jasmine cowl and the salagi talking stick chapters 1 thru 5
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JASMINE COWL AND THE SALAGI TALKING STICK
By Jason Fink
Prologue
Her hand hurt. The power that flowed through the fractaled
scar on her hand seared up her arm, a white hot glow filling the
night. The skin on her normally coffee brown skin was
translucent, skeletal.
The monsters that stood in front of Jasmine knew theyd
won. The Three were now the Two. Jasmine and her friends had
destroyed their ally, but it was no matter. The Two would be
more fearful, less forgiving; they would be a dichotomy of evil.
And it was good.
The battle had been slowly leaning in their favor
throughout the day, their legion crushing the last vestiges of
resistance. The teen that lay crumpled at their fee, tears in
her eyes, had led her people straight into that gaping maw that
was their trap. Their minions were devouring their foes, in
some cases, literally.
Flashes of agonizing memories flashed through Jasmines
mind, a slide show of the days gruesome events. The cold
morning, mist drifting through the mountains a dozen leagues
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south of the City. The charge by Jasmine and her irregular
forces, leading as the spearhead of what was most likely a
suicide attack.
The element of surprise helped for a time, but their force,
as large as it was, made up of every range of sentient creature,
was still not a regular army, not used to fighting, not ready
for the blood-filled rage of battle. She saw long-time friends,
lovers, and family cut down one after another.
The arrival of the were-folk was unexpected. When they
surged in, some human, some animal, some in between, Jasmines
blood had run cold. Their last run-in was less than ideal. The
Alpha appeared suddenly in front of Jasmine, wolf head on a
human body, muzzle dripping rivers of blood and saliva. She
whipped her wand around, a fraction of a second too slow as the
half man knocked it out of her had with a flick of his wrist.
Morsel, he said, smiling in a way that made horror movie
villains look like animal-balloon wielding mimes in comparison,
if Id have wanted to eat you, youd already be eaten. I have
your back, tell me where you want the others.
And she did. The ferocity of their kind had not been
exaggerated, they tore through the Threes front line forces
with surprising ease. The Alpha stayed good to his word, saving
Jasmine time and time again, giving up his life for her in the
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final push, distracting the Three long enough so she could cut
them down by a third.
While their arrival reenergized Jasmines troops for a
while, it wasnt enough. Nothing would have been enough,
nothing short of a surprise weapon of mass destruction, and that
was not coming. Hundreds of her people were dying, thousands,
all to buy her time to get to the Three. Jasmine Pushed these
thoughts aside as she pushed harder through the mountains, the
body of her newest ally draped over the pieces of one of her
oldest foes.
Shed been shaky at that point, adrenaline having worn off
long before, exhausting her, eating her energy reserves.
Jazzy, go! This had been Rain, joking, playful Rain.
Only now she was neither playful nor joking. She was a general,
forceful, commanding. Jasmine felt sad; no one in her group had
managed to have a real childhood. The teenagers had become
adults far too soon.
The tawny leader of the resistance gave a quick nod, her
jet black pony tail bobbing in the smoke filled forest. She was
dressed out in camo cargo pants, a skin-tight long sleeve black
runners shirt and sturdy boots, her chosen style for the past
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few years. She popped forward, running through the redowwds,
vowing not to stop until she reached her target.
She saw Rain fall in her peripheral vision, but the
mountains still called.
The mountain range was the heart of the Threes domain,
made such after Alcatraz had been taken apart. Jasmine had not
known if a direct attack was anticipated, but she knew it needed
to be done, that the reign of terror neede4d to come to an end.
One way or another, it would be over, it would all end here,
now.
Jasmine hadnt thought that it would be her end. The good
guys were supposed to win.
She pushed herself up with this thought, and the world went
white.
CHAPTER 1
Her hand hurt. Specifically, the old brand on the back of
her left hand hurt. The pain wasnt really pain, more of a
tightness, like a muscle needing to be stretched. She yawned,
rubbing the scar tissue absentmindedly, her fingers tracing the
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spiral pattern it made. The fibrous tissue was composed of
three fractal loops, and shed long known the pattern, ingrained
in her like, well, like the back of her hand. Shed had the
puckered mark since she was a toddler, a mark once full of the
proverbial ancient power and hidden magic. That power had
vanished behind her as she had moved on through life, the
adventures of a youth long gone.
The lithe, athletic woman sitting behind her desk was
letting her mind wander through the forest of the past while
skimming through the problems of the present. She stood to
stretch, smoothing out the stylish black suit that was cut more
for agility than for meetings. Dancing last weekend had worn her
out she felt it in every inch of her body. At least she still
had moves her body was built for rhythm. She was proud of her
skills on the dance floor, and could still drive the men wild
when she wanted to.
As she reached for the ceiling, her lower back complained a
little. It quieted as she smoothly transitioned to a toe-touch.
She grabbed her spotless obsidian-black sneakers -definitely not
regulation footwear, but she didnt care- and held the pose for
a ten count. At thirty-four, time felt like a physical weight
that pulled down on her whole body. Jasmine was tall at five
ten. She kept in fighting shape by hitting the gym on the way in
to work every morning.
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Jaz, as her friends and family called her, straightened,
took a red band out of her drawer, then pulled the midnight
black mane back into a pony tail. Jasmine kept her hair long
and loose, though she knew that the most practical thing to do
would be to tightly braid it and be done.
She smiled as she remembered fidgeting when her grandmother
wove her fingers through Jazs hair, a ritual that they went
through every few weeks when she was growing up. Jasmine could
still smell the lotions, hear the clacking beads, and remember
trying to get Grammy Joe to throw in some knockers and be done
with it.
Jasmine sighed, though the truth was that the sound was
closer to a groan, and she sat. A thought flitted through her
head the thought that she had taken this job in order to
relive the glory days, days where she and her friends had saved
the world. Leaning back in her chair, white hot nostalgia
flowed through her veins, images of days gone by whirling around
her head like a movie unbidden. Her eyes, so deeply brown that
it was difficult to tell where the pupil ended and the iris
began, sparked joyfully. It was a few moments before she
realized that someone was talking to her.
Adept Cowl? Are you there Adept Cowl?
She blinked, startled into alertness. The large metallic
green scarab scuttling around her desk was making a minor mess
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of things and wouldnt stop until she answered. Jaz put her
smooth, chocolate brown hand over the large beetle, squeezing
the pincers quickly, twice in succession. With that, the bug
audibly sighed, and settled down. It relaxed in the middle of
her desk, spreading its wings out.
As the wings unfolded, an image of a translucent flickering
head appeared over the prostrate bug. The head looked around
for a moment, trying to find the person it wanted, then spoke.
Ah, there you are Adept Cowl. For a moment, Id thought the
tweedle hadnt found you. The floating head did not sound
amused. Tweedles were not in large supply, nor did they often
get lost. I wanted to check in with you, see how the case
against Wigerol was shaping up. That ones been a nuisance for
years.
The head spoke with a soft southern accent, a touch of
Alabama left in the stern old voice. Jasmine looked at
Vizmaturge Carhunkle with a mixture of annoyance and affection
she knew the real reason why the director of the agency was
getting in touch with her. The fifteenth anniversary of the End
of the Three was less than a month away, and the old woman
wanted to make sure Jasmine wasnt distracted by it.
Jaz and her friends would be expected to make appearances
on all the talk shows, give speeches and make the rounds this
year. They had been doing it every year since the End. Now a
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yearly celebration among the magical community, Endday was much
like the Tails Christmas, Chanukah, Diwali, Kwanzaa, or Eid.
It was another winter festival, one that encouraged celebration,
family and remembrance. It seemed like Jasmine and the other
Irregulars - former Irregulars, that is were more symbols of
Endday than actual people these days.
Spontaneous parties broke out all over the magic world.
Alcohol was consumed in large quantities. Presents were passed
back and forth. Children were loaded with too much sugar and set
loose to terrorize their families.
Besides being a time for celebration, people gave thanks to
each other, to the Irregulars and to the deities of their
choosing. Endday was marked with an hour of silence, beginning
at noon. It was a silence for those lost, those changed and
those still living with the mental and physical scars of war.
