jasmine cowl and the salagi talking stick chapters 1 thru 5

8/8/2019 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


26/85


27/85

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


28/85

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.


29/85


30/85

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


31/85

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.


32/85

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.


33/85

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


34/85

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


35/85

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


36/85

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


37/85

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.


38/85

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


39/85

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


40/85

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.


41/85

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


42/85

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-


43/85

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,


44/85

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


45/85

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.


46/85

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


47/85

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


48/85

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


49/85

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

jasmine cowl and the salagi talking stick chapters 1 thru 5

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