weekend," she said softly.

"It probably wasn't as bad as breaking rocks," I said. The unusual movements and stretching had left all participants lumps of moderate pain. I seemed to be taking it worse than most of the others. My frequent attacks of nausea had reduced my food intake, and I was feeling it.

"I don't want to find out for sure," Kirsten said. "Do you think that just the two of us can do something tomorrow?"

Her mother heard. "Make sure that any activities are within the specified and agreed upon guidelines."

"How about if we go over to Infinity Mall and catch the matinee?"

Kirsten looked at her mother. Her mother looked at me. "You will keep your hands off any portion of my daughter's anatomy that she does not explicitly give you permission to touch. You will not coax, beg, wheedle, or bribe in an attempt to get said permission."

"Understood and agreed," I said.

"Fine. Go ahead." Did all mothers have a noncommittal fine?

"What's playing?" Kirsten asked me.

"I have no idea. There are two choices at the theater. You can pick one."

"Make sure it's reasonably kid friendly," Mrs. Kennedy said.

By about half-past eight, I had some solitude. All three of my consciousnesses were introverts, and over the preceding few days I had overdosed on human company. I spent a few minutes lying on my bed and collecting my thoughts. First things first, Ursus thought. We aren't eating enough, so we are becoming weak. We are losing weight too quickly, and at this rate, we are losing muscle with the fat. If we keep up like this, we'll get sick. We need to get some more food into us.

I went upstairs, dug a couple cold slices of pizza from the refrigerator, put them on a paper plate, and went back downstairs. We went through the relaxation routine that preceded entering trance, but remained just out of it. The relaxation response reduced the nausea we had been feeling more often than not since killing Guzman. We played the guitar and collecting manna. I held onto the manna to maintain the feeling of wellbeing it induced while Ursus ate.

My mental collective had a long list of spells we wanted to cast, so we took the one from the top and spent some time designing a memory-improvement amulet. The basic sigil would be stylized eyes and ears with arrows pointing to a simplified sketch of a brain. The arrows passed through funnel-like shapes inspired by the lobster traps I had seen when visiting my mother's childhood home in Nova Scotia. The funnels made it easy for the lobsters to go in after the bait but difficult to get back out. Unlike inside the traps, I sketched inward pointing barbs in the funnels, all the better to catch escaping memories.

Harvey wandered in and jumped up on my bed at about the same time I finished the design. Ursus thought, I want to do some scrying before we go to bed.

We had already discussed the issue, but Arthur and I weren't thrilled with the idea. Are you sure it's not going to get us into more trouble? we both asked, thinking in parallel.

How can I be sure of something like that? But I suspect, in the case of the diabolist, that a greater force steered our vision so that we could stop him. Assuming that there are no more rogue magicians close by, we should have more control, and I intend to be a lot more careful.

Ursus felt our reluctance, so he continued, We've been over this. Scrying has its risks, but it's a powerful scouting and information-gathering tool. Learning things the easy way is a lot safer than learning them the hard way.

The problem with all of us being in the same brain was that we were largely forced to acknowledge that Ursus's argument was persuasive. Yeah, OK, I said.

Right, Arthur said. He dug out our scrying pan, an old aluminum foil pie pan we had scratched glyphs upon, and filled it with melted snow. The table was already moved away from the wall. Arthur picked up his guitar and gathered in some manna.

Now that our protection-from-magic amulet was again recharged, casting a circle outside the house was unnecessarily provocative. It wouldn't do to rub Mom's nose in the fact that we weren't going to quit practicing magic. We cast and purified a circle around the table, collected some more manna, and sat at the table with the pan in front of us. I took my athame and poked myself hard enough to get a drop of blood. For a change, I victimized my forearm rather than a finger.

There has to be a better way to get blood, Arthur said.

Maybe something sharper, I said.

Concentrate, Ursus said. He scooped up the drop of blood and put it in the scrying water. Releasing a trickle of manna, we sat gazing into the pan and went into trance. Every time we did it, it became easier.

We started chanting, "see, see, see," as a simple mantra. After a while, a vision began to form. It was the sitting area in the basement a few feet away. It was dark. It was boring.

We should be able to use dream light while we are scrying, Ursus said. After some time of concentration, we could make out the furniture. The room still felt dark, but we could see. It still was boring.

We directed our vision to go upstairs. Mom had her legs on the couch. She was knitting something big, maybe an afghan. Audrey, her dog, was curled up at her feet. Dad was in a chair. He was watching television. Boring. We went down the hall. My siblings were all asleep. Boring.

This is mainly for practice, Ursus said, and boring is good. You were the ones who wanted to stay out of trouble, remember? I endorse your wisdom.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, but still. We let our gaze wander outside. A possum was in the backyard. A narrow garden ran along the brick wall at back, and things grew surprisingly well there, considering that it had almost no southern exposure. The possum was eating some of the cabbages Mom had planted. She hadn't bothered to harvest them all.

Everyone hates possums, Arthur said. I feel sorry for them.

If any species has been given a raw deal in life, I concurred, it's the possum.

We soon grew tired of watching the ugly critter. Our vision moved over to the Prestor house. We felt some brief resistance before we were allowed to see inside. That was the threshold effect, Ursus said. Established homes have a certain amount of resistance to evil intent, at least that which is magically based. If we were a hostile power, the resistance would have been stronger. As it is, we're just snooping a bit and don't mean anyone real harm.

The threshold of our house didn't seem to slow the demon much, Arthur observed.

It probably did, actually, Ursus said. But on the other hand, we are partially a magical being because of our ability to gather and manipulate manna. A countervailing effect is that magical beings have less inherent resistance to magic than do those who are totally mundane.

So you put me in increased danger the second you entered my head, Arthur said.

No, I put you in danger the second I created you as my clone. It's not just a metaphor when I say that a wizard is what we are.

What if I had never learned how? Arthur asked.

You might have discovered some haphazard effects on your own by accident. Perhaps visions that you took to be hallucinations, or coincidences that seemed to happen far too often. In any event, the vulnerability still would have been there, but you would have received far fewer benefits.

Mr. and Mrs. Prestor were watching television. We went up to the second floor. Terry was sleeping on his back. Mike was curled up in a ball asleep. He had left a desk lamp on. Colleen, who was in grade ten, was reading a book in bed. She had on a lacy cotton gown, and I spent a minute or so enjoying the view. Janet, the oldest, was home from university on Christmas break. She was…

Oh, my!

Ursus forced our gaze away while Arthur and I were doing our best to keep looking. There is an unwritten understanding that we do not watch such private moments, he scolded, especially of those persons we know. It is far more impolite than snooping around, which is mostly considered an inherent vice of the wizard breed.

But, aw man, c'mon! Arthur said. His embarrassed feeling was overwhelmed by other feelings.

No, Ursus said.

Can we at least…? I asked.

Yes, go ahead.

I cut our ritual circle and ran for the bathroom. I needed to go there anyway to brush my teeth before bed. Efficiency is good.

Chapter 07