People would go about their daily activities, but during that
hour, not a word was spoken.
The Vizmaturge knew that there were demands placed on
Jasmine and her group. She also knew that Jasmine tended to
think that she was above rules. No one else would or could
wear tennis shoes into the CIAs office and get away with it.
No one else could take whichever mode of transportation they
wanted from the motor pool, nor could they use their magic to
increase the number of hours they had in a day like Jasmine did.
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Minor infractions all, but the sense of entitlement bled
through Jasmines personality like ink through a tissue. It
wasnt that she meant to get away with things. For years after
the End, she tried to play by the rules, tried to pay for her
coffee, her dinners out, her clothes, but no one would hear of
it.
No, no, Adept Cowl, I wouldnt think of taking your
money!
Your coin - no good here! You take anything! Anything you
like!
Those shoes look like they hurt, why dont you wear
something comfortable, Im sure the other agents whats that?
Theyre called adepts? Of, thank you for correcting me! Its
an honor. I dont think any other adepts will mind.
Ms. Cowl, you are welcome at the White House anytime, no
need to call ahead.
From barista to President, Jasmine was something of a
celebrity, and eventually she came to not only accept this, but
to subconsciously feel that she had the right to take advantage.
If it werent for the people close to her, and for her hard-ass
of a boss, she might forget to be human, not to mention humane.
Wigerol has an alibi for the day of the game, Jasmine
started. None of the players on the San Francisco Giant Killers
will own up to ever having taken anything from him, much less
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taking performance enhancing magics. She paused, flicking
through the screens on her computer with a tap of her wand.
What the Tails at Microsoft, Apple and Google would give to
see the guts of the computers that Technomages put together for
the Adepts in the CIA. With the ability to screw with time and
space to help boost processing power, poor Moore was left in the
dust with his mere doubling of transistor placement every two
years.
Jaz found what she was looking for and pointed to a line on
the page. But as you can see, Vizmaturge, there has never been
a team in the history of Wyrmageddon to have been quite so
fireproof. With a twist of her wrist, she pulled up an image
and enlarged it so that the miniature head could see. And if
you take a look at the most recent team photos, you can see that
just about the entire crew has a bad case of scales. Im sure
that well be able to get one of them to crack eventually.
The Vizmaturge raised her not-inconsiderable rock gray
eyebrows. Oh? Yall have one of them under interrogation?
She looked faintly amused, a shark toying with a wounded seal.
Jasmine knew that the Vizmaturge knew everything that was going
on. She always did; she was sharp for being close to two
hundred or, as she liked to say rather closer to 175, if you
will.
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Yes maam. Well, no maam, she corrected herself, and
her bosses boss looked quizzical. No, we dont have one of
them in for questioning, we have them ALL in. My team brought
them in. Rain is doing the questioning shes using a spell
that Ajit whipped up. The spell allows her to split herself
into multiples for twenty-four hours, which sounds good on the
surface, but it does have a couple of drawbacks. The first is
that with each multiple, you wind up being about 5% smaller, so
the more multiples you have, the smaller you get. Fortunately,
for someone like Rain, intimidation factor doesnt depend on
size. The second is that, well, you have to deal with a bunch
of Rains
Both of them laughed at that, which trailed off into
silence. Jasmine knew from experience that the Vizmaturge the
director, in Tail terms of the Central Interthaumaturgy Agency
wouldnt speak again until Jasmine herself said something. She
didnt often contact Jaz anymore, but when she did, Jasmine knew
that there was a reason, and that she wanted her adept to figure
it out.
Maam, Im fine, really, she said, her voice deliberately
light. In truth she really did feel fine she had a good life,
a fine family and good friends who had been with her through
thick and thin since childhood.
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Disembodied hands appeared in front of the mouth of the
floating head, steepling in front of puckered lips. Vizmaturge
Carhunkle kept her eyes on Jasmine. The old woman looked over
her glasses, face unreadable stone, not a wisp of gypsum white
hair dared to go astray. Still, she said nothing.
Jasmine laughed again, it sounded forced and she knew it.
She didnt care. Really, maam, I am. Its been fifteen years.
Its over. The war is done.
Jasmine thought a moment, then went on I feel restless
from time to time especially when Im put on these types of
nothing cases Im sorry, maam, but athletic doping is not what
Id call a high-caliber case, she added hastily as she saw her
directors expression begin to cloud she knew that the
Vizmaturge had been the one to send the case down the pipe to
her.
I know that this case (if you can call it that)was
lobbed our way because its low-stress. You want us to focus on
this wild goose chase while were all being pulled away from our
regular duties for Endday celebrations. Jasmine infused her
words with sarcasm. We appreciate it. Really
We, the younger CIA employee thought, we were the ones who
stopped the impending dragon attacks in Seattle a year back by
breaking up the Malevolence splinter cell in the Pacific
Northwest. And we were the ones who did the footwork to stop
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another terrorist attempt in the Tails financial capital by
feeding information to theirCIA.
Jaz was surprised. She was actually starting to get a bit
angry with the little head in front of her. She hadnt really
thought about it before, but the Irregulars were one of the go-
to teams for the tough cases, the ones that were dangerous, hard
to track down, or both.
Jasmine and her team had been known as the Glastonbury
Irregulars since their school days. It was a joke, at first,
taking the name of one of the most powerful magical loci in the
world and tacking it onto their little gang. They felt that an
irregular militia sounded better than gang.
Theyd been at this for such a long time. Why the hell
would they be lobbed a soft-ball like this? Snapping a little,
she kept on Maam, youre right Im not ok with this. This
is small-time stuff, the kinds of things we got when we first
started. Were not neoffs anymore. Theres got to be better
use for us somewhere else.
Only then did Vizmaturge Ellephadora Carhunkle decide to
speak. Ah, and there it is, chitlin. You think that this is
beneath you? The directors knowing smile was aggressive,
hungry. One moment, because I think, perhaps, wed better chat
in person. With that, the head disappeared. The little green
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scarab jumped up, creaking out a little chattering sound while
flexing its jaws.
Jasmine opened her drawer and took out a small box of
rabbit pellets. She tossed one to the beetle, which nodded its
thanks before flying off. As she put the lid back on the box and
replaced it back into her desk, she heard the small puff of the
celovehere incantation Carhunkle had just ported in.
As she turned, she decided against offering a chair as the
director had brought her own. It was an office chair of Tail
design, sleek and modern with a hint of severity. It was not,
by any account, built for coziness or relaxation in fact, it
looked as if it could grow teeth and bite if you werent
careful. Which it did, frequently. Anyone who was not the
Vizmaturge and wanted to sit would be wise to choose to remain
standing or choose a nice comfortable place on the ground rather
than try her chair.
The mesh that covered the back was in a constant state of
flux, a winter sea swirling around a distant rocky shore. The
seat, a deep, plush cushion wrapped in black leather that might
have been cured in blood, had a tendency to sneeze
uncontrollably. When it did, you never knew what youd get
though it was usually a hedgehog, which was why the office was
overrun with them at the moment. The chair was Tail built, but
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after years of magical absorption, it had taken on a life of its
own.
Can I get you something to drink, Vizmaturge? Jasmine
asked, though shed already pulled out her Tupperwand. It was a
short, glossy, ebony-black stick with silver words embossed in
its surface. These words flowed around and through the little
baton like water through pipes.
Jasmine knew exactly what her boss liked everyone did.
With a quick coiling of her wrist and trill of her tongue, she
produced a tall glass of iced tea, heavy on the honey with a
deep twist of habaero. In a smooth, practiced motion she
holstered the wand and handed the glass to the director.
Sufficiently good, though it needs less honey and more
habaero, Carhunkle stated. Her voice was flat. Upending the
glass, she drained half the drink in one draught.
She was not a tall woman, though she claimed that she used
to be twice her height before a battle with a sorcerous giant.
At five feet tall, one might not think that she was imposing,
but one would be wrong.
The Vizmaturge could somehow command the attention of
everyone in the room, from heads of state to psychotic lunatics.
Those descriptions were not mutually exclusive she would
frostily point out. She would call attention to herself only
when it suited her. There was something to be learned from the
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chameleon, she told her employees. Ellephadora Carhunkle would
be as visible as a grey speck in a smoke filled room until she
decided to make her presence known.
It was not invisibility, just the honed skill of not
wanting to be noticed.
Once she had decided to inject herself into a conversation,
she would not yell, nor scream, nor act in a bullish or frantic
way. She would subtly change her stance, twist her gaze and
wait. There was no deep magic in this, just many, many years of
practice. One did not become head of the largest international
magical law enforcement agency through force alone. It was all
about personal osmosis, letting her presence seep into or out of
the minds of those around her. Even Tail Presidents were not
immune.
Carhunkle had once mentioned that the first President
Roosevelt had learned about the African proverb to speak softly
while carrying a big stick from her while she was on Roosevelts
protective service. Back in those days, the Vizmaturge said,
they all called their wand their big sticks, until it became
more of a good ol boy joke than a notion of power.
Roosevelt had been, like all other presidents and most
other heads of states, one of the Skids. A Skid was the term
for a Tail who knew about the magical world. It was originally
a derogatory term, but it had come into its own and was now just
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what Skids were called. While there werent many in the world,
they were out there, and there was an eons long debate within
the magical community about them.
Some said that Skids were merely a necessary evil, for it
made commerce and interaction between the Head and Tail
communities viable. Others thought that they were great heroes,
pointing out that the End would not have come without their aid
and sacrifices. Still others thought that the two worlds should
be split apart completely, and possibly magically. In fact, a
Wizard by the name of Oppenheimer had been trying to literally
split the world into two worlds when his discoveries leaked into
Tail science and led to the creation of the Atomic Bomb.
Remorseful and consumed with guilt, he stripped away his
own powers and altered his memory and the memory of much of the
world through a unique magical ritual which he ended with the
phrase Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds.
Another faction thought that all Tails should know about
the other side of the coin, as they called it. An opposing
minority felt people without magic were beneath contempt. There
were many takes on the issue, Jasmine thought as she waited for
the Vizmaturge to finish the second half of her drink. Jasmine
didnt want to let the Vizmaturges apparently languid demeanor
get to her.
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When the director had drained the last drop, she sat in her
chair and expulsed the glass with a wave of her hand. It was
difficult to do magic without a focus, and more difficult still
to do it correctly. There were few who would even try such a
simple spell for fear of losing a finger or worse. She had
little use for wands anymore, except when she wanted to make a
point or attempt an exceptionally dangerous spell.
Many thought that forces Carhunkle commanded were so vast
that she was destined to be an Untouchable. These were the
near-Gods, the Merlins, the Se-Osirises, the Baba Yagas. They,
in essence, became magic and no longer concerned themselves with
mortals.
And there she sat. The Vizmaturge continued to look at
Adept Cowl. The osmotic pressure of her personality made
Jasmine fidget uncomfortably and feel like she was back in
school. The directors cousin used to make her feel the same
way. Of course, she had been a student back then, and Doctor
Carhunkle had been the Dean.
The stern little woman did not make Jasmine wait too long
this time. You actually think that I am giving you something
that is beneath you? Thats quite an interesting line of
thinking, my dear. She steepled her fingers again, and waited,
as if trying to absorb this concept in its entirety.
Apparently, I must not be as adept at sussing out my employees
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as I once thought. Or perhaps, she drawled, deepening her
Alabaman accent and letting the vowels drip with sweet honey,
per-haps, in mah dotage, ah have be-come utterly con-fused as
to whut is whut and who is who. Per-haps ah need tuh take a
little tiny rest whilst ah re-coverfrom the vapors!
Her eyes sparkled like fresh cut emeralds on a summers day
as she said this, knowing full well it would at once make
Jasmine feel angry and ashamed. Angry because old white women
from the South shouldnt speak to her that way, and ashamed
because she should have known that the director would not give
her an assignment that she felt was unimportant. Even deeper,
though Jasmine was loathe to acknowledge this, she felt that no
one had the right to speak to her like that.
Not after the sacrifices she made and the world she helped
to put right.
Jasmines crew, though not directly under the auspices of
the director, had nevertheless been assigned the lions share of
the tough cases. The director felt that they were the right
team, the most competent team for any job. Not all cases came
from the Vizmaturge there were still two layers of bureaucracy
between them and the Vizmaturges office. But they always knew
when she had her hand in their assignments. There was something
that Jasmine was missing, something that Carhunkle knew, or at
least had suspicions of, that Jaz did not see, at least not yet.
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Quashing her anger and resentment as she had learned to do
so long ago, she took a different tack No, maam, I dont think
anything like that, maam! Im just keeping my head down and
doing my work, maam! Bright and cheery sarcasm was easier
than anger, and it rolled effortlessly off her tongue.
Jaz knew that the old woman emphasis on old was not
someone who did anything without a reason. She knew that
Ellephadora believed that all people - all sentient creatures,
in fact - should be heard in equal measure. Jaz could take it a
step further and say that the most Wizened Shaman Carhunkle
probably felt that every single living thing had a place in the
world, and to harm one was to harm all. The director was a
strict vegetarian. Rumor had it that she would only eat honey
and milk if she had gotten permission from the creatures that
produced them beforehand. It was only a rumor, but one that the
Vizmaturge left alone.
This did not mean that she could not be dangerous, nor did
it mean that she would not go to extreme and deadly lengths to
protect the innocent and those she cared for. But she was a
woman who believed that giving a person a second chance was only
giving them a crumb of bread from the table of plenty. The
official seal of her office read Indulgeo Quod Complexo Sed
Teneo Oculus Apertus. Roughly translated: Embrace and
forgive, but keep an open eye.
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that you will most likely always blame yourself, but you need to
hear this, and hear it often. Oakwater did not die by your
hand, nor did you cause her death.
My cousin blamed herself, in part, for keeping the full
truth from you, but in the end she realized that it was the
Three who had killed that girl. You nearly lost your life
trying to save her, and if you had not acted as you had, many,
many more would have died that day. With a surprising
gentleness, she placed her hand on Jasmines shoulder. Jaz
didnt remember sitting, nor did she recall her boss standing.
Nearly eye to eye, Jasmine looked at her, and looked hard.
Yeah, I saved a lot of people in that moment, but how many of
them died later? How many died during the Year of Resistance?
How many died during the Battle of the End? Wouldnt it have
been kinder to let them all die a quick and painless death that
day? She looked away, knowing the answer, but needing to
verbalize it.
No, you dont have to prompt me, Ellephadora. I do know
the difference: they were saved that day so that they could
make a choice later on, a choice to die how they wanted, and on
their terms, a choice to fight not only for themselves, but for
the lives and freedoms of others. I know that its different,
but that doesnt make the weight, the burden, any less. They
rallied behind me, and fought to save me and my friends. They
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are the real heroes. I was just just a symbol, a symbol borne
of a childhood tragedy and the misguided visions of the evil
that was the Three.
I know that, in the End, I was the only one who could stop
them, could kill them. If Fate had snipped her thread
elsewhere, Im sure there wouldve been another child destined
to stop the terror. Every day, every single day, I take time to
grieve for those who lost their lives during those dark years,
especially for those who sacrificed themselves so that I could
succeed. It is just a small part of each day, a few minutes
upon waking each morning, but its a ritual I find myself
needing to complete.
My life is so mundane its laughable. I know there are
exciting parts where we chase down the Necromancers, the terror-
mages, and the occasional loose wyvern, but for the most part
its a nine-to-five job with endless hours of paperwork. Nearly
every night I get to go home to my quiet life in the suburbs,
home to see my kids in bed then snuggle up with my husband while
we flip through the channels and fight over whether or not we
should be watching Tail TV or the SorVo.
Its fantastic, and fantastically boring. But its life
and mine thanks to the thousands who died. Its because of them
I do what I do. I try to do good, try to stop tragedy. I thank
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those same dead souls every day because without them, I would
not be here. Without them, the world would not be here.
She stopped. She realized her hands were shaking with
emotion, that the feelings that she had bottled up for quite
some time had escaped. She noticed that she had forgotten to
deactivate the scrawler, and the pen had taken on a life of its
own, writing down every word for the last half an hour.
Well, it seems to me you may have just figured out your
speech for the Endday interviews, Carhunkle intoned. The
temporary kindness flowed back into icy steel. Yes, it could
have been any child that wound up with the ultimate
responsibility of warding off the Three, but it wasnt any
child, it was you.
The Vizmaturge held up a hand, cutting off a protest that
started to bubble out of Jasmine. Yes, you- and your friends,
as you are quick to point out. But it was mainly you. Another
child might not have found the strength necessary to succeed
the battle was written in the stars, but the outcome was not.
The people, well, the people they needed a symbol, needed hope,
and yall provided it, at great cost to each of yuns. Folks
know thats not a small thing youve done, but they also know
that they need to have hope, to have a reason to celebrate their
lives. They need to know that their friends and families did
not die for nothing, yhear? Thats why the celebrations have
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become what they have they arent so much about yall as they
are about peace and the celebrating of life.
She turned, twiddling her long fingers. With a pop, her
chair was gone, presumably back to her office. The Vizmaturge
pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose as she faced
Jasmine again. You know, I should just have one of the
panaxicantors take a look at my eyes; I hear theyve been doing
wonders with correcting vision celovehere! And with a pop, she
was gone.
Jasmine realized that she felt better. She was a little
annoyed that she hadnt realized that shed felt this wound up
in the first place, but that was neither here nor there. She
sat down to look through the Wigerol file once again, deciding
to start from scratch. There was obviously a piece that she
needed to find, but why the hell didnt the old coot point it
out to her.
Maybe shed just had a hunch, but her hunches were
typically more airtight than a recorded bank robbery done by
four naked guys with distinguishing marks and a dozen
eyewitnesses. What a fiasco that case had turned out to be
she still couldnt believe that the three wizards had nearly
walked.
Whipping out her Swiss Army Wand, she drew a quick sketch
in the air and whispered apprageo. A large white board
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office could see her monitor. The laughter, as well as the
jokes, went on for days after.
Orions normally stark-white face was now a pleasant shade
of magenta, and instead of eyebrows there were two quarreling
caterpillars above his eyes. The scars were also gone; another
illusion. His hair was pure white, though this was normal. All
of his siblings sported the same shock of snow-white hair. Hi
honey, whats up? Jasmine asked, happy for the distraction.
Orion smiled, dimples deep in his cheeks. His smile was
always a happy one, if a bit boar-like. His cuspids were longer
than most people were comfortable with, his lower lip not quite
able to cover the tips, but he was jovial and easy-going enough
that he could put anyone at ease in a matter of seconds.
Not a whole lot, Jaz. I just wanted to let you know that
I got home early and Ill throw dinner on. Try not to be too
late; weve got that PTA meeting to get to. He looked on the
verge of saying something else when he turned his head quickly,
snapping Damnit, Dan, stop sticking your brother to the
ceiling! You know it takes us an hour to figure out what spell
you used! Rolling his eyes, he turned back to Jasmine. I
gotta run. Love ya and see you soon.
MuJu went blank, as he logged off without waiting for a
response. This wasnt unusual; Orion had long since learned
that the most his wife ever said was Bye when signing off, and
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even that was stretching it. Jasmine rarely used the L word
with her husband, or with any other adult, for that matter. It
was a word full of power and meaning, but it was also a word
that lost its power with over use. Jasmine always felt that
love was shown through actions rather than potentially hollow
words. Indeed, hadnt one of the Three tried to convince her
that he loved her?
No, Jasmine was never going to be one of those mushy folks
who gushed professions of love out of every orifice. The one
exception to the rule was with her children she never held
back when telling them she loved them. It was automatic, deeply
driven, and intense in the core of her being. All four of her
kids would know she loved them, and know that she would move
heaven and earth for them. Her eldest, adopted after the End,
was starting at The Lionhead Academy of Otherworldly Arts and
Sciences this year, and she was excited.
Magic had always been a part of Kynans home life, but she,
like the rest of Jasmines brood, was made to attend Tail
schools from kindergarten through fifth grade. Jasmine and
Orion felt that this would give them a foot in each world, and
help them to learn to get along without magic, if need be.
Jasmine had survived the experience, and, she felt, came away
better for it. Her kids could do the same.
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Her computer was dinging at her yet again. She shook the
cobwebs out of her head and hit the spacebar again. The
monitors nearly exploded it was a conference chat with all the
Rains. There were 21 of them in all, one for each member of the
Giant Killers, the famous Wyrmageddon team that was being
investigated, plus one to coordinate everything outside the
interrogation cells.
What one Rain knew, they all knew and all had the same
idea at the same time: get in touch with Jasmine. The nano-
pixies were having a field day with this one. Each of her three
monitors now looked like a constantly-morphing Warhol painting
of Rains face.
JC, they all said at once. Thats when they noticed that
theyd all hopped on MuJu. They laughed, a bizarrely harmonic
twenty-one gun laugh. Coordinator-Rain (Jasmine decided to
think of her as Rain Alpha) decided to take control. Sorry,
JC, this was our first outing with this spell, need to work out
the kinks a bit, again the twenty-one gun laughter. This is
important, too important to wait. Ill fill you in on the
details when we get the team together, but this aint what we
thought it was.
This aint a Wigerol op, not in the slightest. Not gonna
say it on an open freq, but we need to get the gang together,
and soonest. I know you got your damned little Tailie Pain in
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The Ass meeting, so lets all hook up after that. Well bring
everyones pups over to your place for a big crash party while I
fill ya in. I want my bro there, too. This may be his area of
expertise and I wanna bounce a few ideas offa him. Sound ok,
JC?
Whether or not it sounded ok, it was obvious that there
would be no saying no, even if she wanted to. Rain was good
at her job, and if she said it was important, then it was
important. Jasmines curiosity was piqued, at the very least,
so she nodded, giving Rain the go-ahead.
Rain shot back a thumbs-up, then grinned one of her
infamous trouble-making grins. Hey JC, I still have a couple
hours before this thing wears off twenty-one of me and only one
Sequoia how do you think shell like those odds?
Rain logged off. The image shed buried in Jasmines head
would take years to erase.
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CHAPTER 2
Jasmine preferred driving when she could, both for the
practice and for the few moments of solitude the car offered.
She had to be home soon for both of her meetings that evening
she was tempted to reach out and change the Tail meeting with a
quick bit of spellcasting. She decided against it. Once you
started on that path, it was hard to stop. Some things were
worth doing right.
She celod down to the garage, where all manner of
transport awaited flying carpets, old style brooms, talking
animals, giant bubbles and a myriad of other spectacular
travelling methods. Granted, you needed to be certified in
whichever you chose, but in most cases this was a fairly simple
task. A carpet was not a complicated entity; you just needed to
learn the finesse of language.
The motor pool was at the end of the hall, covering a tiny
part of Transport Division. There were still very few in the
magic community who trusted Tail science, much less the melding
of technology and the otherworldly arts. Jaz spent much of her
formative years among the Tails, blissfully unaware of the two
sides of the coin, so she was comfortable using Tail tech, and
got a thrill when she could see what new trinkets the
Technomages came up with next.
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As she sauntered up to the motor pool looking for her usual
ride, one of the grease monkeys sidled up next to her. She knew
they hated to be called that, but back in the fifties there had
been a magical mishap in Transport. All of the mechanics were
Transmogrified into literal monkeys. Capuchins, Howlers,
Spider, Saki, Tamarin you name the monkey, it was in the Pool.
This particular mishap that took weeks to correct. While
it was only a day or two before their brains were back to
normal, it took many, many weeks to figure out the reversal of
the bodily change. Three months with monkeys working on the
cars, and the moniker stuck, managing to slide over into the
Tail lexicon as well.
Jazzy, kiddo, I didnt think Id be see yer fer a bit.
That gruff voice with an accent that oscillated between an Irish
brogue, a rhotic Scot, and a pirate palaver could only have come
from one person. He put down the paper hed been reading.
Various headlines proclaimed Suzerain Mortikus to be on a
goodwill tour in China and criticized the Giant Killers for
tarnishing a much-loved sport, while also mentioning a mage that
had gone missing and a child who had managed to turn his head
into a puppy (youd have to turn to section three to see the
humorous photo, Jasmine assumed).
Rhyndad! You wee skiver I thought you werent due back
from your vacation for another week! She gave the little man
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and he was little without a doubt - a hug, lifting him off the
floor. He may have been a letch on the surface, but deep down
he was a good and gentle soul.
His mother was human, that was true, but his father was a
mongrel. As Rhyndad told it his dear ol Pa was part dwarf, part
leprechaun, part gnome and possibly part wood rat. Rhyn had
never gotten the chance to find out, as his father had died at
the hands of one of the Three before they had become the Three.
His mother had only known his father for a short time before he
died, and was never able to help him trace his roots.
Blushing deeply from the unexpected embrace, his face now
matching his fiery red beard (complete with grease stains),
Rhyndad Wallace broke off muttering Aw, now lassie, yer dinnae
ha ta go an do that. My vacation werent nuthin. I thought of
a way ta make th cars so they don need fuelin ever agin, he
paused at a bench, picking up a set of grimy schematics. An,
well, lets just say that th folks in Atlantic City gave me a
rather large farewell party, complete wi a couple o trolls on
me tail. He chuckled at this, and continued Fortunately, I
kin lay low down ere - one o th perks o workin for a super
secret plice force, donchaknow!
Rhen glanced down at the plans in his hands, and shook his
head in mute anger. I tell ya, Jazzy, thisd be so much
easier if the folk upstairs would han me a license for one o
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them wands! Id not be askin fer one o them Shils like yer
adepts carry, nor een one o them Tupperwands. I jus wants ter
be able ta fix my machines wiout hain ta ask one o them there
high n mighty Certified Technopus mages .. for help jus ta
get a bolt off! He crumpled the plans in his fist, punching
the air futilely. It was an old argument, and not one he would
have with many other humans talk like that could get the half-
human fined or worse.
Ah Jazzy, iffin only I could get me grubby little hands
on one o them Kombine Mark 7s th things I could do! His
voice took on a dreamy quality as visions of magically
engineered turbines danced in his head. Jaz poked him. He
shook his head, clearing it with a half smile. Lemme go get
yer car, lassie, he said, the reverie still clouding his
vision. She could almost see the exploded out drawing that he
talked about incessantly, and she envied him his passion. She
felt a little guilty for shaking him out of his daydream, but
she needed to get to the meeting.
Jasmines thoughts rambled on while she was waiting. She
knew that Rhyn was a genius at what he did, which was one reason
he didnt bother hiding the desire for a wand. The other reason
was that he knew that Jasmine was sympathetic to his plight,
that she and her friends had learned from experience that non-
human magic creatures were not inherently bad or evil, that they
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deserved equal rights in the world of magic. Many of the non-
human community fought and died while fighting against the
Three, at least as many as had joined the side of the Evil Ones.
Orion was the most passionate when it came equal rights for
all. While Jasmine, Ajit, Rain and Minette became international
magical cops, Orion went in another direction. He worked
tirelessly for equality for all sentients. He was based in a
small family-friendly legal aid office outside the capitol.
Though her husband had already started down that road when
they were at Lionhead, he had even more of a reason to see it
through now: he was a Were. Not a wolf his totem animal had
apparently been a boar
Orion Gladaman was not a part of the original group of
friends to go head to head against the Three, being younger than
the others they didnt want a tag-along. When the time came,
though, he stepped up. Orions pacifism ran deep; he would
never hurt another soul as long as he could avoid it. His fire
came from elsewhere he had the fire of righteousness and the
belief that every self-aware creature had the right not only to
self determination, but the right to have a say in the
government.
The younger Gladaman had saved the lives of his sister,
Rain, his future wife and their two friends because of this
belief. He also quite possibly tipped the balance of the war in
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their favor. Jasmine, Rain, Ajit, and a very unfriendly Minette
had been caught, trapped by a pack of Weres loyal to the Three.
Many of the non-human community were joining the Three, not
because they were promised full equality, but because they were
promised vengeance against their oppressors. The only true
promise The Three made was to use their followers thirst for
blood to wreak havoc on Head and Tail community alike. Many in
the small were community felt this was better than being
regarded as second class citizens, and they had taken up the
call.
The three friends and one nemesis had been surrounded by
the pack in a mountain quarry, not a wand between them.
Exhausted, powerless and with no place to run, the four of them
thought they had finally lost everything. As the Alpha had moved
in for the kill, there was a soft pop in front of the humans as
Rains little brother celod in, landing between the Alpha and
his prey.
Rain was young, but smart. He had wands for all of them,
and something more: wolfsbane. The lead wolf had pulled back in
pain and anger as the herb burned his fur. Yowls from the rest
of the mixed pack sounded through the night. One undersized boy
with a small handful of leaves would not deter them for long.
The Weres began to move in for the kills, all manner of beasts,
not just wolves, and Orion chose this time to speak.
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Stop! His voice had been loud and commanding, filled
with intense ferocity. This surprised everyone, including
Orion. Curious, the human-beat hybrids had paused. The moon,
not yet full, left them in control. They paused, listening.
Rain had tried to get his brother to stop what he was
doing, so they could all celo to someplace safe or at least
safer, but Orion was being obstinate. He had a mission, and he
wanted to fulfill it. Please, he had said, his voice cracking
in the transition from boy to man, we need your help.
There had been a stunned silence from both sides, then
incredulous, bestial laughter, the loudest the Alpha. Listen,
morsel, the werewolf had growled, standing upright and towering
of the little group of human children, The herb you have will
hurt me for a moment, nothing more. You would not even be an
appetizer, Little Bite, so why should we listen to you? Tell
me: why should I listen to you?
B-b-b-because, Orion had stammered, We sh-sh-should all
bb-b-b-be fighting the Th-th-th-three! You may not have the
best p-p-p-place in society n-n-n-now, with that, the beasts
had broken out in deep, mirthless laughter, which actually
seemed to give Orion more resolve.
No, I know you have it bad. People fear you and those
like you. The gnomes that help create our fantastic machines,
the leprechauns that sell their luck, the centaurs and unicorns
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they are all treated like indentured servants at best, like
beasts at worst. This seemed to silence them, as what he was
saying rang true.
Bolstered, he had carried on. Now you have some place in
society, even though its not great. You have rights, however
few. Do you think the Three will do the same? Or will you
become slaves, gladiators, and killing squads, remorseful and
soulless? Can you tell me that you have no soul? That you
enjoy killing innocents, that their blood makes you happy? The
nearly translucently pale boy found his footing. The speech
rolled out of him, glass marbles on ceramic tile.
He had seen his audience nodding, agreeing. He pushed
forward. Even his older sister and the other humans had stopped
to listed to him. Perhaps it was out of shame, since theyd
treated many of the non-humans like they were meant to be walked
on. Jasmine would later tell Orion I should have known better,
me of all people I should have recognized what was happening.
Listen to me, the small man-child had intoned, his voice
no longer unsteady, but full and deep, foreshadowing what would
become the voice of a man, Listen: I swear to you on this day,
in this place that if you join us, I will not rest until there
is equality among all sentient creatures! I will work until my
dying day for the rights of every single one of you, for the
dryads and pixies, for the half humans and Weres for anyone who
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asks. All of you should have the same rights, and I swear that
I will get them for you!
He stopped. Orion had then looked around at the eyes
glinting in the moonlight. The Alpha had then stepped forward
and grunted. Oh, Little Bite, you promise this, do you? What
does it mean to us, to have the promise of a child? You may be
brave or foolish but you are nave too, Little Bite. And I
grow hungry.
Orion had seemed ready for this. I will take the Mages
Oath. Or even the Warlocks Binding! He thrust his jaw out,
trying to look braver than he had obviously felt. The Weres all
began to shake their heads.
From a child mage, this means nothing at all. Until you
become grown, Oaths and Bindings slide right off. The Alpha
paused ever so slightly. No, I think that will not do. You
have nothing to offer us. And with that, the pack appeared to
once again catch the scent of blood. They became more like their
beasts.
The towheaded boy named Orion quailed, then it had come to
him. The child looked peaceful, serene. STOP! He cried once
again, and, for some reason, the Alpha stopped again. Perhaps
the wolf had been expecting this, perhaps he had wanted to find
a way to gain a bit of his humanity back, but he stopped.
Well? It was not a friendly growl.
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Well, then give me your problem. Lets become brothers:
Give me your curse. Turn me, so that I cant back away from my
promise. Theres no cure for being a Were, and my wand will be
stripped from me. I give you myself, and my blood to seal my
promise.
And they took it.
And for a while, Orion had been lost to them, first to his
beast, then to his self-medication
Didja hear me, wee lass? The gruffly singsong lilt
snapped her out of the memory, and she suppressed an urge to
shudder. He chuckled darkly. Listen Jazzy, itll do yer no
good ta keep lettin yer mind go back to them gloomier times.
Don deny it, everyone gets th same look from time to time.
Best just to buck up an move on. He flicked a bit of leftover
breakfast out of his teeth; he was on night crew and just
getting in.
Speakin o movin on, I got yer car righ oer there.
Why yer won let me spruce er up a bit, I cannae ken, Rhyndad
grumbled with a faint hint of reproach in his voice.
The car was not going to win any beauty contests. It was a
basic family-type Eurovan, a bit dinged and faded with a
metallic gray paint job. The wheels looked a bit too bare,
perhaps with too little air in them. The the headlights were
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mismatched, the drivers side slightly brighter than the
passengers.
The patched up splotch gray van didnt look like much, but
it wasnt supposed to. The machine handled better than any of
the Tailie cars on the roads. The wheels were in fine shape
they would never need changing. It also looked deceivingly
small an entire marching band could fit inside comfortably. It
also came with a bathroom, kitchenette and laundry facility. In
the back, however, there was door that was just about big enough
for a rabbit to fit through.
The tiny doorwas locked, with no apparent way to unlock it
and no corresponding door on the outside of the car. There was
a sign posted above the ornately carved door, a sign that hung
slightly askew and said Never open.
Unable to resist, Jasmine tried to unlock the damned thing
when she was first given the car, but she couldnt figure out
how to do it. She kept trying once or twice a year, even
letting her children try from time to time, but to no avail.
The door was stuck. There wasnt a day that she drove the thing
when she didnt curse the prior owner.
So weve finally divined how ta make th cars go withou
th need for fuel, Rhyndad said, looking pleased with himself.
No more stops at them Tailie gas stations; we sorted out a
proper spell. Turns out, if yer takes a wee bit of th Gyre-
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torque from a carpet an combine it in parallel wi a
Stikmamometer from th brooms, and twist em inta a bi-polar wi
an H-bridge arrange
Enough, Rhyn I dont need to know how it works, just
that it does. Im not the metamechanophysical engineer here
you are. She laughed, seeing his smile through the ever
increasing grime on his face.
Cowl wasnt sure where the grease was coming from, as he
wasnt working on anything just then, but this wasnt an unusual
occurrence. She supposed that the little man was just a natural
lubricant attractor. Er, it does work, right? You didnt break
my car?
Naw, I dinnae break it, she works jus fine. The only
hitch we foun is tha the bumper sticker keeps changin now.
Dinnae know why that be, but there yare. Look, right ow its
sayin somethin about well behaved cars na makin history or
somesuch. Seems benign enough, aye?
Jaz looked at the back bumper, which now sported a garish
day-glo orange bumper sticker with neon purple writing. Jasmine
shook her head. It was just a bumper sticker. What the hell
kind of problem could a bumper sticker cause?
She could have incanted a quick Celovehere and been home
in an instant, but she wanted the car. If she told the tiny
lepradwarf man (as he called himself) she wanted it checked out,
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the car would have been in the shop until they figured out what,
exactly, was wrong. She just didnt have that kind of time. Or
patience, for that matter.
Instead, she said a quick word of thanks, telling Rhyndad
that shed see him soon, grabbed the keys and got in. Not that
she really needed keys the Djin that was ensconced in the
steering wheel would have just started up the car for her.
Probably. As she slid in behind the wheel and turned on the
ignition, the center of the steering wheel morphed into a face
that looked vaguely like a bald Pekingese with pointed ears,
rams horns and faux leather skin.
Good evening, Madame Cowl. I trust all is well? The
voice was slippery, black ice on a moonless night.
Yes, Ras-alAtrous, thank you. How about yourself? She
knew the answer, but it was always good to keep the powerful
magical creature who was in charge of your transportation happy.
The slick voice still chilled her, even after all these
years. The same as ever, Madame. A real riot here, a party
that never ceases to amuse. How could it not be exciting,
chained as I am to this mortal coil? Or, at the very least to
this ignition coil? A look of bored amusement slid over the
entitys tiny face.
They did, however, make a few changes to the vehicle as a
whole, and it does feel rather strange. Like a feather tickling
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under ones arm, not that I have an arms at the moment. Or
perhaps more like an itch that is small and steady and which,
after scratching, has migrated to another miniscule,
inconveniently placed and highly annoying location. But that
is, mayhap, just a figment of my not-inconsiderable imagination.
Shall we be off, then? Will you be driving or shall I?
Forty-five minutes later, the car pulled into the driveway
on Evelyn Avenue. Albany was a small town in the middle of a
large sprawl; everyone knew everyone else in the one mile square
hamlet on the Bay. It was an oasis of sorts a haven from the
chaos of the surrounding cities. It was a town safe enough for
kids to walk around after dark, and close enough to the frenetic
urban lifestyle that adults tended to crave. It was the calm
before the storm of city life.
Jaz had spent her commute time thinking about what she had
learned that day, trying to connect the dots. There was
something there on the tip of her brain, but it was just out of
reach. It was a feeling that she hated, like trying to catch
the reflections of fireflies.
The drive had been more of jumble of recollections rather
than a steady stream of productive thought. She had let Ras-
alAtrous take control of the car after she realized that the
driving wasnt doing anything to help clear her mind.
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There had been a strange shudder coming from the back of
the car at one point. Jasmine used this as an excuse to let the
Djin take over so that she could go check it out not that she
needed an excuse, the ancient creature professed to enjoy the
task.
Djins were a powerful race of creatures, coming from a
completely different plane of existence. They were living
creatures of pure magic, with nearly god-like abilities, but
these abilities came with a price. With a number of prices,
actually, the first being that they could never perform magic
that would benefit themselves of their own volition. There was
an entire library devoted to the Laws of the Djin. These were
not laws that anyone had legislated or voted on, they were
capital-L-Laws, like Laws of nature, the Laws of physics, and
the Laws of dryers. There was a science to discovering the
magic of the Djin.
According to what Jasmine had gleaned over the years, the
creatures didnt really have their own bodies on their home
plane. They were ephemeral personalities that spawned and flowed
through an unnamed ether. They were like herring in the North
Atlantic or, to be more precise, she thought, like a molecules
of water in the entire world ocean.
Jasmine had been told that they were individuals in the
other plane, but individuals who didnt completely see their
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individuality. There were other beings of energy and thought
that lived in the genies (Its pronounced djini) dimension
Ras-alAtrous had told her. He also said that there were at least
as many different species, for lack of a better word, in his
home plane as there were in Jasmines particular corner of the
universe. Djin just happened to be highest on the food chain,
much like humans were here.
The Adept knew that they could only grant three wishes,
that they did not come to this dimension intentionally nor
could they be brought or summoned. There were cracks that
appeared occasionally, and these cracks were, as far as anyone
knew, one way and completely unpredictable. When a djin fell
through a crack, it took up residence in the nearest physical
object. Once imbedded in the object, it lay dormant until it
would be released into a container.
The genie in a bottle stereotype was a stereotype for a
good reason Djins were inactive, in a near hibernation state
until they were drained into such a container. Ras-alAtrous had
said that it was not complete hibernation, that they were aware
of time passing; he (she thought of him as a he, but really,
they had one-hundred twelve and a half genders) also told her
that many of them went mad with loneliness. They went from
being constantly surrounded, enveloped, and integrated into
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every other one of their kind to a life of complete solitude.
That would make anyone go mad.
Then there were the wishes. Another one of the Laws was
that Djins would have to do their best to find a loophole in any
given wish. No one, not even the djins, knew why. They needed
to cause the wish to go awry in some way, shape or form. If a
person wished to be a millionaire, they might wind up with a
million jelly beans or a million pennies or a million dollars
stolen from the federal reserve.
The master of the wishes couldnt be directly harmed by a
wish. The same could not be said for the family or friends of
the Master. If the Djin had gone insane, prospects for the
Masters kith and kin were grim at best. If the Djin were
benevolent, the loophole might be benign.
And if the third wish were given to grant a Djin freedom,
or to grant them the ability to get back home, or to let them
have their own wish then the genie perished. Some wanted this,
others still liked their own existence. There was only one other
known way of killing a Djin, and it was known only to a select
few.
It was very difficult to detect an object harboring a
dormant Djin. There were devices to do it, but they were not
that much better than a person standing and guessing. If an
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object containing a Djin was destroyed, so then, was the
creature.
So far, only 62,678 genies were ever known to have been
found and successfully contained. The CIA knew of the location
of exactly 12,000 of those they worked for various governments
of the world. 48,231 had either been destroyed or there was
compelling evidence that pointed to them having been destroyed.
2,006 were in private collections or working in the private
sector collections and positions that were heavily regulated.
The final 441 were missing.
Jasmine knew all of this because neophyte Adepts were sent
to various scut-and-grunt work divisons when they started. The
Djin Recovery Team was one of those tedious neoff jobs. Once you
got promoted if you got promoted it was a job you left
quickly. Unless you were obsessed, like Adept First Class Shan.
In the wrong hands a Djin but Jasmine didnt want to think
about that right then. She wanted to not think, to not think at
all. She hadnt found the where the noise was coming from,
though she hadnt really looked. She wanted to get inside to
her family, have a slice of pizza, and relax for thirty seconds
before the bedlam began.
Jasmine let a out a long, weary breath that she hadnt
known shed been holding. She made sure the car was in park and
bade Ras-AlAtrous goodnight. She opened her door and stepped out
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into the grass, her violet suit shimmering a bit in the twilight
sunset.
Hi Ms. Cow! The pudgy little voice seemed to emanate from
the neighbors tree.
Hey there, Little Fingers, how are ya? Jasmine smiled as
she spotted the six-year old neighbor with his unruly black hair
and a squirrely body. He was nearly lost in the branches of his
Italian prune tree. The olive-skinned little boy loved that tree
dearly, and spent half his life there. And hows Little Little
Fingers? Is your sister doing ok?
Aw, Ms. Cow, when are you gonna stop cawing me that? My
fingews awe big now, see? He held up both hands, proudly
stretch them out, but forgetting that he had been in the middle
of climbing down. Jasmine winced as he bounced off the ground,
and she readied a first aid spell. She saw there was no need as
he popped up laughing and dusting himself off. See? He said
again, They awe bignow!
I know, little one, but youll always be Little
fingers to me. Hi, Samira, Jasmine said, shifting her
attention to the motherly-looking woman of average height who
stepped out into the yard. Samira had kind eyes and a pleasant
voice, the type of voice youd expect to offer you chocolate
chip cookies and hot cocoa on a cool day. That this voice
belonged to a physics expert who worked out of Lawrence
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Livermore Lab was even more of a delight to Jasmine, she
thoroughly enjoyed it when life made you change your
expectations.
Hows Farun? She had known Samira and Farun Hiroshtali
for the past seven years Samira had been about ready to pop
her son out when she moved in. Farun was the Yin to Samiras
Yang, frenetic where his wife was calm, more laid back when it
came to their childrens bumps and scrapes. He had a swarthy
Mediterranean look to her fair skin and red hair.
Hey, Jasmine. Hes doing ok. Hes having a bit of
trouble getting back into the work-groove after spending the
last six years at home. Honestly, I think he was just playing
video games the whole time, she said, with a sly twinkle in her
eyes. All right, little man, she aid as she peeled her son
out of the tree, time to head inside and wash up. Ill see you
tonight at the meeting, right?
Jasmine nodded, and both mothers headed into their
respective homes. As the adept opened the door to her home, she
was hit with a wall of noise. In the most literal sense.
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There you go, Jaz. Ears should be working now. She
nodded, grateful to hear anything at that point. One of the
kids got hold of a wand and thought it would be a good prank to
play on you, I think. Interesting work the sound was the
shape of the door and only a couple of inches thick. Orion
laughed appreciatively, then faltered a little under her glare.
What I mean is that the magic was interesting the target
not, so much. I didnt know that hed managed to figure it out,
much less track down a wand and set the trap. He sighed
heavily. Hes got such a knack for it takes after you, I
think.
Not knowing if her scarred husband meant a knack for magic
or penchant for getting into trouble, she decided to ignore the
comment. Has Rain filled you in on everything?
Yup, she called up well, two of her called. Why are
there two of my sist nevermind, I dont want to know. Orion
Followed Jasmine into the bedroom where she changed into a more
comfortable outfit. If she werent going out tonight, it wuld
have been her favorite pair of comfy sweats. She had to settle
on Jeans and a v-neck sweater.
Orion went on. Were meeting after PTA thing, right? Rain
said that and Sequoia are going to get here a early so they can
watch the kids.
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Jasmine sighed, hoping that Rain was back to normal. She
mentally amended it to at least as normal as Rain ever was.
She loved her extended family dearly, but they could be a bit on
the intense side. She had never really had much in the way of
family or friends until she went to Lionhead, only her two
great-grandparents.
They had been kind enough, but they didnt fully grasp
Jasmines life. They had never been a part of the magic world,
and were Tailies through and through. Jasmine smiled sadly as
she thought of her mothers grandparents. They never really
caught up to the modern Tailie world, either. They had a
television that was a relic of an era long forgotten, and even
unheard of except in the whispered legends that always started
Back in my day
The TV was not only old, but was black and white. It did
have a remote control an actual clicker that emitted a high
pitched whine and click whenever you tried to get it to change
channels. It worked about a third of the time more often than
not, Jasmine served as the channel changer and volume
controller.
Pawpaw had been proud of it, though, because he had bought
it with his own hard earned money. He kept the thing running
right up until the end, having a knack for working with his
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hands. He had worked the shipyards in Oakland after World War
II, meeting Grammy Joe and courting her in the same bygone era.
Both of them were gone now, casualties of the End war. Jaz
had thought they were ancient, both in their mid eighties. They
had done some serious damage to their attackers before they were
done in. Their violent deaths had been a huge blow to her
younger self. They had died protecting her. No matter how old
they had been, she had never thought of them as mortal, much
less contemplated their mortality. Like most children, he had
fully expected them to be around forever.
Strange how a childs mind worked, Jasmine thought
wistfully. Jasmine had known that her mother and father were
dead, she had lost them at two. She had no other living
relatives, either. The only real blood connection she had on the
planet were through her quiet, solid, great-grands.
Grammy Joe hadnt moved on right away. As a spirit, shed
stuck around until the after the final battle had been won. Her
ghost gave her great-granddaughter strength, and supplied much-
needed intelligence.
Grammy Joe should have been a spy when she was alive,
Jasmine thought. She would have been one of the greats.
Bringing herself back to the present, Jasmine realized that
she had been woolgathering a lot that day. She supposed that it
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was natural with the upcoming anniversary. She knew she needed
to focus more on the here and now, as difficult as it was.
Jasmine hugged her husband as he changed her shoes, grabbed
a snack and got ready for the meeting. Her feet hurt, but that
wasnt unusual; she ignored the pain. It was time to track
children down to ask them about their days.
Kynan was in a good mood that evening. She had just taken
her first set of finals at the Academy and thought she had aced
them. It didnt hurt that Brad Weggins had asked about her
plans over the break with the suggestion that they get together
sometime. Key had spent the past year trying to get him to
notice her mostly by actively ignoring him. It seemed to have
finally paid off.
Key was a sophomore and he a senior - Jaz was going to have
to put the fear of God into him the next time she saw him.
Everyone knew that Orion was a soft touch, but no one messed
with Jasmine.
The twins were babbling at her in their own unintelligible
language. Dan wanted up and Patrick tumbled underfoot. While no
one else could make out much of what they were saying, the two
little ones seemed to have no problem comprehending each other.
Their twintuition allowed them to finish one anothers sentences
such as they were. They would be three soon, Dan on the last
day of December, Patrick on the first of January. Jasmine hoped
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that this milestone would spur them into making them want to
branch out in their language skills - not to mention their potty
training ones.
Jasmine shook her head again. If she had met her seventeen
year-old self and told her that her biggest worries in fifteen
years would be centered around toilet training and teaching
toddlers to speak, her seventeen year-old self would probably
kick her thirty-three year-old selfs ass. Then the younger one
laugh, thinking that she was being told a cruel joke.
The toddlers toddled off. Jasmine found her much quieter
middle child, Medwin. He was in his room, his nose in a comic
book, glasses slightly cockeyed. Lego pieces and tinkertoys
were scattered everywhere, remnants of one of his recent
creations. These structures were always intricately built and
lovingly crafted, and would last for about 30 seconds after they
were complete, thanks to the twins. Orion and Jaz started to put
a stop to their destruction of Medwins constructions, but the
calm little boy told them not to bother.
He didnt mind the boys wanton destruction. Medwin didnt
mind, he said, since it not only gave him a chance to build
something new (he would never tear down anything on his own, he
was a bit of a sentimental packrat even at six), but it also
seemed to make them happy. It was kind of their thing now.
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Jasmine sat on Meds bed and draped her arm over him,
pulling him close. He glanced up at her with his shy smile,
then went back to reading. His pale caf-au-lait skin glowed as
he read, and he seemed to hum with inner contentment and peace.
Medwin always seemed to be calm, peaceful, and thoughtful, he
was the eye of the storm that was their house.
Jaz, Orion yelled down the hall, the pizza will be here
in a minute, can you get the door?
Two hours later, with the school meeting behind them, Orion
and Jasmine made sure that the kids were tucked in bed before
sitting down with the rest of the crew. Rain and Sequoia were
folded into each other on the couch, Rain with her beer and
Sequoia with wine.
Sequoia was a Dryad, a North American variety. She was
hundreds of years old, or at least her tree was. She had only
gained self awareness three decades back, growing and learning
about the world, speaking for her sisters. Her skin was a deep
red-brown, offset by long fern green hair. Her nail and eye
color matched her hair; the hues changed with the season and her
mood. She didnt look out of place in Berkeley
Minette was draped in the comfortable armchair, looking as
ever like a cobra ready to strike. Her guard was never down.
Her husband Ajit was perched on the arm of the chair, glass of
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water in hand and joke on his lips. He was the funny one of
their little cadre, always ready to break any tension with a sly
joke or bad pun. He was by far the tallest of them. He was an
easy, athletic six foot three.
Minette stood in stark contrast to him, her Vietnamese
frame barely hitting five one, yet they seemed to fit together
well. Anyone meeting them today would never have guessed that
they had hated each other when they first met, and not the kind
of hatred that was borne of adolescent children not knowing how
to express their affection. It had been pure spite, changing
only after Ajit rescued her brother. Minette had renounced the
teachings of The Three, and they learned to get along.
All three families children were sleeping in nooks and
crannies of the house. Rain and Sequoias eight year-old, Troy,
was in with Medwin as were Evan and Baptiste. They were the
eight and six year old boys from the Gupta-Pham tribe. Kynan
was letting four year old Carac, Ajit and Minettes youngest,
bunk with her.
Kynan was letting four year-old Carac, Ajit and Minettes
four year-old daughter, bunk with her. Carac loved Key, and she
was tickled whenever she got to spend time with her big
sister. Carac was a scrapper, which fit well with Keys rough-
and-tumble approach to life.
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The three couples chatted for another hour or so, until the
children were asleep. They wanted to be sure that they wouldnt
be interrupted or overheard. Some of the kids were old enough
to understand what was going on around them; the adults didnt
want to chance letting the information slip into the open as a
result of their childrens loose lips.
The conversation lulled a moment as they all settled in.
Rain took out one of her multi-purpose wands and sketched a
rectangle in the air over the fireplace. A screen appeared,
with pictures of each of the Wyrmageddon players that Rain had
interrogated earlier that day. Each picture had a set of notes
next to it. Rain stood next to the screen and started filling
the others in.
As I told ya earlier, JC, this aint Wigerol. He may be
scum, and he may be the owner of the team, but this aint him.
This aint his M.O., plus he has a solid alibi. Anytime the
players were suspected of doping, he was somewhere else. He was
also genuinely surprised by the accusation talking about how
much money he was going to lose.
She stopped to grab a beer. Twisting the cap off, she
continued. Funny thing is, none of the guys on the team knew
that the others were taking anything illegal. Turns out, they
were each contacted independently - and anonymously. The
contact asked if they wanted to try this new tech, one that
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would make em stronger and fire resistant. Big plus in a
game where youre competing on dragonback, am I right?
Laughing she took a long pull on her beer.
After initial contact, delivery was made, and it was not
cheap. This is where it gets interesting. Everyone on the team
described in exact detail how the delivery was made and it was
always the same. A golem - a very intricately carved golem from
the sound of it would come in and give em the dose, and then
disintegrate. The golem was basically a clay figure actin like
an Tailie robots. Itd only show up after a payment had been
dropped off the locations were always different.
So, pay drop, lawn ornament wanders in & gives them the
stuff, then poof clay dust in the wind. Each and every man
and woman on the team described the golem in the same way: it
was about twelve to eighteen inches tall, with a large pointed
had and long beard. The damned thing was incredibly detailed,
down to wrinkles and fingers, could speak, and moved like it was
real, not just a construct. Not many human mages I now of could
produce something like that. She took a swig of beer, and
wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
Jaz, you gotta know what Im thinkin, right?
Jasmine nodded. While a golem could be made in any shape,
there were few creatures who could make one that moved smoothly,
fluidly, organically. There were fewer who could make golems
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that spoke. The only real people on the planet who could do
that were those who knew deep earth magic. There were only
three type of beings with that sort of power, and Jasmine
guessed the golems were shaped in the image of its maker.
Gnomes, Jasmine stated flatly. Were looking for a
gnome, and one who needs money. Wigerol was just a
smokescreen.
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CHAPTER 4
Between one and three feet tall, gnomes were not the
tallest of known sentient beings. They would never be known as
among the most beautiful, either..
Many had deeply gnarled, twisted features. They were often
mottled gray, sporting long beards that resembled nothing more
than moss. They could blend as easily in a rocky mountain pass
as in a deeply wooded northern forest.
Not all of the Gnomic looked the same. Much depended upon
where the particular tribe lived desert dwellers tended to
have little body hair at all, their skin pockmarked shades of
tans and browns. Jungle dwellers leaned towards a shriveled
green with wispy lichenish hair.
They were a resourceful, intelligent people, able to wield
technology and magic equally, though without access to wands
they were hobbled in working with the supernatural arts. Gnomes
and mages were not creatures that normally got along well
because of this.
Tension between the two races stretched back for millennia,
escalating into skirmishes, battles and even full blown wars.
In the end, humans usually were the victors simply due to the
sheer numbers that humanity could put on the front lines.
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Gnomes were tough, extremely resilient to both physical
attacks as well as magical ones. They were also long lived, the
average natural life span running about three hundred years.
This was coupled with a caveat the little ones were not overly
fertile. A female gnome could produce two to three o
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